The pink floor-thing was really tugging on Anne’s mop. Its suction seemed to increase the more she pulled back on it and soon the mop’s handle was beginning to creak and she was feeling it right back in her joints. Her arms were beginning to feel disturbingly disconnected from her torso. She hrrrm-ed to herself for a while until she saw small cracks begin to spider around the floor. This struck her as somewhat not good.

‘Hey, Bingle?’ She glanced around the corridor. It was still. There was an eerie silence, except for the squelching, stretching sounds of the pink floor-things.

‘Hey, Finch?’ She glanced around again. An air conditioner hummed. The lights beamed. It was graveyard-silent. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled.

She released the mop and in a blinding flurry of movements that went SNAP! CLACK! SQUORRSH! the mop was totally absorbed into the pink floor-thing. Anne was pretty sure she heard something like chewing, as she walked down the corridor, around the corner, to Ninetwo.

Ninetwo was in the exact same situation Anne had been in. She was quivering and tugging and exhaling until Anne said: ‘Hey, hrrm, Ninetwo-’ at which point she yelped, hopped away, and watched as the pink floor-thing ate her mop.

Umm! Anne! Hello! And she saluted, trying to ignore the crunching snaps of the mop behind her.

‘Have you seen Bingle?’

Umm?

‘Have you seen Finch?’

Umm?

‘Well?’

Ninetwo rubbed her seedclock. Oh, um, no, they’ve been gone for a while. They disappeared hours ago.

‘You didn’t tell anyone?’ asked Anne with a raised eyebrow.

Ninetwo was immediately on the defensive. They - they almost always disappear! Nearly every shift, the both of them go completely AWOL and only reappear when the shift is over! I would suggest that it’s the both of them dodging their duties but that would be rude of me and against the principles of the PPC, so I won’t!

‘Huh,’ said Anne. ‘Okay.’ And she shrugged and walked off for a new mop.

--------------------------------------------------------

‘Oh, just you wait, Finch,’ Bingle said, rattling in his chains. ‘They’ll be here any moment. Just you wait.’

‘Sure.’

‘With the Security Dandelions in tow, and perhaps even an assassin or two as backup!’

‘I bloody well bet.’

‘Oh, believe me this,’ Bingle said, gazing, hardfaced, into the blackness of the cell they were sharing. ‘They will be here, any moment now. Any second. Just you wait.’

Talia peeked her head into RC65536+3i "Erm, hello?"

Thoth looked up from his perusal of Renegades of Pern. "Ah. Talia. What seems to be the issue?"

"I was looking for Tom, actually. Said he'd keep me company on shift, and then never showed. So, have seen him, big guy?"

"I have not, since..." Thoth frowned. "Three days ago. Most unusual."

"Odd..." said Talia, rubbing her forehead in thought. "I don't suppose you could use some magical to track him down or something?"

"I could. But I see no sense in doing so. He will appear. I am sure of it. In any case, I have my studies to attend to." He put his head back into the book.

Talia promptly turned and banged her head on the wall. It wasn't actually a hard bang, just one for comedic effect. "So... let me get this straight. We have a simple, easy way to locate your missing partner, but you won't do it because you're too lazy, and you think he'll turn up on his own in a place like HQ. Instead, you're reading second-rate 80's fantasy in an attempt to get a grumpy alcoholic with emotional problems to like you."

Thoth turned a page. "Believe what you will."

"Well... THAT'S STUPID!"

At that precise moment, Tom staggered through the door. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair mussed, and his clothes looked like they had seen three days without a wash (which they had). He promptly collapsed into his chair/improvised bed. Thoth didn't bother looking up.

"Tom?" Talia asked, concerned. "What the heck happened to you? Are you alright? Why didn't you join me on shift? What could have done this?"

Tom grinned tiredly. "It..."

"Yes?"

"It was..."

"Come on, say it!"

"It was..."

"...You're really doing this. Really. Just so we're clear, if you say anything about soap, I'm going to murder you."

"It was... d-d-Dark... Souls..."

