((Thought about joining the fun again. Also thought about testing an idea I had long ago.))

Captain Navare – he kept his rank as a reminder of his origin, even if nothing but a title – stepped through a portal into his RC. His partner, the Culture-verse Drone Amlis (whose Full Name was a bit too long for Navare to remember despite having been partnered with it for three months or so), floated in after him and used his Effector to close the portal.

“Another mission accomplished,” the Drone said in its deep voice, its Aura Fields red with pleasure.
“Quite,” Navare replied, letting go of his rifle-shaped Device; the AI transformed into its standby mode and settled as a small pistol into Navare's side-holster.

The Game Theory-verse Mage sighed, feeling very tired all of a sudden. “Amlis,” he said, “let's do something else this time. I don't think I can stand a post-mission simulation right now.”

The Drone bobbed in the air – its version of a shrug. “If so you wish,” it said, gunmetal – which signified puzzlement – seeping into its Aura Field slowly. “Why, though?”

“I feel tired, all of a sudden,” Navare replied. “My scars ache, too.” It was true; he felt a throbbing pain in his right hand, which, while he was still a bit character in a badfic, was shot off. His expression became morose as the memories of the story resurfaced. None of them were pleasant, and he was thankful that most of the time he didn't have to remember them.

Amlis monitored Navare's vitals and decided a change of pace was in order. “Alright,” it said, its Aura Fields turning yellow (approachability), “tell you what: let's take a table at Rudi's. The company will do you good.”

Navare shrugged, but followed the Drone as it remotely opened the RC's door and floated to the generically grey corridors outside.

---

The duo arrived at Rudi's just as a certain axe-wielding agent left the pub. Amlis led his partner to a table that was already set for one person, watched as the human sat down and put his head in his arms, then settled down itself on the table; its ellipsoidal body took no more than half of its surface area. It made a show of rotating its casing hither and to, as though looking for someone or something...

((So, here are the two most likely Agents I’ll be submitting someday in the distant future. It’s possible that if/when I get to Permissions this will become an Interlude, I’m not totally sure. Eric’s an old RP character whose game died, and Helen is actually the surviving Sue from this mission: http://uncommon-comma.livejournal.com/992.html))

Eric caught his partner’s arm, hauling her back around as she tried to go back down the hall. She resisted, but despite being shorter, the teenage boy was able to keep her from retreating. The scarred blonde glared at him.
"I changed my mind!"
"Helen, they’re not going to tackle you to the floor or sic Minis on you or anything. Some of them are Ex-Sues too, remember? Maybe you’ll see some of the people in your old support group."
"That’s not it—let go of me, you’re acting like a child." Helen twisted her arm around, trying to force her partner to let go, but he clung to her like a limpet.
"Helen, all you’ve done is hide in the RC unless we’re on missions. If you want to be part of the PPC, you kind of need to be part of the PPC, you know?"
Helen sighed and stopped fighting. "Fine. You’re right. Let’s get this over with."
Eric gave her a 'gentle' punch to the arm. “Come on, worst case scenario you get a free meal.”
"Free?" Helen quirked an eyebrow at him.
"I said it was my treat, didn’t I?"
"I believe you called it a bribe." Helen walked past him and pushed the door open, entering Rudi’s.
"Same difference."

((The following is probable-canon for Agents Chris and Ami, meaning that once I get Permission and slay my first Sue, I may turn this post and its follow-up (if any) into an actual interlude. Also, you all have my permission to involve Chris and/or Ami in your post. =D Also, late post is late and I apologize))

In a booth near the entrance to Rudi's Pub, Agent Chris of the Department of Floaters ran a hand through his black hair absently. I should thank Rina for telling me about this place, he thought. I feel a little relaxed already. "Do they have anything you can eat, Ami?" he asked the dark green unicorn next to him. "I know there's a lot of human-style food in your show, but..."

Ami shrugged. "The menu says it's 'generally canon-compatible'. I think we'll be OK. Oh, look! They have fresh daisy sandwiches and hayburgers!"

"Hayburgers? Seriously?"

"Do I mock your canon's puns?" she retorted.

