Beyond and Above aka. The Great Mini Rescue

NSFW. Rated M. Thanks goes to Ravenkeeper and Sara.

<serious business> The charge ‘writing and posting in English even though you have no business doing so’ is not something I plan on slapping on every writer from a non-English speaking country I come across. I consider it one of the most serious charges my agents can make and I gave it a lot of thought, especially since it seemed that the author actually tried to get it right. A lot of the minor details were in order, but she was unable to combine them into decent sentences. More importantly, it was not the kind of bad writing that could have been fixed by a beta, unless she found someone willing to cut up the whole text and put it back together. Therefore I found the charge justified. </serious business>

Disclaimer: The PPC is the creation of the wonderful Jay and Acacia, I’m only playing in it. Dragon Age: Origins belongs to BioWare. Dragon Age: The Stolen Throne belongs to David Gaider. Wildlings are from A Game Of Thrones by George R. R. Martin and should not be removed from their natural habitat. The quote is from The Princess Bride by William Goldman. Cimarron, the soal, is the brainchild of Pieguy. Beyond and Above belongs to mitimai, and I don’t want it. Mittens and the Radioactive Moss Creature are mine.

In RC #170 Mittens was lounging in a beanbag, reading The Goblins of Labyrinth, a companion book to the film, and drinking hot cocoa. There were two mini-Reapers, Galliefrey and Toclafaine, perched on his shoulders and a mini-Aragog, Jane, in his lap. All three minis were looking intently at the pages of the book, although it was anyone’s guess whether they were reading or just looking at the pictures. Once in a while, when Mittens turned a page too fast for their liking, Jane stretched out a hairy leg and flipped the page back.

The Radioactive Moss Creature was sitting in front of the TV, watching the first season of Supernatural for the second time. It was contentedly nibbling on a piece of paper and a small sea of confetti was already lying around it.

As anyone familiar with the PPC would know, this kind of peaceful relaxation couldn’t last. The console emitted the familiar ear-splitting BEEP! while at the same time, a spectral baby horse galloped out of one of the walls, straight through the RC and disappeared in the opposite wall. The combined shock of these two incidents made Mittens jump in his seat and spill cocoa down his shirt and on Jane. The mini-Aragog hissed and crawled into hiding under the bunk bed, leaving a trail of cocoa behind her, and the two mini-Reapers took of and landed on a shelf.

The RMC trotted over to the console, where it pressed the red button to acknowledge the incoming mission, giving Mittens time to clean up the cocoa and put on a new shirt. It quickly read the intelligence report, snuffled, and read it again. The report was brief and not very detailed and there were quite a lot of exclamation marks. The RMC reached up with its front paw and with some difficulty managed to get the actual badfic on screen. It tried to read it and failed. It snuffled and tried again, but couldn’t make head or tail of the words on the screen. “It doesn’t make any sense,” it said.
“The tiny horse?” Mittens asked. “What do you suppose it was? An addition to the beeping sound?”
“I wouldn’t put it past them,” the RMC replied. “But actually I was talking about the fic.”

Mittens, who was by now buttoning his shirt, came over and looked at the screen. He frowned. “What is that?” he asked. “It looks like the manual that came with the neuralyzer.”

“Oh, good,” the RMC said. “Then it’s not me going crazy. A little too early for that, anyway.” It poked the screen, as if that would somehow make a difference. It didn’t. “It’s a Dragon Age: Origins fic,” it said.

Mittens’s frown deepened. “That’s a … game, right?”

“Yes. It’s a role-playing game. You choose between six different origin stories, that all end with you becoming a Grey Warden. Then you go on a quest to gather allies and defeat the Darkspawn. You would think that with six different backgrounds to choose from and with plenty of interesting choices to be made, people wouldn’t feel the need to improve the story by adding their own ideas, but,” it inclined its head towards the screen, “it happens.”

Mittens tried once more to make sense of the fic, gave up and turned to the backpack. “Let’s kill it,” he said. Faced with something incomprehensible, he took refuge in practicality. “What do we need?”

“Bleeprin, every bottle you can scrape together. It is a medieval setting so you can’t bring the gun; we’ll have to pick up appropriate weapons once we get there.” It glanced again at the screen. “Bring an extra notebook, we might just need it.”

A few minutes later, Mittens stood bent over the console. “What about disguises?” he asked.

“Human soldiers,” the RMC replied. “Be specific about the species; I don’t want to end up as a Mabari.”

Mittens turned to look at it. “A what?”

“Mabari, it’s a breed of war dogs in the game. They kind of look like what you would get if you crossed a Doberman with a Rottweiler, pumped it up on steroids and dented it slightly with a sledgehammer.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to be one of those?”

“Lack of hands, remember?”

“Oh, right.” Mittens finished setting their disguises, then hoisted the backpack and opened a portal to the fic. The agents jumped through and the portal closed behind them.

Darkness surrounded them. They just had time to cover their ears, before the author’s note boomed:

Beyond and above

Slightly AU. What happen if the little Cousland have a mystical helper who so powerful and full of mystery. And what if her path destined by someone past. She will passing through or lose herself.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Dragon Age or any characters, except my Fade Walker and her kind.

Prolog

”The first word and the author can’t spell it,” the RMC said. “This is going to be rough.”

Vixena Cousland sat on rim of her bedroom’s window.

A nondescript bedroom materialized around them and with it came light to see by. Mittens looked down at himself. He was wearing a simple leather armour, but was unarmed.
He then looked at the RMC, anxious to see if the disguise generator had turned it into a cat again. It hadn’t. The RMC was looking at its hands, slowly flexing them, as if not quite sure how they worked.

“Um, you’re a woman,” Mittens said. Something seemed a bit odd about the RMC’s human disguise, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

The RMC stopped moving its hands and looked, first at Mittens, then down at itself. The female shapes of its leather armour left no doubt as to its gender. It sniffed dismissively. “I am not,” it said. “I merely look like one.” It eyed Mittens. “You look like yourself, except for the armour.”
Mittens opened his mouth to say ‘so do you’, but closed it again. The RMC might be annoyed if he told it. It was true however. The disguise generator, when making it human, had taken Mittens’s looks and applied them to the RMC as well. They could have be brother and sister.
Then the fic moved on and Mittens got other things to worry about.

Watching her big brother and his men paraded in the courtyard and sighed. Her father and her big brother will go to battlefield without her, although they let her learned to fight as the warrior not mean they will let her go to battles, especially when no one will look after Highever but her.

“The grammar …” Mittens begun, then paused, unable to form a coherent comment to the mess of mangled English in front of them.

“I’ll start writing the charges,” the RMC said. “The faster we rack up a charge list, the faster we can get this over with.” It opened the notebook and started to write, frowned, then tried once again. Finally it looked at Mittens. “You’ll write the charge list,” it said and sniffed. “It seems that handwriting isn’t a skill that is automatically acquired just because one acquires hands.” It paused for at moment, then added. “I’ll be handling the Bleeprin and the CAD and everything else.” It started rummaging in the backpack, while Mittens took the notebook and, after a short pause to gather his thoughts, started writing.

‘Not being able to spell ‘prologue’, mangled sentences, wanton cruelty towards the common comma, mixed tenses.’ He looked at his own words in dismay. “When I write it down, it seems so trivial,” he said. “I mean, ‘mixed tenses’ just doesn’t convey the train wreck that was that paragraph.”

“You need bleeprin,” the RMC said in a soothing tone of voice and handed some over, then took some itself. “Also, she should be charged with complaining that she is left at home because she is a woman. It would have been the same way, if she was a man.”

Damn it, she swore to herself again.

“Did we miss the first time she swore?” Mittens asked.

“No,” the RMC replied. “Swearing again for the first time. One for the chargelist.”

Her home: Highever always in peace. Nothing excited for her, but Vixena love adventure. She liked to listen the tales especially her parent’s tales. Everything about their bravery to helped King Maric’s rebellion long ago.

A sound like it doesn’t mix, but Vixena fond in swordplay and loved in historic and many type of education. Unfortunately, those not include anything which her mother wants for a daughter. She always run after her father and brother to practice courtyard or buried herself in study room, where she were read a lot of books and learned many things from history.

One of those was about her unlikely family’s friend, Arl Howe. He always good with the Couslands but Vixena just couldn’t trust him, maybe because he use to try to arranged her to marriage with his moron son. He may succeed if she not beat that loser in the dual fight. The daughter of Teyrn Bryce rather sure that made him dislike her ever since, though he has tried to conceal it.

“She has a clear case of rebellious princess syndrome,” the RMC said. “Unfortunately, we can’t charge her with that.”
Mittens’s pen hovered above the notebook. “We can’t?”
“No. Dragon Age gives the player a lot of freedom in how they want their player character to be. It may be poor characterisation, but it’s not explicitly against canon. We can’t charge her for being called Vixena, either.”

In the fic, some more negative thoughts about Arl Howe were followed by thoughts about Duncan, whom she hadn’t met, and the Grey Wardens. Vixena knew very little about both, but liked the idea of being one of them. Then she went to bed and woke up as the attack started.

“There’s a charge for changing canon by not having Cousland meet Duncan before the attack,” the RMC said. It sounded smug.

Vixena awoke because Lupe’s growls, but not just that. Strange sound from outside made her jumped, someone move at the other side of the door. That made her felt like something swirled inside her stomach.

Vixena turned into a small doll of felt. Mittens shook his head and noted the charge.

‘This can’t be good.’ She thought and hurries get dress.

The little Cousland not finished with her boots when the door swung; a servant stood before her and cries.

“Make a charge for calling Vixena Cousland ‘the little Cousland” the RMC said. “She’s supposed to be a grown woman.”

Some fighting followed in which Vixena, with the help of her dog, killed all the enemies without getting a scratch herself.
Then the first chapter ended with another author’s note.

I know I might use wrong grammar or words because English is my second language. This is my first English fiction anyway, please be gentle.

“No, we will not,” Mittens said.
“Making excuses, rather than getting the errors fixed, that’s also chargeable. Let’s skip to chapter three,” the RMC said. “Chapter two is very emotional, but not exactly non-canonical.” It took out the RA and started pushing buttons.

Long ago, Ostagar use to be the important place just like the Grey Wardens.

