Subject: "Нее Мне ко&
Author:
Posted on: 2015-05-31 18:13:00 UTC
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It should be pointed out, for the benefit of the reader, that these are the images the Earl can see issuing from his mouth. This may well be what accounted for his unnatural pallor.
((Welcome back to Rudi's!
Note that this is just supposed to be a fun RP. No big fights, no invading Sues, just agents chilling out and enjoying the atmosphere.
Standard rules apply: no controlling other people's agents (actions, speech, thoughts, or interactions with objects), no provoking a HQ-wide emergency. Please write all posts in third-person past tense for a uniform style. Canonicity in the PPCverse is optional according to the writer. Permission isn't required.
For reference, this takes place immediately after the events of Fade to Black.
Enjoy your stay!))
----
Valon shifted uncomfortably into a seat. “Kala? Are you sure Rudi’s was the best idea? I know that I was kinda punch-drunk, but this is still a bar.”
Kala, whose anatomy didn’t allow her to sit, simply settled herself opposite to Valon and grinned wickedly. “I could convince you further. Besides, bars aren’t just places to get drunk, despite what you said the first time we came here. There’s food, there’s soda, and right now there’s you and me.”
“I guess that’s a point.” Valon picked up his menu and started perusing the contents.
Valon recognized the redheaded Time Lady and waved her over. "Hey, Rina! Care to join us?" The best description of his facial expression was someone who was very confused to be the happiest man alive.
"Oh, why not," she said out loud, and stood up. "C'mon, Zeb, we got some people who want to talk to us."
Zeb looked around wildly. "Ooh! Shiny Skorupi lady!" he said, grinning.
"Yes, yes, full marks," Rina said, and dragged him over.
"Uh... Skorupi?"
"Pokémon, remember?" Valon stood up to allow Rina a place to sit; he took a seat next to Kala. "So, how goes it? Surely you're doing better after... ahem... that mess. On my end, Kala gave me the biggest surprise of my life before we left our RC."
Kala noticed how loopy Zeb looked. "Um... dude? Are you okay?"
If Rina cared to look, Kala was noticeably a lot calmer than in their previous mission. She was also smiling and slightly pink in the face.
Zeb gave Kala a lopsided grin. "You have pretty hair."
"Don't mind him," Rina said apologetically, swatting Zeb's hand away when he tried to grab a lock of her own hair, presumably for comparison. "He just drank something he shouldn't and now he's all out of it. Lucky him."
"Sorry, man, but I'm taken." She grabbed Valon's hand and gave it a squeeze.
With Valon's bloodless complexion, the rapid color shift when he's embarrassed is incredibly noticeable. "That's what I meant by the biggest surprise of my life."
Rina swatted Zeb's hand away again and gave him a thumbs up.
"But how does that work?" Zeb mumbled to himself. "Are you guys in the same egg group OW!"
Rina had stomped his foot under the table. "He says congratulations, too," she said, deadpan.
And then Valon started rambling. "Actually, in Monster Musume, all liminals can breed with humans, even the species that have two biological sexes. Centaurs have both males and females, but it's confirmed that they can mate with humans. Some species have no choice but to mate with human men, as they are exclusively femaMMMMMMPH!"
Kala had covered his mouth with her hand. "Don't get him started on canon. Anyway, most liminals have human bits."
On what, it wasn't clear, but Rina thumped him on the back until his coughing subsided.
"Let's talk about something else, shall we?" she said, somehow managing to look even paler.
He removed Kala's hand from his mouth. "Sure! Have you ever found children in your missions? Kala and I rescued the MPreg baby of Harry Potter the Amazing All-Seeing Kitty and a dragon Stu. We gave him to another character we rescued, Publica Kurusu."
"Don't you think you should stop?" he finally said as she signaled the batman for a refill. "This is your twelfth cup already, and I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to drink that much."
Rina shrugged and tossed back the glass. "Two livers and a different metabolism, Zeb. Makes getting drunk a right pain in the ass, let me tell you."
Zeb sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Can you even get drunk?"
"Don't think so." Rina set the glass down on the counter and sighed. "Rowling, but that last fic was so horrible I wish I could!"
