Don't Offend the Locals

Don't Offend the Locals

Title: Don't Offend the Locals (or The Make Like a Tree and Leaf Remix)

Author: sabaceanbabe

Summary: A lesson in herb lore…

Fandom: Stargate Atlantis

Character: Rodney McKay

Rating: PG

Warnings: fluff?

Spoilers: none

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, please don't sue.

Original drabble: In Which McKay Says I Love You, by vegetariansushi

Author's note: Thank you so much to my wonderful beta jazmin22 -- that girl knows Rodney McKay.

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Sunlight angled in through rippled glass, illuminating motes of dust that hung in the still air. Rodney was surprised he wasn't sneezing his head off, but, quite to the contrary, the little shop smelled better than anything he could remember. Better than snicker-doodles, fresh from the oven, than the lilac bushes that surrounded his next-door neighbors' house when he was a kid. He could stand here forever and just breathe.

The team had been on PX3-2481 for two days negotiating a trade agreement and would remain at least overnight and part of the next day. There was a big party going on outside, a harvest festival of some sort that encompassed the entire village, and Teyla had advised that they not return to Atlantis before it was over or they'd risk offending the locals. Everyone had looked at Rodney, then, and Sheppard had pointedly told him to be nice.

"We certainly wouldn't want to offend the locals," Rodney muttered to himself as he perused the clumps of weeds that hung above the back window.

"What was that you said, kind sir?"

Rodney about jumped out of his skin. One hand flailed just enough that he set a fragile-looking glass jar to rocking and he rushed to steady it. If missing a party would offend the locals, how much more offensive would it be to break something in this shop?

"Ah, sorry… I was just making a mental note of your, ah," he glanced quickly at the weeds, "your herbs, here."

The old man laughed like he knew what Rodney was thinking and Rodney felt heat rise in his face, but the man, who didn't look a day over a hundred ninety, patted him on the shoulder and reached up to take down a few of the bundles of twigs and leaves and dried flowers. Rodney expected to see a puff of dust when they were disturbed, but there was nothing. Toddling off toward the front of the shop, the proprietor gestured for him to follow.

Bemused, Rodney did just that, walking past shelves of spices and oils, barrels filled with spools of colorful ribbon and skeins of yarn, bottles and jars of all sizes, shapes, and colors. The place was a combination of old-fashioned apothecary and… and… well, a cooking store, whatever you'd call that. Whatever it was, it was oddly relaxing. Must be all the wonderful smells.

"You have a great little shop here," Rodney observed aloud for the benefit of the old man he followed. He'd only ducked in the back door to escape the noise for a few minutes.

The shopkeeper chuckled as he stopped beside a countertop, carefully laying out the bundles on the smoothly polished wood surface. At first glance, they all looked alike to Rodney, but they seemed to mean something to the old man. Rodney frowned.

"I'm sorry; I didn't catch your name."

"Maximio," he replied. "I am called Maximio." He tapped a thin finger on the counter near one of the herb bundles. "These are not precisely 'herbs,' as you have called them, but rather they are termed cyphers." He looked up to make sure his audience was paying attention and Rodney did his best to appear attentive. "Each bundle has a different purpose, holds a distinct meaning."

Intrigued in spite of himself, Rodney leaned in for a closer look. "This one here…" He studied a bundle that included two twigs from which the bark had been removed to reveal purplish wood, one long-stemmed leaf, dry and cracked, but its color a deep red, and four tiny flowers that looked like a variation on red clover, all wrapped in a dark green ribbon. "What does it mean?"

"Ah, that one is a symbol of strength. Strength of mind, strength of body, strength of character. A cypher is a gift from one individual to another. When this particular cypher is given, it is meant to be a demonstration of the giver's feelings or opinion about that person. If it were wrapped in yarn, rather than ribbon, it would be meant to impart those qualities of strength to an individual who is perhaps lacking."

"How can dried flowers and stripped twigs mean strength?" Rodney muttered under his breath. At least, he meant it to be under his breath; Maximio answered his question.

"They are not simply dried flowers and stripped twigs, my son, they are cyphers." Maximio smiled at Rodney as though that explained everything.

"Look, Gran--" Rodney bit off what he was about to say. (Don't offend the locals. Don't offend the locals.) "Maximio, I know all about symbolism," he began again.