The Grey Wardens merged to a landscape with vaguely human features, that reminded the RMC of some of the scenery in Labyrinth. A sign proclaimed it to be Grey Warden Quarry.
Mittens just scribbled the charge and tried to avoid looking at anything except the notebook.

There are not many Gray Wardens in Ferelden, but all of them are here.

With the familiar ‘plop’ the mini-Archdemon, Gray, plopped into existence. The RMC picked up the small dragon and looked at it. “Huh,” it said. “The author seems very careful about getting names right, but apparently that doesn’t include the names of organisations,” the RMC said.
“Put it in the backpack,” Mittens said, while adding the creation of the mini to the charge list.

To be honest, little Grey Warden’s recruit felt a little lost, not so sure what to do.

“Add a new charge for the ‘little Grey Warden’s recruit’. You want to bet that she’ll be ‘little Grey Warden’ later on?”
Mittens scoffed. “Not taking.”

That why she didn’t see a small group of knights. Until the leader; the blonde man in shiny golden armor was greet them with the joyful voices.

“Hello Duncan.” he called, sound like they know each other.

The man spoke with several voices in unison. This was made slightly more disturbing by the fact that some of the voices sounded female.
“Charge for making Cailan speak in unison voices,” the RMC said.

And when Vixena tried to restore her memories, she thought she could remember him.

Suddenly Vixena was holding a laptop. Mittens, who was closest to her, peeked over her shoulder and saw that a disc recovery program was open.

“King Cailan?” Duncan seemed surprise just like the Cousland was, but little woman didn’t say any words. “I wasn’t expecting-“

The laptop vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.
“Write down …” the RMC began, but Mittens interrupted it.
“Referring to her as ‘little woman’, I know.”

They never met in officially. But every noble in Ferelden knew about the Highever’s spoiled princess. The Teyrn Bryce’s daughter use to running around and turn every men who tried to woo her down. Some times she made so many problems, but no one could angry when she uses her most powerfully smiles.

“Having Cousland be infamous without having done anything noteworthy and having disarming smiles, that work on everyone,” the RMC said, popped a couple more bleeprins and gave some to Mittens also. “I think it’s time to get a reading of her.”
It found the CAD in the backpack and, after checking that it was muted – one should always check that the CAD is muted – pointed it at Vixena. [Vixena Cousland. Human female. Canon. Out of Character. 38,98% . Circle X Theatre. Fang Jie.]
“Well,” the RMC said. “That’s unexpected.”
“How’s that?”
“She is clearly out of whack, but the CAD doesn’t point to her being either possessed or a Replacement!Sue. That means someone else is doing this, affecting her and the rest of canon.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Must be someone we haven’t seen yet. Make a charge for making a OOC canon.”

Some more dialogue followed between the King and Vixena, about Vixena’s murdered family; it was mostly lifted straight from the game.

King Cailan turn to Duncan, the curious was in his face.

“That’s a curious?” Mittens said. The thing on Cailan’s face looked like a slug.
The RMC didn’t reply, just used its brand new hands to pinch the bridge of its nose. “Charge,” it said.

“As long as Howe pays, I’m happy.”

Those words sound creepy when were from emotionless face.

“A correct sentence!” Mittens said. “Yes, I see why that would be considered creepy in this fic.” He was looking at the scene in front of them and didn’t notice the RMC smiling approvingly at him.

Fourth chapter came up. Alistair was introduced and met Vixena and for the most of the chapter it was canon game dialogue, intersected with the author’s own mangled descriptions until …

My name is Vixena, pleased to meet you.”

“Vixena…?”

She knew where it will go; ex-noble rolled her eyes and snapped. “I’m a headstrong and virago girl, so my brother called me with this name and it stuck. You shouldn’t think about the other meaning.”

This must be the longest sentence she was say after her lost, and without any thinking she smacked at his chest hardly.

Strange, but the Grey Warden let her hit him.

“And here I was, enjoying a bit of canon,” the RMC said. “I knew it wouldn’t last. Make a charge for changing canon dialogue to explain that stupid name, which nobody cares about anyway, and with making Cousland hit Alistair. Also, with making her an ex-noble. You don’t just stop being a noble because someone burns down your home.”
“What about referring to herself as ‘virago’?” Mittens asked. “I know it’s technically correct, but it just sounds …” He made a vague gesture.
“I’ll say you’re right. Charge for thesaurus abuse.” It scanned ahead in the fic, then frowned. “In the next chapter, there are only supposed to be Vixena and three others. We’ll have to keep our distance so we don’t get noticed in case an original character shows up, unless …” It looked focused for a moment, then smiled. “We have Stealth Mode.”
“What’s that?”
“It something specific to some game canons. You activate it and then you are invisible for everyone, even the OCs, no matter how close you get to them, until you break the mode by attacking or something like that. Let’s activate it and then I’ll portal us to chapter five, so we avoid the timeshift.”

“Are you sure we on the right track?” Sir Jory; the other new recruit asks the Grey Warden.

Sir Jory plopped into the world. Since Sir Jory wasn’t a misspelling of a place or an organization it wasn’t a mini-Archdemon but a mini-Hurlock. The RMC snatched it up and stuffed it in the backpack.
This chapter was taking place in the Kocari Wilds, but everything was jagged and there were a lot of pop-ups as the word world struggled to interpret the words of the fic.

“Well, why I think I saw this rock before?” Daveth; the rouge and new recruit snapped.

The whole world stopped for a moment, like when a game freezes, while the word world tried to figure out what to make of that sentence. When it started again, a huge box of pink rouge was standing, snapping its lid.
Mittens stared at the thing for a couple of moments, then shook his head and groaned. “I’m charging,” he said.

Their faces each other like want to fight. Only girl in this place was the only one who kept quite, but that didn’t mean she will sit and let those men do as their want. The newest recruit kicked Alistair’s calf and grabbed a map from the helpless Grey Warden before he knows what happen.

“We don’t have all night.” Vixena said calmly, and no any gentlemen were argued. Well, none of them dared, of course.

“Changing canon by having Cousland not being the one leading the group, and then changing it back by making her kick Alistair, so she can steal the map. Also a charge for letting her get away with it; attacking your leader in the field is not acceptable,” the RMC said. “I’ll get a reading on Alistair. Those glass calves hardly seem like him.”
It took out the CAD and pointed it at Alistair. [Alistair. Human male. Canon. Out of Character. 42,27% and rising. In the flesh (tour). Port Soderick.] The RMC switched it off. “Charge for making more OOC canons, specifically, making Alistair a wimp,” it said and swallowed a couple of bleeprin.

Vixena ransacked one of Hurlocks to find something useful; her expression didn’t change even when she felt someone looking at her.

“Did we miss a fight scene with the Hurlocks …” Mittens begun, then realisation dawned on him. “She forgot to put it in.” He shook his head. “How can she not …”
“Have some bleeprin,” the RMC said. “And write it down.”

Morrigan appeared and started her canonical arguing with the soldiers. Then …

Anyway, the Cousland didn’t the chit-chat type. She pinched Alistair’s cheek and made him whimpers with the shock and hurt.

“If I should guess, I’d say, that neither the pinching nor Alistair’s reaction are in character,” Mittens said, a bit hesitantly.
“Very good,” the RMC said. “Right on both accounts. You have never played the game and you already have a better grasp of Alistair’s character than the author.”

Sounded slightly amuse, the mystery woman glared at the rough like he was a fool.

Daveth turned from a rouge to a piece of sandpaper. Mittens carefully closed the notebook and smacked himself on his forehead with it, before opening it again and writing down the charge.
“Add a charge for multiple changes of POW,” the RMC said. “The rest of the chapter is just some more canon dialogue and Vixena abusing Alistair. I suggest we skip it and go straight to chapter seven.” It started pressing buttons.

Chapter seven started with Vixena and Alistair tripping and falling into each others arms and Vixena being a violent brat as usual.
Then Vixena started to hear an inner voice.

“If you’re giving up, I’ll not forgive you, ever.” Some voice came from nowhere.

Both agents winced as the inner voice sounded in their heads as well.

“What wrong?” Alistair asks. “You was looked around, there anything out there?”

“Nothing…” refused softly, Vixena didn’t want him think she was insane. “Go on, please.”

“Well, if you insist.” His said playfully before turns to serious, a little out of his character. “It takes a bit, but eventually you can block the dream out. Some of the older Grey Warden says they can understand the Archdemon a bit, but I sure can’t.”

“We’ll see.” Again, the mystery voice said, and looked like she was only one who heard that.

“What is that?” the RMC asked. “There are no inner voices in the game. Unless this is the player trying to communicate directly with her player character, but that’s just …” It trailed of, then swallowed a small handful of bleeprin. “Stupid fic,” it muttered.
“Do we have a charge?” Mittens asked, looking as puzzled as the RMC. “I mean, besides the charge for wrong use of ellipses?”
“Yes and no. I do not, for one second, doubt that there’s a charge there, but we have to find out exactly what we are charging for. Let’s skip to next chapter.”

In chapter eight, the mystery voice made another appearance.

Someone use to call her with those word, soft voice and merciful smiles. The foreign language sounds strange but touching.

“Don’t worry; I’m always here, as long as you need me.”

“Great, the voice have decided to hang around,” the RMC said.

Vixena then gave a piece of silver to an orphaned boy.

The little Grey Warden looked after the boy who ran to opposite of village with soften smile, but suddenly nervous when met the companion’s eyes.

No doubt, the bard grinned and admired her while the witch and giant complained about the wasted gold. Vixena could handle all of those except the one whom looking at her with the most ridiculous expression.

“Another charge for ‘little Grey Warden’, and with having Morrigan and Sten complain about the wasted gold, when she only gave the boy a silver,” Mittens said, then mumbled something, which sounded a lot like ‘dumbass fic’.

Then lows her fist, the short Warden’s spoke firmly. “We’re finished here, let’s go to next destination: Redcliffe.”

“What is that?” Mittens asked, looking at a big wheel that had appeared in front of them.
“I imagine it must be ‘the short Warden’s spoke’,” the RMC replied. “Write it down.”
Then, since he and Mittens had believed Vixena’s words about going to Redcliffe next, they were knocked over when chapter nine came and dumped them in a dream sequence.