RC65536+3i seemed to grow quiet for a moment. And then...

"SERIOUSLY?"

Meanwhile, Thoth continued to read, relatively unperturbed.

WARNING: Minor spoilers for Star Wars: The Old Republic: Knights of the Fallen Empire/Knights of the Eternal Throne.

---

The room felt empty without his presence, the two had never been alone with each other in a room before now, before the events on Ziost it had been always been at least Theo accompanying them, and after they'd had a war to fight and win and personal time had never come around. At least not until now, while the rest of the resistance on Odessen and around the galaxy celebrated, their leader and one of her closest confidants stood in a soundproofed, de-bugged room away from all prying eyes and ears and could just talk about the Mandalorian Bounty Hunter.

"He's really gone?" Naonae, known to many in the galaxy as The Outlander, asked, knowing the answer but still not quite able to believe it.

"He is." Pariya replied, nodding despite the fact she knew the Miralukan would not be able to see the gesture. "Disappeared searching for you not long after the Eternal Empire invaded. I was too busy with the Rift Alliance at the time to stop him from heading off, how he convinced the rest of his crew to not go along I have no idea."

Silence lingered between the two force users for a time before Naonae cleared it.

"He was a good friend, even for a Bounty Hunter. He will be missed." She turned her head towards the Zabrak, the grief of the Jedi obvious through the Force to her. "And I am sure he was a good Husband as well."

Pariya nodded again, blinking the tears out of her eyes, not caring about the other Jedi Masters that said showing emotions was a weakness, at least not caring about it now that she was with her closest, definitely still living friend, strange as it was to think of the Sith Lord like that.

"Even for a Bounty Hunter," She added after a second. "I will miss him indeed."

---
Novastorme

One day in the happy world of Headquarters, something very peculiar happened. Wobbles The Clown was missing! All the boys and girls and nonbinary life forms were very confused, because Wobbles made sure to tell all her friends if she was going away, and Wobbles was friends with everyone.

Everyone in the Nursery decided to go and look for Wobbles, because she might have gotten lost or fallen down a plothole, and that could be dangerous - or worse, boring. So off they went on an Adventure.

They looked in the Floating Hyacinth's office, but Wobbles wasn't there.

They looked in Wobbles The Clown's RC, but Wobbles wasn't there either.

They weren't allowed to look in Rudi's, but a friendly Security Dandelion did instead, and it said Wobbles wasn't there either.

They looked in the A/V Division offices, but the grown-ups there were not very friendly and screamed and threw things and one did a wee in his trousers, and worst of all Wobbles still wasn't there!

Where, oh where could Wobbles be?

---

"I... I really appreciate you doing this for me." The Notary looked immaculate, and it was only when you got close by that you could see the age and tiredness in her eyes.

"Ah-buh-buh-buh-buh! I'm doing this with you. The hard work is all on you." Wobbles would normally have offered a hug, but the way the Notary was trembling meant she stayed a pace or two away.

"I know, I know. I'm just..." The Notary sighed, quiet and old as an empty church. "Thank you."

Wobbles smiled and said nothing.

The door in front of them eventually opened, and a much shorter woman greeted the two and welcomed them into her office. In a few moments, it clicked shut, revealing a sign that said Nurse Jennifer Robinson, FicPsych.

The old Time Lord sat, and spoke, and when the tears and shaking and pain dragged themselves to the surface, Wobbles was there.

Right where she needed to be.

The shot was fired from behind. Point blank, from behind a cardboard box. In a flash of explosive light, the bullet left the chamber, piercing the cardboard, and approached Harrison's spine. In an instant, he vanished. The bullet might not have hit him, if it was any further away. But the bullet had vanished with him. The bullet hit, far away, in a dark safe room, somewhere miles away underground. Or maybe not. Harrison was gone, and so was the bullet.

It was written off as a failed mission. The target had gotten away.
Or maybe he wasn't lucky enough.

