Subject: Zeb shook his head.
Author:
Posted on: 2015-05-06 00:05:00 UTC
"Sorry, I've never heard of that before," he said sheepishly. "But if it's anything like what happens to Ron in most Harry Potter fics, I'd hate to know the specifics."
Rina waved an airy hand. "Nah, you should've seen me when I was— when I was human. Zits everywhere, it wasn't pretty. Don't be so hard on yourself." She gave Tacitus the stink-eye.
...as he struggled to manipulate the D.O.R.K.S. with his tail. After what felt like a painstakingly long time, he got it working and stood up in his modified human form. He pocketed the D.O.R.K.S. and ran after Tacitus, squinting through walls as he went. There.
"She's going this way!" he hissed at Tacitus as he blew past him.
...acknowledging the disguised Luxray's direction with a whistle. The Zorua cursed the fact that he was born mute. Communicating with his hunting partner was absurdly difficult this way.
He held up a hand, spinning in a circle as he scanned for his partner. There! He tapped Tacitus on the shoulder and took off running again, though the need to hurry seemed to have lessened. Rina's silhouette had slowed to a walking pace so slow it was almost a trudge.
When Zeb approached, slowing so his pounding feet wouldn't be as noticeable, he could hear sniffling.
...as Zeb approached his partner. This section of HQ was unfortunately quite barren: only doors and light fixtures as far as the eye could see. The Zorua quickly changed his illusion to a Joltik and hid himself by a nearby RC's door. This was all up to Zeb now. Tacitus didn't want to intervene for two reasons: firstly, he had no idea how to approach this. Secondly, he wanted a better vantage point. This was going to be interesting.
Rina stopped moving, which he hoped was a good sign; it meant she wasn't running, after all.
Zeb moved next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Rina," he said again, a little more loudly, "it's me. I know you said you didn't want me to follow you, but—"
He yelped when Rina threw her arms around his neck and broke down sobbing. "I want to go h-home," she sniffled, burying her face against his neck. "I want to wake up and find out the last year's just been a dream and none of this is real and I'm still human and everything soon becomes a wild memory and oh gods why?"
Zeb awkwardly patted her on the back. "Uh, there, there." He looked around for Tacitus, but he couldn't see him. Weird. He turned his attention to the more important matter at hand.
"Nobody's making you stay, you know," he said, hugging her, though it pained him to say the words.
"Not really, I can't," Rina mumbled into his neck. "Going home and outliving my family by thousands of years isn't an option, and there's nowhere for me in the Whoniverse. Where would I go?"
"Anywhere you wat where you can blend in, I thought," Zeb said, fighting the urge to scream at her to snap out of it. He needed her as much as she needed him, but saying so wasn't going to help.
If he listened to his gut, she needed to talk to a therapist (probably a bad idea at the time), or someone she looked up to. But neither of those were at close hand at the moment, and Tacitus was still nowhere to be seen.
Yet another agent snapped. Such was life in the PPC. Too bad, so sad. What could he do about it?
No. Suppress that thought. This was wrong. The chase had brought him here. Like an Assassin team cornering a Suvian, the target was there. The situation called for action. Something needed to be done. The Zorua checked the RC numbers, looking for... perfect. The Narrative Laws never failed to deliver. Tacitus banged at the door of RC 22 and dropped his disguise.
A wiry man cracked open the door. He stared out into space for a moment before looking down and seeing Tacitus. The door opened to let the Pokémon inside. "Tacitus! Come in, come in," said Gaspard. "I just finished baking a cherry cake for grandma," said the Spy, waving at his grandmother who was knitting a scarf on the couch. "Do you want--" he was cut short by the Zorua pointing to Zeb and Rina outside. "Oh! Oh dear!" said Gaspard when he recognized the Assassins. He stuck his head back into the RC "Grand-maman! Il y a une jeune femme qui pleure dans le corridor. Devrions-nous...?"
