Well, why would you tell me about it if I can't taste it? Rude.
[If Rodney is at all fascinated by the robots or the sight before him, he isn't showing it. Such is the life of someone who lives on an alien planet and has been in space multiple times (on a weekly basis, it seems). Sentient robots are usually a bad thing in his universe, and while this seems friendly enough, he's mostly disappointed by not being able to have a taste of Galactic Snowball Nova-Cream.
Admittedly, the nebula is gorgeous. For an astrophysicist, it's not only just beautiful, but it has its own story that he can read. He mumbles quietly to himself, but then turns to the nearest person to him without actually looking at them, just inclining his head as if he's used to chatting away with not caring who his audience is, just that he has an audience.]
The pink you're seeing is hydrogen, which is the element that makes up most of a nebula. All that gas you're seeing there? Hydrogen. It's what stars are formed out of, the stellar nursery, as it were. Purple's more ionized nitrogen, oxygen, other stuff, probably leftover from a supernova. Beautiful, isn't it? What secrets do the cosmos hold? I know a lot of it, really...
[He's about to go on (and on and on and on), but strangely (or maybe thankfully to anyone nearby) a memory flashes across his mind. He winces, a memory of Atlantis, the Ancient, snowflake-shaped city-ship careening through space, the shields failing, scant hours of air left, losing power, no planet nearby to land, certain death on the way--he scarcely notices when the a curl of the nebula takes on his visage, yelling about how doomed they are--]
IMBIBE
In my honor? I'm not surprised.
[Can the reputation of Rodney McKay supersede universes? He's pretty sure it can. Rodney plops himself down on a picnic seat and it's probably not a good thing that everything looks appetizing to him. He does, alas, take several large helpings for himself--]
A. Upside-Down Plum Wine -cw: mental health lows, anxiety, agoraphobia, depression
[It just happened to be bad luck--or good luck, depending on how you saw it, that he picked this fairly early on.]
I've had worse on weirder planets. [He coughs, eyes watering.] Little strong, that one.
B. Golden Buns - [Look, he likes sweets. The dripping pastries are made quick work of, and it seems to be the perfect way to end his meal. An excellent desert, as he licks off a bit of honey from his fingers and then--
A vision. Of Rodney, in a room by himself, scribbling equations on a chalkboard and...onto walls, and some of the floor. The room is messy, shabby, and he looks equally shabby, his cardigan frayed and there's the general air that he's not taking care of himself or the room. It's a small apartment, with boxes of dusty old books. A woman comes in the front door without knocking, she has a key--not a wife, but his sister, Jeannie.
I swear to God, Rodney, are you just gonna rot here for the rest of your life or life or get over the fact that you got fired by Stargate Command, why don't you get a job teaching, or publish something, you used to make fun of me for not publishing but nobody's heard from you in years, they call you a recluse, say that you're too afraid to go outside--
He seems to be ignoring her, or maybe this is just the same old song and dance they do every week when she checks on him. She throws a pile of mail down on his couch and goes up to his chalkboard, erasing an equation and scribbling down a correction. Only now does he look at her, incensed.
What the hell, Jeannie? Did I ask--you just made it worse--will you just leave me alone? Nobody's asking you to look after me, you just do it on account of your mindless familial guilt. Newsflash, Jeannie, coming over here won't fix shit, won't make your guilt go away, and certainly won't make me care. Now unless you want to vacuum my floor, get the hell out!
She looks at him, tears springing to her eyes.
You're an ass. Fine, I don't care. Be alone. You're the great Rodney McKay, your own best company. Enjoy your great accomplishments--everyone in your life leaving you.
She tosses a stack of papers at him, papers that he's never finished, and storms out the door.
INITIATE
[Rodney complains the entire time he's ushered to his seat and as he's strapping in.]
How can we be sure they have decent inertial dampeners? I get sick easily, and you know, I need to take Dramamine. My inner ears are very sensitive to fast movement, and I do not want to get vertigo because some heavy-footed ferry pilot decided to get froggy with the accelerator!
[As the acceleration, begins, Rodney yells louder about it, or mostly he's just yelling when he's shoved back.
It seems he's not able to stop talking.]
See!? See, this is what I was going on about, where did these guys get their space licenses, I want names, I want supervisors--
[As soon as he can get out of his seat, though, he does, admittedly the sight of the moon shuts him up for two seconds. He stares, open-mouthed, at the x'enuda, one of them phasing at him, then through him, swimming away gracefully. That's when Rodney notices his hand going through his seat.
His eyes widen.]
Is...that supposed to happen?
FOREWORD
[Rodney is just as insufferable when he's choosing his ship. It's probably worse that he actually does know what to look for, even with the alien design.
If you're lucky--or unlucky enough--to be near him as he's perusing through the rows, he'll point things out in a haughty, huffy tone.]
No, no, no, that one's going to be a pain in the ass. Look at the size of that exhaust. And that one next to it is no good either, you're gonna spend more time fixing that engine nacelle more than flying it. See how long it is and there's two hinges? Multiple points of failure. You do not want to get stuck going through a Stargate and have those things malfunction on you. Talking from terrifying and painful experience.