Two weeks pass. There were no more sightings of Harrison. No more tears in reality. No more extra hours of daylight, or unending night. No more. -


Or the bullet hadn't hit and he is merely biding his time. Maybe he is taking the chance to finally disappear. A fake death. A get out of jail free card.
A rare opportunity for a man like him. He should get what he deserves.

Another month passed.
He was only human, after all. Wasn't he? He seemed more machine than man. More animal than human. He was strong. Powerful. But a bullet can change all of that in an instant.
Harrison is presumed dead, succumbing to his injuries.

He was a force to be reckoned with. He defended many people. He helped many. But he harmed many, many more. He never showed his hand, and was trusted by nobody. He got what he deserved.

Harrison is dead. Whatever phenomena is occurring is not connected to him whatsoever. His house has fallen over a patch of farmland. Constant streams of ash pour out. A small amount of partially damaged golems currently roam, but will be contained and destroyed. Harrison is dead, and the dead have no hold over the living.

The golems began screeching at 9:04 pm, Tuesday evening. Simply bashing them with hammers wasn't enough. Attempts to move and contain them have failed. Harrison must have had batteries somewhere continuing their power. They will die soon enough.

After eight weeks, the golems have finally been silenced. Twenty ton deadweights; it was simpler to bury them than to move them. The house fire ceased, and was promptly demolished and shipped to a proper disposal site. An anticlimactic conclusion to the end of his tale.
And now, for some final words: Good riddance.

... I'll try making this about something other than PPC.



Amelia wandered reluctantly into the library. Clara was, of course, already waiting in her usual spot, with books all around and currently buried deep in an ancient volume entitled “History of the Divisions, Volume One – 100BC – 500AD”.

“Hello,” said Amelia, and Clara glanced up.

She put the book down and motioned to Amelia to sit down beside her, before pulling out a piece of paper covered in her tiny handwriting.

Amelia groaned and looked closely at it, trying to decipher her friend’s spidery scrawl. “What is this thing?” she asked.

“A study plan – look, I’ve worked out when you’re going to do what – you can see it later.”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “Look, Clara, I asked for some help with revision, not a whole study plan for the next… how long?”

“Six months. That’s how long until the exam.”

Amelia nodded.

“Anyway. Shall we get going?” Clara asked, picking up one of the textbooks (“The Theory of Magic”) and opening it.

Amelia moved a little closer and peered over Clara’s shoulder. She tried to focus, but the textbook wasn’t very engaging and she couldn’t stop thinking about what Nathan had said.

Clara turned a page and asked, “What was on that last page?”

“Um…” Amelia groaned inwardly.

“You’re distracted, aren’t you? What is it?”

“Oh… um… nothing….” Amelia knew there was no way Clara would believe that, and the red flush on her cheeks didn’t help.

“It’s Nathan, isn’t it?”

Amelia sighed and said “Maybe…”

Clara smiled triumphantly and began chanting “Amelia and Nathan, sitting in a tree…”

Amelia groaned.

The two women were curled up in bed together, blankets drawn up over bare skin to keep away the chill. Charlotte draped an arm over Ix's waist, grinning.

"So your full name is—?"

"Yes," Ix said, looking rather shamefaced.

"I mean, I knew Potterverse werewolves' names were a little on the nose, but—"

Ix rolled over, grumbling when Charlotte's arms tightened, pulling her closer. "You don't have to take the mickey out of it."

Charlotte rested her chin on Ix's shoulder, grinning. "I'm not teasing, I just think it's hilarious, that's all. Faolan Amaris—'little wolf moon'? Your old author really had it in for you."

"Weren't you named after a spider who wrote messages for a pig?" Ix said, glancing over her shoulder at Charlotte.

Charlotte stuck her tongue out at her. "Hey, it could be worse," she said. "Lupin's dad's name also meant wolf, and his mom's maiden name was Howell, so..." She trailed off when she noticed Ix's grimace. "What?"

"My middle name, Amaris, was my ma's given name," Ix said. "My da's name was Connell... which also means wolf."

