There was a befuddled pause from over his shoulder.
"Uh, yes, I can see what, but why are you doing it all over
the walls?"
Daniel tried not to crack a smile. "A lot
of ancient cultures wrote their history on the walls of their
most important structures." Oh God, don't laugh, don't
laugh, don't turn around... he begged himself, adding an
extra-flowery verse to his meter-high piece of literature.
Another long, long pause. "Daniel, I'm no expert, but
if I didn't know better, I'd say you were writing dirty
limericks in Goa'uld."
"Hathor was a snaky old
bitch/Who had magic powers like a witch/She screwed all that
moved/Of which no one approved/Now she's frozen and can't even
twitch," Daniel read his mildest one with obvious relish.
Sam giggled at the absurdity of it. "Daniel! The
general's going to kill you when he finds out you did this."
Daniel grinned. "No he won't." Finishing up his last
line, he stepped back to admire his handiwork, complete with
fullsize illustrations. "Perfect." Without another word, he
took off down the corridor, leaving his teammate gaping at the
absolutely raunchy wall.
A few
floors down, Teal'c frowned as his chair emitted a
particularly unusual sound. Standing up again, he observed a
deflated bag of some sort had been placed on his seat.
Presumably it had been previously inflated. "O'Neill," he
rumbled, showing it to the innocent-looking colonel. "I
believe this is yours."
O'Neill blinked at him,
wide-eyed. "Mine? Oh, that's not mine. Never owned a whoopee
cushion."
Teal'c frown deepened. "What is this,
'whoopee cushion'?"
O'Neill suddenly looked at his
watch and jumped up. "Oh jeez, Teal'c, I'm sorry. I was
supposed to meet Daniel for, er...something." He fled the
room.
Teal'c placed the deflated object on the
briefing room table, eyeing it suspiciously.
Daniel was almost mowed down by a
speeding colonel as he rounded the corner. "Hey, watch it!
Where's the fire?"
Jack visibly relaxed when he saw it
was Daniel. "I just got away from a certain Jaffa. I think I'd
better stay away for a few hours, just in case."
Daniel fixed him with a suspicious gaze. "Please tell
me you didn't."
"No! I just planted a whoopee cushion
on his chair," Jack shot back defensively, pouting a little.
"I still can't see why you won't let me."
His friend
gave him a sympathetic look that held absolutely no pity.
"Jack, if you really want to streak the halls, be my
guest. But I'm not staying around to watch, and I'm going to
tell everyone what you did once this is all over."
Jack stuck his tongue out at him. "You are no fun
whatsoever, Dr. Jackson."
Daniel waved a hand
dismissively. "Sure, I'll bet. Let's hurry up and get down to
the gym. I replaced all the real weights with inflatable
ones."
The seemingly blinding white
flash came as scheduled, and Daniel found himself once again
holding a fork with a dripping waffle speared on it. He met
Jack's eyes across the table. "Well?" he asked.
Jack
considered it, then picked up his Froot Loops and dumped them
down Daniel's shirt. The archaeologist yelped as milk and
delicious sugary goodness got caught above his waistband, and
retaliated with smearing syrup all over Jack's hair. "FOOD
FIGHT!" Jack shouted, reaching for a tray of scrambled eggs.
Within minutes, the commissary was totally wrecked,
various food products strewn about. "WHAT'S GOING ON IN HERE?"
Hammond bellowed as he walked in, only to take a splat of
oatmeal to the forehead. There was dead silence, and the other
soldiers remaining in the room pointed at the troublesome duo.
Hammond glared at them. "Report to the infirmary
immediately!" he ordered, swiping sticky oatmeal off his face.
Jack and Daniel looked at each other. Oh,
hell, Daniel cursed mentally. It's going to be a long
few hours. This loop couldn't end soon
enough.
