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...but kept her thoughts to herself.

"Thanks, Zod."

The woman made her way to the bar, where she sat next to Marcus. Picking up his bottle, she sniffed the contents and took a tentative sip.

"Ugh. Never was a big fan of this stuff. Too strong for me. Didn't expect to see you drinkin', though. What's up?"

"Awful? Sounded like a right an' propa fight, t'me! Only bad ting wuz dat da Orkz wuzn't dere!" Zodfang, having a completely incompatible view of warfare from most humans, genuinely didn't see what everyone was worked up about. In fact, he thought it had been a party to celebrate a good, hard-won, fight until Marcus threatened to kill him. When the woman suddenly jerked up, asking him why Marcus was so worked up. "Zoggif I know. Ask 'im yerself," was all he managed to say, shrugging his massive shoulders as if he'd given up even trying to figure out what was up with his partner.

A small, mousy-haired teen stuck her head through the doorway, and her eyes lit up as she saw the stereo.

"It is 'Sgt. Pepper's'!" she cried gleefully to someone behind her. "C'mon, guys, it's 'The Beatles'! We gotta dance!"

The slender girl bounded into the room, dragging behind her three identical men, all in PPC black save for matching coonskin caps.

"But Bree, we were just going to the Cafeteria to--oh, don't give me that look," the protesting Danny groaned as the girl turned on him, brown eyes wide and pleading.

"C'mon, Krocket, pleeeeease?" she begged, and the misspelling manifested sighed.

"Oh, all right. But I get to be Ringo."

"Yay!" grinned Bree, and she dragged the three Dannys out onto the floor, where they proceeded to dance and sing rather questionable four-part harmony.

I've already sent an email to you detailing some of my questions (and answered the application form in the LJ), but there's still one little thing that i've got to ask: Do the entries come at specific intervals?

Do you own mad.scientist.com? That is one of the niftiest domain names I've ever seen.

It's pretty much free reign with your own folks. Don't see any particular reason you wouldn't be able to have two individuals working with others.

I'd probably be free to poke, if you liked…?

"Yeah, I was there. Awful..." she was lost in reverie for a moment, then suddenly jerked and looked up at Zodfang, surprised.

"If I remember correctly, he wasn't here at the time. Why's he all worked up about it?"

Leas took the bottle and considered for a moment. "Let's see… if I remember correctly, it helps to hold it like this-" this being a forty-five degree angle- "and hold the cork instead…" Not that it seemed any easier to get the cork out that way, but at least he didn't lose it when it did come out. He poured a glass for Trojie first. "All right. Anyone else for champagne?"

Do you know anything about dungeons and dragons, or, specifically, the dragonlance campaign setting? the dragons in that continuum, or at least some kinds, are natural shapeshifters and magic users. I could use that to allow my more homicidal agent to be able to disguise himself without having to store all his weapons.

Milask was not in the best of moods. This party was not getting off it feet. He was hoping for more dancing, and stories of the fallen comrads. What it looked like was a bunch of beings drinking in small groups.

The sterio was an unusual object. It is slightly psychic and would not play certain songs, eventhough you asked for it a dozen times.

Milask pressed the play button. `The Beatles` seemed to be what the sterio wanted to play...

Fortunately, Trojie and I share a brain, and so she's remarkably good at differentiating between when I'm being serious and when I'm trying to make her giggle.

"Eh? Wotcha want?" He asked, upon noticing the female Agent behind him. When she asked what was up with Marcus, he took a few seconds, and then shrugged. "No bleedin' idea. 'Oomie's been like dis all week, fink it'z 'cuz o' dat big fight last year."

Depends on the OCs. What they're doing, and how they're doing it. You get some fics that are pretty much entirely descendants of canons, but the characters, while OCs, are well characterised, and their actions fit canon - there, we have no kill. Then we have fics where we recognise no names, it's all descendants, but they're all horribly WRONG, and they don't fit canon, and they warp the ideals, the standards and the laws of the canon. Then, even though they're all OCs, we can still kill. It's the spirit of the canon we have to maintain, after all.

Will you please not say the word rhubarb until it's in season? The stuff costs a bomb at the moment and you're giving me cravings.

You'd be talking a fairly massive malfunction - this is technology hundreds of agents use daily without mishap - and you'd need a reason why it couldn't reversed - Medical is damned good - and you'd need to make it for comedic effect too. If it's going to change your agent's species, and you'll give the change a nod then never mention it again, I'd advise against it. But if it's a plot point, and it aids the comedic telling of a mission, and serves a purpose, then by all means, go for it.

Unless the rhubarb sings and plays the lute.

Therefore, your computer is either stupid or mad (or both), and needs to be fixed. There's something very wrong with any intelligent being that is obsessed with cake but not with pie (especially cherry pie, or strawberry & rhubard pie).

Would there be an in-story reason for doing so?

Dragging her partner by his shirt, Sara entered the store and looked around.

"Is this really necessary?" the taller Agent grumbled, readjusting his skewed glasses.

"Yes. You need to socialize more," his partner nagged, pushing him towards Cassie and Nat and scanning the room for any other familiar faces. She noted Marcus at the bar, and raised an eyebrow as she read the label on his bottle of drink. Making her way through the crowd, she tapped Zod on the shoulder.

