(Since I don't strictly have any agents to write about, I figured writing the Flowers would be an interesting challenge...)

Everyone in HQ knew that the Marquis de Sod and the Kudzu didn’t like each other. That was fine - it was the PPC. If everyone got along, it would set warning bells ringing throughout the building (literally; Makes-Things had installed them himself on request from the SO). The occasional snide remark or petty bickering was barely remarked upon anymore.

But this... this was new.

No one was sure how it started; the most believable rumor held that it began as a disagreement over an agent recuperating in FicPsych. The Marquis de Sod had wanted her back in the field immediately, while the Kudzu insisted she needed more time to recover. Naturally the argument moved away from the well-being of the agent quickly, and became a gigantic blowout with each Flower accusing the other of infringing on their jurisdiction, undermining their authority, ignoring important demands, and having no respect for their work. The psychic bellowing could be heard throughout HQ, and stunned anyone within fifty paces. There were four people in FicPsych now with mental damage from being too close - which only added fuel to the escalating fire.

Now the two Flowers weren’t talking to each other, which was fairly normal, but when not sulking were directly and intentionally interfering the other’s work, which was not. The Marquis was refusing to send anyone to FicPsych, no matter how clearly and badly they needed it; the Kudzu was refusing to release anyone from FicPsych, as a direct response.

Everyone in HQ could feel the effects. An underlying current of malice pervaded the place. The other Flowers were making themselves scarce, and personnel found excuses for extended absences. The infrastructure departments were having an increasingly hard time holding everything together.

After about a week and a half, with hostilities not having faded in the least, the Sunflower Official resigned himself to having to do something.

He didn’t want to get involved in the least. If at all possible, he would have left it to the Marquis and Kudzu to work out between themselves. But agents going stir-crazy in their wards and flamethrower-crazy in the halls was detrimental to everyone, and besides, their pigheadedness was interfering with his job, as well.

He managed to wrangle them both into a meeting in an unused boardroom. The Marquis and Kudzu sat opposite each other at the table, deliberately and pointedly ignoring each other.

The SO glared at them both. Listen, he snapped. This idiocy must stop now. I don’t care what grievances you have against each other - this has gone on long enough.

If the Kudzu had eyes, she would have rolled them. This wouldn’t have happened at all if the daisy over there didn’t need such a drastic attitude adjustment.

The Marquis stiffened indignantly. Excuse me? I hardly think -

Will you stop it? The SO had lost his patience by now. You both are acting like seedlings - no, worse, like Agents.

That gave them both pause.

I don’t care whose fault it is, who has a bad attitude, or anything else you have to say to me, the SO continued. But you are disrupting my life and my work and I have had enough. You are not leaving this room until you have worked this out between yourselves. Whether you reconcile or kill each other, I don’t care. But this needs to be resolved right now.

With that, the SO turned and left, leaving the Kudzu and the Marquis alone in the room.

For the longest time, they just sat there, glaring sullenly at each other. After a time, the silence faded from hostile to uncomfortable, and then to just awkward.

It was the Marquis who gave in first. So... how is Agent... er... He couldn’t even remember the name of the agent that the whole thing had begun over.

The Kudzu knew who he meant. She flicked a tendril irritably. She says she’s ready to go back to work.

They met each other’s looks, both wanting to say I told you so.

Five or six other agents are also ready to be discharged, the Kudzu finally added.

The Marquis nodded. And I believe I have a few who need therapy and recuperation.

Ah. The Fountain of Bleepka explosion?

The ones involved who aren’t in Medical will certainly need the help, yes. As well as a few others.

Eventually, after a few hours of violence failing to break out, the SO deemed them ready to leave. The two disgruntled Flowers left with only one parting potshot (And also, your hat is stupid), leaving the Marquis and Kudzu back on the familiar grounds of tolerable if active dislike.

The agents who had been taking bets over which one would kill the other went away disappointed.

