Prompt: Any SciFi, Any/Any,
Believing the strangest things
Loving the alien - SGA post series
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/699969.html?thread=92356417#t92356417
John stared at the sign in horror. Behind him, Lorne, Teyla, Ronon, and Rodney were struggling out of the cab with all their worldly possessions in a single backpack each.
"This has got to be a joke," John said.
"O'Neill has a sick sense of humor," Rodney said, "but what makes you say that?"
And he stared at the sign.
Lorne stared at the sign.
"I don't get it," Ronon said. "What's wrong with nails? You use them for building stuff, right?"
"Not those kinds of nails," John said.
"Atlantis Nails." Teyla said wistfully.
The T on the sign flickered and sparked and then exploded in a shower of glass tubing.
"O'Neill expects us to run this place till he sends for us." Rodney stared at the dingy store front grimly.
Lorne sighed. "Orders are orders."
So, in they went.
It was a good cover. An Atlantis reference for a tiny bit of comfort from home. But something so far outside of any of their comfort zones that the IOA wouldn't even glance in their direction. In a small town, but not so small that their arrival would make a lot of waves.
They got the shop up and running in two weeks, between a lot of elbow grease and surprising know-how on Lorne's part. John re-established the supply relations the previous business-owners had had. Rodney made them all watch hours upon hours of instructional videos on YouTube. Teyla went around town handing out fliers for the grand opening.
Hardly anyone showed up, despite the specials they were offering. Some of the old ladies who'd once been regulars came by, but as soon as they saw that the majority of the staff was white men, they backed out quickly, and the place remained empty.
Until the day there was a heat wave and the AC broke and all of them were reduced to taking off their shirts (except Teyla, who wore a tank top and shorts), and one woman came in. She asked for a manicure, and while she was waiting for Rodney to set up a station, she tapped away at her phone.
And then four of her friend showed up.
And the place went from empty to incredibly busy, and if Ronon was shirtless the entire time, oh well. John and Lorne occasionally took advantage of their military physiques as well, but Rodney could only be badgered into a tank top at best, which was a shame, because he was solidly muscular and broad across the shoulders.
They had a system. John and Rodney did prep work (scrubbing, sanding, clipping), Ronon did the massages and the base coats of paint, and Lorne did the fine art (and also henna tattoos on the side). Teyla handled all the appointments, John did the books, all of them cleaned. And the business limped along just enough to keep them alive.
On Sundays they closed the shop and did chores around the cramped apartment they all shared upstairs, and they waited for word.
And they waited.
Life running Atlantis Nails wasn't horrible. They became fond of their regular customers, got to know them and their families and their lives. Lorne was good at providing a listening ear. Rodney was good at commiserating with a good rant when the situation called for it. John would offer practical solutions.
But the ladies loved Ronon the most.
"Of course they love the alien," Rodney muttered.
"It's because he has such strong hands," Lorne said diplomatically. "Gives great massages."
Rodney slewed Ronon a look. "You never give me massages."
"Lorne gives me tattoos."
Lorne experimented on Ronon an awful lot with his henna tattoos. Every experiment succeeded.
The door swung open, and John said, "We're closed. Sorry – we forgot to turn the sign over."
There was silence. Then laughter. Familiar laughter, if about half an octave too high.
A teenage boy stood in the doorway, doubled over with laughter.
"Are you all right?" Teyla asked. She was reaching for the gun she kept under the counter.
"Hoo boy," the kid said, straightening up and wiping his eyes. "The old man certainly has a sense of humor." But then he grinned, and something about his grin was uncannily familiar. "Hey, kids, I'm here with word. It's time to go."
Lorne pulled on his shirt and said, "Finally."
Saturday, March 5, 2016
Wednesday, March 2, 2016
No. 112
Prompt: any mythology. any siblings. "I'm so telling on you." Celtic triumvirate
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/699166.html?thread=92236574#t92236574
"I am so telling on you." Brighid curled her feet under her, picking slowly away at her knitting.
Cerridwen, about to reach into the fridge, paused. "What? Why? And to whom?"
"To Morrigan," Brighid said.
"What could you possibly have to tell her?" Cerridwen reached into the fridge for the apple juice and drank out of the carton just to spite her sister.
"I saw you snogging Arawn behind the green oak tree where what's-his-face keeps his heart."
Cerridwen shrugged with deliberate insouciance. "So what? It was Beltane. Lots of people were snogging. Don't think I didn't see you snogging that mortal boy who was dressed as Cernunnos."
