anyanka_eg

Title: Nil point

Author: Anyanka_eg

Rating: G
Pairing: McShep, if you squint
Summary: Crack fic that took over my brain. The horror of bad pop songs, drag queens and unpleasant drinks. I can't apologize enough for this.

It was all Rodney's fault.

If he hadn't allowed himself to be convinced by that British guy, the one in engineering who looked like Dr Evil, then John wouldn't be in this position. He didn't care what McKay said, it wasn't normal. It was freakish and weird and there was no way anyone should want to watch this, even if most of them we well on the way to being drunk. And alcohol couldn't be used as an excuse for the enthusiasm that some people had shown before the event. It was just very wrong.

John acknowledged that he'd been involved in some truly bizarre 'rituals' since he'd arrived in the Pegasus galaxy but this was the most unsettling of them all. And what made it worse was that the people who had thrown themselves so eagerly into this strange celebration were his own people.

Atlantis' people.

Earth people.

He didn't understand how it had been organized without his knowledge. Well, he knew about it...he just didn't 'know'. How could he? There'd been talk of a party and John had assumed, stupidly, that there'd be beer, maybe some of Zalenka's rot gut, nibbles, music; your basic Atlantis shindig, suitable for all occasions.

Except this one.

John should have been suspicious when McKay had proposed it in the senior staff meeting, seconded by a disturbingly gleeful Zelenka, because Rodney had grumbled about every single one of the nondenominational 'holidays' Elizabeth had arranged. But nothing had set John's weirdar pinging so he'd just thought Dr Evil, and no he couldn't remember the guys name, had something on Rodney to make him back the scheme. Besides, what could be wrong with watching a recording of some TV show from Earth while enjoying a some food and drink?

John watched the screen with a mixture of fascinated horror and baffled amusement. Around him nearly the whole of Atlantis' staff were either arguing seriously the merits of what they'd just seen or openly mocking it. Personally, he was sliding towards hysterical laughter because his brain might have been damaged by the last act.

And that last drink was really, really alcoholic.

Repulsive, cough syrup sweet and so strong that he was fairly sure there should be warnings on the bottle about contact with painted surfaces. He wasn't sure where someone had gotten Maltese prickly pear liqueur from on Atlantis but he wished they hadn't bothered. Jesus, he thought, covering his mouth as a drink fueled hiccup escaped from his throat, there was still another twelve rounds to go. He was trying to pace himself by only taking a token sip of each offered drink but the Guinness from the round before was really good and he'd stupidly drunk the whole half pint.

At least the forthcoming rounds included France and Italy so he held out some hope for a nice glass of wine, unless someone wheeled out Pernod or grappa, in which case he was screwed. And the food should be better too. Much as he didn't want to disparage other people's cultures, he wasn't entirely convinced by the dish he'd just had, some sort of bean pate loaded with garlic. It was nice enough going down but it didn't seem to be playing well with the other food and drink he'd consumed.

Ten rounds in and John was still half convinced it was some colossal joke being waged by the Europeans on the rest of the staff. Half of them seemed to be taking it very seriously, despite the clearly appalling displays on the screen, and the other half were open in their derision of the whole thing. Both sections threw themselves into the event with equal fervor, deriding the acts, shouting at the screen, howling with outrage or amusement at the insulting words of the commentator.

And that was throwing John, and most of the rest of the non-Europeans who'd shown up at the promise of booze. The TV footage, also courtesy of Dr Evil, was treating the thing like a giant joke with the commentator openly admitting he was getting drunk on sherry to make the whole thing seem bearable. The man's gentle Irish accent and soft tone belied the fact he was just as cutting as McKay would have been in his position, if a whole lot quieter about it.

Maybe the commentator guy was on to something because he was pretty sure without alcohol, even the prickly pear stuff, things would have been so much worse. There was another act being announced on to the stage and John caught the hum of excitement from some of the people in the mess. He'd missed which country it was but the people looking expectantly at the screen were from a different countries so he didn't think it was national fervor that caused their excitement.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” John answered, looking round to see Rodney holding out a plate of something brown and lumpy and two small shot glasses. Oh great, more spirits.

“Horilka and Varenyky,” said the scientist, noticing the direction of his gaze.

“What?”

“Ukrainian vodka. And potato and sauerkraut dumplings,” explained the man, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “I love Varenyky.”

“I didn't know you'd been to the Ukraine,” John said, reaching for the vodka and ignoring the food because he wasn't sure what the sauce was even with Rodney's explanation of the lumps.

“Hag dem in Ussia,” Rodney said round a mouth full of dumpling.

John sniffed the clear liquid in the glass and wondered if he should knock it back in one or sip it. Maybe just a tiny sip to show willing and then he could enjoy a German beer or a glass of French wine later on and still keep a clearish head.

“I've been looking forward to Ukraine,” Rodney said, eyes on the screen. “I just hope they live up to expectations. They're one of the favorites, you know.”

John wasn't sure how McKay would know such a thing, unless he'd been doing some research, which was just a whole world of wrong. The first chords of the Ukrainian entry struck up and John looked back at the screen.

“Jesus Christ,” John said, a sentiment that seemed to be echoed by most of the people in the mess. Rodney just grinned at him, clearly enjoying the shock John wasn't even attempting to hide. It wasn't that he had anything against drag queens, not at all, it was just the song was appalling and the group of shiny silver clad performers, including said drag queen, did nothing to help it. He wasn't sure he could stand much more of this.

“Just wait until we get to the voting,” Rodney said gleefully. “It all gets horribly political and tense, and then they wheel out TV presenters from countries you've never heard of who are so insincere they almost take the enamel off your teeth. Its awful.”

Clear head be damned, John thought, knocking back the Horilka. This was just too weird to deal with sober.

__________________________________________________________________________________

I'm sure some people have worked out that the event John s suffering is a Eurovision party. For those not aware of this 'phenomena' its based around the Eurovison song contest http://www.eurovision.tv/content/view/10/220/

The contest is...well...I'm with John. It's appeal is utterly baffling to me. We Brits don't take it seriously and then complain when we finish second from bottom in the voting. We blame political voting, with cliques of nations sticking together, and the fact that everyone hates us due to our foreign policy. The fact our entry was appalling has nothing to do with it of course. At least we didn't get the dreaded 'Nil point' this year.

Terry Wogan's BBC commentary is the only real reason to watch as he really does insult everyone. The man is an institution.