But peace was back in HQ - or, rather, the benign craziness that in the PPC passed for peace - and that was all anyone could ask for.

Got bored, wrote this. It probably isn't that good, but eh, it can't be that bad.

“I’m sorry! It wasn’t my fault!”
“I spent five hours tied to that bed!” Ally screamed at her partner.
“I tried! It wasn’t my fault he trapped me in that maze!” Grace screamed back.
“It wasn’t a pleasant experience, you know! I had him standing over me the entire time, gloating about how doomed I was!”
“Yeah, well, I had him telling me how I’d never defeat him even if I had everything the PPC could offer! I tried, Ally, I tried!”
“Yeah, and you screwed up again,” Ally retorted. “Can’t you get anything right? How incompetent are you?”
Grace drew back as though she’d been slapped, the colour draining out of her face. She turned away from her partner and walked through the bedroom door without speaking.
Ally sank onto the couch and rested her head in her hands. “Damn.”
“Well, wasn’t that a marvellous, scintillating conversation that enriched you both with friendship and mutual trust,” Gaius remarked.
“Shut up, Gaius.”


A couple of hours later, Grace was sitting at her computer when Ally emerged from the bedroom. “Um. Hi.”
Silence.
“Look, I’m really sorry about what I said.”
Silence.
“And I know it was hard for you to get past him to rescue me.”
Silence.
“And I was really ungrateful when you did, and I’m sorry for that too.”
Silence.
“And… forgive me? Please?”
There was a pause. Then Grace turned around, her face a mask of anguish. “That really hurt.”
“I know, and I’m really sorry,” Ally said honestly.
“She is, too,” Gaius put in.
After a second, Grace got up and embraced her partner. “I can’t stay mad at you.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Ally hugged her back. “Thanks.”
Grace pulled away abruptly. “Just don’t do it again.”
“I won’t,” Ally reassured her.
Grace hugged her even more tightly.
And once again, peace reigned in the RC without a number.

This was actually a fairly hard bit to write for me. It's perhaps the most serious thing I've written relating to the PPC (aside, perhaps, from the backstory bits).

It's got some mild profanity, and can be found here: http://rc43042.blogspot.com/2011/09/confrontation.html

Cubes, featuring Building Maintenance! This is the first story I've published featuring BM, but not the first I've planned. The last time they were seen for public consumption was all the way back in 2008, with the Macrovirus RP.

It's not quiiiite up to the specifications of the challenge, but I think it fits, since sometimes people need a budge to acknowledge they need to apologize. ;)

Also, I would love some concrit for this piece.

There was an uncomfortable silence in the Response Center, broken only by the quiet hum of the console.

Slumped in the room's battered red leather armchair, Dobbs was scowling at the Generic Surface floor as though it had told him that it thought Mary Sues weren't that bad. His dark mustache twitched in rhythm with his breathing.

Across the room, Miles stood in the doorway, fists balled at his sides as he stared at the older Agent. He was standing completely still, except for the odd twitch every minute or so.

The console kept humming to itself as the silence stretched on, relatively content in its electronic existence.

"I can't believe it." Miles said eventually, more to break the silence than anything else. His tone was oddly flat. "What were you thinking?"

Dobbs grunted, still not looking up. He quickly flipped through the pages of the book in his hands, looking elsewhere as he did so.

"Well?" Miles demanded, voice rising. "What'd you go and do that for?"

Dobbs muttered something vague that might have been a reply.

"Mei tou nao de sha gua!" Miles swore in accented Mandarin, kicking the closest thing in reach. This happened to be Dobb's golf bag. There was a muffled clunk, and the younger Agent started to hop around, holding his injured foot. "Gah!"

"Hey, kid!" Dobbs called, a note of concern in his voice as he suddenly leaned forwards. "Don't hurt yourself."

