Subject: Kiss the Blade
Author:
Posted on: 2014-09-04 10:05:00 UTC
Des pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, fun,” he muttered. “And I thought my history was bad.” He rubbed his forehead. “Now I'm sorry I'm asked. Foreign canon politics aren't my thing. One thing, though.” A pause. “There was a philosopher from Earth called Descartes, or Cartesius. He said this: cogito ergo sum. I think, therefore I am. The geth think, therefore they are. Neh?”
((Welcome one and all to the Rudi's RP! Make yourselves at home.
Just a reminder before we get started: this is meant to be a fun RP, not something dramatic. Please don't start serious things like a Suvian invasion or a murder or a second Blackout during the RP. This is meant to be a slice-of-life type thing focusing on agent interactions. Don't forget to read the Wiki's description of the pub so that we're all on the same page. Furthermore, please be considerate of other people's schedules and time zones while waiting for an answer to your post.
Here's the prompt: Your agents have just been through a long day and need a pick-me-up. They drag their weary bodies to Rudi's for some drinks and a chat with some colleagues-- if they feel up to it.
Standard rules apply: no controlling other people's agents (actions, speech, thoughts, or interactions with objects), no starting fights, no provoking a HQ-wide emergency, and no shoes in the pool. Please write all posts in third-person past tense for a uniform style. Canonicity in the PPCverse is optional according to the writer. Permission is not required to participate.
All righty then. Have fun!))
- - - -
Rudi's pub was one of PPC HQ's oldest and most well-known drinking establishments. It was usually crowded with agents from all departments-- Action and Infrastructure alike-- drinking, eating, chatting, relaxing, and laughing away the day's troubles. Today was no different: the pub was almost completely full.
A pair of Spies sat at the bar, each nursing a drink. The one on the left adjusted his navy blue bowtie and took a sip from his cup of drinking chocolate as the blond Spy on the right toyed with a golden pocket watch with both hands.
"It's called the 'Dead Ringer'," explained Gaspard. "It allows you to fake your death by turning you invisible for a handful of seconds and dropping a fake corpse of yourself if you get hit."
Harris opened the pocket watch by pressing on a button next to the watch's crown. Instead of a watch face, there was a circle of blue lights. "Hit how hard?" he asked. "A punch? A poke?"
The half-Chinese agent did a vague hand motion. "Anything that can cause a bruise or worse. You're still gonna get hurt, except about... ninety percent less. That means that if you take a bullet to the gut, you're only going to suffer one-tenth of the injury you would have received if this thing wasn't on."
"Ninety percent less?"
"That's how the game calculates damage. I actually haven't met anyone here who used the DR, so I can't give you any examples of people who used it in HQ."
Harris closed the watch cover with his thumb and slipped the Dead Ringer into his waistcoat's pocket. He picked up his cup of coffee and said: "No matter. It's not like I get caught anyways, haha! Anyways, thank you very much for the birthday present. It's nice of you to remember it. Besides you, Penny, and Sonia... well, it's been quiet."
Gaspard nodded and returned to his drink. Harris wasn't a bad person per se, but had an unfortunate tendency to make bad things happen around him. Fortunately, Bulldog had partnered him with badfic recruit Sonia of Ylisse so that "Disaster Magnet" Frost had at least one pair of eyes on him at all times. So far, Sonia had done a good job of keeping Harris out of trouble. Gaspard hoped that it would stay that way-- for everyone's sake.
The junior agent swivelled around in his bar seat so that he faced the room. He looked at the groups of agents huddled around tables, standing by the wall, or milling around the arcade machines and dartboards. How was their day? Gaspard wondered to himself. What stories would they tell if they were asked?
((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.
((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."
From their perch at the bar, Harris and Tomoko watched as a pair of agents wandered into the bar. The black-haired Japanese woman nodded towards them and whispered to Harris: "See the girl? Ex-Sue, I'm sure of it: look at her face and bearing. She's got some scars, though. Wonder how that happened."
"You really wanna know? Watch how the pros do it. But first, lemme finish my drink..." Harris leaned back, trying to rest both elbows on the counter like some sort of smooth customer. He failed miserably, instead toppling backwards off his barstool and smashed the back of his head on the bar counter on his way down. Before Tomoko could react, Harris sprung back up, furiously rubbing the back of his head, and staggered towards the newcomers.
The Japanese agent slid off her seat and caught up to Harris in a few long strides. "What the hell are you doing, Frost? Are you okay?"
"Gonna ask her," mumbled Harris as he continued to push forward. "You wanted to know."
Glod help me. He's trying to act like nothing happened, thought Tomoko. She hovered behind the blond agent while watching the newcomers get closer. "You just fell off a chair and wrecked your head," she hissed in his ear, "so sit your sorry butt down and let me check you for concussion or--"
Too late. Harris had entered conversation range. "Excuse me, m'lady," he drawled. "We," he groggily gestured behind him at Tomoko, "wanted to know about your scars." He stood there on shaky legs and flashed what he thought was a charming smile at the blonde woman.
Tomoko cringed. This was not a great start to a conversation.
- - - - -
((Thantosiet, was Helen ever actually recruited by the PPC? The end of the plugged story suggests that she was left in the 'fic to assimilate.))
((Apologies to eatpraylove for hoisting Tomoko and Harris out of the conversation, but it's nearly been a month of inactivity. If you want to pursue the interaction, let's say that this thread takes place after Harris and Tomoko interacted with Ami and Chris.))
“Ow, that sounded like it hurt,” he said, looking over towards the noise. “Guess he’s okay, though—oh hey, he’s coming over.”
Helen stiffened at the man’s address. She didn’t recognize the man—or the Japanese woman who seemed to be trying to stop him—nor could she identify their department at a glance. Assuming they were in an action department, anyway. She didn’t know the regulations on wearing uniforms outside of work (or anywhere, really) but she and Eric wore theirs, the Department of Floaters badges very visible.
“It’s a long story,” she said at last.
“Not really,” Eric put in. “You and this other fat phoenix chick were both the most beautiful woman in the world, so your fics merged and when you guys met—”
Helen clamped a hand over his mouth halfway into the sentence. “Fine then, it’s not a long story. It’s just not one I like to talk about. Thank you for bringing up that painful memory.”
“Hey, he didn’t know,” Eric said, pulling her hand away.
“. . . And how many pleasant stories are there behind facial scarring, exactly?”
((She was left behind, but as there's been no progress on said fic, I think that means they get stuck in some kind of limbo. My current explanation is that she decided to try to follow the Agents, since otherwise she was trapped, and found a Plot Hole to HQ. If anyone knows details that contradict this/alternate ideas I'd be happy to hear them.))
Or rather, looked around in Tomoko's general direction and said "Ha" with his eyes slightly unfocused. He then awkwardly pivoted on the balls of his feet, trying to walk back towards the bar, but instead stumbled sideways and collapsed into a chair in a seated position. "Don't feel so good allova sudden," he slurred.
Tomoko swore under her breath and approached Harris. "All right, that does it. Off to Medical for you. Sit tight and I'll open a portal." The black-haired agent retrieved her Remore Activator from her pockets and keyed in a code. The RA fizzled and beeped twice. "No. Nonononoono..." the Japanese agent smacked the RA with the flat of her hand several times, then quickly stuffed it back into her pockets and looked at Eric and Helen. "All right... so apparently you can't open portals from inside HQ to another place in HQ. That's... kinda stupid, really. D'you mind giving me a hand with Harris here? I'll, uh... hm. How about I buy you guys some drinks if you do? Deal?" Without waiting for an answer she pointed to Eric. "You there, with the face. Go up to the bar and ask for a bag of ice. If Harris is concussed, we need to keep the swelling down."
Helen looked at the concussed Agent in bemusement. Apparently that fall had been a bit more serious than it had looked at first. She turned her attention back to his partner (or possibly just a friend, she didn't know).
"Deal--though I think Eric is underage so it'll have to be a non-alcoholic drink for him," she added. Eric was already on his way back, holding the ice.
"Where did you get hit? back of the head?" He asked, circling Harris anxiously.
Harris weakly tried to shoo away Eric with a few swipes of the hand. "Go 'way. I'm okay." He slumped further back against his chair, looking dizzy.
"No, you're not. Stop fussing and do what I say," snapped Tomoko. "Ice-boy-- Eric, I think your partner said? Hold the bag behind his head. Blondie, place yourself beside Harris and grab his shoulder. I'm gonna do the same thing on his other side. We're gonna walk him to Medical."
As the agents moved around Harris in preparation for the maneuver, Tomoko said: "Oh, right. Introductions. I'm Agent Kogi, Department of Intelligence. My colleague here is Agent Frost. I apologize for his rather rude question; he's not really a people person."
Helen moved around to Harris's shoulder, opposite Tomoko. She grabbed the man with a little less gentleness than might normally have been required.
"You're not okay, hold still for a minute," Eric replied, moving around behind him. He was weirdly delicate with the bag of ice, as if he was afraid of touching anywhere water was condensing on its outside.
"Here, give that to me and you take his arm," Helen said to the teenager, reaching around for the bag. She pressed it against the back of Harris's head.
"Thanks. I've got kind of a problem with water," Eric added to the Japanese woman.
"Eh, whatever. It's not like we hunt for Sues underwater or anything. All right guys, lift on three. one, two, three!"
Tomoko heaved upwards, dragging Harris up and out his his chair. "You guys okay? All right, let's move. Oh yeah, before I forget: what's your name, blondie? Your patches tell me you and your partner are Floaters but that's not really much to go on."
"If I get wet, poof, tail. It's kind of a thing for merfolk-based continua recently. Would be useful underwater but otherwise it's kind of inconvenient." Eric pulled Harris's other shoulder, trying to keep him supported.
"I'm Helen," the blonde replied, shifting the bag of ice as Harris got up. "Let's get this taken care of."
...as she twisted around Harris to get a better look at Eric. "A merman! What? That's, like, so cool! So I'm guessing that you're not from World One, right? How did you find your way here? So, are you-- okay, watch the doors here... come one... nice. Everyone is clear? Let's roll. So Eric, are you like the team Auquaman or something? Cursed with the awesome yet ridiculously specific superpower?"
The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps down the corridor made Tomoko glance behind her. Gaspard ran up to the agent quartet, looking puzzled. "Good heavens! What happened, ma'am? I was only gone for a few minutes!"
"Harris mashed his head against the bar counter. I think he's concussed," answered Tomoko. "Oh, yeah. Meet my assistants, Eric the amazing merman and plain Helen."
"I was in . . . I'm not sure what to call it. It was an RP set in its own universe that died. Careful, watch your step. Yeah, I guess you could say that. I don't have any other superpowers beyond the tail thing--unless you count being able to hold my breath for a long time."
"I'd say yes, that counts," Helen replied.
At being described as amazing, Eric flushed, but he looked pleased. Helen looked over the newcomer.
"Are you from Medical--or at least know how to treat concussions?" She asked hopefully.
"As for treatment, you're doing the right thing. Ice the injury to diminish the swelling and getting the victim to a doctor right away," said Gaspard as he fell into step beside Tomoko. "He should be all right. Medical can pull off literal miracles with all of the equipment they have."