Before he could even finish his sentence the eighty-four year old agent dropped her knitting, sprang out of her seat with incredible speed, grabbed her walking cane, and was out of the door, briskly striding towards Rina with her grandson in tow. She kneeled next to Rina and said: "Voyons, voyons. Ça va aller, ma petite. Pouvez-vous me dire ce qui se passe?"
- - -
((When in doubt, send in the grandmas.))
French, her brain said, she's speaking French. Go on, say something.
"Je..." she began hesitantly, "Um, j'ai..." No, she couldn't remember much of anything from her old classes. Just another thing she'd forgotten, it seemed. She hiccuped and tried a different path, hoping she wasn't mangling things too much. "Tu parles angles?" she said hesitantly.
Zeb watched her struggling to talk, wishing he could help, but he had no idea what was being said. At least Rina no longer seemed hell-bent on leaving.
"...like this? English, is it not?" the old woman said in a heavy French accent. "Yes, I speak a little English. I'm afraid I have some... euh, lacunes in my vocabulary. Holes. Missing words. But this isn't the time to speak of that. Why are you crying, ma petite? Are you all right?" She beckoned to her RC. "Do you want to have tea with us? Please, don't be shy. Gaspard? Mets la table pour quatre."
The junior Spy nodded and scurried off into the RC to set the table. His grandmother rose to feet using her cane as support and offered her hand to Rina. "My name is Marianne Delacroix. That boy there is my grandson, Gaspard. And you are...?" she looked at Zeb and Rina expectantly.
"I'm Zeb, and this is my partner, Rina," he said, feeling slightly foolish. "Sorry to bother you about this."
Rina, however, seemed to have zoned out, peering intently at Gaspard. That sense the Guardsman had pointed out to her, the sense that this man would play a major part in future events, was a lot stronger up close. She suddenly shook herself, remembering her manners. "Yes, thank you, Madame. And Gaspard."
- - -
((I can't French.))
"There we go. Come on now, in you go," she said to Rina, ushering her to the RC's door. The senior DoI agent turned to Zeb and asked: "I see that you're a Pokémon, right? Will you be all right if you eat a cherry cake? If you need special food, just ask my grandson; he can go fetch some specialty foods for you."
From the RC's kitchen, Gaspard watched as the trio entered the room. He recognized Rina straight away from the Multiverse Monitor: she had missioned that mess. As he put water in an electric kettle, he remembered that the Guardsman had come by a few weeks earlier and spoke to him about Rina and her situation. The Time Lord had also mentioned that he had pointed him out as an example of a fixed point in time. He had to be very careful now. Nobody except a trusted few knew about the future. If she asked, he'd have to watch what came out of his mouth really closely. If word got out that he knew exactly how the next twenty-five years in the PPC would play out he'd never be able to carry out the General's will.
Zeb grinned. "Pokémon can normally eat human food anyway, but some just tastes better as a human. Much more refined taste buds. Thank you for offering." Sugar would do Rina good, he hoped. Come to think of it, he could use some, too.
Rina felt slightly dazed. She'd gone from crying in the corridor to being all but politely dragged into this response center for cake. Then there was Gaspard. Her eyes flickered over to him and she put a hand to her head, trying to be discrete about the motion.
"Please, take a seat," said the Frenchwoman, motioning towards a large dining table in the middle of the RC. "My grandson will be out with the cake soon. Now, would you prefer green or black tea?"
In the kitchen, Gaspard looked up from Tacitus' note. "Thanks for the intel," whispered the Spy to his colleague. "I'll make sure not to ask her about FicPsych. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. Just jot down an order if you can't reach it." The Zorua nodded and ambled over to the refrigerator as Gaspard grabbed plates and forks and made his way to the table. On his way there, he noticed Rina looking at him and immediately shielding her eyes. Gaspard put the plates down, announced he was going back to get the cake, and made his way back to the kitchen. Looking at Tacitus digging into a piece of ham, he asked: "Tacitus? Honest opinion. Am I really that ugly?"
The Zorua looked at Gaspard for a few seconds and shrugged. He scribbled "Acne" on his notepad and turned back to his ham. The junior agent sighed, grabbed the cake, and returned to the table with it.