"I'm not a kid," Miles insisted through gritted teeth, still holding onto his foot as he wobbled in place. "And you weren't so worried about the Hyacinth!" The end of the Department Head's name came out as more of a hiss than anything else.

"It's a Flower." Dobbs snapped.

"She's our boss, and you attacked her!" Miles retorted, dropping his foot and gesturing wildly with both hands.

"I had to be sure!"

"Of what?"

Dobbs abruptly looked back down.

"We get called Upstairs, and what do you do, Agent?" Miles ranted. "Oh, only pull a gun on our boss, right after pointing a CAD at it!" The younger Agent was tugging at his own hair by this point, now only a few feet away from the chair. "Are you competely fung le or just stupid?"

"Neither, so drop it." Dobbs replied, glaring at his partner. The book dropped to the floor, forgotten.

"I'm surprised we're not both doped up and in Medical!"

"Drop. It." Dobbs snarled, suddenly on the edge of his seat

Miles automatically took a step back, surprised by the sheer vehemence in his partner's tone.

"Fine." he muttered.

There was a long period of silence. Dobbs slumped back, and Miles seemed to become very interested in the blank console screen.

"I'm sorry."
"Sorry."

Both Agents looked at each other in surprise. Dobbs was the first to speak.

"Hmph. Guess I could've done it better."

"Better," Miles echoed disbelievingly, then shook his head. "Right."

"Kid...Miles. I had a reason. I really did." Dobbs said earnestly. "I had to check it was really the Flower."

"Right." Miles repeated, staring at his partner before dropping onto the console's swivel chair. Behind him, the screen flickered to life.

"Just trust me on that. Alright?"

Miles scowled. He opened his mouth to speak, about to say something that'd send the room straight back into an awkward silence.

[BEEEP!]

Of course, if anything could break up an argument between Agents, it would be a object of mutual loathing. A Suefic would do nicely.

"What've we got?" Dobbs called, springing out of his chair, argument completely forgotten. There was a muffled clank as he picked up his golf bag from the doorway.

At the console, Miles was typing frantically, fingers scrambling over the keyboard. A faint grin was spreading across his face, and there was a tell-tale look in his eyes.

"We've got a mission. Let me bring it up..."

Milo scanned the report, then froze, his grin fading away. There was a moment of stunned silence at the keyboard.

"They did what?" Milo cried. "Zao gao. Really, really, Zao go. Agent Dobbs, you'll want to look at this."

"Move over." Dobbs told him, toting his golf bag as he stepped up to the console. His eyes darted from line to line, widening as he read. There was a clunk as he dropped the golf bag next to his feet, but he didn't seem to notice.

"This thing has to go." he finally growled. Milo didn't reply, simply nodding in agreement.

As the two Agents prepared, they talked, but only about their plan for the fic, what equipment they could take, and what to do to the luckless Sue who'd caused this mess. The argument was forgotten, and things were back to normal in the RC, at least for the moment.

Translations
Mei tou nao de sha gua- Mindless idiot
fung le- insane, mad
Zao gao- terrible, disastrous