"M'fine," said Harris. "Y'making a fuss over nothn'."
"It's okay, Frost. We won't tell anyone," said the junior Spy.
Tomoko smiled and glanced back at Helen. "Forgive my curiosity, but how long have you guys been here? Gaspard and I are both regulars at Rudi's but we've never seen you before."
Eric countered. "But yeah, our lips are sealed. Unless you want us to make up something more impressive? We can do that too."
"Time's a little tricky here," Helen said thoughtfully. "I think Eric's been in training for a few months. I just got out of FicPsych last week. We've only had one mission so far, th--"
"Don't tempt the Ironic Overpower!" Eric interrupted.
Helen caught herself. "Right, sorry. I found HQ three months ago or so. What about you? What are your departments?"
Tomoko looked miffed. "I swear that nobody listens to me these days," she sighed. "Tomoko Kogi, Spy Twelfth Class, Green Team, Department of Intelligence. You know, the guys that go around not killing people."
Gaspard adjusted his bowtie. "And I'm her sorta-partner, Gaspard De Grasse. Thirteenth Class and also in DoI's Green Team. Unlike her, I thoroughly enjoy not killing people."
"To each their own," grumbled Tomoko. "I still don't understand why we have to report to HQ when we know that we're in a badfic. We know what's wrong, we've got a miniature list of offences, so why not go out and finish the job instead of calling another agent team to take over? Boom! Done."
"Regulations, ma'am--"
"Oh, shut up with your regulations. At least I've got a sense of initiative," said Tomoko.
"You could technically call it that, yes..." started Gaspard.
"Dohohoho. Look at me, implying things and being really clever. 'My name is Gaspard De Grasse and I don't do anything unless I've been explicitly told to do so--!'"
"Right, and you enjoy going rogue and pretending to be a big hero in the process. Does it bring you satisfaction to completely disregard authority and having power-trip fantasies--"
"Please," moaned Harris, "just marry each other already."
Helen wondered if she was supposed to feel more comfortable around non-Sue-killing individuals. She wasn't sure just yet, though in the five or so minutes she'd known Tomoko and Gaspard, there wasn't anything to put her off. She watched the bickering with something like amusement.
Eric, on the other hand, was (as usual) more open with his feelings. "I get what you mean--I can't imagine having to just sit there and let the Sue do what she wants!"
"Especially if she's basing one of your Lust Objects?" Helen asked, with one eyebrow quirked.
"Everything that would go on a charge list," Eric retorted. "Have you ever actually done it? Gone rogue, I mean?"
"It was awesome," she added. "I messed with the Stu so badly he couldn't even follow his storyline."
"It was terrible," said Gaspard. "She messed with the Stu so badly he came after us."
"Yeah, but we got away, though. Admit it, you had fun."
"No, no, categorically no! I was nearly scalped!" hissed Gaspard. "This is exactly why Madame Delacroix is still your official partner!"
Tomoko deflected the criticism with a lazy wave of her free hand. "Madame Delacroix is a cool lady. I don't mind her; you should know that because she's your grandmother. Seriously. Just call her 'gran' or something, not 'Madame'."
It was Gaspard's turn to ignore the retort. He looked beyond Tomoko to address Eric. "Agent Eric, Intelligence operatives are not usually trained to deal with combat situations. We are first and foremost canon specialists and our job is to paint as many targets as possible within a single work period. Believe me when I say that while it is difficult, it is also fulfilling to know that our work has helped the multiverse... albeit indirectly."
"Ignoring me already? I'll have you know that I'm very offended," Tomoko smiled.
Gaspard rolled his eyes and looked at Helen and Eric. "Please, don't be like her. Don't annoy each other day in, day out."
"I have a bad feeling you mean that literally. Wait, your grandma is her partner? Awesome--but how does that work? And that actually does sound kinda cool. Not as much of a spotlight as the normal agents, but I guess you're saving us time and stuff, figuring out which parts of the badfic are important."
"Have you ever been pleasantly surprised?" Helen asked. "Found a Sue or Stu which either wasn't so bad, or even entered a fic that was passable?"
"We won't bicker like that--no worries," Eric replied, at the exact same time as Helen replied "Too late." He gave her a hurt look, and she sighed. "It was a joke."
"Too close to home, Helen!"
"Her family-- Gaspard's parents and him-- moved in shortly after they learnt where she worked. The big thing is that they want to go back to World One after several years' worth of service, so they've all had their aging slowed down so they can reintegrate back where they left off in 'real life'. Anyhoo, that's besides the point. Bulldog decided that I was 'too unruly' and so tethered me to Gran. She'd keep an eye on me, I could only go on missions with her, the works. Thing is that I've been showing exceptionally good behaviour recently, so Gran has delegated her probation duties to a trusted deputy." The Japanese agent pointed a thumb at Gaspard.
"I have had a lot of Fun around her," said Gaspard flatly, ensuring to pronounce the capital F on "fun".
"He secretly likes it," whispered Tomoko to the Floaters.
"He actually doesn't," said Harris, rolling his head towards his fellow Spies. "He told me so at lunch yesterday."
Tomoko simply smiled and whistled a tune.
Gaspard slowed his pace so that he was slightly behind Tomoko and facing Eric and Helen. "As for pleasant surprises, they're actually quite common. While the Sorting Room people do a great job to separate the obviously bad ones from the pile, there are a lot of borderline cases we have to evaluate in the field. About forty percent of the time, the material is passable. The remaining sixty percent is split between the actually bad or have mildly serious issues that can be solved without an assassination."
- - -
((Last post before going to bed. I'll be back tomorrow!))
For once, Helen was the eager one, beating out the obviously curious Eric.
"Probably the way Mara and Isaiah handled you," Eric guessed. "Just let you try to figure yourself out with some tips."
"Because that worked out so well."
"So you've got your whole family here?" Eric asked. "That's pretty cool. I figured we wouldn't have multigenerational Agent families until most of the kids in the Nursery had grown up. Huh. You'd think with us talking so much about something unrelated we'd get to Medical faster--oh no, I jinxed it," Eric realized belatedly. "Sorry!"
Helen reached over and gave him a "gentle" slap upside the head.
"You people stop talkinabout medical now or we're never gonna getthere. I'm seeing dark spots now."
"That's a stress reaction. Calm down, Harris," said Gaspard. "We've got you on ice and we're well on our way. Just think positive or something."
Tomoko sniggered. "Coming from you, I'm sure that means a lot."
Gaspard ignored his sorta-partner and once again focused on the Floaters. "I hope Harris hasn't been too much of a bother. He's a good agent but... well, sometimes he has moments."
Eric thought a moment, then added, "But if you did I bet we could fix that. Medical's really clever that way. Sorry, I'll stop talking about it."
"You're not helping," Helen muttered. She looked back to Gaspard. The ice was starting to melt in the bag, so she shifted her grip. "So he's like this when he isn't concussed, too? That can't be good."
"Nah, It's just that Harris is a bit of a drama queen, that's all," she said, patting her coworker on the shoulder. "Despite that, he does his job and does it well. That's why he's still here and very much alive."
Harris narrowed his eyes and glared at the Japanese agent. "I resent the drama queen comment!"
"Resent it all you want, I'm just saying the truth, here," said Tomoko.
"Ma'am? Can you please... er... put a filter on it?" asked Gaspard. "We don't need to hear your inner thoughts all the time..."
"You two have a lot in common.--you're both very free with your words."
"Helen, be nice," Eric warned.
Her response was to flick her wet hand at him, forcing him to jump aside. "Hey! Do you want me to drop him?"
Tomoko smirked and glanced over her shoulder at Gaspard. "This guy? Please. I'm pretty sure that if I wasn't around to drag him to places he'd die of boredom or something. He never goes out! I've got a life beyond work and he doesn't."
"It's because you don't see me. Nobody-- family aside of course-- really does," said Gaspard. "Most days I just feel like the Invisible Man. Do you ever wonder where I disappear off to on lunch breaks? Between shifts? Sick days?"
"No. Why should I think about that? You always go back to your room and... brood? I think?"
The corners of Gaspard's mouth twitched-- it could have been a bitter smile-- and he shook his head, looking at Tomoko straight in the eyes. "Not quite, ma'am. Have another guess-- though I feel that it might take some time for you to stumble upon the answer yourself."
"Are you insinuating that I know nothing about my roommate?" said Tomoko angrily.
"Oh, no. I'm flat-out spelling it out for you," shot back Gaspard.
Harris moaned again-- he had been walked into a set of solid polished oak doors each bearing a heavy brass plaque reading "MEDICAL". The blond man sighed in relief and kicked the door. "Oh, good. I think my headache was going to kill me. Now, let me in."
"Don't complain. I'm the one who has to put up with all of your projects going everywhere," Helen said.
"Who's complaining?It's just be cool to have more space."
"On that at least we can agree." Helen glanced over at Gaspard. She wondered if anyone would take her seriously if she asked to swap places with Tomoko. She didn't think it was exactly normal for people to switch departments after only a week, but still, if Tomoko was more interested in killing and all . . .
Eric's shoulder hit the doors of Medical, and he backed up hastily. "Oops, sorry Harris. Oh hey, we're here."
He knocked on the door with a foot. "Hey! We've got a patient!"
...as he walked around Harris and his helpers and opened the door. The group walked through the Medical Department's doorway and into the lobby. From the far end of the room, the front desk receptionist briefly lifted his eyes from his paperwork to look at the five agents. By the time Harris and co. finally arrived at the desk, the receptionist had summoned a Nurse to the lobby. The Medical staffer-- a short lady with curly long brown hair-- strode briskly towards the blond agent, clipboard in hand.
"Right, what is he in for?" she asked, pencil and clipboard at the ready.
"Concussion. Fell from a bar stool and hit his head on the counter down at Rudi's," said Tomoko. "He said he was feeling dizzy and nauseous a while back. Shall I leave him in your capable care, then?"
"Please do," said the Nurse, relieving Harris from Eric and Tomoko's hold and steering him into a side wing. "Thanks for bringing him in!" she called over he shoulder.
The remaining four agents stood in silence in the lobby. Tomoko finally broke the calm by saying: "So... I owe you guys drinks, right? C'mon. Let's get back to Rudi's."
"No alcohol for Eric, remember--and ideally no caffeine."
"Come on! I'm not even underage for where I'm from," Eric protested. "And caffeine now too? This is the PPC, we live on caffeine!"
"Do you want a repeat of Thursday before last?" Helen retorted. That shut Eric up, though he still pouted at her.
As the four agents walked past Medical's entrance, Tomoko took another look at Eric. "Y'know, you say you're not underage where you're from but your partner insists that you can't have anything stronger than caffeine. Just... how old are you? Seventeen? Eighteen?"
"I'll have another drinking chocolate, please," said Gaspard.
"What? You already had your drink! besides, what did you do to help me?"
Without hesitation, Gaspard answered: "Moral support. It's a very important duty."
"Nice try. No." Tomoko turned to her new companions. "So, what will it be for you two?"
"He's Australian," Helen supplied. "In my time period there is no legal drinking age, I just don't want to deal with a drunk teenage merman."
"You're my partner, not my mother," Eric retorted. "Since when do you 'deal with' me?"