"Oi, Zod. What's up with your lump of a partner?"

"Bloody nag," he grumbled over his shoulder at his brightly grinning partner. He adjusted his glasses and smiled sheepishly at Cass and Nat.

"Hey there. It's, uh, it's been a while."

I already know that a disguise generator disguise can become permanent under certain conditions, but is it ok to use that to permanently change my agent's species?

In the middle of it all, a short and fairly rotund Irishman made his way inside. Smoothing down hia hair with his hand, Gerald Murphy, best known by most as "Small Murphy" due to the fact that he was only about 5'4, looked around his competitor's store almost nervously. It was true that he had made a lot of money off of the Invasion, but he had still thought he should at least show some respect by attending the memorial, especially when his giant of a brother threatened to smack him upside the head if he didn't. As the 6'10 James Murphy (or "Big Murphy") squeezed through the doorway, the brothers nodded at each other, before Gerald pulled out a flask of whiskey. While they had each decided to make sure they were about as well-dressed as they could be without being out of uniform, Gerald had never been dissuaded from bringing his own drink.

"C'mon, James," he said in his thick Irish accent, looking up at his brother while taking down a swig. James really didn't look much like him, sometimes, it was almost as if they weren't really brothers. "Like you said, least we can do is pay our respects."

As the two Irish businessmen started to mingle with the crowd, Marcus made his entrance, followed by Zodfang. Instead of the usual banter, both were silent. In fact, the past week Marcus hadn't so much as said two words to anyone, even during missions, only really talking when he had to read out a charge list. The hulking Ork next to him had been trying to get Marcus fired up and talking again, but he was now silent, mostly because Marcus had quite bluntly told him that he'd blow Zodfang's head off if the Ork went about any of his usual antics. Nodding to his partner, Marcus went off into the crowd, looking for anyone he knew. He felt eyes upon him, and even if they didn't say it, he couldn't help but feel like they agreed with him; he hadn't been there, he hadn't been able to fight, so what right did he have to be here? If he hadn't been suspended, were there people who had fallen that'd be alive now? Reece, Dylan, Seth, Steven, Alex, Travis...could he have saved at least any of those men? Any others? He should have been able to fight. Agents moved wordlessly out of his way, as he made his way to a bar some Agent had set up in the corner of the General Store. Dropping himself onto one of the makeshift seats, he let out a sigh, looking up at the youngish man behind the bar, a nasty scar from the Invasion's fighting obvious on his face.

"Oh, hello," the man said, slightly surprised. "Didn't see ya come up. What can I do ya for?" He asked, looking at the stash of drinks he had stored under the bar. "Bleepka, I bet? Bleepsynthe?"

"Nah," Marcus said, shaking his head. "Never thought I'd say this, but just give me the real thing. Leave the bottle, don't wanna bother you by continually askin' you to fill up a glass." It didn't take long before the Agent set down a glass and a bottle of vodka in front of Marcus, who nodded in gratitude as he poured some of the bottle's contents into the glass. He had told himself he'd never touch alcohol again, when being drunk was what got him into the PPC, but there were extenuating circumstances, he supposed.

Meanwhile, in another part of the crowd, agent Vincent Cyrus looked around sombrely. The rest of his group were standing around him, but they didn't seem particularly talkative either. Though he, Einarr, Greg, and Yuri had all made it out alive, it had been a close call, and they each knew several people who hadn't, especially on that barricade they'd set up. Vince supposed it had been worth it though; that barricade in the middle of the corridor had stopped a lot of Sue reenforcements from making their way to Medical when the fighting there was at its hottest. "This ain't much a party," he said, almost mumbling to himself. "Feels more like a funeral."

"Over a thousand warriors paved their way to Valhalla with the bones of the Sue invaders," Einarr said, nodding to himself. The wiry Agent and his long blond hair didn't look quite as imposing without his spear and bullet-deflecting shield, but Vince knew that even unarmed the former Viking was always holding himself ready for a brawl, even while at a party commemorating the deaths of one thousand Agents. "The atmosphere is appropriate, I believe. Anything else would be disrespectful."

"Da, the Norseman is right," Yuri said, his left hand unconsciously moving up to touch part of his ear that had been blown off in the fighting. The Russian usually seemed fairly jovial, seeing everything as better compared to fighting Hitler's forces on the Eastern Front, but even he was sobered. "Many people died here, da? We should show our respects."

"Suppose y'all're right," Vince replied with a shrug, looking to Greg. The former Gear, whose skills with the Longshot sniper rifle had saved them many times over, remained silent as he sipped from his drink. He was even less talkative than usual, it seemed, so instead Vince looked around to see if there was anyone else he knew in the immediate area.

... and started fiddling with the cork on the bottle.

'Actually,' she said after a few seconds. 'If anyone actually wants to drink some of this, can someone else please open it? Otherwise I'll just end up taking someone's eye out with a ballistic cork ...'

"Being descended from a canon character" isn't chargeable - if it was, we'd have to kill off most of the Silmarillion. "being descended from a canon character who had no offspring" may be chargeable, depending on how definitely said character had no children. Neither is reason enough to assassinate on their own, but the second is a charge worth adding to the official list, if it isn't on there already.

As for the story, I'd definitely call it killable. There's a whole pack of sues, the other things are icing on the cake. (yummy cake)