They got up, dusted themselves off and then watched the more or less canonical dream about Darkspawn; less, because Vixena hardly seemed bothered by them. Then the voice returned.

“You know me; we’re bound together long ago.” Sound like she was sad. Her sorrow flow around the aria, darken everything near them. “Me panida…”

That true, Vixena knew it. They use to closed, stay together like the…

“My dearly sister…”

“Can I have the notebook for at moment?” the RMC asked. Mittens handed it over and the RMC carefully closed it, smacked itself on the forehead with it, then handed it back.
“Anyway,” it said, “we seem to have located our Sue, but we can’t know for sure until we analyse her and we can’t do that until she is a bit more tangible. But she is definitely not canon, so start by charging her with being an extra sister of the Couslands.”
“And being in someone’s head?” Mittens asked.
“Probably, but we need to know exactly what she is doing, so we can charge her with it.”
Mittens looked back through the words. “What does ‘Me panida’ means, anyway?” he asked.
The RMC thought for a moment. “I think it said in the Intelligence Report, that the author was from Thailand so it’s probably in Thai, which is something else we can charge her for.”

Vixena, meanwhile, had woken up and was having another one of those conversations, which was half lifted straight from the game and half undiluted stupidity. This time it was the conversation with Alistair, where he revealed the secret of his father’s identity.
Then the agents hung around for at spot of MSTing.

Alistair sighed in relief, he’s lucky to have a witty and reasonable woman as his companion.

“Who do you think he’s talking about?” The RMC asked. “Morrigan or Leliana?”

His follow Grey Warden is the hard-to-find women type.

“We wish!” Mittens said.

After that they portalled to chapter ten.

But before the party could leave, Bann Teagan asked the short leader last question. “I knew what happen to your family and sorry for that. But could I ask about your sister, some say she left Highever long ago, maybe she still live in somewhere.”

“You’re knew her?”

Like he back to the teenager, charming nobleman ran his fingers through his hair and blushing. “Yes, she’s the most gorgeous and attractive woman I ever met. Oh, you’re beautiful one too; almost look like her except…younger.”

“Definitely Sue-ish,” the RMC said. “But I would still like a reading to be sure.” It took out the CAD and pointed it at Vixena, but it just gave a reading on her. In the meantime she had gone up to 67,77%. It tried moving the CAD and turning it off and on again but nothing worked.
“Here, let me try,” Mittens said, took the CAD and smacked it. The screen went blue for a moment, but then read: [Vera. Fade Walker. Non-canon. Mary Sue. Wah nu. Galbraith Lowry Egerton Cole.]
“Thank you, that was very efficient. Charge the disembodied sister with being a Mary Sue and changing canon dialogue to mention her.” The RMC sighed. “The author doesn’t bother with describing the battle at Redcliffe. We’ll portal ahead so we avoid another timeshift.”

They arrived just in time to see Vixena making Alistair remove his shirt so that she could look over his wounds.

“He has many wounds, small but deep, it’s from the arrows, no doubt. And those bruises, looked like he overdo himself.” Mystic gave some opinion. “He need healing magic, luckily I have some.”

“Yeeees, of course you have,” the RMC said.
Mittens smiled. “Too bad we can’t charge her twice with being a Mary Sue.”
The RMC thought about this for a minute, then finally shook its head. “No, you’re right ,we can’t. We can charge her for the healing magic, though. And with the stupid game of not telling her name, but just having herself referred to as Mystic.” It looked at Alistair sadly. “In the game, if you want to romance Alistair, you have compliment him and tell him that you like him. Vixena has done nothing throughout this fic but mock him and assault him physically and yet he has fallen in love with her, that’s how OOC he is.” It turned away. “Let us move on to chapter twelve.”

The plan is; Bann Teagan and Vixena’s party would enter the castle by the secret entrance. But it changed when Arlessa Isolde, Arl Eamon’s wife show up and beg Teagan to goes with her without any clear reason.

“Like she would know anything about what is reasonable,” Mittens said.
The agents followed the group through the secret entrance into Castle Redcliffe and into the courtyard. There Vixena was overcome with weakness, when she feared that her sister had disappeared from her mind. She stumbled and Alistair came to help her.

“Charge her with having Alistair pick her up and carry her over to Morrigan for healing, rather than having Morrigan take three steps to come to her.” The RMC watched the words for a moment. “Her armour is a gift from her sister and it’s called ‘Venom’. It’s doesn’t belong here, so we’ll have to take it with us when we leave.”
“A new souvenir,” Mittens said and eyed the armour with interest.

They followed the group into the main castle where they found the possessed boy, Connor.

“What it’s, mother?” a boy shouted, his voice sounds strange. “I can’t see clearly.”

“This is…a woman, like me, Connor.” Arlessa Isolde almost cries.

She knew it all along, but didn’t tell the truth to anyone. How stupid?

“Oh, sure,” Mittens said. “But it’s perfectly all right for Vixena to neglect to mention that her sister is hanging out in her head. “I’m charging her for being hypocritical.”

The last Cousland gnashed her teeth. At first; she totally hated this woman because everything she was done to Alistair. Now Vixena have more reasons, this bitch deserve punishment for her selfishness, she hired a blood mage to taught her son in secret, which lead to the bigger problem, risked her brother-in-law’s life for save her son. All she done was utterly foolish.

“Charge her with making Cousland forget that she has a brother, who is not dead, not to mention her disembodied Sue of a sister,” the RMC said. “And with bashing Isolde. Isolde has her faults and plenty of them, but it is very much an oversimplification to just write her of as selfish and she does not deserve to be called a bitch. Especially not considering who is doing the name calling. Also charge her with referring to what Isolde did to Alistair, when she has forgotten to narrate the conversation where Alistair actually tells Cousland about it. And now, let us move on to chapter thirteen.”
“How many chapters are there in this fic, anyway? I forgot to look.”
“Forty-two.”
Mittens made a half-choked sound, then smiled uncertainly. “That’s a joke, right? From that book ‘Something’s Guide to Somewhere’. I haven’t read it, but there are a lot of references to it everywhere.”
“Sadly no,” the RMC replied. “This monstrosity shambles on to its conclusion in chapter forty-two.”
“Can I have some more bleeprin, please?”

Chapter thirteen started with a new dream sequence, set in the Fade.
“Charge for having Cousland meet her in the Fade,” the RMC said. “That’s not the dream the demon gives her in the game.”

Lady Warden opens her eyes, and then she was surprised to see a gorgeous woman in the black high-cut dress. That face and frame almost looked like her, but that one has brighter eyes, longer hair and bigger bosoms.

“You…you are.” That name…it might be… “Vera…”

“Oh…you remember.” Her twin smiled widely. “Sorry for left you too long, Me Panida.”

The two agent stared in astonishment at the scene in front of them. Vera was a Sueishly beautiful woman, but she was also … a boot?
There was a gigglesnort from the RMC. “I know what this is,” it said. “She’s called a Fade Walker, but in the game there is something called Fadewalker and that is a pair of boots.”
Mittens grinned.
“Charge her with having brighter eyes, longer hair and bigger breast than Vixena,” the RMC said, still chuckling. “Also up the charge of being the sister to a canon to being the twin sister.”

“But…how could I forget you? No one in Hightever spoke of you. Why?”

“That is…something I can’t tell you.” Still smiles but her eyes darken, Vera still kept her mystery. “And as always, we don’t have time. We must find the way to get out of here before it too late.”

“Even if everyone in Highever had forgotten about her, Cousland had hardly made it to Redcliffe before Bann Teagan was asking her about her sister. The author might honestly believe that Cousland never left Highever and thus never met anyone who knew about her sister, but I suspect it is just sloppy writing.” It picked up the mini-Archdemon, Hightever, and stuffed it in the backpack.
“Why is she still an inner voice?” Mittens wondered aloud. “They’re in the Fade now and have dreambodies, shouldn’t they be able to speak together normally now?”
“I agree. That’s a charge.”

Big sis sighed. “I can’t stick with you forever; you should try to grow up and help yourself. Now try to remember what’s happen.”

The RMC knocked back a small handful of bleeprin, then said: “Charge her with inserting herself, like some tenth walker in the wrong continuum, into a canon that was doing just fine without her, thank you very much, and then being so insolent as to tell the protagonist that she should learn to help herself.”

She clapped her hands, and everything around them swirling to the huge whirlwind. The strange wind took the Grey Warden from the ground, which driven her scary.

But before she could say anything, the grey whirlwind had gone. She suddenly found herself in another place, not much different from her fade but her companions didn’t Vera.

Mittens just stood there, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes empty. Then life seemed to return to him and he started smacking himself with the notebook while mumbling over and over again: “That paragraph, that paragraph, that paragraph …”
“What are you doing?” the RMC asked, but Mittens didn’t answer, just kept smacking himself.
“Are you sure you shouldn’t rather be taking some …” the RMC begun. Mittens finally stopped with the smacking and mumbling. “… bleeprin?” the RMC finished. “Oh, well. Fell better now?”
Mittens looked at the now slightly battered notebook with a sad expression. “No,” he answered. “I’m charging her with annoying PPC agents.”
They then followed Vixena and Vera and watched them free Alistair. He disappeared, and Vera and Vixena talked some more.

“I need a whole week to explain that, we don’t have enough time.”

“Why I feel like you’re evading my question?” Little one retorted childishly.

“Charging her with calling Cousland childish for wanting answers to some completely legit questions,” Mittens said.
The RMC nodded and scanned the words. “The rest is pretty much in canon, as much as anything here is, although she doesn’t bother with describing freeing Leliana or Wynne. Actually, that’s also a charge; rampantly ignoring the other characters and focusing only on Alistair. Let’s press on to next chapter.”

It must be the tough fight, but with the strength and speed from Vera, The lady Grey Warden found herself more skillful in fighting. She hit harder, move faster and almost doesn’t tires. The most important is her skin; it thicker, hard to cut even with the demon’s claws, and when she got any wound, it will disappear in a few second.

“I’m charging Vera with having uber-speshul Sue-power and giving some of them to Vixena,” Mittens said.

Now she could realize why the big sis didn’t want to give her these abilities. Vera isn’t a human, closer to her it mean further from the humanness.