Helen turned back to Tomoko, pausing to think. ". . . Rum? I'm not quite sure what my options are in this time period."
"If they have any hard cider--" Eric put in. He glared at Helen. "She offered me a drink, I'm not wimpy enough to go under from just one."
"That's not a problem. Oh, and Helen? If you're still considering options, you can always ask whoever is at the counter for a recommendation. Personally, I like to go for a nice light beer after the end of a shift. You should try it!" said Tomoko. She glanced at Gaspard walking a few paces behind. "Oh, and if you're looking for non-alcoholic stuff, ask this dude." The Spy leaned close to the blonde Floater and whispered: "He's actually allergic to the stuff. Poor fellow."
"I heard that," sighed Gaspard. "Besides, alcohol is overrated. Tea is where it's at. Agent Helen, might I suggest ordering a teapot of oolong? Rudi's blend has a really nice flavour to it."
((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."
Harris and Gaspard snaked through the crowded table area, almost bent double and carefully scanning the ground.
"You just swatted an energy drop across the room. An energy drop! Your birthday present! Those things cost a fortune! Sonia must've busted her entire budget on it!" hissed Gaspard while checking the floor under a table. The orange thumb-sized stone was nowhere to be found.
"Hey, I just thought it was a cool stone she found one day," answered Harris while craning his head around a pair of legs. "But why did she spend so much money on me? What did I do for her?"
"I don't know. Maybe she likes you or something. After all, she did invite you for a picnic at the Courtyard earlier today. You and her, alone."
Harris chuckled and shook his head. "No. She's just being nice."
"Are you sure? I'm no expert on women but that sounds awfully a lot like a date."
"Absolut-- hey! I found it!"
"Where? Pick it up!"
Gaspard righted himself and watched Harris discreetly duck under a table occupied by a MLP-verse unicorn and a human. He could hear part of the conversation between the two: "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."
Harris chose that moment to pop up by the table's edge and lean on it, staring at the seated agents. "Hah! You think that's unfair?" he said. "This guy," he pointed at Gaspard, "went into the Rainbow Factory on an intelligence run. He went half-mad from that! You don't know what 'unfair' is until your department forbids you from intervening in a 'fic even if you know it's bad!"
Gaspard felt the blood drain from his face. "T-that's quite e-enough H-Harris. D-d-don't make a s-scene, now," he stammered.
She suddenly looked rather ill. "Oh, ewww. I read the mission report from that fic. Horrible. Absolutely horrible. Why can't people leave well enough alone when it comes to my canon?"
"Never mind that, when did you two even get here?" Chris asked, eyeing the strangers suspiciously.
Harris blinked twice. "Yes, we should probably introduce ourselves. I'm Harris, with the Department of Intelligence. The skinny guy with me is Gaspard, a senior Spy. What about you two?"
Ami sipped her tea and smiled weakly. "I'm Ami Seeker, with Floaters."
"My name's Chris," the dark-haired boy added. "It's very nice to meet you. Also, you didn't answer my question. When did you guys get to our booth?"
"Minutes ago," said Gaspard. "This guy"--he indicated Harris with a dismissive hand-wave--dropped his birthday present and we think it might have rolled underneath your table." Harris scowled at him. "What?"
Ami nodded, and then stuck her head under the table, ignoring the humans' confused stares. "What am I looking for, Mr. Harris?" she asked. "Some kind of ring? A pen?"
"I wish it was a ring," he replied. "The thing I lost is an orange stone about the size of Chris' thumb. Also, just call me Harris."
(( Quick reminder of the rules: "no controlling other people's agents (actions, speech, thoughts, or interactions with objects)". Harris and Gaspard are both OOC in your passage; I'll rework your post so that it fits their characters.
Also, that ending doesn't give me much to answer to, with Harris finishing the exchange.))
- - -
She suddenly looked rather ill. "Oh, ewww. I read the mission report from that fic. Horrible. Absolutely horrible. Why can't people leave well enough alone when it comes to my canon?"
"Never mind that, when did you two even get here?" Chris asked, eyeing the strangers suspiciously.
Harris smiled as he stood up. "Yes, I should introduce myself. Harris Frost, Spy Twelfth Class, Department of Intelligence. Shaken and stirred over here is my associate: Gaspard De Grasse, Thirteenth Class." Gaspard had recovered enough from Harris' introduction to raise an hand and mutter something inaudible as a greeting.
Ami sipped her tea and smiled weakly. "I'm Ami Seeker, with Floaters."
"My name's Chris," the dark-haired boy added. "It's very nice to meet you. Also, you didn't answer my question. When did you guys get to our booth?"
"Ah, just got here actually," said Harris. "We had a mishap with a precious stone and we believe that it might've rolled under your table. It's orange and about the size of a thumb. Um, De Grasse? Why are you whispering 'it's not our mishap, it's your fault' behind me? I can hear you perfectly, you know."
((Let's continue from here.))
((Also, LOL, "shaken and stirred over here"))
Ami nodded, and then stuck her head under the booth table, ignoring the humans' confused stares. Wow, there's a lot of dirt on this floor, she thought. She created a ball of clear blue light on the end of her horn and turned her head in various directions. Her neck was starting to get stiff when she saw something sparkle blue just underneath Chris' side of the booth seat.
"I found your orange stone!" she called to the Spies. She magically rolled it out to land next to the skinny one's feet, then lifted her head. "Hope it's not ruined forever by being on the floor or anything."
"Don't tempt the Ironic Overpower," Chris chided. "Remember what happened with the Sue's best friend?"
"Which one, the totally-not-her-boyfriend or the one with her hair on fire?" Ami retorted. "Cause both of those would have happened whether I'd said anything or not."
At that point, Lysa the waitress arrived with their food (and Chris' glass of water). "Enjoy your sandwiches and burger," she smiled, placing them in front of Chris and Ami.
"We will," Ami replied. She floated one daisy sandwich up to her mouth and took a bite. The flower crunched pleasantly under her teeth. "Mmmmm! Delicious! How's your volcano burger, Chris? ...Chris?"
The human agent's face was the exact color of his hat, and he was crying. He smiled, though, so Ami figured he liked spicy things. "Tastes...just like...I remember..." he gasped. He chugged about half of his water.
...and handed it back to Harris, who securely stowed it away in his trouser's pockets. "Thank you, milady," said Harris, bowing to Ami. "Now, uh..." the blond agent caught sight of Chris' reddening face. "Is he having an allergic reaction to something...?"
As Harris looked at the human agent chugging down a glass of water, Gaspard's earpiece ding!ed in his ear. The junior agent turned away and took the call, putting a finger over his other ear to drown out the pub's din. After a few seconds and a few whispered answers, he turned back to Harris and patted him on the shoulder.
"Frost. I have to go and attend to a pressing matter. Kogi is going to swing by and keep you companeeeeEEE!" Gaspard shrieked the last part of his sentence as a tall black-haired Japanese woman suddenly dropped down from a portal that had just opened overhead and landed right in front of him.
"Gaspard! I told you I'd drop in. Get it? You can go now, I've got this." She looked up at the ceiling and pressed a button on the RA she held, closing up the portal. She looked at Gaspard, still half-twisted away from her while balancing on one foot, and facepalmed. "Seriously? Go! They're waiting!"
The half-Chinese agent snapped out of his pose, touched two fingers to his temple in a salute, and disappeared into the crowd, headed for the exit. The woman smiled and walked up to Harris. "Hey there, birthday boy! So what's the score now? Nineteen? Niiice! Anyways, whatcha doin' now?"
She didn't wait for Harris to respond. Instead, she moved forward and looked at the two seated agents. She shook her bangs out of her brown eyes with a flick of her head. "Hey there, guys! Sorry about the dynamic entry, but my sorta-partner had to go and do some stuff. Tomoko Kogi, DoI. I trust that Harris here isn't bothering you guys?"
Ami took another bite of her sandwich. "You know, I thought about joining Intelligence for a while, back when I first showed up here. It seemed like something I'd be good at. Detail-oriented, sort of behind the scenes...I like that kind of work."
"But she's in Floaters because I needed a partner," Chris continued through a mouthful of burger. He swallowed and drank some more water before continuing: "Apparently, the Marquis thinks a human kid who can't remember most of his life and a unicorn pony with the vaguest of vague backstories go well together."
"Sometimes I wonder how we're not both depressed," Ami commented, sipping her tea.
"Well, you've literally got optimism hardwired into your brain, so I don't think it's that big of a mystery," Chris smiled. "What about you, Tomoko? How'd you decide which department to join?"
She stuck her hands in her pockets and pouted. "I used to be a Floater, but I got assigned to DoI after about a month of service. It's because, like, Floaters are a overflow department. Everyone eventually rotates out of it. Since DoI is always short-staffed-- gee, who doesn't want to sit in a room and read stuff or go out there and 'look but don't touch'-- I got transferred to fill in the holes in the roster. It sucks," she said. "I just wanna do something, not play tattle-tale."
Harris patted his friend's shoulder. "Now, now, Kogi. It's not so bad! You've met plenty of great people in Intelligence. Like me, for example," he said without the faintest trace of humility as he ran a hand though his short blond hair. "So you said you wanted to go into Intel, is that right?" said Harris to Ami. "What made you go into an Action Department?"
She took another bite of her first sandwich. "The people in Personnel said it wasn't normal for a semi-fic blip--aka yours truly--to show up here without being rescued. Intelligence...well, they politely told me that joining would be too dangerous, if you can believe that. Maybe they thought that if I visited a My Little Pony fic I'd, I dunno, merge with the story's environment or the canon itself or something."
"We are Pony. You will be assimilated," Chris whispered ominously. "Resistance is futile. You will become one with the Herd."
"I can hear you, you know," Ami pointed out. "Please don't compare my situation to the Borg Collective."
Chris was silent for a moment. "Yeah, you're right. They're not remotely the same," he said. He ate a handful of thick, slightly burned french fries (they'd come with the burger). "Tasty! Could use a little less salt, though. Anyway, what about you two?" He gestured in Harris and Kogi's general direction. "How'd you end up in this madhouse?"
"I was an expert on the fabled city of Atlantis living in the city of Augasta, World One. A Sue and her buddies looking for the sunken metropolis accosted me and asked for directions for their grand 'adventure'. I did so, and later two agents told me that I looked capable enough to participate in the Canon Protection Initiative."
Tomoko gigglesnorted. "Oh, Harris. You don't come from World One and you know it. More like World One-and-a-half: Atlantis doesn't exist in the real world." She turned to the two seated Floaters as Harris grumbled under his breath. "But yeah. I'm from the real World One-- born and bred in Osaka. I saw an ad in the newspaper and joined shortly after. My parents still have no idea I joined!"
While Tomoko was speaking, Harris looked perplexed. When his colleague finished speaking, Harris said to Ami: "That's really funny, about you not being accepted into DoI. Agent Snapshot made it here-- partnered with Narain of all people-- and she came out of Cupcakes just fine."
