Also, curse all laptops black-screening in the middle of one.
Spoiler warning if you didn't read the mission already. Spoiler warning if you didn't read the mission already. Spoiler warning if you didn't read the mission already. Spoiler warning if you didn't read the mission already.
“It’s incredible,” Mrs. Dives said again, sighing. She and her daughter were sitting in the door of the TARDIS, legs dangling over the void. “I can’t imagine why you’d ever want to come down.”
“Well, sometimes, the cultures on the different planets are even more interesting than the views,” the Aviator said, smiling. “The cuisine’s not half bad, either.”
Eh, what's the view to an empty stomach? Oh right, space and time traveling spaceship. Also, Dawwww.
“Barcelona!” Mr. Dives called, looking up from the TARDIS console, which he and Zeb had been poring over. “The planet, Barcelona, not the city. They’ve got—”
Wise decision, between the independantists and salty World Cup los–
“Dogs with no noses,” he and his daughter finished in unison.
Abort! Abort! It has to be worst place in the multiverse! Except trollfics.
The Aviator waved a hand. “I’m in mostly good standing with Upstairs again; I can’t let it stay that way for long, can I?”
Besides you can fix this by giving them buckets of aphids. These critters love flowers to the death, so the reverse must be true, right?
“Nobody!” the Aviator said quickly, just as Zeb piped up, “That’s what Ellie calls the Detective!”
Technically Ave's not wrong. The fex drops of that time certainly don't qualify as somebody.
“Have you been seeing someone?” Mr. Dives said.
"How do I give the shotgun talk to someone able to regenerate?"
"Dad! I'm 454 years old! I can date whoever I want! If I was ever dating someone, just deny– saying."
“Nothing to worry about, Dad, that just means we’ve got a mission,” she said, standing up and going back to the controls.
Stay here, Mr. Dives, you know you want it... Right until you see one mission up close.
“So what do you think it’ll be this time?” Zeb said. “Percy Jackson? Twilight? A Series of Unfortunate Events?”
Since you're so kindly asking... All of them (does that even exist?)
The Aviator took Elanor back from him and pushed the door of the TARDIS open, going to the console to read the report. “Harry Potter and Percy Jackson,” she called.
Come on IO, only one? You're getting meeker in your old age.
“So not even an attempt at an explanation for why she wants a kid,” Zeb said in disbelief. “Just—‘Hey, you know what? I want babies for no reason!’”
How can people write like this with straight faces?
“Or gotten splashed by a magic potion—”
Especially that one. Even mortals can do it. With magic (and maybe science someday. They're already trying for babies from parents of the same se anyways).
“I volunteer as tribute,” Zeb whispered in Zeus’ voice, and the Aviator gagged.
...Accurate Zeus is accurate, Zeb.
“Godmother?” the Aviator muttered. “So, what, she’s going to attend the Sue’s baptism and teach her about Jesus?”
Nah, I saw this in Shin Megami Tensei. By being obedient servile mooks to the Law God (a major jackass), they hope getting some perks while the rest of the ‘pagan’ gods become scorned demons.
“Could you try breathing away from me?” she said. “Your breath stinks.”
You should try grilled salmon with a cream sauce. Much better.
“Lilith. Juno. Olympia. Black,” the Aviator repeated flatly, pen poised over her notebook.
… At least the oh so subtle third one remotely looks like a Potterverse pureblood name, with all these constellations (not that Sirius would probably want to use one)?
The Aviator ducked back behind the curtain. “Rassilon’s saggy left—”
As another ‘question sane people never ask’... What happens to that curse if Rassilon regenerates a body of the different sex?
the plants
How are these plants… managing to do that? Where are the necessary organs?
The Aviator just groaned and added the charge. “What I wouldn’t give for a ...ing drink right now.” Zeb frowned at her, and she held up her hands. “Hypothetically, I swear.”
Okay, a fan of alcohol, I’m most definitely not, but Zeb, one glass at that?
“Skipping over the gods fighting over babysitting privileges,”
Another clear sign of badfic... A good parody would have made you want to read that again and again… What? What is passing above my head exactly?
“I’m going to projectile vomit all over this sofa,” the Aviator muttered.
Aim it at the enemy!
“Suddenly Elanor doesn’t seem so creepy by comparison,” Zeb said.
The Aviator slowly turned to look at him. “‘Scuse me?”
Emergency, need save!
“Yes,” the Aviator said, pursing her lips. “She is, thanks.”
Save found. Now fire the guy at Impulse Control.
“Projectile vomiting on Voldemort?” Zeb suggested.
See? That’s a viable tactic.
The Aviator grunted. “Then we’d get to charge for excessive angst instead of… hell, how do you even charge for this? Spoiled rotten prisoner?”
Duck it, the second one needs to be a charge in the list.
“Hitting her for everything she’s got, huh?” Zeb asked, opening a portal to their next destination.
Zeb, is there anything about this critter worth inspiring any shred of mercy?
Zeb looked over to see the Aviator’s eye beginning to twitch. “You know,” he said, “as far as songs go, it could be worse—”
Joe Dassin ?
“You know, too much of the same color leaves an outfit visually uninteresting,” Zeb said, shaking his head in disappointment. “Especially with her hair like it is—analogous colors are fine and all, but since her hair is blue and purple, she’d probably want to go for a split-complementary color scheme. Throw some red in there, make it pop!”
Where did a Pokemon pick up tips about human fashion? And how much does he charge? What? At least next time the characters will have nice outfits.
“You know, this still doesn’t make sense no matter how much I think about it,” Zeb said, rearranging his dress robes before sitting cross-legged on his chair. “Dumbledore wants her to be kept a secret so bad he never lets her leave her room, but then he invites her to sing in front of the school, but then he tells her as soon as she’s done she has to go right back to her room and… what, they’ll just hope everyone forgets about her?”
Remember, nobody cares about dumb facts and logic, Zeb. Only one-upping Harry.
The Aviator stood up, taking Zeb’s earmuffs from him when he offered them to her. “Let’s get that guitar,” she said as the Hall burst into applause. “Dee—er.” She cleared her throat when Zeb looked at her with a slow grin. “The Detective’s got an amp in his TARDIS—I mean, this is an acoustic, but he might still find a use for it.”
… Any chances of Elanor getting a sibling in the more or less close future y chance?
“Ave and the Detective, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S—”
PG level of discyourwebapps forbids me of pointing out the other four letters word fitting there… What? Do you have any idea how muh of a can of worms ‘love’ can be?
“Rock, Paper, Scissors?” Zeb suggested.
Lizard and Spock clearly missing there.
Zeb squinted at the notebook. “Ave, I can’t read Gallifreyan!” he called to her. “You gotta stop switching midway!”
Shamelessly stealingRespectfully borrowing the idea for Richard someday.
The Sue burst into a shower of glitter, coating the Aviator’s hands in sparkles. She recoiled in disgust and began shaking her hands as the tracker on her ankle began beeping alarmingly. “Shut up, it’s the Sue, you piece of *bleep*—” She delivered a vicious kick to the tracker with her other foot and it fell silent after one last, mournful beep.
That ducking piece of crap is still there, seriously?Just go to the Great Workshop in the Sky, dang it!
“Man, why can’t all our missions be this easy?”
*Looking at iximaz's mission count* It's all your fault Zeb. You'll know about what when you see it.
“Don’t go giving Ellie any siblings, now!” Zeb called after her.
IO is having some doubts there, Zeb. Should it go for a daughter or a son?
Again, Dawww for the start. And the mission presented the badfic well, with a nice and clean dispatch. Always linking reading this spin-off.