“And another charge for having Vixena being dramatic about said powers,” the RMC said. “Seriously, the Grey Wardens drink Darkspawn blood as a part of their initiating; they are used to this sort of thing. Let’s just skip ahead to … No wait, we have to stop and pick up a couple of minis.” It pressed the buttons on the RA almost without looking at them. Jumping from chapter to chapter to gather the charges and minis was getting a habit by now.

“Okay,” the RMC said, sounding tired. “They are going to have an non-canonical argument, because the others feel that there is something weird about Vixena and then they’ll find Zevran and take him with them. Plenty of transgressions, but no new charges. Let’s just sit here and wait for the minis to appear.” They sat down in the grass and the RMC plucked a straw and chewed on it.

“My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends, I’m one of the Crow.” he said, and Leilana gasped.

“What is the Crow?” the leader asked.

“I could tell you that. The Crow is a group of elite assassins from Antiva; always work for the high prize. They’re very powerful and renowned for always getting the job done…” The bard replied.

“There they are,” the RMC said. The mini-Archdemon, Crow, and the mini-Hurlock, Leilana, looked at them quizzically, then started padding towards them.
“Good minis,” Mittens said. “You know, maybe we should let them all out of the backpack for a minute. Must be boring in there without rum.”
“If you’d like to,” the RMC said with a shrug.
Mittens opened the backpack and a clown-car’s load of minis came tumbling out and started to run around in the grass and bash their small scaled heads together.
The RMC pointed the CAD at Zevran. [Zevran. Elvish male. Canon. Out of Character. 31,89% and rising. Kibuye, Uganda. Julie Zenatti.] “Hm,” it said. “Just under 32%. Most of that is probably due to him talking like a moron. What is wrong with just continuing to copy canon dialogue, is what I would like to know? It’s not like she haven’t been doing it so far.”
“Vixena just fainted,” Mittens said.
“And a scene change is coming up, so we’ll better get moving.”
“All right, back in the backpack,” Mittens said to the minis. They all stopped what they were doing and looked at him questioningly. He placed the backpack on the ground and held it open, and they obediently trotted inside.
The RMC started pressing the buttons on the RA with an annoyed expression. “I wish we could skip some more chapters, but half of them seem to have either a serious canon-break or a mini we need to rescue. Granted, most of them we only stay a short while in, but all this jumping is making me woozy.”
“What chapter are we going into?” Mittens asked. “I’ve lost track again.”
The RMC started counting on its fingers, got distracted by the novelty of actually having fingers to count on, and had to restart. Finally it said: “Chapter sixteen.”
Mittens groaned, but hoisted the backpack and stepped into the portal.

“Oh, my dearly sis, how could I live without you?” little Cousland hold her sis’s waist like the child.

“Flattener…” big sis chided but still smile.

“I really mean it, you’re my savoir Vera. I knew you aren’t a human but I don’t care.”

Even in pain, she still smiles. “Well, you already remember something maybe I should tell you the rest.”

“I…I don’t know. Are you sure I have to know it?”

“Maybe we have to share our ‘abilities’ in the future, it will better if you know me enough.”

Vixena trust her sis, so she listen anything Vera’s say. “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

That smile looked sad. “You already know it, I’m not a human. Another thing is…we’re sisters by blood and soul; Eleanor and Bryce were my friends not parent. All of story began when you were born before the right period, you’re too weak. So, Eleanor begged me to help you, and I gave you some medicine, which save your life and sealed us together.”

“What kind of medicine?” she knew she’ll don’t like it, but the curiously get the best of her.

“It brewed from some rare herbs, rare ingredients and…my blood.”

“Is it just me,” Mittens asked, “or is this fic getting dumber? It really shouldn’t be possible and yet it seems to be happening.”
“This,” the RMC replied, “is what happens when a fic is stupid to begin with and then the author makes stuff up as she goes along and ends up contradicting the previous parts.”
“So let me see,” Mittens thought for a moment, then started writing. “Vera should be charged with alternating between calling herself the sister, twin sister and now ‘soul sister’ of Vixena. She should also be charged with having other people refer to her as Vixena’s sister, even though she’s not. Then there’s an additional charge for her looking almost exactly like Vixena – but with better hair and brighter eyes – even though they’re not blood related. Did I miss anything?”
“No, I think that about covers it.”

“I’m sorry. Before that, I was tried another option but none of it works. I have to use the strongest medicine…the forbidden one.”

“Forbidden…anything wrong with your blood?”

Vera smiles sadly. “I’m immortal, Me Panida. My blood contains something that could be toxicities for any mortal. And because I just learned it from my nanny, never use it with human. I really didn’t know the right amount of medicine to heal you. That why I has to stay with you for almost fifteen years, to dose you a little per time in the long term.”

“Being immortal, now that’s a major charge,” the RMC said.
Mittens scoffed. “If it bleeds we can kill it,” he said.
The RMC frowned. “Have you been watching Predator?” it asked, slightly accusatory. Mittens ought to be studying the major canons; the Schwarzenegger films could wait until later.
Mittens bit his lip and mumbled something about a Youtube musical.
“Anyway,” the RMC continued. “there’s also a charge for claiming that what she did wasn’t blood magic, when clearly it was. Any magic involving blood is by definition blood magic. Add another charge for making her magic something forbidden. If you want dark, dangerous and forbidden magic in Dragon Age, you go with blood magic, you do not invent a new, speshul kind.”

“At the first time, after you deal with that white boy in the full plate, it because your flesh still not accustomed to extraordinary force. But after some practices everything will be fine.”

“What about the second time? I think I felt your feeling, which hurt me.” Vixena heritages for a second before add. “And why you call Gregoir a boy?”

“Everyone alive now were the child if compare with me. And I apologize for my feeling, it just…well, my father was an elf. It always hurt when think of his people’s status in these days.”

“Get Gregoir, would you?” Mittens asked. “I’ll charge her with being a half-elf.”
“And with calling Knight-Commander Greagoir a boy. It’s one thing to be old and immortal, but calling a man with a beard and wrinkles a boy is just plain stupid. I mean, Raphael was as old as the universe itself and she never referred to any grown people as children. Except metaphorically, you know, as children of the Earth.”
Mittens winced nervously at the archangels name, but the RMC was stuffing Gregoir in the backpack and didn’t notice. It was idly wondering if the minis had their own hammerspace or if it was because they were in a gameverse, that the backpack was able to hold such an ridiculous number of them.

The next chapter came and brought with it an author’s note.

From the author: I’m Thai, so I used Thai’s fighting style in my story. Thai boxing and Thai sword was created for kills in the battle, it could be dangerous. Don’t try this at home.

By the way, I was growing with Asian’s movies so I used Asian’s fighting style at well.

The RMC and Mittens, who had both been knocked over by the chapter shift, got up and dusted themselves off.
“Make a charge for introducing non-canon fighting styles in the story,” the RMC said.

The sun shines upon the castle, most of place still in silent because too early to wake up after the party’s night. Only the guards patrol on the wall, watching everything in area.

“Oh, I had completely overlooked that,” the RMC said. “Charge for having a celebratory party, even though the Arl is still sick and the Blight is still a threat. Charge extra for making everyone else have it while Cousland was unconscious.”
They watched as Vixena and Alistair had a sparring match in the non-canonical style. Then Alistair took out a rose.
“Wait,” the RMC said. “Watch this.”
They watched in silence as the nearly canonical scene played out in front of them. The dialogue was lifted straight from the game and Cousland’s thoughts seemed almost in character.
“That was like a ray of sunshine in this fic,” the RMC said, when it finished. “Now let’s move on.”

A new author’s note boomed in the beginning of the next chapter.

From the author: I used some of Buddhism’s philosophy in this story. But I’m still a pupil not the expert; please don’t believe me so much.

“Introducing Buddhist philosophy, even though there are three readily available belief-systems to pick from,” the RMC said. Its good mood from the bit of canon had already evaporated and had left it more annoyed than before. “But at least we know what is wrong with this chapter, so we won’t have to actually listen to them talking. Let’s just wait nearby and pick up the mini when it appears.”
So they just hung around, looking at the city of Denerim which, even in it’s present state of weakened canon was an impressive sight, until they could pick up gunlock. Since the mini was a misspelling of one of the types of darkspawn, it was a mini-Broodmother. After that the agents portalled forward.

They watched as Morrigan talked to Vixena.

The judge the other’s characters skill which she has learn from Vera was very useful.

“I think that by now we can safely make a charge for crediting Vera with teaching Vixena everything worth knowing and then move on again,” Mittens said.

Another author’s note greeted them in the beginning of chapter twenty.

From the author: I know I don’t have to paint illustrate of this fiction but I can’t help myself. I draw a lot of sketch and plan to upload to my Deviant Art, but I don’t know if I will succeed because I’m so lazy sometime. Ha Hah.

When it was once again safe to remove their hands from their ears, the RMC said: “And there’s the charge for a stupid author’s note. I was beginning to wonder when something like that would show up. Anyway, there is a scene with Vixena and Zevran, which I suggest we stay out of earshot of, until we can collect the mini.”
They sat in silence and watched Zevran struggle with the huge Mabari, Lupe, who wanted to play. The mini-Archdemon, Anitivian, appeared and trotted towards the two agents.
“Okay,” the RMC said, got up and walked closer to Vixena, “we should watch this next bit.”

Vera explained to Vixena that Fade Walkers were feared and hated because of their immense powers.
“Did she just refer to herself as a ‘Dark God’?” Mittens asked.
“She did, and that is a chargeable offence if ever there was one.”

Then Alistair interrupted the conversation and another mini-Archdemon, Antivian’s, plopped into existence.

“I think that’s it,” the RMC said. “The rest of this chapter is just an attempt to do romantic comedy.”

Chapter twenty-one started with a flashback to thirty years before. King Maric and his army were being attacked by hundreds of Orlesians, but when the enemies reached him, a small hooded figure ran towards them and slaughtered all of them.
The agents gaped, speechless for a long time. “So,” the RMC said slowly, “she single-handedly won a battle against the Orlesians thirty years ago. You know, most Sues actually have the basic courtesy to only mess with one time-period. Then again, that may be because most of them have no idea what happened in other times. The average Lord of the Rings Sue wouldn’t know the difference between the Eldar and the Avari if her life depended on it.” It thought for a moment, the added: “And if she’s a student at OFUM, her life might very well depend on it.”