"Whatever you recommend, I suppose."
Rina did her best not to stare at Gaspard, but it was hard, especially with the images trying to crowd her brain. "Oh, um, what Zeb said," she said when she realized she'd been asked a question. She pinked when she heard his muted question. One of the not-so-great things about being a Time Lord: overhearing things not meant for your ears.
- - -
((Aw, I wanna hug Gaspard. *cuddles*))
Marianne looked at her grandson. "Fais-le infuser pour douze minutes. C'est mieux quand c'est fort."
"Tout de suite," answered Gaspard, disappearing into the kitchen again. Marianne began cutting portions of cake to her guests. "Now, tell me," she said as she gave Rina and Zeb generous portions of cake, "are you feeling all right, dear? What's wrong?"
Gaspard returned into the kitchen and began filling a bag full of loose-leaf green tea. He looked at Tacitus and said quietly: "She won't even look at me. What am I? The Elephant man?"
Tacitus wrote another note. "No. You're a 4/10. 5/10 if you gain some actual muscle mass."
"Thanks, Tacitus."
"Anytime."
- - -
((Rule number 1: Gaspard must never feel good about himself. If his mood starts improving, Yank the Dog's Chain so hard that he gets a severe case of whiplash.))
Rina sighed. "Still trying to deal with stuff, that's all. I'm fine now, really." She winced when she heard Gaspard's voice again. "Um, excuse me, please?" She dipped her head in Marianne's direction, got up, and went to set things straight.
From the other room, she could hear Zeb saying, "I think she's still pretty shaken up from Rose Potter and, um, the stuff that happened after. Said she wants to go home, but..."
"A friend of mine told me about the Rose Potter mission," said Marianne. "You poor, poor children. This isn't right at all. I can understand that she wants to go back home... Does she need help?"
Gaspard looked up from his teapot to see that Rina had wandered into the kitchen. "Er... yes?"
"She does, but the hard part is that she just refuses to get any. I have no idea what I should do, and she isn't offering any suggestions."
"Um. Hi." Rina hovered at the edge of the kitchen, gnawing her lip. "Look, I could hear what you were saying from in there. I was trying not to stare because it would be rude, but you've got this fixed-point-in-time thing going on and it was giving me a bit of a headache. It's not because I think you're ugly or anything, okay?"
"...my son-in-law works in Psychologie Fictive. I can ask him to keep an eye out for her and slowly try to reach out to her. She's not going to last very long if she keeps this up." Marianne transferred over another slice of cherry cake to Zeb's plate. "But that's enough talk about all of these sad things. Eat. It's my father's recipe and made by my grandson. He makes it exactly the way my father did..." she took a bite of her slice of cake and smiled. "Mhmm. He got the icing right this time. Go on! Eat! And while you're at it, tell me about yourself. I love learning about other people."
Gaspard eyed Rina suspiciously. Right. Time Lady. I almost forgot. He cleared his throat and said: "Fixed point? Oh, that's okay then. Sorry for the inconvenience but I guess it can't be helped, right? Knowing me the fixed point probably something rather boring like going to the Cafeteria or something."
Behind Gaspard, Tacitus held up a note. "Though you have to admit that this guy looks like he's been hit with the ugly stick. Look at his nose!"
- - -
((Oh, yes. The Cafeteria certainly is involved. Isn't that right, General De Grasse?))
"Oh, wow, this is fantastic!" He chewed appreciatively and swallowed. "Well, I was hatched in Sinnoh, and was raised in the wild until I was about a year old when my old trainer found me." His eyes looked almost glassy as he remembered. "I traveled with her and her team for a while... we lost teammates, but we kept pushing on... fought Team Galactic a few times... fought in Gym battles. I single-handedly took down Mayene and Crasher Wake. Helped take down half Fantima's team as well."
He smiled sadly. "I never did find out if my trainer got the sixth badge or not. I—" He gulped. "I, uh, fell into the PPC while we were... training." He shrugged, forcing a smile onto his face. "But it's been great here. I'm getting to meet so many people, like you, Madame, and Rina's the best friend I could ask for, even if she was a bit hard on me at first." He sighed. "I appreciate your offer, I worry about her."