"Ah, but I did not give my mortal boy my divine cauldron and let him use it to make Nine Riders and set them loose in the Middling Lands."
Cerridwen choked on another mouthful of apple juice, swallowed it down and collapsed into a fit of coughing. "What? I didn't –"
Brighid pointed to the mirror on the wall, the one whose twin hung in the tower of Shalott, where little Halflings were running from a black-clad wraith on a horse.
Cerridwen swore. "I didn't. I mean – he said he was just going to borrow it to revive his favorite horse. Please don't tell Morrigan."
Brighid raised her eyebrows. "What's in it for me?"
"Please please please –"
The front door banged open. Morrigan, wearing scale maille and battle greaves and carrying a shining sword, burst into the kitchen.
"Did you hear? The Middling Lands are going to war! Arawn has loosed a war machine with dark elves and all manner of evil creatures, and the dwarves and light elves and Halflings and even the mortals will be pitted against them. It's going to be glorious!" She pushed past Cerridwen, snatched her lunch box out of the fridge, and departed with a whoop.
Cerridwen and Brighid stared at the empty for a doorway for a long moment.
Then Cerridwen smirked at Brighid. "Ha! Fine! Tell Morrigan what I did." And she sashayed out of the room.
Brighid rolled her eyes. Morrigan was no help. So she yelled, "Mum! Guess what Cerridwen did!"
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/699166.html?thread=92236574#t92236574
"I am so telling on you." Brighid curled her feet under her, picking slowly away at her knitting.
Cerridwen, about to reach into the fridge, paused. "What? Why? And to whom?"
"To Morrigan," Brighid said.
"What could you possibly have to tell her?" Cerridwen reached into the fridge for the apple juice and drank out of the carton just to spite her sister.
"I saw you snogging Arawn behind the green oak tree where what's-his-face keeps his heart."
Cerridwen shrugged with deliberate insouciance. "So what? It was Beltane. Lots of people were snogging. Don't think I didn't see you snogging that mortal boy who was dressed as Cernunnos."
"Ah, but I did not give my mortal boy my divine cauldron and let him use it to make Nine Riders and set them loose in the Middling Lands."
Cerridwen choked on another mouthful of apple juice, swallowed it down and collapsed into a fit of coughing. "What? I didn't –"
Brighid pointed to the mirror on the wall, the one whose twin hung in the tower of Shalott, where little Halflings were running from a black-clad wraith on a horse.
Cerridwen swore. "I didn't. I mean – he said he was just going to borrow it to revive his favorite horse. Please don't tell Morrigan."
Brighid raised her eyebrows. "What's in it for me?"
"Please please please –"
The front door banged open. Morrigan, wearing scale maille and battle greaves and carrying a shining sword, burst into the kitchen.
"Did you hear? The Middling Lands are going to war! Arawn has loosed a war machine with dark elves and all manner of evil creatures, and the dwarves and light elves and Halflings and even the mortals will be pitted against them. It's going to be glorious!" She pushed past Cerridwen, snatched her lunch box out of the fridge, and departed with a whoop.
Cerridwen and Brighid stared at the empty for a doorway for a long moment.
Then Cerridwen smirked at Brighid. "Ha! Fine! Tell Morrigan what I did." And she sashayed out of the room.
Brighid rolled her eyes. Morrigan was no help. So she yelled, "Mum! Guess what Cerridwen did!"
No. 22
Prompt: Stargate Atlantis, Rodney McKay/John Sheppard, While on an offworld mission, the team comes across a bunch of Nordic looking people, who are led by a man named Odin.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/699166.html?thread=92240414#t92240414
John, Rodney, Teyla, and Ronon stepped through the gate – and right up against giant double doors for some kind of medieval-looking hall. The doors swung open into a massive banquet hall where a bunch of tall, blond, strong-looking men and women were seated around a table feasting on just about everything under the sun.
The man at the head of the table, dressed in an amalgamation of armor and furs, rose up and hoisted his goblet.
"Welcome, Travelers! You who are brave enough and strong enough to traverse the Bifrost road are welcome in the Hall of Odin!" He had a deep, booming voice.
"Odin?" Rodney echoed.
"You don't think –" John began, but then Teyla stepped forward, a bright smile on her face.
"Thank you for your kind welcome, Odin," she said. "I am Teyla, and these are my companions Ronon, Rodney, and John. We are peaceful explorers from the City of Atlantis –"
"Peaceful? Carrying P-90's and Berettas and a...what is that?"