Tomoko nodded. "Yeah, that's right! I was told it was a huge deal for a few weeks, with everyone questioning if she was up to it and stuff. She turned out fine and all the neigh sayers-- haha, get it? Anyways, all of the nay-sayers pretty much ignored her and found something else to complain about. Come to think of it, there are a lot of MLP natives in this place. There's Fire Flash who's in Internal Affairs-- she's a normal one, no wings or horns or stuff-- a unicorn who's in Medical but I can't remember her name, some other dude in DIC... yeah, you get the picture."
"Actually, I think you just got some sort of speciesist bureaucrat when you applied for Intel," added Harris. "Loads of folks just drop though plotholes and stay here-- and they weren't recruited. Also, I really can't see Mister Bulldog turning away anyone unless they were visibly unfit for duty. If you really want to join, send a request to... Personnel? Intel's Admin corps? The Floating Hyacinth?"
Tomoko shrugged. "Iunno. Going to the Hyacinth seems like overkill. If you try DoI Admin you can get caught up with that idiot again. I'd say go though Personnel. I know hat some Floater teams are sent out 'on loan' to the DoI to fill in some gaps. Maybe you could try to sneak in one of those?"
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.
That mission was far from her first trollfic; that wasn't the problem. But a very real problem was that she had avoided scenes like this whenever possible since waking up in her closet. She hardly remembered anyone she might have known before the 2008 invasion. If someone recognized her, and tried speaking with her . . . discovered her memory problem . . .
And if that got back to the Hyacinth, if she got sent to FicPsych . . .
Every fiber of her being panicked at the thought of that. Vania had no conscious reason for it; it was instinctual, animalistic. Don't. Let. The shrinks. See you.
So she wandered through the crowds, from where she had left Doc to the counter. Eyes facing forward. Afraid to look into any face, and see there a dawning recognition.
Any face. Anyone here, veteran enough to be around before the 2008 invasion, could be someone she had known all those years ago.
Someone who could figure out her secret. Ruin everything.
Jennifer Robinson found herself at the end of the bar nearest to the door, slowly nursing a warm butterbeer. This was about the most alcoholic thing she usually drank, since she was a bit of a featherweight and tended to become overly friendly when intoxicated, and her boyfriend wasn't currently available to run interference for her. Stupid missions. Stupid field agents. Stupid PPC....
That wasn't the only thing on her mind. Unaccountably, she had just gained about two years' worth of memories of being stranded on a desert island. This sort of thing happened to her, and she wasn't exactly complaining, but it was a lot to assimilate. Frankly, she would be happy to be distracted by someone else's problems for the next, oh—she checked the nearest clock—hour or so before she had to go pick up Henry.
(( So yeah, I have no idea if Jenni would know anything about Vania, but this was a perfect way to sidle into this thing. ^_^ ))
She arrived at the bar and nearly hopped up onto the stool next to the brown-haired woman, so relieved she was at her minor victory of crossing a room without being recognized.
"Greetings!" she called to the nearest attendant. Rudi himself was farther down the bar, and Vania was thankful. She actually didn't feel too afraid of Rudi recognizing her; with all the faces he saw in a single month, it was doubtful he would recognize one who went missing six years ago. Still, no reason to take chances.
She ordered a pair of hot dogs and a bowl of french fries, "with lots and lots of ketchup on both, please. And for drinks . . ." Vania trailed off, her gaze listing to the right as she thought about what to get Doc. This led to her noticing the Butterbeer on the counter. "Oh! I'll bet Doc hasn't tried one yet. I'll get two Butterbeers, then."
As the waiter moved away to fulfill the order, Vania realized that her imitation of her bar-neighbor's drink might have caused that patron to notice her. She quickly glanced at the brown-haired woman's face. Not familiar, no memories there; nonetheless, Vania quickly looked away and pretended to watch a blitzball game displayed on one of the TV screens on the back wall.
People came and went all the time, so she didn't think much of it. The mention of butterbeer did get her attention again, but what held it was the way the younger woman looked her way and then pretended she hadn't. Either she was checking Jenni out, or she was nervous about something. Jenni was nothing if not inquisitive, so she turned slightly in her seat, leaned an elbow on the bar, and put on her best disarming smile.
"Hey, couldn't help but overhear. Foraying into butterbeer for the first time? This is the real thing, first ingredient: magic; not one of those World One imitations." She figured innocuous small talk was the best approach for either possibility.
Now that she took a closer look, something about the other woman did ring a bell. Something about the black ponytail, the suit, and the name Doc... where had Jenni run into her before?
Her eyes widened, but she quickly blinked and forced her face into a neutral expression.
"Oh, yeah," Vania said in what she hoped was an easy-going voice. "You know how it is, one those newbie partners from World One, don't get out much on their own?" She casually placed her right hand on her cheek and leaned that elbow on the table so she could look at the other agent without her whole face being visible.
"I figure, since he's at least a bit of a Potterhead, it's high time he tried his first Wizarding World beverage, right?" Vania flicked her eyes down to the Butterbeer already on the table, then back to the woman's face. "Thanks for the idea!" She gave a quick smile, then turned back to one of the screens.
((Have they met? I don't recall them getting screen time together. >_> ))
but snapped her mouth shut when her neighbor abruptly turned away from her. "Sure," she muttered instead, perplexed.
Okay, so she didn't want to talk. Fine. Frowning, Jenni turned back to her drink and took a long sip. She should just leave well enough alone, really. She wasn't on duty, so she should really be spending her time on anything but analyzing people. Unfortunately, the fact was that was her job because she simply couldn't help herself.
She turned around, further this time, and took a look at the room. Maybe if she saw this "Doc," she would know him, and then she might figure out what was going on. She spotted Gaspard De Grasse fairly quickly, since he was standing up and she knew him (mostly through his parents), but the rest of the crowd was strange to her. One or two faces drew her eye, though—particularly a man at a nearby table, who looked like his strings had been cut. Slumped over, no affect, staring at nothing... yup, that was trauma if Jenni had ever seen it, and she had. She made a mental note not to let that one get away without talking to him.
Furthermore, he tickled her memory banks. She glanced at the nervous young woman, then back to the man, and finally it clicked.
With a triumphant snap of her fingers, Jenni turned to her neighbor again. "I remember now! You were at Nume's tenth anniversary party last year! With the, what was it, a PDA or something?" She couldn't help but chuckle. A lot of that party was a blur, but Doc's extreme nerves had stood out to her, as well as the way Ilraen had received the tech thingy so positively, saving the givers from a torrent of sarcasm.
(( And there you have it. {= ) Just a reminder, the party actually took place February 2013, even though I posted the thread this year. ))
((Irony is archiving other people's works while I don't even have all my characters' appearances logged! '~' ))
Vania winced a bit, realizing she had been afraid for nothing. This time. She turned to look at the woman in the other seat and realized she did know her after all--not from before the invasion, but recently.
"Oh! I do know you!" Her face brightened into a wide smile. "You're the one who saved Doc from terrible embarrassment from his stupid present!"
Vania thrust out her right hand. "Hi there! Name's Vania. Sorry for . . . rudeness, just now. I . . . um . . . just came back from a bad mission?" It was a pretty lame excuse, considering it was true of pretty much every action agent at every time, but what else could Vania say?
Jenni grinned and shook Vania's hand. Something didn't quite jive about her avoidance, her explanation for it, and the quick turnaround, but she couldn't put her finger on it, so she resolved to let it go for the time being. "I'm Jenni. And that's your partner over there, right?" She nodded in Doc's direction. "Poor guy. That is definitely the face of a bad day."
She didn't come out and say "please distract me from my own weird problems," but there was curiosity and even a bit of hope vying with the sympathy in her tone and expression.
(( Come to think of it, I really need to add the RP stuff to my site like I said I was going to. >.> ))
Vania's face twisted into a frown as she looked back at Doc. He hadn't moved at all; he didn't seem to be reacting to anything around him, despite all the noise and activity in Rudi's.
"It was his first trollfic," Vania explained, sitting down again. "Honestly? I thought he would handle it a lot better than this. He had been getting through regular missions pretty well, for a newbie." She glanced over towards the barman, checking on the the progress of her order, before turning back to Jenni. "But I don't think it was even all the wacky, abstract stuff that got to him. Of all things, it was a character replacement of an author he likes that sent him over the edge."
"That's a new one on me, and I've been here a while. Who was it?"
She took another sip of butterbeer while awaiting Vania's response.
(( Sorry for the short posts. I tell myself it'll be fine in the log (if there is one), but I always feel sort of inadequate if I can't come up with more than a couple of lines. >_
((No worries! The conversation has to flow naturally, or it'll look weird as an interlude.))
"Ray Bradbury," Vania said. "And it was in a Potterfic, so it's not like there was any particular reason for it to be there." Vania frowned and wrinkled up her nose. "The replacement was named 'Rape Bradbury,' but fortunately, he didn't get enough screen time to live up to his name." She looked away from Jenni, down at the ground behind their stools. "Doc took it out on his own. I thought that would help him feel better, but in retrospect . . ."
((To be clear, this is an actual thing in Thirty Hs, and not something I creepily made up on my own . . . Also, yes, this takes place after a mission I haven't written yet, and thus have I permanently ruined the timeline forever.))
"Yikes." Jenni looked over at Doc again. She thought she was starting to understand what had him so downcast. If someone had so crassly slandered an author she respected, like Rowling or McCaffrey, and then she'd had to confront the thing head-on? Well, it wasn't likely to happen, fortunately, but she couldn't imagine she would enjoy it.
"Listen," she said to Vania, "forgive me if this is presumptuous, but d'you want me to talk to him? I'm in FicPsych, and I wouldn't be able to look myself in the eye if I just walked away from someone that obviously in distress. I know some people don't like the thought of talking to a shrink, but since this would be totally informal...? I don't even have to mention my job."
(( Timeline, shmimeline. ^_~ I figure, things happen in the order they happen, and the dates we outsiders attach to particular events are completely arbitrary. ))
((Sorry for the long response time. My work shifts kept going long lately, and this is kind of a big post, so I haven't had time to sit and write it.))
Vania was lucky. The waiter who had taken her order had caught her attention just before Jenni started to speak, so Jenni couldn't see Vania's face freeze at her words, "I'm in FicPsych."
FicPsych.
Shrink.
"Oop! Here comes my food! Hang on a sec." Vania forced a weak smile vaguely in Jenni's direction.
The waiter as he slid a tray with her food and a pair of golden-brown Butterbeers onto the counter before her. She pulled some money from--somewhere. Wherever video game characters keep things--and offered some brightly-colored E tickets to him. The waiter raised his eyebrow and gave Vania a questioning glare.
"They're good at Disneyland in the 1970s?" Vania said helpfully.
The waiter rolled his eyes, but took the tickets anyway, stuffing them huffily into a pocket and stalking off.
Vania grabbed both ends of the tray and took a quick, quiet breath. "So, yeah! She said, trying to make her voice sound bright, but really only managing loud. "That would be great of you, Jenni." She turned to the right and started to slide the tray off the table, catching sight of Doc again. Vania forgot her own fears for a moment, remembering again the state he was in. Her speech turned sincere again. "I don't think he's been to FicPsych before, so I don't know what he would think of you guys. Maybe don't mention who you are quite yet?"
