Subject: OOC: ((Er, Jool? Not... following...))
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Posted on: 2017-01-05 20:06:00 UTC

((I mean, unless this is a different person, or a nickname, or whatever. This is prolly me just being thick as all hell, but if it is a nickname for the Notary then I either don't understand or don't remember your explanation. Either way, sorry to be dumb. =] ))

((And yeah, I kind of got the impetus for the screed against PPC-Aware Canons after reading that one Trojie fic where the canon in question is, er, Gaspode. Which, y'know, I get that it's meant to be a joke, but given the established rules of the PPC, I thought it'd just make agents going to Disc fics (a comparative rarity in these modern times...) have a harder time of it. I guess you could make the explanation that Sues ignore his existence so he's fine, but you could make exactly the same case for telling Gimli about us, and that wouldn't work -- sorry. See what I mean about soapboxing? I soapbox harder than a bucket of hand sanitizer gong ten rounds with Muhammad Ali. =] ))

((As for Lolus, I just kind of wanted him to be an adorable derpbeast, and him having a very weird diet is part of that. He's constantly hungry and cowardly and more than a bit dim, but that's just part of his charm. And he's named after Lola, who - when they eventually meet - will be so pleased by this. =] ))

((Any year with a Trump presidency in it is gonna be the Year of the Cock. >=] ))

---

Every word was perfect.

Every phrase, every word, every thought was absolutely perfect. It was exactly what she'd been asked to do by Robinson, and thus maybe the woman would get off her back about it.

The Notary glided through HQ's grey, near-featureless corridors like a tall ship in a silver sea, except with less drunk sailors piddling over the side. She was staring intently at her dataslate, but she seemed to avoid passers-by at the last second, never bumping into anything. This might have had something to do with the collision detector currently disguised (via creative use of a D.O.R.K.S device) as a tasteful stud earring, but nobody could tell for sure.

There was nobody around when she reached her destination, so she left the diary there. It was a small, beige data pad, looking extraordinarily like the scanning bed of an office photocopier, and inside was her positivity diary. They were genuinely positive, too: "corrected and expedited seven 15-B requisition forms without being asked", "dealt with conflict re. large quantities of custard in the Grunt's quarters calmly and without recourse to violence of word or deed", "made mobile of tiny filing cabinets and properly-filled-in tax returns for Moon Moon's Time Tot", "made aforementioned mobile play a selection of soothing Gallifreyan lullabies via sonic device carefully secreted in the stem", that sort of thing.

Howver, in the Notary's traditional style, every perfect word was written in a dialect of Old High Gallifreyan that almost nobody spoke. The only thing written in English, as well as in tiny copperplate handwriting that almost required a magnifying glass to read, was two words:

"Your move."

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