East Coast Gazette

Rodney’s plan of seducing John with sexy twin-engine aircraft and designer lofts crashes and burns around the 40th time John whines, “Come oooooon, Rodney,” and Rodney shouts, “Okay!  Fine!  I will do your fucking taxes!”

“Oh my God,” he says around a mouthful a pudding.  It’s his fourth cup, and he should stop — Keller keeps making these noises about his cholesterol — but he just can’t get over it.  “Oh, my God.”

“What?” Ronon grunts at him, peering down at the paperwork.  “I don’t get it.”

“Of course you don’t,” Rodney snaps, stabbing a ballpoint onto the page.  “These are taxes!  These are John Sheppard’s taxes.  These are John Sheppard’s taxes and he’s paying more in just capital gains than the entire sovereign nation of Canada!”

Ronon blinks at him.  “What’s that mean?” he asks.

“It means Sheppard’s rich beyond your wildest dreams!” Rodney hisses.

“Oh,” Ronon says, shrugging.  “That part I knew.”

Rodney chokes on his spoon.

“He also has a pony,” Ronon adds, twisting the knife.

“Yes,” Teyla says, claiming the seat next to Rodney.  “I believe he told me that it was named Duchess Jasmine, but would not explain to me why he would prefer I not share that information with the others on the expedition.”

Rodney put his head down on the table and tries not to think about how John could probably personally solve the Canadian commercial paper debacle by writing some personal checks, but it’s hard.  It sends Rodney’s entire carefully-plotted life plan out of whack, it’s pointless to buy Sheppard shiny things as leverage for ass when Sheppard could buy his own shiny things and have the asses of high class escorts and ladies who want to legitimately have sex with him anyway.  It’s all so hopeless Rodney could cry.  No wonder John had looked unimpressed by the ring Rodney had bought Katie: John could probably pay Superman to crush the ashes of the last Do Do bird into a diamond the size of Rodney’s left testicle.

“I did not understand exactly, though,” Teyla goes on, “where John made his fortune.  Is his a family of merchants?”

“I guess,” Ronon says.  “He said his dad sold utilities.  Power and stuff.”

“Fuck!” Rodney says, mostly to himself.  This is terrible.  That is practically recession-proof.  He wonders if Sheppard’s family business employs mark-to-market accounting or has shell companies in the Cayman Islands.

….Wow.  I just realized that the number of nerdy accounting jokes in there could kill a yak.