(( NP. I figured I'd start worrying if things didn't get back to normal today, but now they have. {= ) ))
There it was again: that odd reticence, something slightly stiff about Vania's tone and movements. What on earth was this girl afraid of? Figuring that out couldn't be Jenni's priority at the moment, but she hoped she would find her way toward some answers before she had to leave.
She took another sip of her drink so as not to stare and got up when Vania did, glass mug in hand. "Can do," she said. "What if you just introduce me as a friend? The old 'we met at a party' line applies nicely." She smiled.
"It does, doesn't it?" She smiled as she carried the tray towards the table where Doc sat, threading through other tables and other patrons.
She's focused on Doc, Vania thought. That's good. Doc is like my personal red herring!
Calling over her shoulder and over the noise, Vania asked Jenni, "Do you want me to disappear once I've introduced you guys, or should I stick around? I'll keep quiet if I stay, obviously."
"No, please stay!" she called back. Vania wasn't getting off the hook that easily. "It might look like you're setting us up together otherwise." She tilted her head and smiled quizzically. "Unless you think that would help...?"
Su would probably understand a little harmless flirting in the line of duty, if it came to that. And if not, she could always make it up to him with a bit of extra-special treatment.
Well, it was worth a try.
She shook her head. "No, that wouldn't do much good with Doc. He probably wouldn't even notice you were trying to flirt, even on a good day."
Reaching the table, Vania slid the tray in front of Doc. "Hey, there! Got us some ketchup, with dogs and fries on the side! And also, I found a friend of mine! This is Jenni. We met at a party!" Vania grinned at the nurse.
Doc had slowly raised his head to look at the food tray, but looked up more quickly to see the newcomer. The corners of his mouth raised up a bit--more of a bad attempt to hide a frown than a proper smile. "Oh. Hi there."
Vania scooted a chair closer to Doc and gestured for Jenni to sit.
and extended a hand to Doc. In addition to being friendly, she found that making a physical connection right away often helped to form a mental connection in both a literal and non-literal sense. Of course, she was restricted exclusively to the latter. Even if it weren't her standard policy, the Sue-tracking anklet hidden under her jeans would have deterred her from dipping into her extra senses.
"Hello!" she said. "You probably don't remember, but we've met before, too—Supernumerary's tenth anniversary party. You brought the... I don't remember exactly what. Some kind of gadget, right? Ilraen was all agog over it."
Then he un-hunched his posture and slowly reached for it, giving Jenni a low-strength handshake.
Meanwhile, Vania sat in the chair across from Doc, scooted just a bit towards Jenni and angled slightly away from the nurse so as not to be in her immediate line of sight.
After Jenni spoke, Doc looked at her in confusion for a few seconds; then his cheeks reddened and he looked away, remembering Vania's "bad present" lecture at the time. "Oh. That. Yeeeaaah . . ."
Vania smirked a bit. In spite of her own discomfort, this might be a bit of fun to watch. And at least Doc was talking to someone!
"At least you weren't the ones with the bizarre player piano." Jenni grinned. "That takes the cake for weirdest present, bar none. I'm pretty sure they stashed it in the Lounge at the first opportunity," she added as an aside to Vania, whom she judged most likely to actually be interested. She didn't have any real expectation of engaging Doc in casual chit-chat, but certain niceties must be observed.
She took a sip of her drink and glanced at the untouched tray of food. "Don't let me keep you guys from eating, by the way. I'm getting dinner with my kid later."
(( FYI, I probably won't be able to reply tomorrow, what with the Gathering. If I do get a chance Sunday, it'll be in the evening, but I may not get back to this until Monday. ))
((Then allow me to drop all sorts of narration in here in the meantime! :) ))
Indeed, Doc showed no real response. Once Jenni looked away, towards Vania, Doc let his chin drop again.
Vania felt bad about her teasing, now. This was hardly the time to make Doc feel bad, and it wasn't that big of a deal, anyway. They hadn't even known Supernumerary, except by reputation. She cleared her throat. "Yeah, Doc. Eat up! Rudi's has the good hot dogs, not that store-bought stuff. They're at least as good as Chicago dogs, maybe even as good as New York dogs!"
Doc didn't say anything, but he did at least reach a shaky hand for one of the ketchup-soaked buns. He didn't make any effort at keeping his hand clean, but just grabbed it and jammed one end in his mouth.
Good, Vania thought. Shaky hand is just from hunger. At least he's not imagining Harry eating Ron.
She turned to Jenni. "Help yourself, too, you know!" As Vania spoke, she grabbed some clean fries from the edge of the basket and smeared them in ketchup. "Fries are empty calories; they won't spoil your dinner!" Vania is not a nutritionist.
Vania glanced back at Doc, who had ketchup rimming parts of his mouth. He had nearly finished the hot dog already, but he was eating mechanically, still not really paying attention to anything else in his environment. Vania wasn't really sure how the "Psychology" part of "Department of Fictional Psychology" worked, but Jenni seemed to be aiming for conversation, so she figured to follow her lead down that track. "So, uh, Jenni, done Psych work for any interesting canons lately?"
((I realize this was a lot from my agents' side. Sorry about that! It just kind of fell out of my hands. When we turn this into a written-out form, we can spread this section out a bit so Jenni doesn't disappear for too long.))
Vania is not a nutritionist.
Jenni gave her an amused look. While not exactly a dietician herself, she put some stock in the expression "let your food be your medicine and your medicine be your food," and she tried to keep abreast of what was currently being hailed as the next great panacea and what was the latest scapegoat for all the world's ills from cancer to pimples. She suspected that Vania did not quite understand the meaning of the expression "empty calories."
However, what she said was, "Thanks. I haven't had the fries here before," and she picked a smallish one and popped it in her mouth. It was impolite to refuse hospitality, and honestly, who doesn't like French fries?
- - -
"So, uh, Jenni, done Psych work for any interesting canons lately?"
The question caught her off-guard. "What? Me?" Weren't they planning not to mention her job? "Uh . . . ." Well, the cat was out of the bag now. Might as well roll with it. "I mostly counsel non-canons, actually. We get a lot of badfic recruits with no survival skills thanks to whoever's responsible for the notion that recruiting earns vacations. And traumatized field agents, of course, though a lot of you like to think you're too cool to need help." She said it teasingly, with a crooked half-smile, but she didn't trouble to disguise the fact that she was also making a point.
To take the pressure off Vania, though, she looked back at Doc to see how he was processing the information.
(( How's that for filling in? Between those two paragraphs of yours seemed like a natural place to insert some of Jenni's side.
(( Congratulations on digging up that old spin-off and the backup site for Lothy and Rowyn, by the way! That means I don't have to worry about getting their stuff up on The Lost Tales. I was looking forward to putting it in a more accessible format, but I'm happy to have less work. ^_^ ))
((Um . . . We're just going to say Doc didn't catch that! Okay? Because I am his author. His extremely stupid and hacky author.))
Vania flinched when she realized what she had done, which also caused Jenni's point to go flying over her head, and probably land in some other agent's soup. Vania quickly glanced at Doc's face, but he didn't seem to have even registered the conversation. His hot dog having already been finished, he was just staring at the table again.
Vania gave Jenni a sad shrug. She just wasn't sure how Jenni wanted to go about getting Doc to open up. He wasn't very talkative in their own RC, even on a good day, so Vania didn't know how to help. All she could think of was . . .
She leaned in towards Jenni and whispered, "Should I bring up the mission?"
Jenni had to take a breath for patience before responding. Vania's apparent need to talk was starting to make the nurse rethink the decision to keep her here. Still, she was just concerned about her partner. Jenni couldn't fault that. "No," she said as levelly as possible. "Let me handle it, okay? Trust me."
Words alone clearly weren't going to get the job done, at least not in the limited time Jenni had to work with. She'd have to try something a little more proactive.
Doc still had a bit of ketchup at the corners of his mouth where an automatic licking hadn't quite reached. Jenni grabbed a napkin and scooted her chair a little closer. "You've missed a bit there," she said to him, gesturing to give a bit of warning. "Lemme get that." She dunked the corner of the napkin in an untouched glass of water that had been left by the wait staff earlier, put a steadying hand on Doc's shoulder, and dabbed gently at the offending condiment. If a near-perfect stranger getting in his personal space like this didn't get his attention, nothing would.
(( I've taken a couple liberties here, so we can totally retcon it if you don't like it. The ketchup follows from what you've written previously, so I decided to risk it. ))
And his attention was certainly gotten. Doc tensed up a bit at the hand on his shoulder, but jerked fully upright in response to the sudden dampness in his face.
He said, "Mmmm!" Somehwere in between a grunt and a mumble and a growl. He was looking the nurse fully in the face now, not entirely happily. "Um. Thanks. You were . . . Jenni?"
for a successful ploy. "Welcome back!" she said happily; but then she got serious again. She leaned back and discarded the napkin on the table, but left her other hand where it was for the time being. "I am Jenni, and you, I couldn't help but notice, are having a bad day. Vania is worried about you." She gave his shoulder a light squeeze and nodded toward the dark-haired agent.
and threw a quizzical glance across the table. "You are?"
Vania gave a small smile. "Well, yeah?" She didn't want to risk jinxing things any further, though. She grabbed her glass of Butterbeer and took a slow sip, looking away.
Doc sighed and settled against the back of the chair. ((But definitely not squishing Jenni's hand. Oh God, I'm writing an in-text autho—)) "It's just . . . the mission we just came back from. It didn't . . . I can't understand it. I just don't understand why someone wrote that."
Jenni glanced at Vania for confirmation that she didn't actually need; it was just to avoid the appearance of being psychic. "Pretty much boils down to 'because they can'. An attempt to feel clever or powerful, maybe. There are always people who get a kick out of making others all knotted up inside. Good thing they can't see you now, hm?" She gave him a wink and squeezed his shoulder again, then put her hand down in her lap.
Doc tilted his head upwards, looking at the ceiling as he spoke. His voice was high and strident now, though not really loud enough to attract attention at a busy time in Rudi's.
"They can't see it! A troll author doesn't get any real reaction. They get reviews, I guess, but that's pretty watered down for an emotional reaction."
Doc looked down at Jenni again. "The other missions I've been on, I can see the point. I get what the authors were wanting to do—explore a world they liked through an avatar. But this . . . 'HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH' doesn't do anything like that! It's got nothing to do with Harry Potter, or Pokémon, or especially Ray Bradbury, there was no exploration, no interaction with the canon; it was just . . . meaningless idiocy, with other people's names tacked on!"
He coughed a bit, then reached for his Butterbeer glass and took a drink to wet his throat.
((Doc insists on pronouncing out the full title when he talks. Don't feel obligated to do the same.))
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
With Randa and Mcgonagoll snoring loudly (who knew mini-Aragogs could snore?), it was a simple matter for her to sneak out. She only paused to put on her jacket and shoes.
She wandered the featureless gray corridors in her pajamas, no particular destination in mind. So when she came across a place called Rudi's, she figured she might as well check it out.
It turned out to be a pub or bar of some kind, with patrons taking up almost every seat. Rina glanced around the tables, taking note of several interesting agents like the foxlike creature talking to a mossy plant of some sort. Is this place always so full? Rina wondered, still looking for a seat.