Zeb nodded morosely and waved at the bartender.i'll take what she's having."
"Do you have it, barman?"
The man nodded and produced a bottle. It was obviously a synthetic alcohol analogue; it caught the light oddly, and the bottle was new rather than crusted with age and cobwebs, like a good port should be.
"God bless you, sir." The man perched delicately atop the bar stool next to a tall, rather comely redhead and her partner, who the drinker surmised was some manner of rescued Cute Animal Friend. He sipped delicately at the gilded rim of a crystal glass and sighed, his face bearing the slightly beatific expression of the heavily Bleeped-up. "A little aging will work wonders upon it; it feels green at present, and the oak notes are top-heavy. Hm." He turned to the woman. "I should like to request your opinion, madam, if I may. My partner and I have been experimenting with Bleeproduce in synthetic alcohol substitutes, and this latest decanting is completely safe."
"Sorry, can't. Allergic to Bleepstuffs."
Zeb's head shot up. "Bleepstuff?" he said hopefully.
Rina elbowed him. "Don't drink that, you don't know what he's done to it," she hissed.
"At least, the new batch almost certainly is. The previous one, well, Commander McCandless keeps it in her gun cabinet so it can't get out. But between us, we are certain that we discovered the error! Though perhaps the flavourings from the oak need more time to develop..." The man looked at his shoes, then straightened. "Where are my manners! My name is Wymbourne, of Internal Affairs. I do not believe I have had the inestimable pleasure of meeting you or your companion."
She did hold out a hand, though. "Rina Dives, DMS. That's my partner, Zeb."
Zeb waved. "Nice to meet you! I don't normally look like this; it's just easier to drink with hands rather than paws."
"And... paws? I see you are one of those gentle folk with less standard anatomies; it interests and heartens me greatly to see such equality in the organization we represent. Especially after DMSE&R's... singular take on interrogation techniques. They have their uses, I am sure, but their methods..." the Earl shuddered, despite himself. "I find them distasteful, and no topic to bring up before a lady - particularly one who cannot resort to the stoppered oblivion of Bleeproduce. Barman, if you would be so good as to set forth another glass for mister Zeb here? Thank you. I recall you both now - reading your after-action reports has been an education, and I believe you need this more than I do myself." The barman appeared with another glass, this one much smaller; the Earl still only poured a half-measure. "It is most potent. After much experimentation, it was determined that earlier attempts were too potent, which has been of no comfort to the cleaning staff who have to remove the strange stains that are sometimes black and sometimes... not. Your health." He raised his glass.
Rina, however, did not look amused. "No topic to bring up before a lady? I've seen just about everything at this point, but even so, that's no reason to not... argh, you know what? Forget it." She signaled the barman for her fourteenth glass and, after draining it, set it on the counter beside the rest.
"And now, neither have I, and I can conduct my business and myself as if it had never been otherwise." The Earl just took another sip. "Also, apropos of nothing, I can hear colours. It is quite extraordinary."
"I can see time, which just gives me a headache."
"Hear colors?" Zeb said, perking up. "That sounds cool! Um, pun not intended. That was a pun, right?"
"Close enough," Rina muttered, and downed another Firewhiskey. She continued muttering to herself, her words occasionally interspersed with things like "Stupid Harry's harem" and "heir to the Founders, I ask you."
"Anyway," Zeb said, turning back to the other man, "do you mind telling me about this hearing colors business?"
"I have only discovered this ability after draining my glass. Which is peculiar, as I have reason to believe that this should not be a side effect."
"Tolja you shouldn't have drank that," Rina said. "Listen, Wymbourne, or whatever your name was, if this ends up poisoning my partner I'm gonna be really ticked."
"Boy desirous families prepared gay reserved add ecstatic say. Replied joy age visitor nothing cottage. Mrs door paid led loud sure easy read."
The Earl looked at his mirror. His speech thereafter was limited to this noise:-
Rina facepalmed when Zeb swayed in his seat. "Whoa, thish ish weird! Rina, your face ish glowing! Are you regenerating again?"
