A Mini-Midlife Crisis

[hi_there_aliens]

Where to start? He had to resist the urge to pick at the little square bandage on his forehead or the stitches. Daniel put his hands on his hips, where they couldn't get anywhere near his head, and surveyed what was going to temporarily be his domain. Until he got kicked out, at least, but until then, he was determined to squat here. As makeshift archaeology labs went, he'd worked with less. It was a lot to take in; there were an impressive amount of artifacts from the dig. They probably didn't even scratch the surface of Taleen, but they'd brought back a lot anyway. The room was crowded. Practically overflowing. An archaeologist's wet dream. Maybe not Meaning of Life Stuff, but this could keep a person occupied for months. Maybe years, depending on how thoroughly you wanted to go into it.

Daniel didn't make any motion to begin on any of them. He sat down and looked at the tables.

What the hell was he even doing here? Once the excitement and rush wore off, Daniel realized how inappropriate this was. Talk about a lack of priorities. The fact that he was still thrilled about the prospect of spending a day studying them angered him at the same time as it excited him. Sha're was out there, still a host. Or maybe not, if his universe really had been destroyed. Daniel had a hard time wrapping his head around the concept. Part of him still didn't believe it was true. He wanted proof. Something besides Stacy and the Daligig's word. At the same time, having actual proof only meant that what felt like a terrible possibility became cold, hard fact. Maybe he didn't want to know. It was easier on his sanity if he could wonder if SG-1 was out there still.

And here he was, about to get arm deep in relics and a dead civilization. Like it had any bearing on what was supposed to be the most important thing. He should be trying to get back home or - or do something to help everything and everyone he ever cared about.

Sure thing, as soon as he found some good options. So far, Daniel didn't see anything better than staying on this ship. Even if he found a Stargate, it wasn't like he could abandon ship. It wasn't a matter of attachment but practicality. Where would he go? No point of origin, or maybe they were different, and even if he went back to this Earth, nothing was quite the same. It wasn't his universe. He was better off sticking with Stacy, Daniel had to admit to himself. Everything seemed to converge on her. If anything was going to come up that would help, it would more likely happen around her. That left him doing missions while he was on board, working. Maybe they'd find something on one planet, something that could helped his universe. Even with the destruction of Thor's Hammer, he had a chance to find something to help Sha're.

Daniel took a breath. He stood up. He could make himself useful until the next mission. He had a few things he wanted to study first. The mummy they brought back lay on the table. He was dying to start on it. Or there were the Goa'uld devices.

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[vissernone.livejournal.com]

Eva makes a dismissive noise. "She was unimpressed with me enough for my last return from presumed death. I'm sure she's fine without me. She likes to think I run from responsibility and all that...slander." Eva realizes that she's rambling, in Spanish even, and that Daniel probably holds very little interest in the affairs of her family members, so she waves her hand as if turning the pages of a book. "And she's an idiot. So there's that."

She peers at the strange mummified body. She wouldn't call it beautiful, but given its history, she believes it may qualify as 'significant'. "So, four classes. Which one do you think this one was? And do you have any ideas as to who shot him?"

She walks around the tables the mummy lies across. "Does he have a name?" She presumes Daniel's reasonably certain that it's a male. If it were a female she'd name it Abby Normal. "If he doesn't I'll submit my suggestion for first name Mack, last Obb."

[hi_there_aliens]

Daniel switched to Spanish along with her, the change as natural as breathing with about as much thought given to it. Maybe he was being just a little sentimental, but at least she had living family. And Eva and her sister couldn't stay pissed at each other for the rest of their lives. Or maybe they could. Eva seemed like she was more than willing to give it a shot.

"Maybe so, but would it hurt to try to talk to her, see if you can work things out one last time?" Daniel tried.

They stopped at the table. She didn't have the same flinch reaction that Hiccup did, but neither had Marco. It made sense. They'd both seen war and violence, and corpses to go along with it. One dessicated husk wouldn't even lift an eyebrow. "Three classes. The lower tiers could easily have more, but three main upper classes."

Mack-obb. Funny. So funny he cringed. It was like something out of Jack's mouth. Too bad he couldn't just take back the last fifteen seconds and pretend it never happened. Daniel gave her a very long, pained look.

"I was going to name him Bob," Daniel said dryly. "No, I don't know who shot him, but I do believe he was either of the scholar or priest class. " After a beat, he said, "Marco stopped by earlier today by the way. I can see where he gets the sense of humor from."

[vissernone.livejournal.com]

"Given that the simple exchange of pleasantries with her is akin to Chinese water torture, yes, it would hurt. I'd rather not waste my life on futile endeavors." Clearly there's more than just a lack of common ground between the two of the them, but since Clara's not here to rebut Eva's assertions, she decides to give that last comment a decisive if unspoken 'so there' and leave it at that.

"Fine, count however you want. I'd say the presence of an 'other' necessitates the need of a number four, but you're the expert here." She pulls her bangs into her hair clip so she can lean closer to the corpse, then pulls her reading glasses out to examine the detail. The red trails along her hairline are clearly visible, but Daniel's seen her at worse than with slight self-inflicted injuries.

She stands back up and pulls her glasses off, wagging a finger at Daniel and his long-suffering look.

"Don't mock my wit." She nearly says 'or I'll rip your nose off', but she's not quite drunk enough to mistakenly think Daniel would find that as darkly funny as she does. Instead she switches back to Spanish and speaks a bit more impassionedly. "My wit is brilliant. It's my sword. And it's the only thing I could have armed my son with before I vanished, so you should give it the respect it deserves. Which is plenty."

[hi_there_aliens]

Nothing was ever simple with Eva. Daniel was learning that very quickly. Did she have any family she got along with, he wondered, then realized it wasn't his place to judge. Everyone managed their relationships differently, and he, of all people, was the last person to tell anyone how to treat their family.

"Maybe, if there weren't sub tiers or multiple classes within the tier," Daniel pointed out, stepping back to let her look. He studiously keeps his eyes on the side of her face, instead of the marks from the brig.

Whatever he expected from her visit, it wasn't a finger waving at him, or getting scolded for taking a collective dig at the "humor" that ran in her family. Daniel held up his hands in surrender. Actually he thought Marco's humor had been a shade worse than Eva's drunken version. That didn't seem like the best thing to say at the moment. Or ever. "Hey, I'm glad you passed it onto him. Humor's a great way to deal with a situation."

Marco should meet Jack sometime. They'd have a field day. One Daniel hoped he didn't have to ever sit through. "Guess I'm just not ready for that kind of humor." he said as he sat back down at the mummy. Hopefully the move would keep her around this area, rather than back at the Goa'uld devices.

[vissernone.livejournal.com]

"I presumed the fourth class would be an umbrella category. And remember, you said three at first. I'm not old enough that my memory's going yet." Or drunk enough. She's just drunk enough for bad judgment.

She nods, suddenly somber. "When you teach a child to look for a punchline, you're giving them the skills to step back, for a moment, from the immediate tragedy and devastation of a situation. You're teaching them opportunism."

She runs her teeth over her lip. There's a lipstick stain on her front teeth, the result of doing that over and over again. "And that may be a dirty word to some, but it makes a natural problem-solver."

And a natural tactician, she tells herself, and runs her fingers just under her eyes.

"So prepare yourself. Disarming ourselves of that humor puts us at an unfair disadvantage," she concludes, following Daniel back over to the mummy. "So. Bob. How old is Bob?"