She decided on the bar, where several humans and humanoids sat, conversing with one another. Rina settled herself next to a dwarf who was sporting a magnificent beard.
The bartender came over, wiping a mug with a cloth. "Can I get you anything?"
"Anything without alcohol or Bleep, please," Rina said. "Actually, do you have hot chocolate?"
The bartender nodded, not even fazed by what Rina thought would be an odd request. Barely a minute later, she was nursing a mug of hot chocolate straight from the Polar Express.
"Oh, did you hear?" The bartender asked, leaning forward somewhat. "Apparently some recruit's mother got into HQ and had a shouting match with the Sunflower Official." He chuckled. "Can you imagine?"
Rina choked into her mug, feeling her cheeks flush.
Brightbeard couldn't help but notice the girl next to him turn several shades of embarrassed. He could only assume that she was the recruit in question. He felt for her.
The best thing to do, he knew, was to divert attention.
"Aye, I've heard that one," Brightbeard said. "But did ye hear that my partner thinks the cafeteria is out tae get him?"
Rudi laughed. "Of course they're out to get him, after they figured out he started that food fight that one time? Did you know that he was in here the other day asking if he could have his Troll meetings in the pub? Like I'd allow that. I'm not going to have him in here messing the place up, thank you very much." He laughed some more and headed down the bar to talk with some other patrons.
Brightbeard turned to go back to his drink and said, to no one in particular, "Rough day?"
Rina set her mug down and wiped her mouth, grateful for the distraction. "I found out the hard way that I'm allergic to Bleep stuffs."
She cocked her head, looking curiously at the dwarf. "So your partner's the guy who started the food fight a while back? I heard about that- it sounded like it was insane." She held out a hand. "I'm Sabrina Dives, by the way, but most people call me Rina."
"Pleasure tae meet you, Rina. I'm Eamon Brightbeard." He turned on his barstool to extend a thick, calloused hand. His voice took on a grandfatherly quality. "I'm sorry ye've had a bad day. It'll get better, over time. I promise."
"Thanks, Mr. Brightbeard." She took another sip of her hot chocolate, watching with some bemusement as a pair of agents went crawling past, clearly in search of something.
Rina looked back at Eamon. "If you don't mind me asking, what's your home continuum? I'm from World One, and dwarves aren't exactly common there."
Brightbeard took a drink from his flagon of... well he wasn't quite sure what it was, besides blue and strong. "I'm from Azeroth in what ye might call the Warcraft Universe. Dwarves are much more common there. Have y'ever visited?"
"Azeroth? Oh, I've always wanted to go there, but I'm not as familiar with canon as I'd like to be, so I've never been." Rina sighed wistfully. "I've only ever seen it through a computer screen, but it looked beautiful. What's it like? Is it really hot in Ironforge? Are gryphons as uncomfortable to ride as it looks? Have you ever been to Northrend?"
She stopped, ducking her head and feeling her cheeks heat up once more. "Uh, if you don't mind me asking. Again."
"Ironforge is no hotter than any other active volcano I've been in. Besides, it's the sulfur that generally gets tae visitors. And I do find Griffins tae be uncomfortable. I dinnae trust the things, personally. Give me a well-trained ram, any day."
He took another pull from his drink. "If ye're so interested, I recommend either hitting the Canon Library or finding a knowledgeable partner so ye can check out Northrend yerself. It is a beautiful place, when ye're not surrounded by ravenous undead, of course."
Rina nodded. She'd been planning on visiting the Canon Library ever since she found out about its existence (so, for about a week), but Eamon's suggestion made her determined to find time to visit the library.
"I'll try to make time, then," she said, grinning.
Casting about for more conversation topics, she said, "So... how long have you been here?" If there was one thing that she'd learned so far in Headquarters, it was that agents loved (for the most part) to talk about their jobs.
"That is a difficult question," said the Dwarf. "Time is a bit odd here, after all. I once ate a short meal and my partner had time tae go tae a party, get drunk, get lost, get found, and sleep it off." He stopped to take another drink.
"If I had tae guess, I'd say no less than two or three years. No more than six. It all depends on who ye ask."
"I gather ye're a newer recruit. How long have ye been here?"
Rina blew her bangs out of her eyes. "You promise it really gets better? Because so far, being an agent kind of sucks. I mean, it's awesome getting to see the different universes, but I don't know if it's worth it. The Sues my partner and I had to deal with make everything really painful."
Rina shook her head. "Sorry, I promised myself I wouldn't gripe. I really do love it here, you know."
Brightbeard placed his hand reassuringly on Rina's shoulder. "Aye, it does get better. I can't promise the Sues will get better, or that your partner will be sane, but you will meet amazing people and go to beautiful places. Those times are worth it."
The Dwarf withdrew his hand and drained his drink. "I dinnae think I asked, but what Department are ye in?"
"DMS, freelance division. Though I have a suspicion I'll be specializing in the Potterverse."
((You don't mind that the posts are getting shorter, do you? I don't want to keep yammering on and hog the RP.))
"Of course," said Brightbeard. "These old eyes aren't what they used to be. Now, I'm afraid I must be off. Cannae leave my partner alone for very long. It has been a pleasure tae meet ye, Agent Rina of the DMS."
Agent Brightbeard hopped down from his bar stool and walked leisurely toward the exit.
((No problem. I was wrapping this up anyway.))
Rina waved back, stifling a yawn. Several minutes after Brightbeard had left, she slipped off her stool and headed back to her RC and her bed.
((I really enjoyed this. :D ))
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.
"That was a bit of a nasty scrape, wasn't it?' said Emiran as he limped down the Generic Grey corridor with a cane. "Who knew that a Purity Sue could turn out to be such a good fighter? That ESAS team made the right choice to call on Special Response to give them a hand."
Naya harrumphed as she hobbled beside her partner. "'Says you. Half of your leg got sliced off, didn't it? You should be thankful I remembered to charge Terabyte's batteries after I woke up. Without its intervention a lot more than just your leg would've come off." The quarian groaned and stopped, clutching her stomach. "Keelah. I'm going to feel that kick for the next few days..."
Her Time Lord partner stopped and smiled. "Ah, technicalities. I've got plenty of regenerations left in me. Besides, Medical did a good job of gluing my trotter back on, didn't it? That Medi-gun of theirs really works wonders!" The former soldier stared into the middle distance. "We should get one of those for our place. Like, in miniature. I'm sure if I have the blueprints I can make it better and smaller..."
"No. We already have enough junk lying about."
"Oh, come one. Pleeeeeeease...?"
"No. Let's just get to Rudi's."
"Fine."
- - -
The Special Response team split up after they entered Rudi's pub. Naya made her way to the bar as fast as her bruised chest would allow and went about the complicated business of trying to order dextro-amino acid based liquor with an "emergency induction port". Emiran, on the other hand, stopped and sniffed. Something smelled... Gallifreyan. The Time Lord started moving around the room, flaring his nostrils and looking around frantically. He hadn't seen much of his people after his entry in HQ: maybe he could sit down with a fellow Time Lord and get to the bottom of this Continuity Council nonsense.
Emiran's nose eventually brought him to Agent Des' table. The Gallifreyan man leaned in close to the Floater, locked eyes, and inhaled sharply. Oh yes. This was the source of the smell, but this man wasn't Time Lord. It must be his partner, then. Emiran quickly straightened himself without breaking eye contact and cleared his throat. "My name is Emiranlanoamar, but you may call me 'Guardsman'. I presume your partner is a Time Lord? If so, what is their name and are they on the Continuity Council?"
When the Guardsman started sniffing him, Des cocked an eyebrow and his hand strayed a few inches away from his glass – and toward his axe, though it was nowhere near it at this point. He knew that while some agents were harmlessly bonkers, some of them were homicidal, and Len and his shouts of “Mr Rogers! Mr Rogers!” were quite famous in HQ by now.
However, when the sniffing person introduced himself as a Time Lord, Des relaxed. He poured himself another shot. “I'm Desdendelle – Des for practically everyone else – and yes, my partner is a Time Lord,” he said. “Goes by “the Librarian”, and if memory serves, he's Jade Warden or whatever. Don't call him that, though: he'll probably hit you with one of those books of his.”
The human scratched his goatee and downed his shot. “Here, take a sit,” he said, tapping the table. “Alcohol's no fun when drunk alone. Kinda like tea.”
"Don't mind if I do, Agent Des," beamed the Time Lord as he allowed himself to crash into the seat opposite Des. The Guardsman's cane clattered to the floor but was quickly snatched back up by its owner and propped against the table. "Oops! Forgive me. I'm always sorta clumsy after surgery. Medical had to weld my foot back on after a run-in with a Sue. Surprisingly painless! Those Medi-guns are the niftiest gadgets ever with their pain-blocking pulse. Or something. I can't remember. It was either that or the adrenalin high. I don't know. Now, where was I...?"
He paused for a second and then remembered why he had approached Des in the first place. "Oh, right. The Librarian, you say? And he's the Jade Warden. Mm. If I remember correctly, that's the one supposed to watch over the Whoniverse's timeline. Does he even do anything besides watch the show?"
The dark-skinned man rubbed his chin for a few moments and added: "Oh, right. I'm asking this because I seem to be the only Time Lord around here not in the Continuity Council. Even that twit Antrilovorasilendar-- er, the Notary, that is-- has a title. Not that I want in-- just the opposite, really. Last I heard, the HQ Daleks tried to one-up the Council by doing... I don't even know, but it ended in a temporal fold that nearly blew up HQ. If we're gonna keep the peace in this place, we need to know what the Council is up to-- and what the Daleks might do. Stupid things. I don't know why we don't just liquidate them and avoid all this trouble."
The Time Lord fell silent, then looked back at Des. "Too heavy? Sorry. Naya," he nodded towards his partner seated at the bar, "tells me that I have a tendency to talk people to death. Do you think so? Well, I don't think so but if you notice anything just tell me and I'll stop talking. Furthermore--" The Gallifreyan man caught himself mid-sentence. "I'm doing it again, aren't I? All righty. Being quiet now. You were saying something about drinks?"
By the time the Guardsman finished talking, Des was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. He poured the Time Lord a shot – from where he procured the glass is anyone's guess – and slid the glass across the table. “Give this a try,” he said. “This Cointreau is really good. In fact, it's suspiciously similar to the bottle I had back home; it even has the same patina of dust on it. I have no idea how Rudi got this.”
The human rubbed his goatee. “We do get Dr Who missions from time to time, so you can't say he's not doing anything,” he said. “Can't say much more, though. I've not been in their meetings and I don't want to. They managed not to destroy HQ and that's enough for me. And, frankly, if there're Daleks involved, I don't want to be. An axe isn't much use against a pepperpot that can EX-TER-MI-NATE you from afar.” He pause and poured himself another shot. “No, you're not talking too much. In fact, you're a welcome relief from the Librarian; he talks so little when we're off duty – always busy with that tablet of his or with those huge, dusty tomes – I sometimes wonder if he's mute.” He downed the shot and coughed again. “Ah, good stuff. So do make yourself at home and natter all you want. Worse-case scenario, I'll tell you to shut up.”