Rina shook her head. "No, I'm getting the sense that it's something bigger than that—" She frowned at Tacitus when he held up the note. "Now that's just uncalled for!"
"It's good to see that she has a wonderful partner such as you. She'll pull though it, I'm sure of it." She leaned back in her chair, nibbling on a pice of cake at the end of her fork. "It sure sounds like your life was pretty exciting. My son plays a lot of video games and he tells me all about them: I've just started playing on his old copy of Pokémon Diamond," said Marianne, pointing at an old Nintendo DS resting on a nearby coffee table. "Congratulations on sweeping several gyms!"
Marianne leaned forward to take another bite of cake. "I suppose that I can tell you a bit about my life. I was born all the way back in 1929 in Paris. My father worked as a baker: he had his own little shop and worked tirelessly to support his family. In 1939, he went to war for the second time in his life as a member of the Forces françaises libres. He miraculously survived the war and returned to his little bakery after the end of the war. I went on to become a journalist, married my husband Albert, moved to Canada with him, and started a family. After he died in 2001, I saw an ad in the newspaper for an organization that corrected texts and such. I was intrigued, signed up for it, and found myself here." She folded her hands on her lap. "It's been a good past few years. Except for the fanbrats who soil the work of Sir Conan Doyle-- especially with the fanfics based on the BBC's televised series of Sherlock. The things they do to the poor man..."
At Rina's exclamation, Gaspard whirled around. He saw Tacitus' note and shrugged. "I don't know about that, ma'am. He's actually got a point there."
Tacitus nodded sagely.
- - -
((Minor age mistake a few posts ago. Marianne is 86, not 84 years old.))
"Sorry, I've never heard of that before," he said sheepishly. "But if it's anything like what happens to Ron in most Harry Potter fics, I'd hate to know the specifics."
Rina waved an airy hand. "Nah, you should've seen me when I was— when I was human. Zits everywhere, it wasn't pretty. Don't be so hard on yourself." She gave Tacitus the stink-eye.
"...that I only read the first Harry Potter book. I should do something about that," said Marianne. She smiled. "And you should pick up Agatha Christie or Sir Conan Doyle's works. They are some of the best mystery novel writers you'll ever get ahold of."
Tacitus returned Rina's stare unblinkingly. Gaspard simply shrugged. "Tacitus is telling it as it is. There's no need to sugarcoat anything. At least you're in a perfectly healthy body now," said Gaspard. He pointed at his face. "Acne scars are forever, y'know." He placed the kettle on the counter, plugged it in, and flicked the on switch. "So... green tea," he muttered to himself, trying his best to look busy.
Wow. Congratulations, he thought. You just revealed your inferiority complex to a girl you don't even know. You're even more pathetic than you think you are. She must think you're an absolute idiot. What the hell was that remark about her body? You're creepy for even thinking that. And hurr durr, "Acne scars are forever". Are you stupid or something? Why would you even say something like that? Good job on losing face yet again you walking cringefest. Why don't you tip your fedora at her and keep on calling her ma'am? No wonder people don't want to be near you.
Gaspard kept a perfectly straight face as his inner monologue resonated in his brain.
"Mystery, huh? Never tried that genre before. I should look into that." He smiled at Marianne. "Do you have any specific recommendations?"
"Not necessarily," Rina said. "I had a few that faded with time." She sighed. "Yeah, it's a perfectly healthy body of a sixteen year-old, which I guess I should be glad about, since I'm going to be stuck looking like this for roughly a century. Fun stuff." She broke off, watching him in silence. Shut up, she thought to herself. People are getting sick of your 'boo-hoo, woe is me' attitude. Knock it off. You're not looking for pity, so for God's sake shut the hell up.