"F*ck my life," Rina said, grabbing hold of Zeb's arm before he could fall off the stool and glaring at Wymbourne. "This is all your fault."
""
It should be pointed out, for the benefit of the reader, that these are the images the Earl can see issuing from his mouth. This may well be what accounted for his unnatural pallor.
She took Zeb by the elbow and led him to an unoccupied table, making him sit down when he started to sway where he stood.
"You shuuuure you're not regenerating?" Zeb said, peering at her.
"Yes, Zeb, I'm perfectly fine," Rina sighed, sitting down and putting her head on the table. She was not in the mood to talk to anyone right now.
"He's over there. You can spot the poor sod a mile off once you know what a powdered wig looks like. Come on."
Algie muttered something in what was probably Aramaic, if you heard things backwards from the other end of a bad phone line, as he was gently loaded onto a sack barrow and strapped in place. Normally a rather ruddily-complexioned man, his colour did not seem to be returning, and his eyes were glassy and unfocused.
"Algie? Algie, look at me." The woman in charge - and in a DIA uniform, though with an odd pentagonal flashpatch just above the department's own. "Have you been at it again?"
"♀ìÑM½»┴♣?"
"Well, he's not conjuring pictures in the air with his breath any more. Right. You boys have a drink on me, I'll cart his Lordship back to the High Meggers." The two other agents, who'd been expecting more of a fight, put down their stun guns and the mop they'd really hoped not to have to use and grabbed a pint of something bubbly and intimidating.
"... Ghf? ghfnibbit?"
McCandless smiled a little as she wheeled him out of the bar. "Coming back to Earth, your Lordship? Or as good as makes no difference?"
"Yrrvl. Vlr. Ah."
"This is faster than normal. And we didn't have to clear anyone up! Makes a change for the lads, I tell you."
"Arrrh." The Earl's eyes finally seemed to focus, though he was still whiter than a sheet in a snowstorm. "Arhm. HMY... My lady? My lady..."
"Sorry, Algie," said the Commander with a sad smile, "bit late to be calling me a Lady."
"Rrr." He shook his head. "I... I was so sure... d-mn!" Algie slammed his head back against the sack barrow's handle. "D-mn it all, I've been an imbecile!"
"Nah. Only to one woman, anyway. You've got to stop chatting pretty girls up at dive bars, you know, 'cause most of 'em could snap you like a twig."
"I fear it is the only twiglike thing about me these days. I believe I am able to walk from here, Commander, if I may."
"Okay, cob." McCandless undid the straps and let him out. "Didn't spill much, either, usually it goes all over the shop when you get the dosage wrong."
"That would be because I did not! I am a fool!"
"Not disagreeing with you, your Lordship, but, well..." McCandless pointed at the sack barrow.
"Yes, well, that would normally be inarguable. But! I did not bid the barman use our normal testing glasses - I was so, I was so sure of my success that I bade him use the gold-rimmed ones, a gift from the Duke of Cambridge upon the occasion of my... my w-wife's birth. And they cannot have been properly sterilised. And, and so I went to the Live Specimens Division to tell Lilianna of my success. When I arrived I was told there was still a lecture going on, and upon ignoring this fact..."
Algie could go no further, and crumpled slightly, his hands clasped over his face as if in prayer. McCandless put her hand upon his shoulder.
"Thank you," he continued. "Still. I should have been more careful. While this has given us some valuable data about Bleeport's reactions to conventional alcohol, I fear we ought not to investigate further."
"D'you want to go back?"
"I think I ought. If nothing else, I must apologise to the poor souls I so embarrassed myself in front of. Now, let's see..." Algie thought for a moment. "Rina and... Zip? Zeb! Yes. Odd names, but this organization is a great tapestry of oddments."
"You're not wrong, cob. Don't stay out too late, now, you've got your magic show in the Nursery tomorrow."
"Well, if I might be permitted to ask your accompaniment...?"
"Why, my Lord Wymbourne, I would be delighted. Come on then, posho, you're buying."
"A gentleman would never dream of making a lady in his company pay when he has the means to avoid it." The two agents trotted along through the corridors, Algie trying gamely to match the Commander's easy, bouncing gait. "I must wash my mouth out with something, at any rate. Contaminated Bleeport is not the only thing which may leave a foul taste."