“Look, that's not the way it works!” Diocletian shouted. Over on his hibachi, Thiranduil whimpered and covered his ears. They'd been going on like this for almost half an hour, and even a mini-Balrog has his limits. Diocletian, however, ignored the mini's obvious distress in favor of jabbing a finger into her partner's chest.“If you'd listen for five seconds, you'd know that!”<br><br> “It's a damn stupid way to do things,” Suicide retorted. “Telling all your problems to some useless old graybeard who makes his living telling other people why they're mad? That's not healthy, that's the kind of thing Athenians got off on!”<br><br>    “It <i>is</i> healthy, believe it or not. And if you hate psychology so much, why do you ask me for advice all the time?”<br><br>   “That's different. I actually respect you occasionally!”<br><br>    “Occasionally! Truer words never spoken. I still can't believe you're being so stubborn!”<br><br>   “Maybe you're the one who's being stubborn. Why the hell should I talk to one of these headshrinkers, anyway? They can't even really shrink heads!”<br><br> “Because that's why! You have this . . . “ Diocletian gripped the air as if trying to throttle her partner's less admirable traits. “This . . . <i>thing</i> about how violence is the only way to get stuff done! Like riding a horse is somehow better than reading a book!”<br><br>  “I'm in the PPC!” Suicide pointed out, throwing his arms wide. “Why the hell d'you think they recruited me?”<br><br>    “That doesn't change the fact that you're treating the DSM-IV like a to-do list. There are limits!” Thiranduil burrowed deeper into the hibachi, knowing that, like plagues and '80s fashion, the original topic of the fight was about to return yet again. “Limits that <i>don't</i> involve you trying to murder Agent Snafu just because I went to dinner with him!”<br><br>    “I told you, he's no good for you. He's practically a stick. A stick who wouldn't know how to be a man if you injected liquid John McClane into his veins!”<br><br> Diocletian facepalmed. “You'd probably try it, too. But that doesn't change the fact that you nearly frightened him to death, and for no good reason!”<br><br>  Suicide huffed. “I said I was sorry!”<br><br>   “You didn't mean it, and you know it.”<br><br>  “What the hell does that mean?”<br><br> “Exactly what it means.”<br><br>    “Stop being such a girl, Dio, and just spit it out!”<br><br>    Diocletian scowled, planting her hands on her hips as she aimed a venomous glare at her partner. “Stop being such a girl? Oh, smooth, very smooth! I feel so bad for Jenni Robinson, having you following her around like a horny charmless wolfman.”<br><br>   “All right, you caught me. I'm not sorry.” Suicide flexed his hands, with audible cracking noises from the oversized knuckles. “I'm not sorry that I did the sensible thing by trying to scare off a useless squish of a human being who shouldn't even be looking in your direction. I'm not sorry that your idea of a good time is trying to knacker me by hitting me over the head with how modern people handle their differences! How modern people behave, how 'civilized' people spend their time—-if I hear the words 'peaceable conflict resolution' again, I'm going to go out there and kick a puppy just for the hell of it! Dammit, Dio, I'm a Scythian, not a sociologist!”<br><br> Diocletian's scowl wavered. She fought valiantly to keep it in place, but the urge was too strong. With a snort, she burst out laughing, covering her mouth with both hands but unable to suppress the mad giggles. Suicide stared, not quite sure what had come over his partner.<br><br>  “A Scythian . . . not a . . .” She broke down again, choking. “Oh Eru, oh my Eru, you are, aren't you . . . ahahaha . . .”<br><br>  Suicide glanced at the door as Diocletian gasped for air. “I take it back. Maybe you do need one of those headshrinker things.” That sent Dio into another fit of laughter, and Suicide grinned uneasily, not sure what he'd said. As a rule, his partner was supposed to be the levelheaded one; barring the occasional spot of Bursar Disease, Diocletian was the one who acted calm(ish) and sane (in a manner of speaking). Maybe the pressure had finally gotten to her? Tentatively, he prodded one shaking shoulder with a fingertip, only making her laugh again.<br><br>   “No,” she managed. “You're not. You're really, really not.”<br><br> “Are you trying to start the argument again? Because I can do this all day.”<br><br>    “No, I'm not,” she said, taking a deep breath and trying (and failing) to wipe the smile off her face. “Look . . . Su . . . you're right.”<br><br>  He raised an eyebrow, surprised. This was a first. “I am?”<br><br>  “You are. Sort of. Maybe I've been too hard on you.” Suicide's other eyebrow joined the first, giving him an expression of either extreme surprise or recent Botox use, and Diocletian held up a qualifying finger. “<i>Maybe,</i> I said. I'm still mad at you. But I have been badgering you a lot lately.”<br><br>   “Honey-badgering, practically.” Diocletian's giggles started again, and Suicide could help grinning too. <br><br>   “You suck, Su.”<br><br> “I'm rubber, you're glue. You actually mean it?”<br><br>    “Yeah, yeah. I think I do.” She took another breath. “Look, Su. You wouldn't be half as much fun if you were . . . well . . . modern. Normal. But there's a time and a place, you know? Breaking into Snafu's RC and attacking him while he's asleep isn't one of them.”<br><br>    “I was trying to see how well he reacted to a dangerous situation. A man needs to be able to protect himself and his loved ones.” It's a testament to Suicide's acting ability that he said that perfectly straight-faced. <br><br> “Protecting himself and his loved ones, says the man who's named . . . look. I don't need protecting, okay?” Diocletian shook her head, even as Suicide opened his mouth to object. “Okay, there was the Shelob incident. But most of the time, when I want to have dinner with another agent, I don't need you biting his head off. Okay?”<br><br> “Okay,” Suicide said. Reluctantly. Biting peoples' heads off was practically a spectator sport in the PPC, after all.<br><br>   “And I'm sorry I called you a charmless horny wolfman.”<br><br> “Horny charmless wolfman, actually. And that one was actually accurate.”<br><br>    “You're a wolfman?”<br><br> “Ask Jenni.”<br><br>    “Oh, Su—-<i>ew!</i>”<br><br>  And once again, in RC #2771a, all was well. Because attempted murder is one thing, and badgering about what defines civilized tendencies is another, but a bond of humor shared by inadvertent science fiction references is in a class of its own.

