Ficlet: A Man, A Can... (Gen; Team)
Apr. 5th, 2008 11:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mercyrobotTitle: A Man, A Can...
Author:thirstyrobot
Pairing/Characters: Gen, Team
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Torchwood and the plot hole I'm filling belong to RTD and the BBC.
Spoilers: None really, though it serves as an explanation for something in 'Exit Wounds' that seems to have been bugging a lot of people. Probably spoilers in comments.
Notes: Set at some nebulous point in early S2-- doesn't really matter. Just a tiny little ficlet that you'll hopefully get a laugh out of. I set out to write some big introspective reaction fic and this is what comes out. I've got problems.
Summary: "Twenty quid says it's hairspray," Owen said.
Their latest find from the rift was a metal cylinder with writing on it. It looked as though one end might come off, but the text on the outside could very well say warning: do not open, strong risk of apocalypse, so they were waiting for Tosh's translation program to do its job.
"Ninety-five percent," Tosh said. "Should be coming up any second."
The rest of the team gathered round in interest. Gwen was holding her purse for some reason, as though expecting the translation to say either evacuate now, you idiots, it's about to explode, or possibly take the afternoon off.
"Twenty quid says it's hairspray," Owen said.
Ianto just hoped it was something mundane. Since he'd been spending more time out in the field, the backlog in the archives was approaching critical mass.
"There are actually surprisingly few species that style their hair," Jack said. "Well, the hair on their heads, anyway. I remember this one--"
The progress bar reached its end, and they were spared whatever alien sex anecdote Jack was about to recount by a window popping open.
"'XBA Brand Preservation Fluid,'" Tosh read out. "'Directions: spray onto any nonsentient surface. Let dry completely. Guaranteed five-millennia protection against damage from: light, radiation, fire, water, acids, bases, fluids classes 62 to 507, staining, decomposition, solar flares, extreme temperatures, parasites, smog, Daleks, sonic weapons...' Well, pretty much everything ever, other than whatever fluids are in classes 1 through 61. According to the weight listed, it's mostly full."
"It's alien Scotch-Guard," Owen said. "How about ten quid for getting the spray bit right? And you could use it on hair, 's not like it's sentient."
Ianto was already thinking of the irreplaceable artifacts and documents in the archives, things no scanner could truly preserve. "Is it safe to use?"
"I've never seen this brand before, but as far as I know it's harmless as long as you don't spray it on yourself," Jack said. "Something like it was standard issue at the Time Agency." At the range of surprised and quizzical looks from the team he smoothed out his coat lapels and added, "What? You didn't really think the dry cleaners were just that good?"
(end)
Author:
thirstyrobot Pairing/Characters: Gen, Team
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Torchwood and the plot hole I'm filling belong to RTD and the BBC.
Spoilers: None really, though it serves as an explanation for something in 'Exit Wounds' that seems to have been bugging a lot of people. Probably spoilers in comments.
Notes: Set at some nebulous point in early S2-- doesn't really matter. Just a tiny little ficlet that you'll hopefully get a laugh out of. I set out to write some big introspective reaction fic and this is what comes out. I've got problems.
Summary: "Twenty quid says it's hairspray," Owen said.
Their latest find from the rift was a metal cylinder with writing on it. It looked as though one end might come off, but the text on the outside could very well say warning: do not open, strong risk of apocalypse, so they were waiting for Tosh's translation program to do its job.
"Ninety-five percent," Tosh said. "Should be coming up any second."
The rest of the team gathered round in interest. Gwen was holding her purse for some reason, as though expecting the translation to say either evacuate now, you idiots, it's about to explode, or possibly take the afternoon off.
"Twenty quid says it's hairspray," Owen said.
Ianto just hoped it was something mundane. Since he'd been spending more time out in the field, the backlog in the archives was approaching critical mass.
"There are actually surprisingly few species that style their hair," Jack said. "Well, the hair on their heads, anyway. I remember this one--"
The progress bar reached its end, and they were spared whatever alien sex anecdote Jack was about to recount by a window popping open.
"'XBA Brand Preservation Fluid,'" Tosh read out. "'Directions: spray onto any nonsentient surface. Let dry completely. Guaranteed five-millennia protection against damage from: light, radiation, fire, water, acids, bases, fluids classes 62 to 507, staining, decomposition, solar flares, extreme temperatures, parasites, smog, Daleks, sonic weapons...' Well, pretty much everything ever, other than whatever fluids are in classes 1 through 61. According to the weight listed, it's mostly full."
"It's alien Scotch-Guard," Owen said. "How about ten quid for getting the spray bit right? And you could use it on hair, 's not like it's sentient."
Ianto was already thinking of the irreplaceable artifacts and documents in the archives, things no scanner could truly preserve. "Is it safe to use?"
"I've never seen this brand before, but as far as I know it's harmless as long as you don't spray it on yourself," Jack said. "Something like it was standard issue at the Time Agency." At the range of surprised and quizzical looks from the team he smoothed out his coat lapels and added, "What? You didn't really think the dry cleaners were just that good?"
(end)