Dr. Rodney McKay | Stargate: Atlantis
Well, why would you tell me about it if I can't taste it? Rude.
[If Rodney is at all fascinated by the robots or the sight before him, he isn't showing it. Such is the life of someone who lives on an alien planet and has been in space multiple times (on a weekly basis, it seems). Sentient robots are usually a bad thing in his universe, and while this seems friendly enough, he's mostly disappointed by not being able to have a taste of Galactic Snowball Nova-Cream.
Admittedly, the nebula is gorgeous. For an astrophysicist, it's not only just beautiful, but it has its own story that he can read. He mumbles quietly to himself, but then turns to the nearest person to him without actually looking at them, just inclining his head as if he's used to chatting away with not caring who his audience is, just that he has an audience.]
The pink you're seeing is hydrogen, which is the element that makes up most of a nebula. All that gas you're seeing there? Hydrogen. It's what stars are formed out of, the stellar nursery, as it were. Purple's more ionized nitrogen, oxygen, other stuff, probably leftover from a supernova. Beautiful, isn't it? What secrets do the cosmos hold? I know a lot of it, really...
[He's about to go on (and on and on and on), but strangely (or maybe thankfully to anyone nearby) a memory flashes across his mind. He winces, a memory of Atlantis, the Ancient, snowflake-shaped city-ship careening through space, the shields failing, scant hours of air left, losing power, no planet nearby to land, certain death on the way--he scarcely notices when the a curl of the nebula takes on his visage, yelling about how doomed they are--]
IMBIBE
In my honor? I'm not surprised.
[Can the reputation of Rodney McKay supersede universes? He's pretty sure it can. Rodney plops himself down on a picnic seat and it's probably not a good thing that everything looks appetizing to him. He does, alas, take several large helpings for himself--]
A. Upside-Down Plum Wine -cw: mental health lows, anxiety, agoraphobia, depression
[It just happened to be bad luck--or good luck, depending on how you saw it, that he picked this fairly early on.]
I've had worse on weirder planets. [He coughs, eyes watering.] Little strong, that one.
B. Golden Buns - [Look, he likes sweets. The dripping pastries are made quick work of, and it seems to be the perfect way to end his meal. An excellent desert, as he licks off a bit of honey from his fingers and then--
A vision. Of Rodney, in a room by himself, scribbling equations on a chalkboard and...onto walls, and some of the floor. The room is messy, shabby, and he looks equally shabby, his cardigan frayed and there's the general air that he's not taking care of himself or the room. It's a small apartment, with boxes of dusty old books. A woman comes in the front door without knocking, she has a key--not a wife, but his sister, Jeannie.
I swear to God, Rodney, are you just gonna rot here for the rest of your life or life or get over the fact that you got fired by Stargate Command, why don't you get a job teaching, or publish something, you used to make fun of me for not publishing but nobody's heard from you in years, they call you a recluse, say that you're too afraid to go outside--
He seems to be ignoring her, or maybe this is just the same old song and dance they do every week when she checks on him. She throws a pile of mail down on his couch and goes up to his chalkboard, erasing an equation and scribbling down a correction. Only now does he look at her, incensed.
What the hell, Jeannie? Did I ask--you just made it worse--will you just leave me alone? Nobody's asking you to look after me, you just do it on account of your mindless familial guilt. Newsflash, Jeannie, coming over here won't fix shit, won't make your guilt go away, and certainly won't make me care. Now unless you want to vacuum my floor, get the hell out!
She looks at him, tears springing to her eyes.
You're an ass. Fine, I don't care. Be alone. You're the great Rodney McKay, your own best company. Enjoy your great accomplishments--everyone in your life leaving you.
She tosses a stack of papers at him, papers that he's never finished, and storms out the door.
INITIATE
[Rodney complains the entire time he's ushered to his seat and as he's strapping in.]
How can we be sure they have decent inertial dampeners? I get sick easily, and you know, I need to take Dramamine. My inner ears are very sensitive to fast movement, and I do not want to get vertigo because some heavy-footed ferry pilot decided to get froggy with the accelerator!
[As the acceleration, begins, Rodney yells louder about it, or mostly he's just yelling when he's shoved back.
It seems he's not able to stop talking.]
See!? See, this is what I was going on about, where did these guys get their space licenses, I want names, I want supervisors--
[As soon as he can get out of his seat, though, he does, admittedly the sight of the moon shuts him up for two seconds. He stares, open-mouthed, at the x'enuda, one of them phasing at him, then through him, swimming away gracefully. That's when Rodney notices his hand going through his seat.
His eyes widen.]
Is...that supposed to happen?
FOREWORD
[Rodney is just as insufferable when he's choosing his ship. It's probably worse that he actually does know what to look for, even with the alien design.
If you're lucky--or unlucky enough--to be near him as he's perusing through the rows, he'll point things out in a haughty, huffy tone.]
No, no, no, that one's going to be a pain in the ass. Look at the size of that exhaust. And that one next to it is no good either, you're gonna spend more time fixing that engine nacelle more than flying it. See how long it is and there's two hinges? Multiple points of failure. You do not want to get stuck going through a Stargate and have those things malfunction on you. Talking from terrifying and painful experience.
WILDCARD
Anything goes!