Four years, eight months and sixteen days later, Terri Ryan awoke with a start. "But that didn't happen!" she exclaimed.

"It sort of did," a voice replied, and she looked around the dimly-lit room, startled. There was a woman standing by the door – a woman with strawberry-blonde hair.

"... I thought you didn't exist," she said accusingly. The other woman shrugged.

"I didn't. Then I did. Hello, Terri."

"Louise," Terri said with a slight nod. "So. Come to gloat?"

Lou shook her head. "I came to give you a present," she said. "It's... well, you know."

Terri frowned. "But that didn't happen," she said firmly. "I remember what happened the morning..." She stopped and took a deep breath. "The morning Narto vanished," she managed. "It... was terrifying. And it didn't involve-" She stopped. Lou went on, in a quiet tone.

"It didn't involve me coming by and explaining everything," she said. "It certainly didn't involve you offering to 'share'. But now, it did." She shook her head. "It's hard to explain without breaking the fourth wall."

Terri looked around. "But my bedroom only has three walls," she pointed out. Lou smiled slightly.

"Exactly. But... okay, basically I have an... an understanding with-"

"Louise," Terri cut her off, "I work for the PPC. I understand superpowers – you don't need to explain. Why are you here?"

Lou took a deep breath of her own. "To apologise," she said. Terri stared at her.

"This is your idea of an apology?" she finally said. "You can't just show up in my room and-"

"I know, I know." Lou frowned and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I'm not very good at this. Do you mind if I sit down?"

"Sure," Terri said, sitting up in bed and holding the sheets close around her. "Pull up a stack of papers." Lou did so, and looked at Terri thoughtfully.

"Okay," she said, "here goes. I'm... sorry I took your boyfriend. I know it upset you, and I do wish it hadn't."

"I still miss him, you know," Terri said quietly. "Even after all these years."

Lou winced. "I think he misses you, sometimes, too," she said. "That's... kind of why I'm here. I don't want to feel like a thief." She touched one hand to her stomach. "Especially not now."

Terri raised an eyebrow. "So you're apologising to make yourself feel better?" she asked. "Because that's really not helping your case."

Lou grimaced. "Someday I'll be good at this," she muttered, casting a glance at the ceiling. "Look, I... I am sorry. I know how much he meant to you-"

"I loved him," Terri said bluntly. "Sometimes I think I still do."

"I know," Lou whispered. "And... I love him too. That's why I did it."

