There's a B-List in My Closet, by LadyCiristh (PG)

[figs_sg1_rec]

Rec Category: Humor
Pairing: none
Category: humor, gen, crack!fic, parody, character death reference
Warning: minor sexual innuendo
Author on LJ: daisycm83
Author's Website: Literari Wannabe
Link: There's a BList in My Closet

Why This Must Be Read: I believe this type of fic is called meta fic - the characters are conscious of being "fictives" in a science fiction show.

Another name, unquestionably, is crack!fic.

I have a fond spot for Nyan and Rothman, for some odd reason. I also have a fond spot for guest stars that vanish into the Stargate and are never seen again, even if the fans really want them to come back. So it's easy to see why I found this parody so much fun!

In this unquestionably twisted story, Nyan, together with Robert Rothman, runs the transdimensional vortex that houses the gone-but-usually-not-forgotten minor characters of SG-1. With so very many residents, it's inevitable for personalities to clash. The fic takes us through a typical adminstrative day for Nyan, as he deals with complaints from the various characters who aren't happy with their housing. Nyan deals smoothly with the likes of Hathor and Garek squabbling over who is the real, true deity, and Kerry Johnson's alarm at rooming with Anise, who scans her for that mysterious allure that allows her to attract Jack O'Neill. At least Michael and Jenny approve of what he's doing...

“Number Fifty-seven!”

Nyan was used to dealing with the irate, the strange, and even the tearful on a day to day basis, but he had certainly never expected Jacob Carter to be one of the red-eyed seated across his desk—the man was one of his earliest success stories.

“General Carter! What’s wrong?”

The older man sniffed in what, if he hadn’t been a General of the United States Air Force and a very old and wise Tok’ra, might have been a slightly hysterical manner. Grabbing a tissue from the box conveniently provided on the desk, he mumbled something completely unintelligible.

Confused, Nyan asked as respectfully as possible, “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

Jacob leaned closer, looking around furtively. “I said that I’m dead.”

Nyan couldn’t help it—he gasped in shock. “Oh Jacob! I’m so sorry!”

New tears sprang to the General’s eyes and Nyan considerately offered him another tissue. “Thanks. I just…it was so sudden…I was doing a nice guest run and then BAM! No more Sammie, no more harassing Jack…and…and…Nyan, I….”

At this point, Jacob blew his nose. Loudly. All Nyan could do was wait patiently while the man collected himself. “Nyan…I don’t want to be moved to Six Feet Under Hall. Bra’tac and I have been roommates since you started this whole system. We work out really well. I could get stuck with someone awful, like the finally dead false god Apophis or something. Bra’tac and I have a weekly poker game with George and Maybourne! I can’t attend if they find out that I’m dead!”

Sympathy for his plight struck Nyan, and with a devious smile, he gestured for Jacob to lean closer. “You know, let’s just…not move you for now. Don’t tell anyone about your so-called demise and we’ll just see how things go. Besides, this is sci-fi. Don’t forget what happened to Lantash, you know.”