"Forensic fancy another chat with the departed?"
"Worse. Intelligence required me to scry a Word World whose occupants they intend to render unto Bad Slash. That poor little boy... dressing him such, inflicting a cavalcade of indignities upon his form, it is shameful-"
"Easy now, cob. Remember what happened the last time you got excitable after a Bleeport comedown?"
"And I apologised to the dwarfish gentleman in question, and he was most gracious to me. Mrs. Hunnicombe informed me later that blood is much easier to get out with modern washing aids. Truly these are enlightened times - ah! And we arrive." Algie held the door open. "Commander?"
"Thank you. Forgive me not curtseying."
"You're an officer and an army cove, Commander; society excuses you from some social graces."
"Oh, does it?" McCandless grinned as she dug him in the ribs. "See if I use the comfy barrow next time."
"A port, Sir, and a..." Algie looked to McCandless as they sat down. "I am to say something embarrassingly lewd in a short time. I can feel it in my water."
"Hmmm..." The muscular woman made a show of choosing something. "That one, I think."
Algie's face fell. "And a Screaming Orgasm for my partner."
"I thought you was a married man, Mister Wymbourne," said the barman with a smile that threatened to cut off the top of his head.
"Which is why you must deliver it to Commander McCandless, and not myself," Algie replied mildly as the drinks arrived. "To England, wherever she may be?"
"To England," replied Lola, clinking her glass. And then, meaning something else, "and to wherever she may be."
"...so that's how it ends," concluded Gaspard, fiddling with his teacup. "Naturally, I think you want to come out of this alive so we need to start thinking of a way to save your bacon."
Harris toyed with his Dead Ringer watch. "So... you want me to protect myself against a double agent I will have never met before. Even your notes don't even tell you who it is."
"Now that you put it that way... yeah. That is pretty stupid," said Gaspard. "But you're... you. Nothing can keep you down. Disease, dragons, Slorp... you've survived much worse than a mere traitor. I guess that you're going to have to rely on your gut feeling for this."
Harris shrugged and leaned away from his colleague. "Meh. I have over twenty years to get ready for showtime. I'm gonna be fine."
Gaspard sighed. "I suppose, yeah." He half-rose his teacup in a mock toast. "Well, here's to our possible success and hopefully not dying in a hellish civil war that will tear HQ apart."
The blond man patted Gaspard's back. "And I hope you always keep your shiny, smiley optimism about you."
Two women and a man paused upon entering the bar.
"Y'see him anywhere, Liese?" one of the women said in a Scottish accent. She mumbled something inaudible through the short tusks protruding from beneath her lower lip as she rubbed the back of her neck. "Please say no, so I can go back to my RC and sleep. I've been runnin' ragged thanks to all these flippin' modern AUs."
The man gave her a sour look before scanning the room. "There." He pointed at the two men huddled together. "I believe that is who we came to see."
"'Believe' is a long way from 'know.'"
Liese folded his arms into the sleeves of his black robes. "He fits the description, from what I can tell."
The second woman said nothing as she looked over at the bar itself. Her gray hair dangled in front of her face and her ragged clothes hung awkwardly on her thin frame. She awkwardly scraped the long claws on her fingers together.
The other woman gave her a pat on the shoulder. "It's all right, Hazel," she said. "Liese and me will take care of the gabbin'. Keep easy and I'll get you a sundae for afters. Sound good?" She smiled as the expression on the thin woman's face brightened slightly. "Aces."
They ambled over to the two men. "Gaspard de Grasse?" Liese asked as the three drew within conversation distance.
The two quickly glanced at each other. Stupid, stupid, stupid. If these people had overheard the conversation, this was an embarrassing slip-up. News of the Triple Prime had to be kept secret from absolutely everyone lest the timeline be sent careening towards the formation of the DTOM...
Gaspard slowly turned in his seat. "Yes, that's me," he said slowly. "How may I help you?"
With his back still turned to the newcomers, Harris nonchalantly pocketed his Dead Ringer but left his hand in his vest. His fingers seemed to curl around another gadget instead. He sat still on his barstool, ready to swivel around if need be...