Chris had no answer to that, and so opened his menu again. The variety of food was astounding; normal, (extra) spicy, "gluten-free", vegan, vegetarian, low-sodium, even "Fan-created and/or Glittery." (He didn't want to think about that one too hard.) A familiar name in the "extra spicy" column caught his eye: "New from the Johto region--Cinnabar Volcano Burger. Sesame seed bun, grilled Tauros meat (yes, really), lettuce, tomato, onions, and a secret spice blend. Cheese and extra ketchup/mustard available by request."

The boy-at-heart smiled fondly. One of his few clear Johto memories was of his mother making that burger for him whenever he'd had a bad day or just because she could. True, the spice-infused meat burned like wasabi going down, but she used to say that if he could handle that, he could handle anything people threw at him.

Their waitress, a woman named "Lysa" with shiny brown hair and green eyes, approached with a drink tray. "OK, here's your lemonade..." She handed Chris a glass full of the sweet, bubbly drink. "...and your black tea with sugar." Ami's horn lit up, and the cup, saucer, and milk pitcher levitated off the tray, to land on the table with three soft "clink"s. "Are you two ready to order?"

"I'll have two daisy sandwiches, please," Ami smiled.

"Yeah, could I get a Cinnabar Volcano Burger without the onions?" asked Chris.

Lysa looked momentarily confused, but wrote it down. "That one sounds pretty spicy. Do you want a glass of water with that?"

"Since you ask, yes, please." When she left, he slumped over the table slightly, resting his head on his left hand. "I cannot believe we got a freaking godplayer Sue for our first mission," he grumbled. "Seriously, who the hell did she think she was? You don't just usurp a legendary Pokémon's role and identity like that! And if you do, you don't get basic information wrong while you're at it!"

Ami rolled her eyes. "I know, Chris. You only complained about that like fifteen times during the mission."

"Because she didn't follow the mother-clucking rules! Even in a canon as weird as mine, no trainer in his or her right mind would ever claim to have even a common Pokémon's powers!" He took a big gulp of lemonade before continuing. "The sad thing is that it wouldn't have been a half-bad AU if the little cow had at least bothered to stick to her own rules. But no, she and her friends just had to be a bunch of sooper speshul snoflaiks."

"They weren't all like that," Ami pointed out. "If they had been, we wouldn't have left the parents and her totally-not-boyfriend to live out normal human lives."

Chris took another drink of lemonade. "OK, I'll give you that one," he conceded. "Still, you can't deny that having two newbie agents kill a godplaying Sue is unfair even by this place's standards. Even though we did it, it wasn't fair."

A Death Eater, a devil, an anthropomorphic fox and a Radioactive Moss Creature walked into a bar. It sounded like the beginning of a joke, the RMC thought, but if so, the punchline eluded it.
Saxo stopped right inside the door and looked around. His face showed clear disapproval of everything, the clientèle, the decor, the music. Currently the song playing was 'Come and get your love'; an indication the Rudi's had also also fallen under the sway of the Awesome Mix soundtrack from Guardians of the Galaxy. Still, he didn't make any comment and after a moment of glancing around he followed the rest of them up to the bar.

"Evening," said Rudi, who was polishing a glass with a tea towel in the time-honoured ritual of bartenders everywhere. "New recruits? Haven't seen you around before."
"Oh, no, we've been here ..." Mittens began, then trailed off and frowned. "I have no idea really."
Rudi shrugged. "Time can be odd here in HQ. But what can I get you gents," he eyed the RMC with interest, "and plant-based life form?"
"A beer," said Mittens. "Nothing particular," he added hastily. "Just whatever you think is good."
"Water," the RMC said.
"Do you have firewhiskey?" asked Saxo.
"Sure do," answered Rudi and looked at the last person, the fox, who was too busy looking at everything around him to notice anything.
Mittens gave him a gentle push. "James, what do you want to drink?"
"Oh! A glass of your finest wine, if I may."
Rudi nodded and started lining up glasses on the bar.
"Can we sit here?" asked Saxo, with a suspiciously innocent look on his face.
Mittens eyed him for a moment, then he looked at the bar stools and then at James, who was actually short enough to stand under them and - even though he was a good climber - would still have a hard time getting onto one of them. "No," Mittens replied in a voice that brooked no argument.
Saxo looked annoyed for a moment, but then his eye was caught by the label on the whiskey bottle and he actually started to smile, before he remembered himself and took on a look of cool indifference.