A man rose up from the end of the table near Odin. He was tall and blond and strong, but he was also wearing jeans and a t-shirt.
Teyla balked, cast a confused look at John.
John raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "We really are people, but sometimes we've gated into sticky situations, and it never hurts to be prepared."
"Calm yourself, Steve Rodgers," the man who called himself Odin said, laughing jovially. "Warriors are welcome in my hall so long as they come in peace."
John and Rodney exchanged looks.
"Did he just – ?" Rodney asked.
"Pretty sure he did," John muttered out of the corner of his mouth, then pasted on his most charming smile. "We do absolutely come in peace. We're interested in seeking mutually beneficial trade agreements or allies in the war against the Wraith."
"I'm sorry, did you say Atlantis?" A man popped up from seemingly nowhere beside the Earth-looking man; this new man was older, unshaven, dark-haired, sharp-eyed.
"Yes, also known as the City of the Ancestors," Teyla said, and she wasn't catching the references, not catching them at all, because the dark-haired man was wearing a white-t-shirt, and John was pretty sure he could make out a faint blue circular glow emanating from his chest.
"Say, Odin, you don't happen to have a son named Thor, do you?"
Odin beamed and clapped the shoulder of the massive blond, bearded man to his right. "You've heard of my son and his valiant deeds?"
"Yes," John said. "Heard of many of them. Thor, God of Thunder, wielded of the Hammer – uh –"
"My girlfriend's sister calls it Mew-Mew," Thor said, and this was just unreal.
"Hold on." The dark-haired man with the glow under his t-shirt held up a hand. "You said your names were Teyla, Ronon, Rodney, and John. As in...John Sheppard?"
A red-headed woman clad all in black lifted her head. "Did you say John Sheppard?"
It was John's turn to blink. "You've heard of us?"
Ronon said, "How did you know what our weapons are?"
"Are you from Earth?" Teyla asked. She'd realized something strange was going on.
"Earth?" Odin echoed blankly, and Thor supplied, "Midgard."
"Ah!" Odin beamed. "Friends from Midgard are always welcome." He waggled his eyebrows at Steve Rogers. "A surprising number of your kind have proven worthy of passage to Midgard."
"How have you heard of us?" Rodney asked.
The red-headed woman grinned. "Syfy Channel. Watch it religiously."
"You mean, a TV show?" Rodney's voice went up.
"You recognized us first," Steve Rogers said, and holy crap, was he really Steve Rogers?
"From comic books I read as a child," Rodney snapped.
"Rodney," John said in a low voice, "was there an explosion behind us when we stepped through the gate?"
"No."
"Quantum mirror."
"Also no."
"So..."
"Yes."
John cleared his throat. "Well, Odin All-Father, thank you for your generous welcome to your feasting hall, but I think we'd better be going. Right now."
"I thought you wanted to trade." The red-haired woman smirked at him, positively predatory.
Rodney glared and muttered, "Back off, Black Widow."
Teyla also looked confused. "John –"
"I have it on good authority you're busy with your own Interdimensional alien wars, and we're busy with our intergalactic alien war, so we won't bother you any longer." John grinned and started backing toward the gate.
"John," Teyla said in a low voice, "there's no dialing device."
"Nonsense." Odin waved them in. "Join us! There is plenty of food and drink. I would like to learn more about your people!"
"I bet Loki has the dialing device," Rodney grumbled under his breath.
Teyla smiled brightly again. "Thank you. Come, John, Rodney, Ronon, let us not offend our host's hospitality." And into the hall they went.
They emerged through the gate in Atlantis three days later hungover, well-fed, and with a trade agreement for the best apples the World Tree had to offer. Rodney discovered up close and personal that Natasha Romanov liked nerdy scientists (and it was John's turn to say Back off, Black Widow!), John was quicker at math than Tony Stark, and Ronon and Teyla still weren't sure how any of Odin's other earth-based guests knew half of their team.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/699166.html?thread=92240414#t92240414
John, Rodney, Teyla, and Ronon stepped through the gate – and right up against giant double doors for some kind of medieval-looking hall. The doors swung open into a massive banquet hall where a bunch of tall, blond, strong-looking men and women were seated around a table feasting on just about everything under the sun.
The man at the head of the table, dressed in an amalgamation of armor and furs, rose up and hoisted his goblet.
"Welcome, Travelers! You who are brave enough and strong enough to traverse the Bifrost road are welcome in the Hall of Odin!" He had a deep, booming voice.