He stepped closer but an elf girl rushed from the brush and blocked him.

“Close enough, shemlen.” She said with a bow and arrow in her hands. Aim that at him in bodyguard’s manner.

However, the boss stopped her. “He doesn’t our enemy, Sha-riya. We already catch the big one, no need to find more in the same day.”

“She just killed an entire army,” Mittens said. “Does she really need a bodyguard?”
“One wouldn’t think so, no. You can charge her.” The RMC pointed the CAD at Sha-riya. It read: [Shar-riya. Dalish female. Non-canon. Annoying bit character.] “That’s … oddly specific,” it said. “Anyway, while we’re here, let’s get some weapons.”
They scavenged on the battlefield and got a sword for the RMC and a couple of knives for Mittens, along with a crossbow and some bolts.”
“Can we keep it when we leave?” Mittens asked.
“Yes,” the RMC answered. “The soldiers are dead and wont miss their weapons and this scene is from a tie-in novel, rather than the game so we won’t have to worry about accidentally taking canon loot.
We are going to skip the next scene because I don’t want to see the author butcher the whole ‘Have you ever licked a lamppost in the winter’ dialogue. And you know what comes after that?” It smiled a wide and slightly mad smile.
“Intact canon?” Mittens guessed.
“No,” the RMC replied. “It’s chapter twenty-two. That means we’re halfway through!”
Mittens groaned, but once again hoisted the backpack.

“The vermin is the light armor that made by Maker-know-what leather and enchanted by you-shouldn’t-know magic.”

“Did she just make a mini-armour?” Mittens asked incredulously.
“Yes, I’m afraid she did,” the RMC answered. “The author didn’t bother remembering the name of the armour she invented. Anyway, it’s non-canon, so I’ll just stuff it in the backpack.”
“And there’s another mini.” Mittens pointed. “What’s that for?”
“Let me just check.” The RMC scanned the words. “It’s Zav. Zev would be a nickname for Zevran, but she spelled it wrong.” Since Zevran was an elf, the mini was a mini-Shriek. ”Let’s move on. Nothing chargeworthy in the next couple of chapters. Or, you know, plenty of charges, but none we haven’t already written down. Let’s skip to chapter twenty-five.”

The Fade Walker chuckled. “Those are the Prarichat or Dream Flowers in your language. Every of it contain the long lost memories of creature since the birth of universes.”

“Well, that’s not good,” the RMC said. “A non-canonical type of flower with magical proprieties. That’s a charge, but we’ll also have to check if this place disappears once canon is restored; if not, we’ll have to torch it.” It did not look at all happy about this. “Let’s get a move on.”

In the next chapter, the two agents listened as Vixena told Alistair about her sister-who-was-not-really-her-sister. She also told the reason why Vera had made her forget about her. It came as no surprise to the two agents that it was a reason that didn’t make any sense.
Mittens frowned. “So Vixena kills the man, who tries to rape her, but his father wants revenge, so Vera frames herself as the killer and has to leave. By why did she make Vixena forget?”
“It was so that when she appeared in the beginning of this story, it would be a big mystery who she was,” the RMC replied. “Either that or it was because of Sue-logic.”
“Oh, right.”

In chapter twenty-seven the small group went through the tests and fights to get to the Urn of Sacred Ashes and it was all more or less canonical until …

“The Great Mother have her mystical way for them, I can’t get involved.”

“What’s the Great Mother?” Leliana asked. “I never hear of that.”

“Oh, for …” the RMC started annoyed, but stopped. “Charge for inventing a new deity and for having her introduced by the Guardian, of all people. Let’s go to next chapter. There are also some major charges.” It stuffed a couple of Blueprint in its mouth and crunched them angrily.

The major charges were making King Maric fall in love with her, making the king a violent idiot who slapped her and saving the king’s life by preventing an ambush – by single-handedly killing thousands of soldiers – rather than just warning about the ambush, because she didn’t want to embarrass Loghain, who was the strategist, by pointing out a weakness in his plan.

After that, Vera was apparently exhausted and sick and needed medication. Unfortunately she was delirious and refuse to swallow the potion.

“I will feed her, with my mouth.”

“But…” She refused. “It’s hot, terrible hot and toxic. Mortal couldn’t…”

Didn’t listen, Maric snatched that potion from the elf’s hands and poured the liquid inside to his mouth.

“Eeewww!” Mittens and the RMC exclaimed in unison and turned away. Both swallowed some more bleeprin.
“Okay,” the RMC said. “Charge her for grossing PPC-agents out and for the dumbest method to give someone medicine, I have ever heard about. If anything, that seems like a great way to drown someone using very little liquid.” It scanned ahead. “In the next chapter Wynne talks to Alistair about Vixena. Wynne is suspicious because she talks to herself and she fears that something is controlling her.” The RMC shook its head sadly, then continued. “The dialogue is non-canon, but Wynne’s sentiment is very much in character so we’ll skip that chapter and the next as well.” Its face took on a grim look. “Chapter thirty-one is serious business.”

“But why you get concerned with Alistair? Your relationship with king Maric shouldn’t involve with his son.”

“You might not believe me, but I gave my word to Fiona. I swore to guide him to be a fine man, so…I gave him a chance to learn from his father’s mistake.”

That sound confused. “You mean…you knew Alistair’s mother and…but he said his mother was a maid in castle. How could you two…?”

“Honestly, he must mislead or something. Fiona was an elf Grey Warden. Last time I check, she still alive.” Mystic creature eyed at one of dream flowers. That one was glowing in the dark, its color almost bright but the violet center.

“Was…? Why you used that word? If she still alive, she must still be a Grey Warden. We can’t leave or quit from our duty…as far as I know.”

“Because the taint in your blood, yes, the Grey Warden couldn’t just leave unless they die. But, well…Fiona found a way to revert, before she gave Alistair birth.”
The RMC gave an angry snarl, but when it spoke, its voice was calm, in fact, chillingly so. “Charge her for making Alistair a half-elf, who doesn’t know who his real mother is. And with inventing a cure for being a Grey Warden; both major canon breaks.”
“Should we intervene now?” Mittens asked.
The RMC downed a handful of bleeprin, looked thoughtful for a moment, the downed another handful. “No. We have to find all the non-canon instances so we can revert them and there are still minis to be saved.” It swayed for a moment and tried watching the action. “Charge her for being King Maric’s twu wuw, who could not be, and for interfering in his son’s love life. That’s plain creepy.”
Vera started to sing about smiling.
“Charge her for singing a modern song, and lets skip to next chapter.”

Next chapter was a flashback with Alistair as a ten-year old, who ran into Vixena, who was about the same age. They immediately started arguing and then had a fistfight.
“Making Cousland and Alistair have a non-canon argument and fistfight as children,” the RMC said, then added: “Wait, make that ‘stupid’ non-canon argument …” Its voice trailed of.
Mittens stopped writing and looked at it. “Are you okay?”
“Might have … overdone … it, with the … bleeprin,” it swallowed hard and was looking pale.
Vera had interrupted the fight. The word world still insisted that she was, a least in part, a boot. She dragged along the little Vixena but Alistair never forgot her.

Absolutely, even he never knew her name, Alistair still thought about her. The memory of that little bully is only thing he could fondle in his worst time.

“Ew!” Mittens nearly jumped at the resulting image. The RMC turned, opened up a portal and leaned through it. There was a bright light coming from the other side of the portal, along with a burst of extremely hot air.
Thankfully the image only lasted a split-second, as if the word world wanted to get rid of it as much as they did. The RMC pulled back from the portal and closed it. “The Deep Roads,” it mumbled. “A lava trench. Can’t have … can’t have bleach and aspirin lying around her.”
The flashback dissolved, gently for once, and they were back in the present. Alistair and Vixena were lying together on his bed, but their clothes were still on. Mittens thanked no-one in particular for small favours. The RMC took out a bottle of water from the backpack, apologizing to the minis it disturbed doing this, and rinsed its mouth, mumbling something about ‘stupid-ass fic’. Mittens wrote down a charge for making a PPC agent overdose on bleeprin.

They portalled into the next chapter, where Vixena was talking to a lady dressed only in plants.
“She’s meeting the Lady of the Forest far to early in the story,” the RMC said. It felt a bit better now; the fresh air was doing it good, even though it was pouring down. “You know, that’s not just canon break, it’s plain bad storytelling. What’s more exciting for the readers? A main character who is told everything in advance or someone who has to actually work to uncover mysteries? And fake mysteries like ‘what is that voice?’ or ‘ what is her sister’s name?’ are a poor substitute for the real thing.”
Mittens, who was watching the fic and noting a charge for wrong use of a double negative, nodded. The agents then, once again, skipped ahead.

In the next chapter, the author had actually bothered to describe the battle between the companions and the werewolves. Although both agents soon found themselves wishing that she hadn’t.
“Unless it is something canonical,” Mittens said, “can we charge her for fighting the werewolves with her bare hands and some hidden knifes?”
“Go ahead,” The RMC said, then snorted. “Oh, come on. She says two words in Elvish and one of them is used wrongly and yet the elf, she is talking to, is wildly impressed that she can speak their language. Charge for that.”
Vixena talked to Zathrian, who refused to lift the curse from the werevolves. Then the Lady of the Forest appeared. “To early,” the RMC said. “Far to early. They haven’t even been trough the Elven Tombs.” I shook its head in disgust. “We’ll skip a chapter. The next is not too non-canonical, it’s just really lame.”

Chapter thirty-five was seriously non-canonical but also really lame.
“Charge Vera with giving her family an angsty past with star crossed lovers and the accidental creation of the archdemon,” the RMC said. “Oh, there it is.”

“Sorry for invade your privately, but I can’t let my sister’s precious gift wilt.” The immortal smiled. “I enchanted it with Lylium and some spell. This rose will blossom like this for…a century, I hope that long enough.”

The mini-Archdemon, Lylium, plopped into the fic and looked around, confused. The RMC picked it up and said: “Now, we can move on, before Vixena sees Alistair talking to Leliana and has a painfully stupid, jealous hissyfit. Next chapter.”