Des looked at his glass for a few seconds. Then he raised his gaze again. “Also, generally speaking liquidating people doesn't solve problems. It just adds more. Plus, it makes Upstairs upset.”
...and saluted Des with a little gesture with the vessel. "Heh. We are talking about my people's mortal enemy. How can I not be a tiny bit speciesist when confronted with that? ...though I can make an exception for Dalek Caan. He was a good one. Cheers!" He took a tiny sip of the drink. Smacking his lips together, he took another, bigger sip of Cointreau. "Oh, now that's pretty excellent stuff. I wonder..." The Time Lord reached into his Inverness coat's pocket and pulled out his laser screwdriver. He pointed the sleek and silver pencil-like device at the glass for a second-- bzzz!-- and held it up to his ear to check the psychic interface. "...goes well with cocktails too. Ha! I'll have to remember that. Humans, eh?"
He tucked the laser screwdriver back into his pocket. "I have to admit that I'm still new to food culture. I swallowed nutri-pills with water for almost my entire life. It's amazing what humans can do with their food. Ever eaten falafel? It's like-- I can't even explain it. I can't go back to the pills after eating real food."
The Guardsman leaned back in his seat, looking a bit pensive. "So, enough about me. What about you? I know your name, partner, um... department," he eyed the Floater's flash patch, "and what you like to drink-- that's a pretty good start-- but what about everything else? Fandoms, likes and dislikes, place of origin... care to share?"
Des rubbed his neck. “Pills...? That sounds horrid,” he said before grinning. “I've actually eaten many a falafel ball back at home. It's really good in a pita with t'khina and some veggies.”
He poured himself another shot, downed it, and chuckled. “As to your questions... let's answer them in order, shall we?”
He flicked his finger at his glass, causing it to tinkle and spin around before catching it again. “It should be added, first and foremost, that my preferred beverage is actually tea, the bitterer the better. Fandoms... I guess they change with the times, I'm always reading and watching new things. I'm currently in a Star Wars phase, watching that Clone Wars series. As to what you can call my, um, major ones, those would be” – he started counting on his fingers – “Star Wars, Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha, Lord of the Rings, the Culture, Yu-Gi-Oh!... I guess you can add obscure animé and manga to the list; I mean, stuff like Upotte!!, Ikkitousen, To Love-ru, etc.”
Des poured himself another shot, then slid the bottle across the table to the Guardsman. “Have some yourself, too.” A pause. “Likes...? Philosophy, tea, logic, good music, tea, peaches and other fruit that you can chew their pits for hours on end, the hill of Tara, Ireland, and tea. Did I mention I like tea?” Another pause, accompanied by an ear-to-ear grin. “Dislikes? Bad [=SPaG=], illogic, stupid people, murderous Sues... I also have a... bad reaction... to torture, even more than normal, thanks to an especially disgusting Fate Testarossa replacement.” A cringe. “Bad. Bad.”
Shuddering like the room was suddenly very cold, Des sneezed. “Anyway, origin... that's a bit complicated. You'd call it earth, I guess, but not World One. Plenty of differences stemming from the fact that there are no weapons that aren't mélee weapons or bows. It'd take years to explain all of them. Also, the tea is predatory. Makes it bitter like it should be.”
"Predatory tea plants, you say...? In a world with only bows and other assorted pointy objects. Did your people never figure out gunpowder or something?" The Guardsman sipped at his drink again and put it down neatly in front of him.
"Say... I've been wondering about this thing lately and I wonder if anyone else thinks like me. Well, not exactly like me because that would be impossible since I am Time Lord and have a different thinking process and... er... getting sidetracked. Where was I going with this...? Oh! Right." The former soldier toyed with his shot glass, watching the liquor swirl about inside it. "Do you ever get homesick? Hang on, better question: can you go back to your home continuum and visit? 'Cause, well, I'm Gallifreyan so my planet is in limbo. Until canon gives us a fix on Gallifrey's position, I can't just open a portal to the Homeworld and go back."
The Guardsman smiled. "When I was back at the Academy, all I thought about was getting offworld on board an exploration TARDIS. Then the Time War happened and my wish came true, in some way: got off the planet, killed some Daleks, got killed in some interesting ways in alternate timelines, went back to Gallifrey, survived the Fall of Arcadia, fell through a plothole into the Time Vortex, hit another plothole, and landed here. But then after some months in HQ, I just got this feeling of wanting to go back. I want to see the sunrise on my district again, I want to find out what happened to my family, I want to help with the rebuilding and all of that..."
He raised the glass of Cointreau to his lips again and downed the contents. After recovering from his coughing fit, he shakily poured himself another shot and pushed the bottle back towards Des. "So, yeah. Do you ever think of home? Any people over there you're still in touch with?"
“Oh, don't be like that,” Des said. “We're not that backwards. We have planes, computers and stuff; we've reached the moon; we sent craft to Mars... the works. We just don't have stuff to shoot at each other with.”
He paused and seemed to be thinking about the Guardsman's question; he rubbed his goatee, tapped his nose and scratched his head. “I do visit home from time to time, so to speak,” he said at last. “That's where I get the tea for my Bleeptea from, after all. But I don't think I've ever seen my family for more than a few hours. It's not like we get regular free days here.”
Pouring himself another shot, Des lifted the glass before his eyes and looked at the Guardsman through it.
"...when you've managed to land on another planet. In another solar system," added the Guardsman. "Seriously. Faster-than-light travel and how a species achieves it is like a litmus test of their skills and intelligence."
Lift. Sip. The shot glass returned to the table. "Heh. If you want regular... well, not days free-- more like time partitions free-- you can always transfer to an infrastructure department or DIA. They work in shifts-- and shifts mean guaranteed sleep. Feels nice, you know," said the Gallifreyan man. "Solid seven hours of sleep. Lovely."
Des gave the Guardsman a miffed look. “Hey, I didn't say we were super-ultra-mega advanced,” he said. “Just that we're not iron age barbarians.” Another shot and cough. “And I don't want that much free time. I'd go mad. 'Sides, sleep is for the weak.”
The human looked around and noticed that the pub was fuller than before. “Hey, look, there's an influx of patrons involved,” he said and laughed a silly little laugh.
...and watched the newly arrived agents settle in their seats. "Heh. Look at 'em. They spent all day saving the multiverse again and again and all they have to show for it are empty Bleeprin tubes and bad tempers. Bless their hearts. I bet they've all got some amazing stories to tell..."
The DIA officer turned to Des, leaned forward, and said in a conspiratorial tone of voice: "How about you? Got any good ones? Close scrapes? Glorious victories? Noodle incidents? Partner mishaps?"
Des blinked. “Amazing?” he asked. “Naa. I've just got two bad stories to tell.” He shuddered again. “One about the mission that my partner finally snapped in, and the other about the mission that, in hindsight, caused him to snap. Neither of them are pretty, and I don't like remembering either. You sure you want to hear them?”
"Judging from your reaction, that seemed like some right nasty business. I'm not going to ask you to remember that," said the Guardsman. "D'you have any more positive memories? Maybe I was being a bit too broad when saying 'amazing'."
He thought for a few seconds and cocked his head. "Wait a minute. You said your partner snapped. How has the Librarian not been picked up by FicPsych yet? ...or you're talking about an older partner. Is that it?"
“Librarian is sane,” Des said, “for a certain definition of sane, anyway. No, I was talking about my former partner.”
He looked glumly at his glass and fished around in his trenchcoat's voluminous pockets. After a moment or so he found what he was looking for and put it on the table. It was a black piece of cloth, about sixty centimetres in diameter. In its middle was a Floaters flash-patch. “It's a sad story, truth to be told,” he said. “Guy was an Elf from a pretty much unknown continuum – The Battle for Wesnoth is a barely known open source video game with next to zilch fics set in it – and was pretty serious. He was a decent partner, if a bit annoying with his holier than thou attitude sometimes. Now, you see, there aren't lots of Agents that know Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha, and Intel found a... well... not legendary badfic, but let's say a bleepfic. An MGLN x Halo bleepfic. So Upstairs take their lists and see that there are two pairs of MGLN people available and one Halo pair available. We were one of the Nanoha pairs.”
Des sighed, poured himself another shot and looked at the Guardsman for a while before downing it and continuing. “The fic was so bad it basically replaced the whole Nanoha-verse. We all reacted bad, and Ari ended in Medical after fighting a super-ultra-mega-OP Sue. I ended up in FicPsych, but whatever those shrinks did, it worked and I'm functioning... aside from the nightmares, anyway. Anebrin – that's my former partner – looked OK. Problem was, he wasn't. We got a Forgotten Realms mission when I returned. It looked easy, the Sue was bland and not terribly smart, but just before we got to the sticky part he went haywire, killed the two OCs I planned on leaving behind to be assimilated into the canon and beheaded the Sue like nothing. The Marquis wasn't pleased, to say the least, and when Anebrin started raving like a lunatic Security threw him out.”
Another sigh. “Not a fun tale.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I, uh... Sorry. I didn't mean to stir up those memories."
The Gallifreyan man drummed his fingers on the table for a few seconds, then his face lit up and he snapped his fingers. He craned his neck around and signed to a passing waiter.
"Good day, gents! What can I get you?" asked the brown-haired waiter as he approached the table, notepad at the ready. "Soup of the day is broccoli cream and the daily special is the Cinnabar Volcano burger."
"Hello! I'd like to order... ah... some water, three sets of chicken wing appetizers, a garden salad, the cheeseburger, the club sandwich, soup of the day-- er, make that two-- and the cheesecake." The Guardsman looked back at Des. "You know, you need a break. Nightmares, not wanting to sleep, losing a partner, overpowered Sues, and being paired with the Librarian. I'm buying-- and no arguing with me!"
As the waiter scribbled the order on his notepad, the Guardsman added: "What do you want to order? Sorry about the large order: I just found out that I have a large appetite after getting off the nutri-pill diet."
Des blinked. “That's a lot of food,” he said, matter-of-factedly. “As to myself...?”
He hmmed for a few moments. “I'd like some Spätzle with beef in cream, mushrooms and Jack Daniels whiskey. With lots of Parmesan on it. Also, whatever you have here that resembles Milky Wulong tea the most.”
Once he had given his order, he pretty much ignored the waiter's existence. He started fishing in his pockets again. “What you said about payment had me wondering, Guardsman,” he said, and brought a handful of... well, some were coins, to the table. “What have I here? Waterdhavian gold pieces, a Star Wars credit chip, three Septim, a Torchlight gold piece or two, Israeli Shekels – how the hell do I have those? – and an Israeli credit card. Quite the collection, isn't it?”
"I've never been into coin collections myself," said the Guardsman as he picked up a 10-shekel coin and ran his thumb over the raised palm tree. "Bit boring, really. So are stamps. Who collects inanimate things anyways? Robot parts are where it's at! Bolt them together, solder a bit there, program the computer and voilà! Hours of entertainment. I'm really proud of this piece, though. Salvaged it from a Mass Effect badfic where Naya, Terabyte, and I were sent to investigate a DBS team's distress signal."
