fandomhigh | Shop Class: 12/13

Current Mood: cranky

Shop Class: 12/13

As the students enter the Danger ~~Room~~ Shop, they'll find that Mac has disassembled the main console and is working on getting it fixed.

The old shop equipment has been pulled out of storage and a pile of lumber and scrap metal.

Mac looks up from the pile of wiring he's playing with and says "While I try and get this hunk of junk working again, I want you all to build me something that symbolizes the holidays. If you're from another planet/dimension build something that symbolizes one of your holidays there."

Mac goes back to working on the wiring. If you want to get his attention you better shout loudly.

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Build anything weapon-like? Detention. You've been warned.

Obviously, Anders's mind is still fixed pretty firmly on tomorrow's Pyramid tryout, since he ends up building a miniature, to-scale model of the Pyramid arena on Gemenon.

(What? There is a big Pyramid tournament there every year on Colonial Day, after all.)

"What is that Anders? Are you from Egypt?"

"Why does everyone always ask that?" Anders wonders plaintively. "It's just a sports arena . . ."

After some thought, Sam took a sheet of the scrap metal and a ball pene hammer and began banging the metal into shape. By the time she was finished, it appeared to be a fairly serviceable looking wok.

"Chinese restaurants are the only places open on Christmas," she said, handing it to Mac. "My dad couldn't cook."

[Edited to fix typo.]

"Well, if it's meaningful to you Carter."

Mac suddenly has a dreadful feeling that O'Neill might come up with something scary.

"Thanks." Sam has a similar feeling every time O'Neill walks into class. She's used to it by now.

*DEATH constructs what appears to be a life-sized metal sleigh being pulled by life-sized metal pigs*

"Um... Very nice."

*dies*

*again*

Bridge grins wickedly and then sets to work building a replica of Crichton's Little Wooden Drummer Boy costume.

"Because we've gone and started our own bizarre holiday traditions here," is his explanation.

Mac chuckles and gives Bridge an automatic A for the day.

Anders snickers. "Good one, dude."

Cally builds a wooden replica of a prostethic foot.

"For all the times at Colonial Day banquets. where my Dad would just take it off and set it on the table when people would scoff at him for not working hard for the Colonies." She laughs. "I love my Dad, seriously."

Not being one for the holidays of any sort, Shep finds the stuff to make a little 24 inch mock of the Atlantis Stargate using Christmas lights. a small sound system and a little mechanical doohickey that shoves a cloth wormhole out and back in.

It lights up, it spins, it's cute... hopefully no one will ask too many questions.

He then realizes that it's going to be pretty hard not to attract attention when he raises his hand and asks if he can go audio tape a toilet flushing.

"It's for my project. Seriously."

Once he was finished, Sam approached Shep and hissed at him, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

What? *Gives her his best innocent grin* It's pretty it's sparkly and no one here knows what the hell it is. It looks like one of the other bazillion light up toys you see this time of year.

She glared at him. Spending the weekend almost being kidnapped by the Trust has given her *no* sense of humor on this particular topic.

"Sheppard, every time you do something like this, every time you slip up or say something cute in class because you're amused, it risks every single one of us. Can you get that through your head? Can you understand that there's more at stake here than just you? Doing shit like this puts us in danger."

Shep stopped and blinked at her, not sure what crawled up her... he let that thought trail off before he snapped back and got her even more pissed. But really, ~~as apparently the only SG character not invited to Chicago and ergo clueless about her weekend~~ he had no idea why she was blowing up. No one else would know what it was. It was just a bunch of pretty lights. Her reaction, in his opinion, was going to cause much more suspicion than his toy.

"Uh..."

"Stop it." She gave him her best superior officer tone. "All of it. Are we clear? Find another way to express yourself. Assume you're being watched, because trust me, you are."

Shep's starting to get annoyed, and has no idea what all this is about.

"By whom exactly? The principal? So what? He won't get what this is. And it's not a weapon and it's not dangerous."

Sam motioned with her head out towards the hallway. It wasn't completely private, but it was better than the middle of class.

She tried to keep her voice down. "There are other threats out there. And the principal already knows. Do you really think they'd enroll all of us without a clue?"

"You're smarter than that, Sheppard. Use your head. Think of other threats that just might be out there, trying to find us."

Now officially pissed - which took a lot with Shep - he starts gesticulating as he talks, he's careful to keep his voice down, but that does nothing to disguise that he's one unhappy camper.

"Look, I got dropped here about 3 months ago, you all are already here, I'm told I have to sign up for classes and get myself some space in the dorm. That's it. I have no idea how the fuck I ended up here - Liz said something about it being McKay's fault, but I never did get the details - and I don't know anything about anyone trying to find us!"

He stops and takes a deep breath. When he starts again, he's somewhat calmer, though no less confused.

"Wait... who's trying to find us? And why hasn't anyone thought that just maybe I should be told? Seriously, I'm not that hard to find if you need me."

Sam sighed. "You do have a point. Something happened in Chicago that I can't go into right now, but someone should have let you know. Let's just say that Hammond isn't the only one who knows where we are and leave it at that, shall we?" She rubbed her arm, still a bit sore from where she'd been grabbed.

"You did know that there's a Goa'uld and a Replicator on faculty though, Shep. Taking chances like that--it's not worth the risk."

Shep leans against the nearest locker. Carter looks like she's ready to wrap up this conversation, but he's not close to being done.

"You know what, I don't want to 'leave it at that'. I'm a little annoyed that I'm being asked to respond to information I don't have. And I don't know all the faculty, so I don't know about the Goa'uld. I've heard someone mention your evil twin, but I don't know who she is."

Sam was ready to let things drop. Now she's prepared to wipe the floor with him.

"And I'm a little annoyed that you, who, last time I checked, was a password classified member of a top secret military project, is apparently incapable of keeping your damn mouth shut, no matter what the circumstances." She took a step forward and whispered furiously, "I also refuse to believe that McKay never said a word to you about what we were dealing with out there."

[ooc: Every time this comes up as an issue, the other SG-1 and SGA players have to deal with it, whether we want to or not (and in fact, we've addressed this OOC several times, and I'd thought we agreed to keep things as classified as possible).]

John cuts some 2x4s and whittles out some nativity figures that totally don't look like Fandom people.

Krycek builds, out of scrap parts and various pieces, a spindly looking Christmas tree that looks like something out of A Charlie Brown Christmas. Sort of pathetic, but twinkly.

Mac is still underneath the console, but he's not swearing. That would be ~~an FCC violation~~ out of character for him.

Before his class, Camulus enters the Danger ~~Room~~ Shop, looks around for ~~the Mulleted One~~ MacGyver, and locates him by the console. Hmm. This prove troublesome. "Excuse me, Mr. MacGyver? Mr. MacGyver!"

Mac pokes his head out of the console.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

"I left a message for you, but never heard back," he replies. "I was wondering if it was possible for my Arthurian Traditions to have use of the Danger ~~Room~~ Shop this Thursday for their final presentation. That is," he nods towards the disembowelled console, "If it is still working as I was led to believe it does."

"Sorry about that," Mac says. "My answering machine hasn't been working as it should. Don't worry about the console, we'll have everything working for you by Thursday afternoon."

[OOC: Sorry. Never got the e-mail notification and I haven't check my VM in a while.]

Your Mac-Daddy gleefully awaits your creative responses to the assignment.

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Shop Class: 12/13

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OOC