"Odin?" Rodney echoed.
"You don't think –" John began, but then Teyla stepped forward, a bright smile on her face.
"Thank you for your kind welcome, Odin," she said. "I am Teyla, and these are my companions Ronon, Rodney, and John. We are peaceful explorers from the City of Atlantis –"
"Peaceful? Carrying P-90's and Berettas and a...what is that?"
A man rose up from the end of the table near Odin. He was tall and blond and strong, but he was also wearing jeans and a t-shirt.
Teyla balked, cast a confused look at John.
John raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "We really are people, but sometimes we've gated into sticky situations, and it never hurts to be prepared."
"Calm yourself, Steve Rodgers," the man who called himself Odin said, laughing jovially. "Warriors are welcome in my hall so long as they come in peace."
John and Rodney exchanged looks.
"Did he just – ?" Rodney asked.
"Pretty sure he did," John muttered out of the corner of his mouth, then pasted on his most charming smile. "We do absolutely come in peace. We're interested in seeking mutually beneficial trade agreements or allies in the war against the Wraith."
"I'm sorry, did you say Atlantis?" A man popped up from seemingly nowhere beside the Earth-looking man; this new man was older, unshaven, dark-haired, sharp-eyed.
"Yes, also known as the City of the Ancestors," Teyla said, and she wasn't catching the references, not catching them at all, because the dark-haired man was wearing a white-t-shirt, and John was pretty sure he could make out a faint blue circular glow emanating from his chest.
"Say, Odin, you don't happen to have a son named Thor, do you?"
Odin beamed and clapped the shoulder of the massive blond, bearded man to his right. "You've heard of my son and his valiant deeds?"
"Yes," John said. "Heard of many of them. Thor, God of Thunder, wielded of the Hammer – uh –"
"My girlfriend's sister calls it Mew-Mew," Thor said, and this was just unreal.
"Hold on." The dark-haired man with the glow under his t-shirt held up a hand. "You said your names were Teyla, Ronon, Rodney, and John. As in...John Sheppard?"
A red-headed woman clad all in black lifted her head. "Did you say John Sheppard?"
It was John's turn to blink. "You've heard of us?"
Ronon said, "How did you know what our weapons are?"
"Are you from Earth?" Teyla asked. She'd realized something strange was going on.
"Earth?" Odin echoed blankly, and Thor supplied, "Midgard."
"Ah!" Odin beamed. "Friends from Midgard are always welcome." He waggled his eyebrows at Steve Rogers. "A surprising number of your kind have proven worthy of passage to Midgard."
"How have you heard of us?" Rodney asked.
The red-headed woman grinned. "Syfy Channel. Watch it religiously."
"You mean, a TV show?" Rodney's voice went up.
"You recognized us first," Steve Rogers said, and holy crap, was he really Steve Rogers?
"From comic books I read as a child," Rodney snapped.
"Rodney," John said in a low voice, "was there an explosion behind us when we stepped through the gate?"
"No."
"Quantum mirror."
"Also no."
"So..."
"Yes."
John cleared his throat. "Well, Odin All-Father, thank you for your generous welcome to your feasting hall, but I think we'd better be going. Right now."
"I thought you wanted to trade." The red-haired woman smirked at him, positively predatory.
Rodney glared and muttered, "Back off, Black Widow."
Teyla also looked confused. "John –"
"I have it on good authority you're busy with your own Interdimensional alien wars, and we're busy with our intergalactic alien war, so we won't bother you any longer." John grinned and started backing toward the gate.
"John," Teyla said in a low voice, "there's no dialing device."
"Nonsense." Odin waved them in. "Join us! There is plenty of food and drink. I would like to learn more about your people!"
"I bet Loki has the dialing device," Rodney grumbled under his breath.
Teyla smiled brightly again. "Thank you. Come, John, Rodney, Ronon, let us not offend our host's hospitality." And into the hall they went.
They emerged through the gate in Atlantis three days later hungover, well-fed, and with a trade agreement for the best apples the World Tree had to offer. Rodney discovered up close and personal that Natasha Romanov liked nerdy scientists (and it was John's turn to say Back off, Black Widow!), John was quicker at math than Tony Stark, and Ronon and Teyla still weren't sure how any of Odin's other earth-based guests knew half of their team.
