A few days ago, I saw this game on the BBC website.
The game tests your reaction time by having you fire tranquilizer darts at sheep. Of course, my first thought was: Carson+Rodney+shooting sheep = madness and mayhem. So, in that spirit, I give you...
About to enter Rodney's lab, Carson stopped in his tracks. Had that actually been a sheep he heard?
There it was again! Now his curiosity was well and thoroughly piqued. He peered into the lab to see that the sheep noises were coming from... Radek's computer? The engineer was hunched over the machine, finger stabbing a key at irregular intervals. "Kurva!" he exclaimed after one such stab, and the other scientists standing nearby snickered.
Carson couldn't help himself. He walked over to see what was going on, just in time to see an animated sheep streak across the screen. "What the bloody hell is that?"
Radek spun around, his face turning bright red. "Carson! I, um... That is, I'm trying to... you know, fix the..." All the while, he was attempting to hide what he had been doing.
The physician took pity on him. "Relax, lad. I've been known to play a game or two of Tetris, myself. I was just wondering why there was a sheep game in your lab."
One of the neuroscientists – Carson thought her name was Wilson – spoke up. "It's actually supposed test one's reaction times. Every time the sheep runs across the screen, you're supposed to click the button to hit it with a tranquilizer dart. The program keeps track of how long it takes you to hit the button, and gives a penalty if you push it too soon." She grinned. "Then it gives you your overall score."
Radek, apparently, had not done too well. He'd been rated a "sluggish snail" and told to drink some coffee. Wilson smirked.
"Interesting," the physician said politely. Actually, he thought it sounded rather dumb, now that he knew what it was.
"Would you care to try it?" Radek asked sourly, knowing he was being made fun of.
Carson looked at his watch. It was almost noon, and he and Rodney had planned to have lunch. But evidently Rodney had not yet returned from whatever task he was doing this morning, so it couldn't hurt to give it a shot, so to speak.
"Och, why not?" Carson replied. Radek moved over to let him sit in front of the computer. He snorted as he read the small print at the bottom of the screen: "No sheep were harmed in the making of this game."
On his first try, Carson didn't do well, either. He missed two of the sheep, and jumped the gun once. He also scored as a sluggish snail. Apparently, the highest one could get was "turbo-charged cheetah." Well, he certainly wasn't going to let any computer get away with calling him a snail. He'd have to play again and do a better job.
So he tried again. And again. Now he began to understand Radek's swearing – no matter how fast he thought he was, he couldn't seem to fire a dart until the sheep were at least three-quarters of the way across the screen. Carson gritted his teeth. These little buggers were giving him almost as much trouble as the real ones his da used to keep. "It's addictive!"
Wilson peeked over his shoulder. "Reaction time is dependent on so many different things. Sleep is a big one, obviously. We know that Zelenka rarely sleeps. What about you?"
"Me?" Carson grinned at her. "I'm a doctor; what do you think?"
"BAAA-AA-AA!" In a way, it was a rather soothing sound.
"What's going on here?" That was Rodney's voice. It was definitely not a soothing sound. For a second, Carson entertained the thought of shooting a tranquilizer dart at him, too. Then he dismissed the notion. Even if he actually had one, it wouldn't be worth the bitching and whining that would ensue when the physicist awoke.
Rodney's head displaced Dr. Wilson's to look over Carson's shoulder. "Computer games? That's very mature of you. And oh-so-highly productive, too." Then he took another look at the game, and the ranting stopped mid-stream. Carson turned his head to see a slow smile come onto Rodney's face. That didn't bode well. "You're playing a game involving sheep," Rodney drawled with a wicked grin.
Oh, shit. "Now wait a minute, lad..."
"You couldn't get enough of sheep at work? Now you're sticking needles in them in your spare time, too?"
"Tsk, tsk. I'm not sure what the International Board of Veterinary Medicine would have to say about that."
"There's no such thing," Carson gritted.
"How would you know? Did you try to join?" Carson glanced around to see the other scientists laughing at him now. Traitors.
"Laugh it up all you like," the physician said. He leaned over and lowered his voice. "See if I give you any more tips for dating Katie Brown."
But Rodney was having too much fun to stop. "I'll take my chances. Hey, what do you call a man with a sheep under each arm?"
Carson muttered something unpleasant-sounding under his breath. "What?!" he growled.
That was the final straw. The Scot got up and shoved his chair away with one foot. Then he advanced on Rodney with a menacing stare. The physicist, apparently realizing that he was treading on dangerous ground, threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. Don't burst an artery or anything. Let's go grab some lunch."
Carson sighed in disgust, but pointed to the door and indicated that Rodney should precede him out. He couldn't resist dope-slapping the other man as he walked by, though.
"Ow! Carson, you hit me!"
"Not hard enough, obviously," Carson muttered.
The two of them made their way to the mess hall. Rodney made a great show of asking the server for lamb chops, which earned him a dumbfounded stare from the server and an upraised middle finger from Carson. "I'm not sure why I'm even talking to you," the physician grumbled as they searched for a table.
"Why wouldn't you be, Doc?" asked a new voice. Both men looked over to see John Sheppard gesturing them over to his table. Carson groaned when the grin reappeared on Rodney's face as he recounted the tale of recent events. Threatening John and Rodney with catheters at their next physicals was starting to sound like a good idea.
John briefly looked torn over which side to take, but finally sided with Rodney. He shrugged and smirked. "You have to admit, Carson, you're making it really easy for him to tease you."
Deadpan, Rodney added, "Easy as shooting sheep in a barrel."
Kurva = F--k
Summary: No sheep were harmed in the writing of this fic.