The Antivain chuckled. “I think I heard this kind of question somewhere. But oh…yah, I am a male.”

“An. Ti. Van.” the RMC said as Antivain, the mini-Archdemon, was running towards them. “One ‘i’ and one only. How hard can it be? Oh, and I wouldn’t have stopped just to pick up the charge, but now that we’re here, charge her for making honey something rare and unobtainable. We’ll skip the rest of this chapter and the next one, for the sake of our sanities.” It checked the words. “There’s a sex-scene in chapter thirty-eight. We could go there and charge for having Alistair penetrate Vixena and then wait an hour before he starts thrusting.” It looked at Mittens. “Or we could not,” it said. “Let’s just go to chapter thirty-nine.”

Chapter thirty-nine started with Vixena telling Wynne a legend of how the Great Goddess was raped by her brother and gave birth to three children, the youngest of whom was the ancestor of Vera.

“Up the charge from inventing a new deity to inventing a new pantheon,” the RMC remarked.

“That is…” Wynne cried. “I don’t know what to say.”

Vix smiled. She knew the mage’s feeling. When she heard this story from Vera, it made her hate every men exclude her father and brother until Alistair changed her. These kind of sad stories always touch women’s heart.

“Um,” the RMC said. “Sane persons, women or men, does not begin to hate every member of a group, simply because they are told a story about one member of the group behaving cruelly. Make a charge for making Cousland a man hater, and another for making her change her mind because of an attractive guy.” It scanned the words. “Let’s skip a bit ahead … Oh, that’s good news.”
“What is?” Mittens asked.
“The annoying bit, Sha-riya has died off-screen. That’s one thing less to worry about. Now, let’s skip.”

Vixena had let herself be captured by Ser Cauthrien and Alistair came to rescue her. Vixena was in the company of a female elf who was crying and shaking.
The RMC facepalmed. “The whole ‘Captured’ quest is supposed to be funny,” it said. “It’s an excuse to see your companions dress up as circus performers. You’re not supposed to stuff an angsty, tortured bit character in it!” It took out the CAD and pointed it at the elf. [Kaillan Tabris. Elvish female. Canon/non-canon/canon. Coenred. Wendy Perron.] “Great, she’s not even a bit. The author dragged the elvish player-character into this mess. We’ll have to get her home, when we clean up this festering pile of … Just charge for that and let’s move on. We’re almost at the end.”

Anora was a bitch, the sisters knows it since that widow left them to Cauthrien’s hand. Although they don’t hold the hate, they believe this kind of human shouldn’t have been crowned as the queen.

“Bashing Anora,” the RMC said. “She may not be a lovable, charming Mary Sue with a disarming smile, that works on everyone, but she is a very capable ruler, so that’s just plain nonsense and a chargeable offence. Let’s skip to the Landsmeet.”

They did and picked up yet another mini-Hurlock, Riorden. At this point, Mittens noticed, the writing was actually deteriorating. In the beginning of the story, the author had been able to spell ‘leg’ and ‘beg’. Now she consistently wrote ‘lag’ and ‘bag’ instead. The agents then portalled to chapter forty-one.

After their meeting in Riorden’s room, Vix and her knight walked lifelessly in the long corridor of Redcliffe castle. She kept asking her sis again and again.

‘Why you never tell me this?’

“I never knew this. In fact, I always wonder about how the Grey Warden stops the Blight. This is something I never expected.

“Ooohhh,” the RMC said, its voice dripping with sarcasm. “Little Miss immortal, know-it-all, wannabe goddess didn’t know the secret of the Grey Wardens. Charge.”
“I’m also charging for lack of capitalization.”

To be honest, my grandma killed his flesh but she spared his soul because he once was her husband. After that, he possess in the dragon and back to our Sanctuary for killed and ate my grandma’s heart that made him became immortal like us. Despite his dragon shell destroyed, his soul will escape and find another shell to possess. Only the Fade Walker could devour his tainted soul and destroy him forever.

“And she’s misrepresenting canon, yet again. Each archdemon is an Old God, they are not the same one, who keeps returning. And they are killed by the sacrifice made by the Wardens, a Fade Walker is not needed to slay them permanently.” It scanned the words. “Morrigan is talking to Vixena right now and offering her a way out, so that nobody has to die. Vixena refuses and that means Morrigan leaves the party right away. We’ll have to get to her as soon as Vixena leaves the room. Let’s get the neuralyzer out and ready.”
Mittens put the backpack on the ground and opened it. “Can we get the neuralyzer, please?” he asked. There was some shuffling inside the backpack and then the neuralyzer was pushed to the top. “Thanks,” he said and took it. It was wet with something dark and slimy, but he dried the worst of it off on his pants, and handed it to the RMC. “We forgot the sunglasses again,” he said, apologetically.
The RMC took it and stuffed it in its belt, before portalling them to Morrigan’s room.

Morrigan didn’t respond well to two strangers suddenly appearing in her bedroom. “Who are you?” she demanded. “What are you doing?”
The RMC smiled. “That’s my Morrigan,” it said. “Now, if you’ll just look here, everything will be explained.” *flash* “Morrigan, daugther of Flemeth, you have never heard of Fade Walkers or something called the Great Mother. You have been on a quest with the Grey Warden, who most certainly did not have a weird voice in her head. Now she has denied you your request so you are going to leave. Better get to it.” And, before Morrigan could gather herself enough to ask who they were and what they were doing in her room, they had left it and portalled out to a nondescript location, where the rest of the party were preparing to face the Darkspawn hordes and the archdemon.

The RMC took a deep breath. “We have enough charges to condemn two Sues and we’ve rescued all the minis. We can strike at any minute now, we just have to wait for the right moment. Vera has made her self very powerful and claims to be immortal, so we can’t just rush in and stab her with a sword.” It looked briefly at the words ahead of them. “She’ll be fighting the archdemon very soon. Maybe we can get her, once the fight is done and she has exhausted herself.” It looked at Mittens questioningly.
Mittens squinted to see the words and look for an opportune moment. Finally he said: “I think I may have a better idea.”

The battle with the archdemon began. Vixena poisoned Alistair with a mild paralysing toxin to keep him from risking his life and then went after the archdemon herself.
There was a sudden, unexpected scene change, that made both agents fall flat on their faces. When they got up, they were in the Fade again. Vera, in the shape of a giant black wolf, was fighting the archdemon. Vixena was seeing her and Alistair’s future twins and one of the children, a girl, turned into another black wolf and ran to help Vera, while the other, a boy, started to lead his mother out of the Fade.

“Okay, that’s enough! That’s just too stupid and … I’ve had it up to here!” Everything seemed to grind to a halt as everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look at the owner of the angry voice.
It was a woman, dressed in plain leather armour. She had drawn her sword and was looking furious. Next to her a young man was standing, holding a crossbow. They looked similar enough to be brother and sister. The woman spoke again: “Vera, as representatives of the PPC we hereby charge you with …” The young man handed her a small book and she to tried to juggle both the book and the sword, but ended up sheathing the sword and started to read, “… heinous crimes against the English language, including but not limited to: misspelling prologue, severe mangling of sentences, wanton cruelty towards the common comma and mixed tenses.”
She paused, lifted her gaze from the book and said in a conversational tone: “You know, this is the point where some PPC-agents would charge for not using a beta. In your case however, I’m charging you with writing and posting in English, when you have absolutely no business doing so.”
“What you meaning?” Fade Walker asked.
The woman sighed and kept reading. ”You are also charged with making Cousland complain that she was left at home, because she is a woman; making her swear again for the first time; not having Cousland meet Duncan before the attack; turning her into a little doll of felt; calling her ‘little Cousland’, ‘little Grey Warden’s recruit’, ‘little woman’, and ‘little Grey Warden’; making apologetic author’s notes rather than fixing the errors; making the Grey Wardens a place;  creating mini-Darkspawn, to wit: Gray, Sir Jory, Hightever, Crow, Leilana, Gregoir, gunlock, Anitivian, Antivian’s, Zav, Lylium, Antivain, and Riorden; making Cailan speak in unison voices; having Cousland be infamous without having done anything noteworthy; making her have disarming smiles, that works on everyone; making canons OOC; placing a curious on Cailan’s face;” The woman looked up from the book. “That thing was digusting!” she exclaimed, then continued reading: “Multiple charges of changing canon dialogue, the first time to explain a stupid name; making Cousland hit Alistair; making Cousland be an ex-noble; thesaurus abuse; making Daveth a rouge and later a piece of sandpaper; changing canon by having Cousland not be the one leading the group; changing it again by making her kick Alistair, so she can steal the map; letting her get away with it; making Alistair a wuss; forgetting to put in a fight scene; multiple shifts of POW; wrong use of ellipses; making Sten and Morrigan complain about wasted gold because of a silver-coin; creating ‘the short Warden’s spoke’; being an extra sister of the Couslands; using Thai words; having healing magic; not simply telling your name; having Alistair pick up and carry Vixena for no good reason; having double-standards; making Cousland forget that she has a brother, and someone she thought was her sister; bashing Isolde; forgetting to narrate Alistair telling Cousland about Isolde; meeting Cousland in the Fade; making yourself a boot; having brighter eyes, longer hair and bigger breast than Vixena; calling yourself the twin of Vixena; being sloppy about explaining exactly who have forgotten what; still being a disembodied voice in the Fade; telling Cousland that she needs to learn to help herself; annoying PPC-agents; calling Cousland childish for wanting answers to some completely legit questions; ignoring all other characters than your favourites – actually, now that I think about it, I’m also going to charge you with ignoring large parts of the game. You had one scene set in Orzammar and you basically spent it talking about how old you are and how many people know you.” She glared at Vera before returning to her reading.
“Having uber-speshul Sue-powers and giving some of them to Vixena; having Vixena being dramatic about it; alternating between calling yourself the sister, twin sister and ‘soul sister’ of Vixena; having other people refer to you as her sister; being a prettier version of her, even though you are not related …”
“That because blood she drank,” interrupted Vera.
“Not good enough,” the woman replied and kept reading: “Insisting that you’re not using blood magic, when in fact you are; being immortal; being a half-elf; calling Knight-Commander Greagoir a boy; using non-canon fighting styles; having a celebratory party at an inappropriate time; introducing Buddhist philosophy; crediting yourself with teaching Vixena everything worth knowing; having a stupid author’s note; referring to yourself as a ‘dark god’; single-handedly winning a battle against the Orlesians; having a bodyguard, who is also an annoying bit; making a mini-armour; creating a non-canonical type of flower; having a nonsense explanation for why Vixena had to forget about you; inventing a new deity and having her introduced by the Guardian; making King Maric fall in love with you; making the king a violent idiot; saving the king’s life by killing all the soldiers waiting to ambush him; mollycoddling Loghain …”
The woman scoffed. “Now there’s a charge I had never imagined I would be making. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, grossing out PPC-agents, inventing a really stupid method to give someone medicine; making Alistair a half-elf, who doesn’t know who his real mother is …”
The woman broke off again and glared at Vera. “And for what? You just thought it would be cool to have him be a half-elf for no reason at all? Alistair never seeks out his real mother, no-one ever tells him the truth, in fact it is never even mentioned again. If it had been just a bit longer or if you had been singing it, it would have qualified as a Big Lipped Alligator Moment!”
The woman took a deep breath, then continued her reading in a calmer voice: “Inventing a cure for being a Grey Warden; being King Maric’s twu wuw, who could not be; interfering in his son’s love life; singing a modern song; making Cousland and Alistair have a stupid non-canon argument and fistfight as children; causing a PPC agent to overdose on bleeprin; meeting the Lady of the Forest far too early; wrong use of a double negative; having Vixena fight the werewolves with her bare hands and some hidden knifes; having an elf be impressed that a human can say two words in her language; giving your family an angsty past with star crossed lovers and the creation of the archdemon; making honey something rare and unobtainable; inventing a new pantheon; making Vixena a man hater; making Vixena change her mind because of an attractive man.”
The woman paused once again and looked at Vera. “You seem, in this story, to have a feminist message, you would like to get across. That is not in itself a bad thing. However, you do not make a strong female character, or promote equality, by having her get away with things that would be unacceptable if they were done by a man, such as verbally and physically abusing her companion and still have him fall in love with her.”
“Vixena is virago, headstrong girl,” said Vera.
“No, she isn’t,” the woman answered. “She is immature, annoying, a brat and a bully. You are also charged with dragging in one of the other player characters; bashing Anora; deteriorating writing; not knowing the Grey Wardens’s secret, even though you seem to know everything else; lack of capitalization; making each archdemon the same one; claiming that only a Fade Walker can kill it permanently and finally with being a blatant Mary Sue for which the punishment is death. Any last words?”
Vera laughed. “I am an immortal. You can no kill me.”
“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means,” the woman replied with a grim smile. She turned towards the girl twin who, like everyone else, had been watching with dazed confusion. “Eleanor, you are charged with being a bit character, for which your sentence is death. Mittens, if you please.”
The bolt flew from the crossbow and straight into Eleanor’s side. The girl in wolf-shape keeled over, dead.
The woman’s grim smile widened. “You see, we don’t have to kill you. We just had to kill her. You have imposed upon yourself, that without her interference, you’ll lose the battle with the archdemon.” She turned towards the dragon. “She’s all yours.”
The dazed expression on its reptilian face was replaced by something like a grin and it jumped at Vera, who screamed in terror.
The two agents turned towards Vixena and the boy. Vixena was starring in shock at Eleanor’s body. “You killed my daughter!”
“No time for that,” the RMC said, grabbed the RA and opened a portal under Vixena and the boy. They fell through and the agents jumped in after them.