- - -
((Ooh, this will be interesting. Let's do this thing!))
"Liese Aulvenic, Department of Temporal Offenses. The Historical Inaccuracies Division, to be precise." He glanced over at his companions. "This is Dona Carruthers—”
The stocky woman with the tusks gave a quick and sloppy salute. "Call me Deegee," she said.
"—and that is Agent Hazel behind her," Liese continued. The thin woman peeked out from behind Deegee's shoulder, but only for a moment. She then ducked back down again. "They are both with the Department of Improbable AUs."
"We were wonderin' if you could spare a bit of time to gab with us," Deegee said. "You've apparently had a few interesting encounters with, ah… visitors."
"Take a seat," he said, sweeping an arm towards the empty barstools to his right. "Just one thing though. This place? Y'know, HQ? It's a melting pot of timelines. What's true for one agent's future from my perspective isn't true from theirs. A lot of other people were with me when the 'visitors' came. Why don't you ask them? I'm only important in one of the zillion timelines that originate from that moment.
"But if you're here because I'm the only one who knows... well, then you have to understand why this must be kept a secret. I must make sure the chessboard is ready: place my pieces and whatnot before my opponent. I can't risk contaminating my timeline with external influence. I can't let the Toffee Tree or the Antigravity Apple mess with what I've managed to put together."
Harris rubbed his head. "You lost me at the perspective thing. Do you always think like this?"
"Just the fact that you compared this to a chess game shows how little you actually understand," he said. "You cannot—”
"What my dickish Jedi friend means is that this sort of alternate timeline stuff is never as simple as you think," Deegee quickly interrupted. She and Liese briefly exchanged a silent glare before she continued. "Even we don't really understand it. Cornelius does, but he's a bit preoccupied at the moment."
She took the offered barstool. Hazel glanced at the one next to Deegee's for a moment before kneeling down and crawling under the bar instead. Liese remained standing, his face twisted in irritation.
"Look," Deegee said. "It's helpful to think that you can prepare for whatever it is that's comin'. I get that. But alternate realities don't work like that. The very act of preparin' is enough to cause things to change, meanin' that the situation you're tryin' to get ready for isn't the situation you'll get. It's all very quantum."
"In any event," Liese finally said, "we are here for information, not to stop you. We want to know the details of your encounter along with anything you might now about that future in question."
"Sorry." Gaspard folded his arms on the counter. "See, this is exactly the thing that I was warned of. The... 'bad future' happens specifically because someone reported the visitors to the Flowers. The Board of Department Heads then tried to take preventive measures but only managed to breed a more insidious form of the thing they were trying to head off." Turning to Liese, he said: "And of course I know that things change! For example, right now I count two-and-a-half more Time Lords than mentioned in the information that I received. Harris here now has a girlfriend--"
"Sonia is not my girlfriend," interrupted Harris.
'Yes she is," continued Gaspard, "and finally New Caledonia now has a central building thing. The situation has changed-- I'm aware of that. I just ask that you give me the space that I need to complete this operation. I'm under strict orders not to divulge this information to just anyone lest my history repeats itself."
"But how did they find you?" said Harris. "From their perspective maybe one of the others talked. Then they went on to question you."
"So... does that mean we're already on track for the DTOM timeline?" said Gaspard, rubbing his chin. "Aw, heck. This is going to suck."
"No, not necessarily," said Harris. "Maybe we're in a different timeline. Like, one separate from ours and the DTOM's."
Gaspard scratched his head. "Maybe. Um, timeline specialist people? What do you think? I can't possibly say anything to you guys because that constitutes 'treason' from my perspective and I don't want to risk my efforts going to waste. On the other hand... maybe in this timeline informing the Flowers won't be so bad."
- - -
((For sanity's sake let's say this doesn't impact Triple Prime.))
"What makes you think the Flowers don't already know?" she asked. "I mean, in a general sense. We didn't exactly come down here for a pint and a bit of chatter with you and, ah, your lucky ladies man there." The ork paused. "Actually, that's not a bad idea. Rudi, could you fix us up with a pint of ale please?"