He pulled a grey, fist-shaped metal object from his pocket. Several thick cables protruded from the its top. "High-density power cell," explained the Time Lord. "It's some high-tech Suvian artefact that I repurposed for use. Y'see, Naya and I are only two parts of a three-person team: our third squaddie is actually a sentient virtual intelligence. It has a robot body to walk around in but its power cells were damaged a while back. Since it can't stay in a body with no power, it usually hitches a ride in my partner's suit computers. Since compatible parts are a nightmare to find for a geth body-- even by patching up the original batteries we could only squeeze eight-ish minutes of operational time with minimal power use-- this was a lucky break for us. Once I finish testing this baby out, Terabyte might be able to stay in its platform for about twenty hours before recharging. Neat, eh?"
“Well, I didn't collect those per se,” Des said. “I sort of got them while on missions – you know, from dead OCs and sumsuch. Except the credit card; that's mine.”
He chuckled. “Never been into this two-hands thing myself. That's my brother. I'm the philosophy guy.” A paused, where he rubbed his goatee. “Your partner, Terabyte, I assume he's got a personality and quirks, right? I've next to no knowledge about Mass Effect.”
"Well, you might as well ask it directly. Excuse me a moment, I'll be right back."
The Guardsman put the power cell back in his pocket and the shekel on the table, took his cane, and limped over to the bar where his partner Naya sat, perched on a bar stool and sipping her drink from a sealed container through a straw connected to her helmet. He stopped next to her, patted her shoulder, pointed at Des one or two times, and made begging gestures with his hands. Naya shrugged, grabbed onto the Guardsman's shoulder, and used him as a crutch as the pair walked back to Des' table, drink in hand. The Guardsman guided the quarian to a chair beside him and propped his cane against the table as he sat down again. "Naya, this is Agent Desdendelle from Floaters. Agent, this is my partner, Naya'Keegan of the starship Iktomi. He wanted to know more about Terabyte."
Naya disconnected the straw from her helmet, put her drink on the table, and nodded towards Des. "Pleased to meet you. Emiran tells me that you were interested in meeting Terabyte? Well, here it is. Say hello, TB."
The quarian raised her left arm. She used a gloved three-fingered hand to type a string of commands on the orange holographic interface that encased her raised forearm. When her Omni-tool beeped twice, she laid her glowing arm on the table and watched as a holo-screen emerged from the tool, the image resolving to the mugshot of a geth soldier platform. Onscreen, the geth's glowing camera-eyes focused on Des under the khaki-coloured metal hood that formed its head.
"Entering active mode. Agent Desdendelle wishes to inquire about my nature and home continuum, yes/no? Please specify," asked Terabyte.
Naya nodded towards the holo-screen. Behind her nearly opaque teal-tinted visor, her glowing eyes narrowed a bit. It was always difficult to tell what her facial expression was, but she was definitely smiling. "Go on. Ask it anything! TB doesn't get to speak to others often, so I'm sure it appreciates the chance."
- - -
((For visual reference: generic quarian female and standard geth trooper platform.))
Des nodded at Naya and waited for her to boot Terabyte up. “Yes, I would very much like to know more about you,” he told the hologram. “After all, you don't exactly meet a sentient AI every day. Even here in the PPC.”
He grabbed the various monies still lying on the table and stuffed them into his coat's pocket. “Specifically, I was wondering what's your personality like. Also, if that's applicable, what sort of music you like.”
----
((I'd like to rewrite this thread into an interlude, because there's some pretty important info about Des here. With your permission, of course.))
((Go ahead and compile the thread! I don't mind it at all. Just don't forget to include me as the co-writer :P ))
"It is difficult for me to describe my personality. I can describe my mobile platform's capabilities, weaponry, average reaction times, tactics, and attack runtimes that I use every day at work. Unfortunately, they do not reflect who I am as an individual. They are simply observations that any sentient being can make about my performance. Reminder: I am a part of a species of synthetic life originally created to serve the quarian race though manual labour. Such machines are not designed to be introspective." Terabyte's holographic representation tilted its head to the side, as if in thought.
"That being said, my base programming contains code that creates positive feedback loops upon completing certain tasks. From an organic life-form's perspective, I 'like' these things. Example: there is a meadow in the Courtyard where wild horse populations and Agent Alice run. I have volunteered some of my time to build a shelter for these animals for protection against the Courtyard's rainy and winter seasons."
Naya leaned towards Des. "TB's batteries are too weak to let it run around like that. I built a big solar power generator so that the mobile platform can run off umbilical power while it works. You should've seen its face when it got tangled in its own cables once..."
Terabyte ignored the anecdote and continued. "Example: when in an emergency situation, I aim to take down a threat alive. There is no need for unnecessary loss of life. Even Suvian creatures are useful alive: the DMSER is always pleased to receive live subjects. Example: food preparation. Emiranlanoamar enjoys my cooking."
The Guardsman smacked his lips. "TB made chili last night. Best bit of home cooking I've had in a while."
"Example: I often tune into Naya's auditory sensors when she listens to the music channel on the radio. I can easily use the HQ Wi-Fi to download and view the rest of the piece but there is a certain... charm in not knowing what will come next in the music. I can appreciate the effort put into the composition. To me, the most interesting genre has to be opera. Conveying a story though song onstage is hardly a new concept in the history of art, but terrans have been very prolific in this particular art form."
Before Terabyte could rattle off another example, Naya cut in. "There you have it. Our geth partner, the pacifist animal-loving cook-in-training opera fan."
“From your words I summarise that ordinary geth are omnicidal robots,” Des noted dryly, then smiled. “You look like a nice guy, Terabyte.” A pause, in which Des rubbed his goatee. “Have you ever listened to an opera called Der Ring des Nibelungen? Its composer, Richard Vanger, was one helluva racist, but the music is awesome. Especially the Ride of the Valkyries. It's also quite famous.”
He turned to the other two as he poured himself another shot of Cointreau. “Say, you guys, what are your tastes in music?”
...both started talking as Des described the geth as "omnicidal robots" but quietened to let the Floater finish his question. The Guardsman blurted out "Anything by the Rolling Stones!" when Des finished but bit back the rest of his spiel when he noticed his partners trying to get a word in.
"The geth aren't killers by nature--" started Naya.
" --but three hundred years ago in our home continuum, the quarians grew suspicious of us when we started asking whether we had souls or not--" cut in Terabyte.
"--our scientists tried to deactivate all geth to nip a 'robot uprising' in the bud--"
"--but we ignored the signal, believing that there was no malfunction within our system and that we asked a legitimate question--"
"--and so the police started to put down the geth by force despite many quarians supporting the emerging sentience of the geth and their rights as living, thinking beings--"
"--and the geth started to fight back to defend non-combatant worker units and we witnessed police killing their fellow countrymen to destroy all geth--"
"--and the public opinion on the geth shifted and full scale war against quarians and the geth broke out-- the Morning War-- but my ancestors lost and were forced to flee the Homeworld and the colonies aboard any starship they could find--"
"--and our creators were reduced to nomads aboard the 50000-ship strong Migrant Fleet, scavenging and strip-mining planets for resources while being shunned by the Citadel Council for creating the geth threat--"
"--and yet the geth never left the Perseus Veil-- Rannoch's local sector that is-- and kept our buildings and infrastructure clean and new, as if they regretted their actions--"
"--while some quarians aboard the Migrant Fleet never gave up believing that the geth didn't deserve genocide."
The two Mass Effect-verse agents settled down.
The Guardsman let out a slow whistle. "Bit heavy, innit? Oh, yeah. I caught Naya listening to K-Pop music once. Not sure if that's actually what she likes or--"
"Emiran, shut up," grumbled the quarian.
- - -
Some interesting clips from the game. Massive Mass Effect spoiler warning!
"Unit has an inquiry."
"Do these units have a soul?"
Des pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, fun,” he muttered. “And I thought my history was bad.” He rubbed his forehead. “Now I'm sorry I'm asked. Foreign canon politics aren't my thing. One thing, though.” A pause. “There was a philosopher from Earth called Descartes, or Cartesius. He said this: cogito ergo sum. I think, therefore I am. The geth think, therefore they are. Neh?”
"They'd probably blow that off as the geth believing that they have souls. Machines that are programmed to kill every organic in sight while proclaiming they have souls-- that's what the quarians came to think of the geth," said Naya.
"Sad, but true," chimed in the Guardsman. "I guess it all boils down to how you define life."
The table sat in silence for a few seconds before a quartet of waiters approached the seated agents, balancing multiple dishes on their arms. "Large order coming though!" announced the brown-haired waiter. "Right then. We have the Spätzle just the way you wanted it.. your drink... and the rest for you." The waiters deftly slid the food from their arms onto the table, arranging the plates into optimum packing efficiency. "Anything else?" asked the waiter.
"We're fine," replied the Guardsman. "Thanks!"
"Thank you, sirs. Enjoy."
As the waiters departed, Naya cast a critical glance over her partner's meal. "You do realize that this will cost--"
"--yes, and I've been saving up for it. Don't sweat it!" said the Guardsman as he picked up a chicken wing.
The quarian merely sighed and turned to Des.
"Desdendelle, was it? How come your partner isn't with you? Is he sick or something? Maybe he'd like to join us."
Des sniffed the food and smiled. “Librarian?” he asked. “He's... not a people's person. He's a books-and-computers person, always working on that confounding riddle. Something about Osiris or something similar.”
He lifted the cup the waiter put before him to his face and took a deep breath, then put it down again. “Ahhh, that smells excellent...” he muttered. “Bete'avon, anashim.”
With that, he took his spoon and began eating the Spätzle with gusto, sipping from his tea from time to time.
"Presides over the afterlife, the dead and the underworld,"" said Terabyte. "Son of Geb, the earth god, and Nut, the sky goddess. As the benevolent ruler of the afterlife, he delivers judgment on the souls of the dead. Also linked to agriculture, fertility, and rebirth-- the cycle of life. From the remains of the dead, new life takes root and flourishes."
"Interesting. What do you know about this riddle?" asked Naya. "Did the Librarian arrive in HQ while working on the riddle or did he start here? What does he know so far?"
"Theory!" cut in Terabyte. "Cycle of death and rebirth is known to Time Lords; they regenerate and start anew after suffering from mortal injuries. Theme of judgment of the dead might carry on as the new iteration of the Time Lord looking back on his or her past life."
"There's nothing really mysterious about regeneration," mumbled the Guardsman through a mouthful of club sandwich. "It's a simple enough biological process. Why go about asking riddles about that?" He tore though the rest of the sandwich and wiped his fingers on his napkin. "But yeah, the question still stands: what is the Osiris thing?"
Des mmhmed. “I don't think it's was-killed-and-made-alive-again Osiris,” he said between bites. “It's probably something different; as far as I'm aware, he's been chasing after it in the story he came from, too.”
Burping gently, he put his spoon down. “That was good.” Picking the tea cup up, he looked at the steaming liquid inside. “It's not like I'm the most people's-person myself.”
"I'm of the opinion that it doesn't matter if you're a 'people person' or not, you need to be around people once in a while to avoid going crazy. Well, going crazier that is: this is the PPC we're talking about." She picked up her drink-in-a-hermetic-container and raised it to her eye level. "A toast to the Protectors of the Plot Continuum. Saving the multiverse on a daily basis and building friendships since its inception."
