![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
continued adventures in WIP Amnesty
Another snippet! This one from the file of, No, Seriously, What the Fuck?
currency of virtue:
"This man is dead."
He didn't seem all that bright, but he was carrying a sword in each hand, and built like a brick shithouse besides, so John wasn't inclined to tease.
"I know," he said instead, "and believe me, we're very, very sorry—"
"You must pay—" The word he actually said, the word John's ears heard, was something like hammenet, but the gate's translation protocols made it come out as death-toll. John glanced at Teyla, who shrugged back; no help there.
"Weregild!" John turned to stare at the linguist, Martha Hall, who looked way too excited for a woman with a knife on her carotid. "They want us to pay weregild, blood-price—oh, this is fascinating—Scandinavian—" She trailed off, realizing slowly that they were all staring at her, even the guards still busy holding Ronon to the ground.
"You will pay?"
John swallowed, smiled, spoke. "Sure, we'll pay," he said, relaxing carefully into his bonds. "Name your—" but Hall was shaking her head, and Rodney was frowning.
"No, no," she said. "We need to negotiate with your – your lord?" The leader looked pretty nonplussed, but she kept on going. "The man in charge, who rules you all? He gives you food and drink—your ring-giver!" she shouted, as he started to turn away, and Big, Bad, and Ugly froze in his tracks.
When he turned back, he was smiling – not a lot, by any reasonable standards, but John was prepared to take his victories where he could find them.
"It is right that you should negotiate with Bralnaj," he said, waving the men away from Rodney's arms, Teyla's legs, Hall's throat, Ronon's everything. John nodded at his captors as they stepped away; it seemed polite.
*
Bralnaj was, against all expectation, a tall, thin woman with sharp eyes and dark, burnished skin. Hard to tell her age, but John put her at about fifty – old, for Pegasus.
Um, yeah. In my defense, I'd just had a really fascinating class discussion of Beowulf...oh, wait. That doesn't actually defend me, does it? Never mind, then.
currency of virtue:
"This man is dead."
He didn't seem all that bright, but he was carrying a sword in each hand, and built like a brick shithouse besides, so John wasn't inclined to tease.
"I know," he said instead, "and believe me, we're very, very sorry—"
"You must pay—" The word he actually said, the word John's ears heard, was something like hammenet, but the gate's translation protocols made it come out as death-toll. John glanced at Teyla, who shrugged back; no help there.
"Weregild!" John turned to stare at the linguist, Martha Hall, who looked way too excited for a woman with a knife on her carotid. "They want us to pay weregild, blood-price—oh, this is fascinating—Scandinavian—" She trailed off, realizing slowly that they were all staring at her, even the guards still busy holding Ronon to the ground.
"You will pay?"
John swallowed, smiled, spoke. "Sure, we'll pay," he said, relaxing carefully into his bonds. "Name your—" but Hall was shaking her head, and Rodney was frowning.
"No, no," she said. "We need to negotiate with your – your lord?" The leader looked pretty nonplussed, but she kept on going. "The man in charge, who rules you all? He gives you food and drink—your ring-giver!" she shouted, as he started to turn away, and Big, Bad, and Ugly froze in his tracks.
When he turned back, he was smiling – not a lot, by any reasonable standards, but John was prepared to take his victories where he could find them.
"It is right that you should negotiate with Bralnaj," he said, waving the men away from Rodney's arms, Teyla's legs, Hall's throat, Ronon's everything. John nodded at his captors as they stepped away; it seemed polite.
*
Bralnaj was, against all expectation, a tall, thin woman with sharp eyes and dark, burnished skin. Hard to tell her age, but John put her at about fifty – old, for Pegasus.
Um, yeah. In my defense, I'd just had a really fascinating class discussion of Beowulf...oh, wait. That doesn't actually defend me, does it? Never mind, then.