There was a plaintive grunt from underneath the bar.
"Right, sorry. A pint and a sundae, please!"
Liese sighed as Deegee turned her attention to the man standing at the opposite end of the bar. "There have been an increasing number of trans-temporal and trans-dimensional visitors in the PPC in recent years," he said. "We are attempting to catalogue these encounters and analyze the possibility of any risk to this organization. This is rather beyond just being about you."
"Be nice, Liese," Deegee warned from over her shoulder.
He continued on, ignoring the DIAU agent. "As for your concerns about what timeline we happen to be in, I'm afraid I have no comforting words to give you. Attempting to predetermine the twists any one timeline might take is nearly impossible. The Flowers might react well. They might not."
((No problem. This is only as canonical as you want it to be.))
"And dread. Mostly dread." Gaspard drummed his fingers on the table. "All right. To heck with this. I need help anyways." He looked at Harris, who shrugged. "Right. So, from the top. The visitors were known as Paladins. They came from sometime after 2060 where the PPC had been shattered into a multitude of smaller department-things spread over the multiverse. There was a civil war-- the Sundering-- where the Sub Rosa's Loyalists fought against the Department of Efficiency and Author Correction. The Loyalists won but at a great cost: all of the Flowers but the Sub Rosa perished and HQ was shattered by an invasion of monsters caused by dropping the shields. The thing I was trying to prevent was a grimdark version of the Sundering. But since you guys are here and this doesn't seem to be my timeline... well, things are different. The Board of Department Heads could block the Efficient and the sneakier Department of Time, Order, and Motion with enough foresight. Yes... yes, that might work."
Harris coughed. "Mansfield. Mansfield from Personnel is who you want to stop. He's the one that will lead DTOM to power."
Gaspard eyed the agents. "Any what are you guys going to do with this information anyways? Report it straight away to the Flowers?"
"The Sundering. Great. Always good for a laugh, that is."
Liese stroked his pointed grey beard. "It sounds like the Paladins could have come from either DF-109C or 109D. Or possibly some new permutation thereof. Let me see..." He pulled out a tablet and began tapping away at the screen while muttering to himself, the other agents seemingly forgotten.
The ork reached out and intercepted a frothing glass of ale and a surprisingly ornate vanilla sundae as they came sliding down the bar. "We've heard of Mansfield," she said as she handed the sundae down underneath her seat. There was a happy growl from floor level. "His name's popped up in our research multiple times. Usually not for positive reasons." She tipped back her ale. "Same with those two departments you mentioned, although I'm not as familiar with the Time, Order, and Motion one. As for the Flowers—”
"That is our business," Liese cut in without looking away from his tablet.
"Come off it, Liese!"
"I will do no such thing, Dona. You are well aware of the rules surrounding what it is that we do."
"It's not going to kill them to know a little bit!"
The Jedi finally glanced up at the seething DIAU agent. "You are welcome to try, but don't don't be surprised if you find yourself tongue-tied." He turned his attention back to Gaspard and Harris as Deegee shot him the V-sign. "I have two questions. Did these Paladins mention a third group in this version of the Sundering? And does "The Centurion" mean anything to you in the context of this future?"
Harris leaned past his colleague to look at Liese. "I feel obligated to add that in the DTOM timeline there were organized Mary Sue invasions of HQ. Maybe they're your third group? Like, reappearing in some bizarre parallel-universe fashion or something?"
Gaspard shrugged. "Could be anything, really. Time in HQ doesn't make any sense." To Liese, he said: "And who is this Centurion figure you speak of? In one timeline I was a General leading the Loyalist army-- d'you think that's a connection?"
"I am speaking of a third faction within the PPC itself, fighting against both the Loyalists and the Efficient. This Centurion is tied to it. This is not a constant development across all timelines; only a select few. We would like to know why."
He tapped his tablet a few more times, then looked back up at Gaspard and Harris. "Is there anything else you can remember about your encounter?"
