Dr. Daniel Jackson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hi_there_aliens) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2013-04-01 10:15 pm
hi_there_aliens) wrote in thearena2013-04-01 10:15 pm
Entry tags:
On medicine, Punchy's choice of music, and anthropologist super powers.
Who| Daniel Jackson and OPEN!
What| Or in which Plan A: Spread the Word about a sit down, is easier said than done. So is Plan A-B (survival).(Open to attack if anyone wants)
Where| Critter Country/ NO Square / Rivers of America
When| Week Three
Warnings/Notes| None so far - will edit if any come up.
The medicine from the bag was pretty incredible. He'd rubbed the paste against the bruises on his neck, and hours later, the swelling had gone down dramatically. Before, just the act of swallowing had been something he'd dreaded, since it felt like he'd downed a pack of razors each time he tried; talking was a second hell. Thanks to the paste, it had gone down to just a ring of soreness. He might as well have only strained his neck temporarily. Sore he could deal with. Sore was a lot better than before. Daniel silently thanked whoever that sponsor was. His chances for survival had been depressingly low (see: none, he thought) before, now they looked more along the fighting-chance range. The Capitol apparently had made leaps and bounds in their medical field, far more than Earth.
Sam would've had a field day if she'd gotten a sample. If she didn't have to fight Dr. Fraiser for it first.
Too bad I had to use it all, he thought. There wasn't any chance of saving a sample just in case. Daniel rubbed at the side of his head as he knelt by the edge of the water. Either that slight ringing in his head was from lack of sleep.... or it was thanks to the music that had come blaring from the wreck of the Matterhorn. Daniel could feel a headache brewing in the wings. It was timed suspiciously to either the beat of his heart or - more likely - the heavy bass trying to struggle its way out through tinny speakers. It was great and all that at least some part of his plan with Punchy was working. Would it have killed him to pick different music though?
The archaeologist eyed the water warily. He wasn't pressed for food or water since he had the contents from that bag. If he was smart, rationed it, Daniel suspected it could last for awhile. But if he could supplement that stuff while he could - Daniel dismissed the thought immediately. Too risky. The color wasn't exactly encouraging, now was it? It was this mix between puke-green and brown-black, and just as telling, he couldn't see any part of the bottom. It was hard to tell from here if it was a sludge.
Although. He was pretty sure he'd eaten and drank stuff that had been far more questionable over the course of the years. Granted, he'd also sometimes gotten sick afterwards. That was part of the job, an occupational hazard, and sometimes you just didn't say no to your host or there really wasn't anything else around. It was also a part Daniel preferred to hide from the rest of SG-1 when it inevitably happened; Jack seemed to believe Daniel had an iron stomach, starting with the first mission to Abydos, and Daniel certainly hadn't helped correct him. Daniel had always given him this 'of course: anthropologist' look at the colonel right before popping whatever it was into his mouth at the time. Then he'd just... go get sick somewhere in private. But really, who was he to break that image Jack had made up?
Maybe he shouldn't. He hadn't exactly made it a habit to get hunted by other people most of the time. The only person watching his back was himself. He couldn't afford to get sick.
What| Or in which Plan A: Spread the Word about a sit down, is easier said than done. So is Plan A-B (survival).(Open to attack if anyone wants)
Where| Critter Country/ NO Square / Rivers of America
When| Week Three
Warnings/Notes| None so far - will edit if any come up.
The medicine from the bag was pretty incredible. He'd rubbed the paste against the bruises on his neck, and hours later, the swelling had gone down dramatically. Before, just the act of swallowing had been something he'd dreaded, since it felt like he'd downed a pack of razors each time he tried; talking was a second hell. Thanks to the paste, it had gone down to just a ring of soreness. He might as well have only strained his neck temporarily. Sore he could deal with. Sore was a lot better than before. Daniel silently thanked whoever that sponsor was. His chances for survival had been depressingly low (see: none, he thought) before, now they looked more along the fighting-chance range. The Capitol apparently had made leaps and bounds in their medical field, far more than Earth.
Sam would've had a field day if she'd gotten a sample. If she didn't have to fight Dr. Fraiser for it first.
Too bad I had to use it all, he thought. There wasn't any chance of saving a sample just in case. Daniel rubbed at the side of his head as he knelt by the edge of the water. Either that slight ringing in his head was from lack of sleep.... or it was thanks to the music that had come blaring from the wreck of the Matterhorn. Daniel could feel a headache brewing in the wings. It was timed suspiciously to either the beat of his heart or - more likely - the heavy bass trying to struggle its way out through tinny speakers. It was great and all that at least some part of his plan with Punchy was working. Would it have killed him to pick different music though?
The archaeologist eyed the water warily. He wasn't pressed for food or water since he had the contents from that bag. If he was smart, rationed it, Daniel suspected it could last for awhile. But if he could supplement that stuff while he could - Daniel dismissed the thought immediately. Too risky. The color wasn't exactly encouraging, now was it? It was this mix between puke-green and brown-black, and just as telling, he couldn't see any part of the bottom. It was hard to tell from here if it was a sludge.
Although. He was pretty sure he'd eaten and drank stuff that had been far more questionable over the course of the years. Granted, he'd also sometimes gotten sick afterwards. That was part of the job, an occupational hazard, and sometimes you just didn't say no to your host or there really wasn't anything else around. It was also a part Daniel preferred to hide from the rest of SG-1 when it inevitably happened; Jack seemed to believe Daniel had an iron stomach, starting with the first mission to Abydos, and Daniel certainly hadn't helped correct him. Daniel had always given him this 'of course: anthropologist' look at the colonel right before popping whatever it was into his mouth at the time. Then he'd just... go get sick somewhere in private. But really, who was he to break that image Jack had made up?
Maybe he shouldn't. He hadn't exactly made it a habit to get hunted by other people most of the time. The only person watching his back was himself. He couldn't afford to get sick.