Charlotte stared at her for a minute before letting go, guffawing loudly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't be laughing, but—"

Ix waved a hand, smiling wryly. "Wolf and Moon had a werewolf kid. It's alright, I'd be laughing, too."

So this is...kind of non-PPC writing. Think of it as...backstory of sorts...for an AU version of a PPC agent and some other people??

Alright. Basically: Doctor Who and Torchwood Hogwarts AU, wherein Torchwood characters through season 2 and Doctor Who characters through New Who's season 4 exist in the Potterverse--in the 1970s. The Harry Potter characters remain in place. Where does the PPC agent come in? Well, instead of Jack Harkness, we have Jacques Bonnefoy. And yes, there is a difference. Also, here he was born in France and sounds it, though he put a lot of effort into a British accent during school and uses that frequently as well.

Around 1975 or 1976, Jacques Bonnefoy (French Hogwarts student, graduated two years back) and his best friend Ianto Jones (Welsh Hogwarts student, graduated one year back) stumbled into the PPC (present day). They became agents in different departments, with the idea that they would stay for a time and then go back to figure out some way to help once the war with Voldemort heated up further, which it seemed it was going to. Several years later, that's what they did: they went back, rented a flat together, and joined their friends in trying to help (though not within the Order of the Phoenix itself).

It's not the best atmosphere to be living in, for the obvious reason that there's a war on.

A key:

Jon (Jonathan) Smith: the Ninth Doctor. Of an age with Jacques.
Johnny (John) Smith: the Tenth Doctor. Two years older than Jon.
(it's a family name!)
Rose Tyler and Ianto Jones--same names as usual, even if their backstories are a bit different.


"And you haven't seen him?" Rose was frowning. "I don't like this."

"Maybe he's just...out." Jon's voice was light, but the crease between his eyebrows betrayed him. "You know how he is--always liked his nights out--"

Ianto shook his head. "He was meant to be coming straight back. To the Muggle shops, to Diagon, and back. That's it." He stared down at his hands: useless. Completely useless. "I should've been with him."

Rose shook her head immediately, reaching out to take his hand. "You couldn't have known."

"There's a war on," Ianto said. He pulled his hands away and stood, trying to resist the urge to pace. He ended up moving haltingly toward the kitchen and then turning back. "I shouldn't have let him go alone."

It had seemed so easy, yesterday. Jacques had been grinning, teasing him as he checked his pockets. He'd at least seemed relaxed, switching in and out of French and daring Ianto to keep up until the younger wizard rolled his eyes and started speaking in Welsh--which he could do far too quickly for Jacques' limited knowledge of the language to work.

"Going to miss me?" Jacques had asked, just before he left. He'd sidled up close, eyes dancing.

Ianto had rolled his eyes. "Not a bit."

Jacques gasped. "So cruel! You know I think the world of you, mon ami--mon cher ami, mon--"

Ianto shoved him, grinning. "Just go to the shops already, you prat." He'd marched Jacques to the door with a hand on his shoulder; there, the grin faded. "Come back in one piece."

For a second--just one second--Jacques' fingers had brushed his cheek. "For you--I will."

He'd been out the door before Ianto could catch his breath long enough to roll his eyes, jogging down the stairs with a cheery wave and a grin.

And then he hadn't come back. No word, no sign--nothing. He was just gone. Ianto had already checked for him in several places, had even sent an urgent letter to his parents in case for some reason he'd got it into his head to go to France. Nothing had worked.

Sending a note to Rose and Jon had seemed like a good idea at the time. He'd been pretty sure they were around, for a change--both were working for the Order of the Phoenix, had tried to get him and Jacques to join as well--and, well, if Jacques wasn't with them, then...they might have a better sense of where he could be.

"I really don't like this," Rose said quietly. She looked up at Jon, nervously twisting the thin gold ring on her left hand; he looked back more seriously now, his ringless hands shoved deep into his pockets. "We're gonna look for him, right?"

Jon nodded. "'Course. Can't just let him vanish." His eyes flicked to Ianto. "We'll get him back."