They were back in Denerim. Vixena and the boy were on the ground, scrambling to get up. Mittens drew one of his knifes and grabbed the boy. He pressed the blade against his neck.
“Don’t hurt him,” Vixena cried.
“Your armour,” the RMC said. “Take it off.”
With a confused look, Vixena did as told.
The RMC held up the neuralyzer, closed its eyes and and pressed the button.
“Cousland,” it said. “You have no sister of any kind. You have never heard of Fade Walkers or the Great Mother. You are a Grey Warden and you are about to slay the archdemon. Better get some armour on and get to it.”
Cousland nodded slowly, turned, and left.
The RMC looked after her with a sad expression. The archdemon still needed to be killed and that was going to require a sacrifice. Cousland had turned down Morrigan’s offer to give them a way out, and that meant one of them was going to die. It would be a canon ending, but not one of the happy ones.
“What about her so-called future son?” Mittens asked. He was no longer holding a knife to the bit’s throat. With Vera gone and Vixena having forgotten about it, it had lost all purpose and will. “Do we recruit him?”
The RMC shook its head. “He lacks any kind of personality and motivation. I don’t think we are that desperate. We kill him.”
Mittens nodded and, without further hesitation, slit the bit’s throat. He let the body fall and went to collect the Venom armour.
“Alistair is here somewhere,” the RMC said. “We have to find him.”

Alistair was still paralysed by the poison Vixena had used on him, so he was easy to neuralyze.
“Alistair, you have never heard of Fade Walkers. You are not a wuss and you would never fall in love with a woman who abuses you. You are a Grey Warden and future king of Ferelden. You’ve been hit with a Paralyze spell, but as soon as the effect wears of, you’ll be back on your feet fighting darkspawn.”
Alistair moved his head a little bit in what was probably supposed to be a nod.

After that, the agents went to the Alienage, found Tabris, neuralyzed her and sent her to her own storyline.
“Damn Sues,” the RMC said, as the portal closed behind the elf. “They make a mess of everything and then it’s up to us to come in and put everything back where it belongs. Now we’ll have to find her companions and neuralyze them.” It sniffed. “Wynne and Leliana are the only two left who have been exposed to non-canon subjects, so they are the only ones we have to find and neuralyze, although I suggest neuralyzing the others as well if we come across them, for good measure. That’s the only good thing about her blatantly ignoring all the other characters.”
“No objections here,” Mittens said. “But how do we find any of them? There’s a war going on.”
“Yes, but canonically, there’s only a handful of places they can be. Don’t worry, we’ll find them. When we do, I’ll do the neuralyzing and you’ll have to cover us. The continuum will try to help us, but like you said, there is a war going on. The last thing we need is to re-introduce ourselves to the Medical Department by bringing in a canon character, who was run through by a Darkspawn sword, while we were making her stand still.”

“Leliana, you are an Orlesian bard and a former sister in the Chantry. You have never heard of Fade Walkers or the Great Mother. The Grey Warden you have been travelling with, have been acting perfectly normal and did most certainly not have a fit of jealousy, because you talked to Alistair. You are in the middle of a war, so you should get back to fighting.”
Leliana nodded, then turned, drew her two knifes and ran towards the heavy fighting.

“Wynne, you are a Senior Enchanter from the Tower of Magic. You have never heard of Fade Walkers or the Great Mother. The Grey Warden, you have been travelling with, have been acting perfectly normal and have not had any sort of weird voice in her heard. You are in the middle of a war so you should get back to spellcasting. I’ll bet your companions need some healing.”
Wynne nodded. “Don’t they always?” she replied with a soft smile, turned and left. The RMC looked after her with a bemused expression.

“And now,” the RMC said, “we just need to neuralyze the characters from the past. Thankfully the author made a scene where they are all together at once, in chapter thirty-seven. There’s a ball and King Maric is there, along with Queen Rowan, Loghain, the Couslands, and everyone else. Vera leaves the grand hall because she is emo or something and Maric goes after her. We have to get there after she leaves, but before Maric follows.” It pushed the buttons on the RA.

The assembled nobles all looked at the woman standing on a table in the middle of the hall. She was dressed as a soldier from Ferelden, although her armour had some unfamiliar details. Her sword seemed to be Orlesian in design, but that was not unusual. Many soldiers had, during the war, traded their weapons for superior ones taken from dead opponents. No-one could remember seeing her before, but then again, she had one of those faces you forget almost while you’re still looking at it. She lowered a small stick she had been holding up.
“None of you know anyone named Vera. You have never heard of Fade Walkers. King Maric has never had a mysterious bodyguard, nor did he need one. You are all quite capable of handling your own business.”
The assembled crowd nodded slowly at the woman’s words, which seemed very reasonable, if not a bit obvious. Then she jumped down from the table and left, along with a young man. Most of the nobles just shrugged and went back to whatever they had been doing; only Loghain looked after them, but he was walking next to King Maric and the king was dragging him along, eager to show him something, so Loghain had to look where he was going or risk tripping over furniture.

“That was extremely annoying,” the RMC said, as Mittens walked through the portal into RC #170, about fifteen minutes after it.
“And long,” Mittens said, “and stupid.”
“Annoyingly stupid.”
“Annoyingly long,” Mittens said with a grin.
“Stupidly long.”
“Stupidly, annoyingly long,” Mittens said. “I think, I’ll have a bath.” His skin and hair smelled of smoke. In the very last minute they had remembered, that they still needed to burn the non-canon dreamflowers. The RMC had taken a couple of flowers for the Department of Fictional Psychology to study; a flower that made people remember, might be useful for something. It had then portalled back to the RC, while Mittens had stayed behind and done the actual burning, with the help of the mini-Archdemons. It had been an unspoken thank-you to the RMC for sparing him the sex scene.
Mittens placed the backpack on the floor and opened it, letting the minis out. They started to run around, growling and sniffing everything. He smiled and grabbed a towel from a drawer.
The RMC also felt satisfied. “We got new minis and new souvenirs. An armour and a mini-armour, that’s not something we’ll see everyday.”

A little while later, Mittens stepped out of the bathroom wearing a clean uniform. “I’ll go down to DoSAT and ask them to take a look at our disguise generator,” he said, padding the last of the dampness out of his hair.
“You think that’s necessary?” the RMC said and snuffled. It had made itself comfortable in front of the TV and was reluctant to get up. “Isn’t it okay, as long as we’re carefully about plotting in our disguises?”
Mittens shrugged. “You don’t have to come, I’ll go on my own. I just think it still has a few kinks that need …” BEEP! “… fixing.”

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Better Than Revenge aka. the first mission

NSFW. Rated M.

