Flogging Molly-- Worst Day Since Yesterday (Stargate: Atlantis)
Staring at the report lying on his desk, Major Evan Lorne pondered how this had become his lot in life. Sure, Atlantis could be truly cool, puddle jumpers were far more responsive than even an F-302 and, for the most part, he liked his co-workers, but really, sometimes he felt more like a babysitter or a beleaguered pre-school teacher to hundreds of brilliant and/or armed hyper-active toddlers.
The report before him only re-enforced this idea and this was the censored version that had already passed by Staff Sergeant Dwyer. "A slight incident that may require some repairs," the Sergeant had written. No a good omen. He was dreading having to go out and suss out the whole story, but as XO it was his job to sort through the mess of paperwork before passing on a minimal amount to Colonel Sheppard. The Colonel was far better than him at playing dumb about filling out the boring and endless forms and Lorne had eventually given in and taken to parsing through it himself.
Paperwork had almost become an exercise in relaxation. When he had come into his office, he'd figured it would be a welcome distraction after the mission he'd endured the day before. He didn't even want to think about the sink hole, fetid water and multitude of alien leeches that had comprised most of that day. Then there was the leech locating and removal…the thought of which gave him chills.
Rubbing the bandaged spot on his neck, where a particularly persistent leech had latched on, Lorne rose from his desk, scooped up his report and headed out of his office, down to the part of the city the Marines had claimed as their own. They called it the Garrison, the scientists called it the Inferno (Not because it was hot or anything, just a Dante reference) and Lorne and Sheppard called it the land from whence head aches came.
Such as today's, which was looking to be a doozy and he knew he had to sort things out and write up his own, edited report before the Daedalus arrived the next day. Though Sheppard and Lorne did, at times, get a bit behind in their paperwork (Which tended to happen, what with the Wraith being a constant threat and the occasionally appearances by the Genii or Replicates), but Colonel Caldwell was quite adamant about all t's being crossed and I's dotted.
The sudden disappearance of any and all enlisted men the moment they saw Lorne did not bode well for the situation. And he soon saw why.
As he paused in the hall, an Athosian biettu (basically a fluffy bunny) hopped past, streaks of blue and orange paint on it's white fur. Further down the hall, the was no more hall. It seemed, the Marines had managed to blow out about four rooms and the majority of a hallway. He was looking out at the ocean and the rest of the city instead of a dull grey wall. In fact, the remaining walls weren't exactly grey either. They bore the rest of the paint that had decorated the biettu, as well as feathers, sticks and what appeared to be
expired, sliced bologna.
He stared, dumbfounded at the carnage and was startled when something bumped his ankle. Looking down, he saw a small, remote controlled truck with a video camera mounted on the top. A mini MALP, to gauge how pissed off he was without coming into visual range.
He bent down and scooped up the truck, and glowered at the camera lens. "A slight incident?" he asked, then shouted down the hall, "That's like saying McKay's gonna be a bit annoyed about this."
He could hear the groans from the concealed men and women and let out an annoyed huff.
What were they upset about? He was the one who would have to deal with Rodney and he delicately worded report of this incident.
All in all, he'd prefer to go back to the leech world.