A few moments later, everyone were making their way over to an empty table, carrying their chosen beverages, except for the RMC, whose glass was being carried by Mittens.
They all sat down. Saxo sniffed his glass of firewhiskey, which brought tears to his eyes of either appreciating or nostalgia. Or maybe it was just the whiskey fumes. Mittens lifter his beer glass and was about to take a sip, when James grabbed his wrist.
"Wait," said the fox. "We should make a toast."
Saxo cocked an eyebrow and smiled sardonically, but didn't actually start drinking.
"A good idea," said the RMC. "But for who or what?"
James didn't need to think about the answer. "For absent friends."
"Absent friends," repeated both Mittens and the RMC and they all sipped their glasses.
"Those absent friends," said Saxo, "you do realize that they are not actually your friends, but the friends of the real ..."
"Stop it," interrupted the RMC. "I don't want you to start a fight and have me embarrassed by having one or both of you thrown out."
"Have no fear, Sir," said James and sipped his wine. "While I am not a coward and would gladly fight anyone, anywhere, anytime ..." He checked himself and continued. "I shall not rise to his taunts. I know that he is no better than me; his situation no more enviable. We are both constructs with no place in what we thought was our home. We are much the same."
When James stopped talking and went back to calmly sipping his wine, both Mittens and the RMC looked at Saxo. He looked absolutely livid and was gripping his glass so hard that his knuckles were white and it looked like it might break. But it didn't and, apparently, neither did he. Finally his lifted the glass. "To absent friends," he muttered and downed the whiskey in one gulp.

His book was open, but Vania had hardly seen him turn any pages during the walk here. For Doc, that was a bad sign. She steered him into a seat at a table near the door.

"Doc. Listen."

He lowered the book a bit, but stared at the table's surface rather than look at Vania. His mouth had a weird shape to it, like he was trying to smile, but didn't have the energy to make it go up all the way.

"Doc, let's put the book down for a while. No fandom stuff tonight. Let's just have dinner and talk a bit, okay?"

"It's not . . . it's nonfiction," he protested, stammering. He still didn't look up, even as Vania gently took the book from his grip and closed it. (She made sure to pluck the bookmark out of his glasses and place it inside, first. The idea was to traumatize him less.)

"I don't care," Vania said firmly. "Tonight is not a reading or writing night. Tonight is a talking night!" She put the book under her armpit. "I'm going to go get us some food, Doc. You just wait here and--and don't think. About fics. Just try to talk to someone."

She started to turn away, but turned back when Doc mumbled something. "What's that, Doc?"

"Just . . . no chumpits."

Vania shuddered. "No, Doc. No chumpits. I promise." She finally left for the counter, leaving Doc alone, slightly bent forward and staring blankly at the table again.

After a long day of putting up with his partner for 5 minutes, Eamon Brightbeard needed a drink. He changed out of his normal silver armor and into something more comfortable: sturdy leathers with some decorative steel panels riveted on. That done, he headed down to Rudi's for something strong.

He walked into the pub and straight up to the bar. Once he had gotten settled on a stool he flagged down the bartender. "Evening, Rudi. If you please, I'll take the strongest thing you've got, as long as it comes in a flagon."

Drink in hand, he sat back and let the sounds of the pub wash over him.

-Phobos

Agent Desdendelle knew he wasn't the most persuasive person around. He also knew that his new partner, the Time Lord called Librarian, was a misanthrope that preferred the company of books to other people.
So instead of suggesting a drink at Rudi's, he tapped the Librarian's shoulder. “I'm going to get something a bit stronger than my usual cuppa tea. See you whenver.”
The Librarian grunted. Figuring that this was the most he could get out of the Time Lord, Des made his way to Rudi's.
Relieving Rudi of some of his fine Cointreau and leaving a few Waterdhavian silver coins as payment, the be-goateed agent found himself a corner table and sat down. Pouring himself a shot, he downed it and coughed before looking around.