"Yeah," Ianto said. He took a breath. "I'm coming with you. I should have--"

"No." Jon stepped forward, shaking his head. "Keep looking, but stay safe."

"He's my best friend. If you think I'm going to--"

"Have you ever done anything like this before?" Jon demanded. "I bet you haven't. Rose and I'll go. We're a good team. We'll find him, and we'll drag him out of whatever mess he's landed in. But you're going to be smart, and stay based right here, so there's someone to back him up if he gets out on his own and comes back with company."

"Or injured, you mean." Had the walls here always been so, so shabby? He'd thought it was a nice enough place, or at least bearable, but right now it just looked dull and pointless. They should have found something better, maybe in a different city--maybe then Jacques wouldn't have-- "You want me out the way and here in case by some miracle he--"

"I want you staying safe," Jon said sharply. He ran a hand over his hair, a habit he'd picked up from Jacques, who'd picked it up from someone else in turn--Hart, possibly, and wasn't that an unsettling thought. Whatever the two of them had been throughout school, it wasn't friends. "Can I be frank?"

Ianto jerked his head. "Can't stop you."

Jon met his eyes. His gaze was the sort of intense that almost made sense of how strongly Jacques had been drawn to him in fifth year--almost. Ianto could never completely see the appeal, even if he respected what he did--and, worse, what he was in another universe. "If he comes back to find you've got yourself killed, he'll go spare."

"If he comes back and got himself killed, I'll go spare," Ianto retorted.

Jon grinned; Ianto narrowed his eyes. "You're a right pair, you are. Look, me'n Rose--we'll get him back. Whatever condition he's in when we find him, we'll get him back. You stay here. Keep writing to people, keep checking places he might've gone in the Muggle world--"

"Couldn't Rose--?"

"I'll be busy," Rose said. She motioned to Jon. "Someone's got to keep him talkin' sense."

Ianto ran a hand through his hair, wishing for at least the twentieth time that he hadn't picked up the habit himself. "Right." Send the pureblood around to make house calls in the Muggle world--or, worse, telephone calls. No way for that to go poorly. "If you're not back in two days--"

Jon shook his head. "Give us a week."

"A week?"

"A week," Jon said firmly. "Hope we won't need it. A full week before you do something stupid, though."

Ianto crossed his arms, realizing too late he'd picked that up from Jacques as well. Was there anything in his life that hadn't been influenced by him by now? They'd only even been proper friends since Ianto's fifth year...which was admittedly quite a while ago, now. "I never do anything stupid."

Jon snorted. "Nice try, mate--knew you in school." He clapped Ianto on the shoulder and then looked over at Rose. "We should go! Get our things in order, figure out a place to start--"

"Yeah," Rose said. She came over to kiss Ianto's cheek. "Be safe, yeah? We'll bring him back."

Ianto nodded. "Maybe the pair of you should become Aurors, when the war's over."

Rose grinned. "Nah--when the war's done, I'm taking Johnny and moving as far away as I can get. Not like he won't have found somewhere interesting by now, all the traveling he's been doing..."

"Best be off," Jon said. He was already moving for the door; Ianto had the impression that he couldn't wait any longer to start looking, and was suddenly, fiercely glad of it. "Rose--"

"Yeah." She joined him, and smiled gently at Ianto as Jon opened the door. "We will find him."

Ianto nodded. "I'm sure you will. Take care."





For the curious, a (brief, incomplete) Hogwarts House key:

Gryffindor:
Gwen Cooper (a year below the Marauders)
Jacques Bonnefoy (three years above the Marauders)
Rose Tyler (half a year younger than Jacques by my notes)
Possibly Kevin (Jacques' year, still needs a surname--this is the translation of Jack's childhood friend who he...talked into joining a war with him and got, in short, killed. In this universe, he was killed by Death Eaters in the year before Jacques and Ianto joined the PPC).
Martha Jones (a year above Jacques)
Donna Noble (same year)

Hufflepuff:
Ianto Jones (a year below Jacques)
No one else from DW/TW, apparently. Weird.