"I can't really think of anything else, really," said Gaspard. "Er, aside from the fact that I'm supposed to be the only one who remembers anything. Two agents from the DTOM timeline came from one of the futures and wiped everyone's memories but mine. They told me that since I was to become the General it would be better for me to have twenty-odd years to plan ahead for a cleaner Sundering. Well, insamuch as a civil war that will tear HQ apart will be 'clean'. It gets really bad: think nuclear-blast-in-the-Courtyard kind of bad."
Harris' brow furrowed. "Wait. Since when did we have nuclear bombs in the PPC?"
"Well, it wasn't a bomb per se. It was actually the engine of an old DoSAT starship rigged to explode. The Loyalists were desperate. They needed a win so they started throwing whatever they had at the DTOM." Gaspard grimaced. "I can't believe Other Me actually condoned this. This really speaks volumes about who I am-- indirectly speaking. Wheee. Another reason not to like myself."
Deegee paused long enough to drain the rest of her drink. "I mean, he's partially you, sure, but he's also been shaped by that conflict. It's the whole nature and nurture thing. You'd be amazed how much people can change in drastic situations. The things this other Gaspard did reflect on him. Not you. It's important to remember that when dealin' with all this reality-bendin' stuff."
Liese made a final determined tap on his tablet before tucking it back into his robes. "If there is nothing else," he said, "then we will take our leave."
((Sorry a response took so long. Real Life has been particularly brutal as of late.))
"No, no, no, no! I'm not going that place again!" Shui-Hua cried, "What if another changeling attacks?"
"You worry too much Shui-Hua," replied the blonde woman, "besides, we are already there."
The blue-eyed asian blinked, looked around in surprise, and muttered, "Shoot!"
Maya, the Gardevoir, turned to the Nurse and asked, "Miss Corinna, may I ask: Why I'm not in a Poké Ball?
"Because Thrud is --What is the word?-- grounded, for refusing to use an Universal Translator, and you, at least, can communicate with telepathy," replied Nurse Chan, "I still brought her in her Poké Ball, if you want to know."
That said, the trio looked for a empty table, sat on the chairs around it and the Nurse called for the waiter.
((No, sorry my DIC Agents aren't coming, they're kinda busy right now...))
...heralded the sudden appearance of a streak of yellow headed towards the table. A moment later, the entire table shook as Maxwell the Jolteon slammed into one of the legs. Maxwell shook his head and then approached the Gardevoir.
"Vicky! Vicky!" he squeaked. "Owen's gotten himself suspended for good! Like, the DIA people said so just right now! Oh, I've been searching for you forever an' ever but I couldn't find you but then I thought that maybe you were at Rudi's and then I saw you and then--" He took a closer look at his interlocutor. "Hey. You're not Victoria."
A Skiddo and a Zorua slowly approached the table. "Maxwell, you're going to hurt yourself really badly one of these days if you keep running around like that," said Buck. Turning to the rest of the people at the table he said: "Hey. I'm sorry for the disturbance. Maxwell's always been this excitable. Come on Maxwell. Stop annoying the lady."
The Zorua next to Buck back rolled his eyes and sighed as he held up a piece of paper reading "Bump-into-hello cliché".
...to the Jolteon. "No, I'm not. An who you might be? And who is this 'Owen' for that matter?"
"Owen is the Lucario from the Courtyard," replied the Nurse, who then turned to the newly arrived waiter. "Oh! Thank you for coming. A vodka for me, a... Jasmine tea? --Shui-Hua nodded in agreement-- Yes, a jasmine tea for the Technician, and a Oran Berry Juice for the Gardevoir."
Maya, who was thoughtful during that, finally telepathically spoke, "Oh! Now I remember. Miss Corinna, he had reminded me of someone else..."
"Do not mention him. It took me a long time to leave behind the night--" Corinna notices the Skiddo and kneels next to him to get a closer look. "This is interesting. I have never seen one of your kind before."
Shui-Hua, meanwhile, feeling a little uncomfortable with all of this, noticed Tacitus' note, and whispered to him, "Yeah I think so, and speaking of clichés, ever heard of The Third Wheel? Yeah, I feel like that right now."
"You've never seen a Pokémon before?" He looked from the Nurse to Maya. "You sure about that?"