Tuesday, March 1, 2016
No. 111
Prompt: Harry Potter, Harry Potter, he decided that Hogwarts was too dangerous and switched schools after 1st or 2nd year.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/699131.html?thread=92188923#t92188923
When the Triwizard Tournament comes around, Ron is admittedly dazzled by the beautiful, pale-haired part-Veela girl when the Beauxbatons students enter the Great Hall. He doesn't pay much attention to the other students who come along with her, because they all speak French. There's one boy who looks too small, too young to be eligible to put his name into the cup. If anything, he appears to be some sort of hired companion for another girl, a smaller version of the beautiful part-Veela girl, likely her little sister.
So Ron is surprised when he bumps into the bloke – sleek black hair, bright green eyes, just as pretty as the rest of the Beauxbatons students – and he speaks perfect English.
"Sorry, mate."
"'S all right," Ron says, and then the boy blinks at him.
"Ron? Ron Weasley?"
It's Ron's turn to blink. "Do I know you?"
And then the boy grins, and his smile is so familiar, and he pushes his hair up over his forehead, and Ron sees the lightning-bolt scar.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/699131.html?thread=92188923#t92188923
When the Triwizard Tournament comes around, Ron is admittedly dazzled by the beautiful, pale-haired part-Veela girl when the Beauxbatons students enter the Great Hall. He doesn't pay much attention to the other students who come along with her, because they all speak French. There's one boy who looks too small, too young to be eligible to put his name into the cup. If anything, he appears to be some sort of hired companion for another girl, a smaller version of the beautiful part-Veela girl, likely her little sister.
So Ron is surprised when he bumps into the bloke – sleek black hair, bright green eyes, just as pretty as the rest of the Beauxbatons students – and he speaks perfect English.
"Sorry, mate."
"'S all right," Ron says, and then the boy blinks at him.
"Ron? Ron Weasley?"
It's Ron's turn to blink. "Do I know you?"
And then the boy grins, and his smile is so familiar, and he pushes his hair up over his forehead, and Ron sees the lightning-bolt scar.
No. 21
Prompt: Stargate Atlantis, Rodney McKay/ John Sheppard, John isn't the only one with the Ancient Gene: Rodney has it too. Unfortunately, Rodney has a nasty reaction every time he attempts to use it.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/699131.html?thread=92173307#t92173307
Rodney tells everyone he doesn't have the gene. Since he was one of the earliest people involved in working on the Ancient control chair in Antarctica and has never sat in it and Beckett's mouth twists oddly whenever someone mentions giving Rodney the gene therapy, everyone thinks it's true.
John knows it's not. He's seen the shudder that passes through Rodney every time he reaches up to initiate a door lock. Rodney hunches his shoulders against the sensation, the gesture ever so minute that most people don't notice it, but John's a soldier is trained to watch the way people move, assess their threat level. Rodney's not a threat. He's on his way to being a friend, because almost dying to save each other is an excellent basis for friendship, and John doesn't want to see him hurt unnecessarily.
Sometimes John shirks his own duties to keep Rodney company in the lab and act as his human light switch. John has noticed that his light switch duties correspond to times when the rest of the science contingent is mad at Rodney and has left the labs to avoid throwing things at him, but he doesn't say anything, just obeys commands like, "Touch this," and, "Touch it again," and, "Think on," and, "Try thinking at it differently."
It all comes to a head when John is failing to initiate an important device that Rodney is sure will help save dozens of lives in the infirmary. Rodney growls, snatches it from him, presses his palm to it, and it comes to life. A shudder runs through his entire body, and John lunges at him, ready to snatch the device back, because it's hurting him, it's –
No. That's not pain. That's...pleasure. Rodney's eyes squeezed tightly closed, lips parted, flush spreading up his throat. That's –
John's dreamed of seeing that. Has a decade and a half in the military to pretend he never dreams of seeing it, because regs.
Rodney's panting, and John thinks, to hell with it, and he leans over, kisses Rodney, and Rodney kisses him back, and they end up on the floor trying to get into each other's clothes, and John mumbles, "The door," between kisses, and Rodney thinks it locked, which results in him bucking his hips against John's, and when they're finally naked and about to seal the deal, every Ancient device in the lab lights up.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/699131.html?thread=92173307#t92173307
Rodney tells everyone he doesn't have the gene. Since he was one of the earliest people involved in working on the Ancient control chair in Antarctica and has never sat in it and Beckett's mouth twists oddly whenever someone mentions giving Rodney the gene therapy, everyone thinks it's true.