Ravenclaw:
Owen Harper (Ianto's year)
Toshiko Sato (I have yet to figure out what year)
Johnny Smith (aka Ten, two years above Jacques)

Slytherin:
John Hart (tell me you're surprised. Look me in the eyes and tell me this is a surprise to you. I'll wait.)
Jon Smith (aka Nine. Went there primarily because he asked out of curiosity, and regretted it as Voldemort rose higher and the blood politics really got going. In fifth year, he loudly insulted his housemates over it in the Great Hall, and ended up with detention--and, after serving detention with Jacques (who definitely didn't get detention for this exact purpose), a new friend.)


Also: Suzie Costello is around somewhere, possibly not at Hogwarts at all, John Hart--well, we'll leave him for another time, and of course the Master's around--his name is Harry Saxon (though he'd really rather people called him Harold), and he's Johnny's sworn academic rival. They have quite a bit of fun, even if they disagree a bit when it comes to morals. In research.

Also also: where's everyone from Classic Who? They're around! Never fear. They're just a bit older! The Smith family is incredibly full of them, though they're definitely not all brothers. Presumably, all the companions are around as well. I do have a tentative description of how the Smiths are all related, but apart from that, I'll just leave you with the tidbit that the Three and Delgado Master equivalents are old friends of the inexhaustibly bantering type. That Master is quite likely Saxon's uncle (or father?) and Johnny and Harry probably met a few times growing up.

(Also also also: why, yes, this universe's Ten and Rose have gotten married. Yes, this is, in some ways, a happy AU. Yes, in other ways it might possibly be worse than canon. And yes, I did have a lot of fun creating this!)

~Z

Ce’rana of Borune smiled slightly as she finished drying her face, hanging the washcloth back on its little ring. It always was nice to be clean again, even if it was only some parts of her.

This time, however, she did not immediately turn and exit the bathroom. She took a moment to turn to the set of hanging shelves next to the sink; something towards the back had been bothering her in its nonidentifiability since she’d noticed it. Given the lack of dust, it was obviously either new or frequently-used, and she really saw no harm in keeping up with the various things her partner used.

Her eyebrows raised slowly when she picked up the black tube and read the label. Wordlessly, she stepped out of the bathroom and walked over to Alex’s half of the RC, extending it to him when she reached him. “Alex? May I ask what this is?”

He glanced at the tube for an instant, then paled slightly and looked back at the book he was reading. “Never seen it before in my life.”

Ce’rana blinked. Now that was an unusual reaction. “Are you certain? Because whatever this is, it is certainly not mine, and if it is also not yours then someone else must have been in our bathroom very recently.”

“That could be it, you know.” He shrugged, quickly turning his attention to his book in the vain hope that she would drop the subject.

The Dryad thought for a moment. He obviously recognized it, and just as obviously didn’t think that she knew exactly what the term ‘Hair Dye’ meant. She leaned down slightly and smiled, raising the tube slightly so she could compare it to his hair without him necessarily noticing. “Alex, are you entirely certain this is not yours?” she asked sweetly.

“I’m positive it’s not mine.” He didn’t look up, hoping that if he ignored the tube long enough, it would go away.

The tiny agent straightened again. “In that case, I will be holding onto it to ensure that it is not lost before it can be returned to its owner.” She bit her tongue for a moment to avoid spoiling her game. “I trust this will not be an issue?”

“You could just put it back… please?” He glanced up at her again, still hoping that she would drop the subject.

Ce’rana blinked. That wasn’t his usual tone for when she was bothering him about something. “Is it something expensive, then? I would think it would be better to keep it somewhere safe in a case like that,” she said a moment later, struggling to keep up her ruse of cluelessness.

“If you put it back, then whoever owns that will know where it is.” He was running out of excuses.

“Yes, but it might fall and be lost, given where it was.” The Dryad had to bite her tongue again to keep from just saying what came to mind next. “And if this individual will be continuing to leave things around, perhaps we ought to speak with one another and set aside a space to be leaving said things so they do not get mixed in with ours, as this did.”