- - -
((Thisnis my face reading Gaspard's inner monologue: ;-; Let me hug youuu))
"I've been waiting for that question!" she said, smiling. "Definitely read Murder on the orient Express from Agatha Christie. It's a well-known classic and a great way to introduce yourself to the genre. As for Sherlock Holmes, start at the beginning: A Study in Scarlet. With those two novels you should have a good grasp of how Christie and Conan Doyle structure their stories."
Gaspard turned to the fridge and rummaged inside for the milk. "Nah, don't feel bad. Loads of people wouldn't mind being a Time Lord-- Lady. By the way, did you meet the rest of HQ's Time Lords? They're a strange bunch, aren't they?" He noticed that Rina was staring at him without saying anything. Alarm bells rang in his mind. She knows. I said something stupid and she's wondering how I could possibly be real. What did I say? Something offensive I bet. Why else would she look so weirdly at you? Christ alive, you're incredible. It's not enough that you're eye-wateringly ugly, you have to be unpleasant to the point of being repelling to other people. Fantastic. Stupendous. You deserve to be alone. Quarantine yourself until the end of your days and nobody needs to suffer from being around you.
- - -
((He hates himself with every single fibre of his being. It's difficult to explain but imagine having that monologue simmering beneath the surface, waiting for an opportunity to surface and express its deep-seated disgust and loathing all in one go, like a tsunami of self-hate.
I wonder how long he can go like this before imploding.))
"And might I recommend the Harry Potter series as well? It didn't become as popular as it did without reason."
"Yeah, well, a lot of people don't realize how incredibly disorienting it can be," Rina muttered, breaking off her staring. She couldn't help it; his status as a fixed point in time was fascinating, even if it did make her head hurt. "And of the three I've met, one's a dick and one's an utter nightmare, but the Guardsman is nice. He helped me get a grip on things."
- - -
((I don't have to imagine. That was me, once. When the explosion happens, it ain't gona be pretty.))
"But do you want to know something funny? In French, the magic school is called 'Poudlard'. It doesn't even mean anything-- but lard is... well, lard. What else is interesting... ah, yes. To keep the anagram 'Je suis Voldemort', the Dark Lord's real name is 'Tom Elvis Jedusor' in the French translation. Interesting, isn't it?"
"You've met Emiranlanoamar? Good, good," said Gaspard. "He's a bit weird-- especially if you bring up Daleks within his earshot-- but he's not a bad guy. Though I never really understood why he spends some of his free time watching his old Time War headcam footage. The event is traumatic enough-- why would you want to relive it?"
"I suppose it could have been a stranger name," he said, then laughed. "I wish I had any interesting trivia to share with you." He cocked one ear in the direction of the kitchen. "Wonder what's taking them so long."
Rina shuddered. "I can't blame him for not liking Daleks," she said. "Had a rather nasty run-in with a Dalekified Harry Potter who was hell-bent on EX-TERM-INATing us. As for the Time War thing..." she shrugged, one hand going almost subconsciously to her stomach. "I don't know why anyone would want to relive past horrors. Once is more than enough."
"I really don't know. He likes to talk, though..." She cleared her throat. "Gaspard! Tu viens manger ta part de gâteau?"
Tacitus whistled for attention. Once the two human agents were looking at him, he wrote a message for them. "He is trying to verify if any other members of his unit survived the Time War. During the Last Day the Time Lords' casualties peaked: entire military formations were sacrificed to save the Capital and Arcadia. If the tapes I've seen are correct, the Guardsman is the Arcadian 442nd Regiment. All other members of his unit were killed in action."
Gaspard paled. "Calvaire." He opened his mouth to say more but his grandmother called from the other room. "Euh... je m'en viens!" He motioned towards the table. "Erm... shall we? I don't think that you've eaten your share of cake yet, right?"
Rina's thoughts drifted off. Being the last one of your unit... She couldn't imagine what that must have been like.
She forced a smile on her face and said, "Allons-y?"
Gaspard followed Rina to the table and sat at his seat, pulling his plate towards him. Under his grandmother's approving gaze he started eating his piece of cake. Marianne turned to Rina and smiled. "Don't be shy about having a second helping of cake. We don't often have visitors: it's really our pleasure."