"I think they're friendly, Jack."
Of course he does. The Colonel's narrow, decidedly unfriendly stare shifts from their new acquaintance to his almost as new linguist/cultural expert/archeological authority. He has been in command of the planet's premier team for a whole five weeks now, but three days had been more than long enough to work out that Dr. Jackson's definition of 'friendly' and the U.S. Air Force's understanding of the term might as well come from foreign languages.
Daniel tends to think everyone - or thing - is friendly until proven otherwise. O'Neill prefers not to have it proven in blood and bruises. He has a nasty feeling that getting consensus on this point is going to take a while.
And a while is not what they have right now, the, err, things in front of them - each of them nine foot of rancidly glistening, forty-limbed and five-hundred-teethed, vaguely putrid undead octopus/bug-eyed monster/rotting-and-demented-spaghetti - seem to him at least to have decidedly menacing gleams in their fifteen mismatched eyes.
"I'm pretty sure they're intelligent, and they don't want to hurt us."
That's good to hear, would be even better if O'Neill believes it. "And you know this... how?"
"I'm communicating... sort of."
"Really." O'Neill exchanges wary glances with his new second-in-command, who may be nearly as geeky as Daniel when pushed but never quite as bad. Or at least never when faced with a bad B-movie running amuck. "What I can see is you waving two arms like a puppet, Daniel, and your new friendlies waving forty-odd arms - or tentacles - back. Mind telling your commanding officer what pearls of wisdom you're exchanging?"
"I'm not sure but I think... they seem to use a basic sign language, probably to deal with lesser beings -"
"Lesser?" The one word from Teal'c radiates offense.
"They're intelligent, and they seem to understand that we are. I'm pretty sure they don't mean to kill us."
"We look fairly harmless." Daniel blinks at the indignation on his three teammates' faces. "Sorry, I know you all like to think you intimidate the universe - yes, even you Teal'c, especially you - but we do. And we don't look good to eat. I think I've persuaded them that we're alien enough to be poisonous."
"In sign language?" Jack's voice drips skepticism.
"In any case, they probably thought of that themselves, if they're as bright as I think."
"And you think this because -"
There's a crash and an eldritch scream from behind - even as the three soldiers in the new team whirl around, something big, winged and rainbow-hued shoots out of the trees, flying straight at them in a blur of color, all outstretched talons and brilliantly shaded teeth...
Six of the undead spaghetti monsters lift ten tentacles, each tentacle wrapped around what looked like a warped haircurler on steroids, and pale blue fire spits straight over Daniel's head towards the new alien something... there's another unearthly screech, and it crashes and flumps in a gaudy heap just inches from Daniel's feet.
They stare. It is slender and vaguely humanoid, feathered and quite beautiful.
"Because they did that," Daniel says haltingly, managing not to flinch as several friendly - if suppurating - appendages are laid on his shoulders and the monsters turn him back, writhing hideously and bugging their eyes at him in something O'Neill finds vaguely indecent, or something... "And I think they like us."
Of course they do. The Colonel makes a mental note that Dr Jackson's definition of 'like' also needs some work to concur with what the Air Force would recognize, sighs and pastes a horrifyingly fake smile on his face.
"So let's make nice with the locals, kids..."