Tacitus had scribbled another note and waved in in Buck's face. "Skiddos, pudding-for-brains."
Maxwell approached Shui-Hua and sat down next to her. "What? How are you, like, a wheel and a number? Aren't more wheels better or something? Benoît once said something about 'weight distribution' or something like that..."
Upon hearing those words Tacitus sighed. I'm surrounded by idiots, he thought to himself.
"Of course I have! And I have seen them closer than you think. But that is not what I meant, I have never seen one of your species before, and--" Notices Tacitus' note. "Uh? 'Skiddos'? That is your species name? Never heard it before."
Shui-Hua blinked, slowly removed her glasses, pinched the bridge of her nose, groaned, and muttered to herself, "Can someone ask the waiter to add a hint of sake to my tea...?"
Maya, outraged for being ignored, pulled Maxwell's ear to make him face her. "Hey, you did not answer my question. And tell me who is Victoria too."
The Nurse glared to the Gardevoir, and warned, "Maya..."
Maya released the Jolteon's ear. "Sorry Miss..."
((Sorry, but Maya the Gardevoir has a very bad temper...))
He stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry for good measure once he was safely behind Buck. "You're mean. I'm not going to answer that."
Ignoring the drama on the side, Buck answered the Nurse's question: "Just 'Skiddo'. We evolve into Gogoat later on. Say... Have you ever been to Kalos? 'Cause that's where we come from."
Meanwhile, Tacitus had maneuvered himself so that he sat between Maya and Maxwell. He eyed the Gardevoir suspiciously while occasionally glancing behind his back to make sure Maxwell wasn't going to do something stupid.
Replied Corinna, "In fact, I can not quite say I have heard it before. Maybe because it was an isolationist country, much like Unova." She then heard Maxwell's raspberry, and shot a death glare to Maya, who winced.
Turning to the Pokémon before her, she smiled and said, "Åh, dumt mig! I have not asked you your names. Can you tell them to me?" She glared Maya again. "Do not worry, the mean Gardevoir will not do anything bad to you."
Maya then gulped and lowered her gaze ashamed.
Buck cleared his throat. "I'm Buck. This here is my partner, Maxwell. We're both in Internal Affairs. That over there is Tacitus. He's in DoI." The Zorua puffed his chest a bit at the mention of his name.
"... Buck, Maxwell and Tacitus." The Nurse bowed her head. "Now Maxwell, you said there was something happening with Owen, what is it? I know he had fight with... Buck, right? It has something to do with the fallout of those actions?"
Maxwell's eyes darted from left to right. "Well, erm... It's just that it's... um... kinda private an' I don't wanna talk about it right now..."
Buck nodded. "You were there, right? I saw you talking off to that man in the distance. Yes, it has to do with my fight with Owen. That's all I'm saying."
Tacitus pulled out a second notebook from the little vest he wore. It was blue and had a label reading "Phrasebook" stuck on the front. The Zorua flipped to a dog-eared page that said: "If you want to know the whole story, I can sell you the information." Tacitus flipped to another page. "Selling information for money. Interested yes/no?"
(I've been meaning to introduce some new characters anyway, so yeah.
Allow me to introduce Agents Whitney and Backslash, from the DMS - VG Division! I'm almost done with their first mission, do that should be ready probably by next week.)
While Valon and Kala looked over the menu, they didn't notice - yet - that the table next to them was already being occupied. A young woman with a gray ponytail, pure white skin, a light blue tank top, and gray comfy pants sat down in the chair right behind Valon. Her partner, a short teenaged blond Homs with a red and purple scarf and red and dark gray clothes, took his seat opposite her.
"All right, now that we're here," said the woman, "what do you want to order?"
"I've never been to this place, honestly," said the male agent mused aloud. "I wonder what sort of food they serve here?"
"Anything, I'll bet, as long as it's healthy," the woman replied. "Though knowing your appetite, I guess the last bit's not relevant."
"I honestly don't like vegetables that much," the boy said with a shrug. "But other than that..."
"Now now, Backslash, you need your nutrients. Perhaps a salad to start off?"
The Homs facepalmed with a snicker. "You’re embarrassing me, Whitney... Seriously..."