John knows it's not. He's seen the shudder that passes through Rodney every time he reaches up to initiate a door lock. Rodney hunches his shoulders against the sensation, the gesture ever so minute that most people don't notice it, but John's a soldier is trained to watch the way people move, assess their threat level. Rodney's not a threat. He's on his way to being a friend, because almost dying to save each other is an excellent basis for friendship, and John doesn't want to see him hurt unnecessarily.
Sometimes John shirks his own duties to keep Rodney company in the lab and act as his human light switch. John has noticed that his light switch duties correspond to times when the rest of the science contingent is mad at Rodney and has left the labs to avoid throwing things at him, but he doesn't say anything, just obeys commands like, "Touch this," and, "Touch it again," and, "Think on," and, "Try thinking at it differently."
It all comes to a head when John is failing to initiate an important device that Rodney is sure will help save dozens of lives in the infirmary. Rodney growls, snatches it from him, presses his palm to it, and it comes to life. A shudder runs through his entire body, and John lunges at him, ready to snatch the device back, because it's hurting him, it's –
No. That's not pain. That's...pleasure. Rodney's eyes squeezed tightly closed, lips parted, flush spreading up his throat. That's –
John's dreamed of seeing that. Has a decade and a half in the military to pretend he never dreams of seeing it, because regs.
Rodney's panting, and John thinks, to hell with it, and he leans over, kisses Rodney, and Rodney kisses him back, and they end up on the floor trying to get into each other's clothes, and John mumbles, "The door," between kisses, and Rodney thinks it locked, which results in him bucking his hips against John's, and when they're finally naked and about to seal the deal, every Ancient device in the lab lights up.
No. 20
Prompt: any, any, dark AU
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/699131.html?thread=92197371#t92197371
When the Wraith spill through the gate, Elizabeth doesn't recognize him at first, because spiky hair isn't common among the long-haired Wraith, but his hair is white in an army of white.
And then he lifts his head and fixes her with that cold, reptilian gaze, and she realizes that underneath the pale, clammy skin and flattened, reptilian features, he's John Sheppard.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/699131.html?thread=92197371#t92197371
When the Wraith spill through the gate, Elizabeth doesn't recognize him at first, because spiky hair isn't common among the long-haired Wraith, but his hair is white in an army of white.
And then he lifts his head and fixes her with that cold, reptilian gaze, and she realizes that underneath the pale, clammy skin and flattened, reptilian features, he's John Sheppard.
No. 19
Prompt: any. any. coffee shop AU
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/699131.html?thread=92200955#t92200955
Elizabeth Weir runs a tight ship at Atlantis Coffee. Teyla is in charge at the cash register, taking orders and ringing people up, because she has a pleasant smile and remembers everyone's names. Evan is in charge of drawing up the menus every week and decorating the sign that goes out on the pavement. He's created an elaborate fantasy world of circular wormhole gates, space ships, and alien planets that he uses on the menus and signs, and the customers love it. Rodney is in charge of making the orders. He has it down to a science, and he has Radek and Aiden well-trained to follow his exacting recipes. Carson bakes the pastries, because his Scottish grandmother was some kind of baking savant and more than one customer has accused Carson of putting crack in the croissants. John does the books, because he's unnaturally good at math, and because he's so fast at it, he ends up bothering Rodney behind the counter, experimenting with his recipes and sometimes - Rodney only admits this under duress - improving them. Ronon has the best taste in music, so it's his job to arrange for the local artists who come through and play, and at any given moment, Atlantis is filled with gentle music, soft conversation, and the delicious scent of fresh-brewed coffee.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/699131.html?thread=92200955#t92200955
Elizabeth Weir runs a tight ship at Atlantis Coffee. Teyla is in charge at the cash register, taking orders and ringing people up, because she has a pleasant smile and remembers everyone's names. Evan is in charge of drawing up the menus every week and decorating the sign that goes out on the pavement. He's created an elaborate fantasy world of circular wormhole gates, space ships, and alien planets that he uses on the menus and signs, and the customers love it. Rodney is in charge of making the orders. He has it down to a science, and he has Radek and Aiden well-trained to follow his exacting recipes. Carson bakes the pastries, because his Scottish grandmother was some kind of baking savant and more than one customer has accused Carson of putting crack in the croissants. John does the books, because he's unnaturally good at math, and because he's so fast at it, he ends up bothering Rodney behind the counter, experimenting with his recipes and sometimes - Rodney only admits this under duress - improving them. Ronon has the best taste in music, so it's his job to arrange for the local artists who come through and play, and at any given moment, Atlantis is filled with gentle music, soft conversation, and the delicious scent of fresh-brewed coffee.