Terri shook her head slowly. "I... okay, archives mode." She tugged her sheets up with one hand and reached for her glasses with the other. Putting them on, she straightened up slightly. "Okay. In an alternate universe, you were Narto's partner, apparently in order to train him up. When that was accomplished, you merged him with the Narto of my world, giving him two sets of memories and far more skills than he previously had. Is that broadly accurate?" Lou nodded slightly. "Approximately six months later, my Narto – my boyfriend Narto – disappeared overnight, leaving behind a note saying he was leaving with you – who we had all assumed was fictional." Lou nodded again, one hand over her eyes. Terri sighed and lowered her head. "In the final analysis," she said a moment later, "I think I've recovered from... what happened. I haven't gotten another boyfriend-"

Lou cringed. "I'm-"

"-but I have had several girlfriends," Terri went on without pause. "So... was that your doing?"

Lou looked startled. "No," she said emphatically. "Definitely not. I couldn't... well, I probably could, actually, but I wouldn't."

"Good." Terri thought for a moment, and then said, "Well, you knew him longer anyway. One question, then: while you were partners, did you sleep with him?"

Lou spluttered. "You said what now?"

"It's a simple question," Terri said calmly. "While working together in the PPC, did you and he-"

"No," Lou said firmly, "no we didn't."

"Not even in deleted scenes?" Terri asked pointedly. Lou shook her head emphatically. "Good. Then I still got that first. Okay... then for what it's worth, I forgive you."

Lou nodded her head slowly. "Thank you," she said. "I don't... I really am sorry, you know."

"I know," Terri said quietly. "I would be too. So... Louise?"

"Yes?"

"The offer to share is still open, you know."

Lou laughed startledly. "I don't think that'd be a good idea," she said. "For my good as well as yours – and his."

"That's what I thought," Terri said. "Okay. Say hi from me?"

Lou nodded. "I will."

"And tell him I was thinking of him while I was naked in my bedroom with his wife."

"Oh, we're not-" Lou stopped. "You're naked?"

"I'm in bed, Louise," Terri replied flatly. "Of course I am."

Lou rolled her eyes and looked up. "You're just malicious," she said accusingly. Terri blinked. "Not you," Lou added. "Okay... I'm going to go now before I embarrass myself any further."

"Sure," Terri said. "And... Louise?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Archives Mode infodump is because I just realised none of this is actually explained yet...

hS

...No, it's not Like That! I write characters for the Cafeteria, people!

Anyway, here it is?

The prequel, if you're interested, is here.

(Years ago, two of my best friends and I decided to make pad Thai together. One of them is a perfectionist; I have what I have called an aura of chaos. We wound up screaming at each other over an extra tablespoon of sesame oil, and after we'd both sort of come down from our respective pedestals of rage, made the joint decision to never, ever attempt to cook together again. Cooking oils are Srs Bsns.)

Okay, first things first. Writing prompts are always great to muck around with, and simultaneously reaffirming the bonds of the community after that recent rough patch is a very worthy goal. We need a good bit of healing. That being said:

For this month only, no concrit. Instead, choose another participant who you either don't know or have had differences with and tell them what's good about their story.

Part of the reason why I joined the PPC was because I felt confident that the community would not hold back when it came to constructive criticism. My reasoning was these were people who were passionate about encouraging good writing. These would be folks that would call me out when I wrote an overpowered character or strayed into the realm of cliche. In return, I would do my best to help them improve their writing in turn.

Saying only what you like about someone's story might be a nice ego booster, but it's not very useful in terms of improving one's writing. Personally, I try to do a mix of both in my peer reviews: starting out with the stuff I thought was great before moving on to the elements that need improvement.

Don't get me wrong. The prompt is great and the PPC community could use a bit of healing. But I don't like the idea of ignoring any negatives or downsides we might happen to run across just to make other people feel better. That's not why I joined.