“Rana… just put it back.” He really wanted to stop this conversation before it got worse. “I’m sure that it would be fine where it was.”

Ce’rana couldn’t keep her smile from growing wider. “I will if you tell me why this color matches the majority of your hair so well, Alex,” she said innocently.

His book closed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She leaned down again and tapped his nose with the tube. “I may have never personally touched it, but many of the ladies at court were perfectly willing to change the color of their hair to match some fashion or another. As a result, I do know what the term ‘hair dye’ means, and even if I did not, I do know what dye is. The shade of black indicated by this container matches your hair almost perfectly - likely a minute difference between this and the dye itself. So, I repeat my question: why is it that this matches your own hair so well, Alex?”

“It doesn’t match my hair, see? I’ve got a brown streak.” He grabbed the offending streak of hair and held it out to show her.

Ce’rana raised her eyebrow at him. “Historically speaking, one of the more common fashions to recur was to have most of a woman’s hair be black, but have a single white streak left in it. Your argument proves nothing to me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It would be entirely plausible for you to dye every bit of your hair save for one streak, or to dye just that streak. However, seeing as I know you hate that streak, my closest guess would be that you have been attempting to cover it with dye.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” He sounded less like he didn’t know, and more like he was just wishing she would buy it.

She tapped him with the tube again. “None whatsoever? Assuming I would believe this, whom is it that would have left this on our shelves among your things?”

“I will literally pay you to stop talking about this.” He pulled out a bar of chocolate.

Ce’rana immediately dropped the tube into his lap, took the chocolate, and walked back to her side of the room. No Tolnedran could resist the allure of the word ‘pay’, and no Dryad would resist so much chocolate for something so simple.

Alex gave a small sigh of relief, then picked up the tube and took it back to the bathroom. Ce’rana heard the sound of a sink turning on and chuckled to herself as she broke one of the little pieces off the bar. Even if she hadn’t gotten him to admit it, she’d still gotten all the answers she’d wanted and more.

Daily Life Over at The Wake

As part of one of the few routines he had been able to grasp in the past three months, Bobo found himself just outside of the Southern District's humble Welcome House, staring into the mid-distance, waiting. The sky was calm, the trees and grasses hummed softly with Life... and Nita had no idea he was here.

Well, in the bigger scheme of things, she knew he was here, in the City of Change, and he knew that she knew, and in some small way that put him at ease. Nita had become a constant - or, from another point of view, had become a constant again - and to a potentially-disquieting extent he was loathe to change that-

"'Stihó!", came the greeting, and the other, newer constant, came into view. Only months' worth of practice allowed the Umbreon-embodied peridexis to suppress his groan.

/Dai, Nautilus,/ he returned, breaking off his attempt at meditation to properly greet the embodied Aeon-slash-City.

/A Vaporeon, again? Haven't you grown tired of that form?/

Nautilus - for he had taken on the shape of a Vaporeon this time, possibly so they'd be more equal in height, merely shook his head and grinned.

"Like how you would ever tire of getting to spend time with Nita?"

That line drove Bobo to fix the other with a Look.

/You're here to train me, not tease me,/ he strained, walking over to Nautilus' side stiffly.

"And I'm not free to do both?" Without prompting, Nautilus reached out and lightly pawed one of Bobo's ears; a quick bout of reflexes brought them out of the "Vaporeon"'s physical reach.

/There's more than one kind of freedom- and our time here is limited, whether you like it or not. What style are we in today?/ he asked, in a rush to change the subject, because time was limited whether he liked it or not as well.

Not because he'd mentioned Nita. Not at all.

"Well, I was going to make it card dueling, again, but-" Nautilus jumped in the air, and didn't quite make it all the way back to the ground.

"Race you to the clouds?"

Bobo smirked. /I know you like being flashy, but I'll admit this sounds novel. You're on./

Not wanting to waste time, he focused on his own set of invisible stairs, and pounced.