Disclaimer: The PPC is the creation of the wonderful Jay and Acacia, I’m only playing in it. Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling. Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. ‘Better Than Revenge‘ belongs to Blinded-Kit and she can keep it. Mittens and the Radioactive Moss Creature are mine.

Response Center #170 was silent except for the low sounds coming from the console. The Radioactive Moss Creature, who most people referred to as the RMC, was lying on a beanbag, reading the tie-in novel Another Life. It was also gnawing on a piece of cardboard. Not eating, just gnawing. It liked to gnaw on things.

The RMC was wearing a black armband around its front leg. There was a water lily on the armband, proclaiming the RMC to be in the Department of Floaters. It hadn’t been given a uniform; they hadn’t been able to find one that fitted and it was actually quite happy with this.

The RMC very much resembled an anteater, but was shaped out off lush, green moss. It seemed to be wearing a brown fedora, but that was actually part of its head. The RMC was also, a suggested by its genus, slightly radioactive, although not dangerously so.

And yet, most PPC agents would find the sight of it reassuringly familiar, for it was doing one of the things that every new Floater ought to be doing which was, familiarizing itself with the most popular fandoms, in this case Torchwood, so that it would be prepared, if it was sent into this particular continuum.

At the console sat a young devil, called Mittens, wearing a black uniform also with the water lily patch. He had tousled blond hair and grey eyes, was of average height, slightly built, and with a face that wouldn’t make him stand out in a crowd of more than one person.

He was watching old episodes of Nostalgia Critic. Since very little fanfic is written about the Nostalgia Critic, this might seem like an odd thing for a new PPC agent to be doing, but Mittens – whose real name, by the way, was Mithrades – wasn’t acquainting himself with canon. He was trying to learn something much more basic; to tell good from bad.

Hell has very little in the way of entertainment, and what there is, tends to make an episode of Jersey Shore look like a Royal Shakespeare Company production of Macbeth. Being raised in Hell meant that Mittens had no taste whatsoever. Some PPC agents might consider this a blessing and understandably so, but it does make it rather difficult to be a PPC agent. After all, how are you going to recognize crappy characterization, poor plotting and vomit inducing writing, when that is all you have ever seen?

The console emitted an ear-splitting BEEP! and Mittens jumped in his chair with a small yelp. A red light flashed and he tentatively pressed the red button below it, then started reading the Intelligence Report on the screen. “It’s a mission,” he said. “Our first mission.”

The RMC snuffled. “Is it a Pirates fic?” it asked. The RMC wasn’t built for human speech so what it said was actually more along the lines of, “S t a piats fic?” but Mittens had know the RMC for quite some time now and had gotten used to understanding its way of speaking.

“The latest movie came out about three months ago; it must be spiking right about now,” the RMC continued.
Mittens shook his head. “No, it’s a crossover between Harry Potter and the new Doctor Who series. Takes place mainly in the Potterverse.”

“Very well, we are ready for it.”

“Will the Five-seven be an acceptable weapon?”

The RMC snuffled again. “Handguns are commonly used in the Whoniverse, so you can at least bring it.”

Mittens picked up the backpack that had been sitting ready for the last week. Then he turned to the shelf containing various going-away presents from old friends and welcome-presents from new ones. Among Mary Sue candy, brightly coloured socks, a tea kettle, a knitted hat, an Oracle Pigeon and other odds and ends, he found Johanna’s gift. The ever practical Johanna had given them a couple of high quality pens, with a small note attached reading: “No matter what organization you’re in, the standard issue pens are always crappy. Lots of love. J.”

The equally practical, albeit in a slightly different way, Dominique had sent them a FN Five-seven semi-automatic pistol with plenty of ammo. Since he had apparently read Johanna’s note and felt like poking fun, his note read: “No matter what organization you’re in, the standard issue weapons are always crappy. Use this to spread lots of death. D.”

Mittens placed a pen in the spiral coil of a notebook and strapped on a shoulder holster with the Five-seven. “Now we just need disguises,” he said and turned back to the console. He looked at the panel. “Any preferences?”

“Not really, no. Just set it to standard Harry Potter disguises and we’ll be off.”

Mittens nodded, pressed a couple of buttons, and activated the portal to the fic. The two agents jumped through and the portal closed soundlessly behind them.

There was black nothingness all around them. Then the author’s voice boomed.

Own Nothing.

The nothing around them obediently grew a small name-tag proclaiming it to be the property of the author. Then the prologue started and words drifted by, accompanied by an overly dramatic voice.

She has lived a long life. She couldn’t tell you how many mistakes she has made. But they, they were all in bloodshed.

“They were all, what, in bloodshed?” Mittens said, sounding confused. “Shouldn’t there be a verb there somewhere? Is she referring back to the previous sentence and in that case, does she mean that the mistakes were all made in bloodshed? Can you even make something in bloodshed, can’t you only end it there?

“Um,” the RMC replied noncommittally.

Mittens felt himself blush. “I was a grammar-Nazi apprentice for some time.”

When a child of Galliefrey reaches the age of eight years old,

There was a small plopping sound followed by a confused mewling.

“Mittens,” the RMC said. “Can you pick up that mini-Reaper?”

Mittens nodded, then realized that the RMC couldn’t see him and said: “Yes.” He stretched out his hands and fumbled in the darkness until he touched something small and scaly. The confused mewling stopped and he felt the small thing latch on to his sleeve and climb further up onto his shoulder.

In the fic, the sentence continued.

they look into the void of time itself t.

A single ‘t’ drifted past after the rest of the sentence. The RMC snatched it and started gnawing on it.

Some see greatness, other go insane. One man, she knew saw that the world need help. That they needed to be protected, to be safe, to be saved. He became the Doctor.

“Fwarge fwer …” The RMC spit out the pieces of the ‘t’ and started again. “Charge her with creating a mini-Reaper.”

“I’m on it. I’m also charging her with random changes of tenses and between singular and plural nouns.” Mittens had already begun scribbling in the notebook. It wasn’t easy in the dark.

Another man, a close friend, looked into the schism and heard drums. The drums of war. The insane beating of the Time Lord heart beat in the face of battle.

When the great Time War came to be, thousands were dying, and it was up to him to save them. He was to stay and fight.
But the Master, the Master ran, he from the cries of his dying race. He ran as a coward, as a man who wanted to live another day.

“I beginning to think that this fic should have been handled by the Department of Redundancy Department,” the RMC said. “Add ‘dramatic repetitions’ to the list of charges.”

The Doctor, the Sainted Physician, he came back. He fought and he sealed off the cries of his desperate people in the Time Lock. To keep the war from spreading to the whole of the universe and to save his people from a death he could not bare.

The universe around them once again obeyed the error and showed a skeleton with a scythe and man in a physician’s robe with a halo around his head, trying to pull of its clothes.
“Ouch,” the RMC said.

But she wasn’t like them. She wasn’t brave enough to fight on the front lines, to save her people. But neither was she a coward, she did not run from battle. She just watched. And one day, she hope that one day, she can atoned for he idle actions.

“Um,” both RMC and Mittens said.
“I’m charging her with badly constructed sentences. And with making mistakes that could easily have been caught if she had bothered to proofread,” Mittens said.
The RMC nodded, which couldn’t be seen in the dark. “Two classics among badfic authors.”

But no, when she looked into the Great Schism of time at the age of eight, she did not see Greatness. She did not go insane either with the sounds of rums that drove her friend to the edge of the universe.

Two bottles of rum appeared, being banged against each other. Mittens snatched one and uncorked it. He took a swig and proceeded to take a couple more as the prologue droned on about the main character being a fearsome killer, instigator of war and the destroyer.

The Destroyer of worlds.

The RMC shook it’s head, trying to clear the wooziness. It felt an urge to charge. “Charge her with …” What hadn’t already been added to the list? “… making overly dramatic statements that don’t make any sense.”
“Aye aye cap’n,” Mittens replied and happily scribbled down the charge, along with ‘annoying my best friend in the whole world, the RMC’.

She was Hermione Jane Granger.
And She will be the death of us all.

There was another small plop as a mini-Aragog, by the name of Jane, spawned. As the voice proclaimed it to be the death of us all, it hissed pitifully. Mittens picked it up. “It’s okay,” he said. “You can stay with us. You won’t have to be the death of anyone except Sues.” His hands were getting full, so he put the two minis in the backpack for safekeeping along with the bottle of rum.
“Charge her with creating a mini-Aragog and then brace yourself,” the RMC said. “Next chapter is coming up.”

They were still in pitch darkness and the author’s voice boomed again.

I’m going through the small stuff quickly, like the background info. Because to me, it isn’t important to me. Nor to the story to sweat the small stuff. Just keep you chin up and I promise I will… try not to disappoint. oh, it is AU to the last to books and slightly fogging on the Doctor Who part… It’ll make since, but bc time difference, it’s hard to keep it from meddling, so just let it be. Thanks

Own nothing.

“Charging her with stopping and starting sentences the wrong places; not capitalizing a word after a period; sprinkling random commas and periods on top of the whole thing and with wrong use of ellipsis.” Mittens scribbled furiously and wished that they could get out of the darkness soon.
“Also charge her with having the audacity to proclaim that this will make ‘since’. I really don’t know whether to laugh or cry at that particular error,” the RMC finished.

The darkness finally lifted and they found themselves in a dark forest. At least there was a full moon, so that was an improvement. Mittens looked down at himself. He was wearing the proper Hogwarts uniform, complete with a tie striped with Gryffindor’s colours.
He then looked at the RMC and blinked. The RMC looked back and blinked slowly in return.
Rather than making it human, the disguise generator had turned it into an common magical familiar, a cat; more specifically a brown-pointed Siamese cat with indigo eyes. Considering some of the creatures that existed in the Potterverse, it considered itself lucky.

Then Hermione came running though the forest and they had to pay attention to the fic. Apparently she was running from Remus in his werewolf form. The RMC winced as she used ‘a mating call that she had learned over the years’ to lure the werewolf after her.
They watched as Hermione, accompanied by a lot of spelling and grammatical errors, turned around and faced Remus. She pulled out a sonic device, a piece of alien technology that wasn’t disabled by the magic at Hogwarts and used it at the werewolf. Remus was knocked out and reverted to his human form.
After that, Hermione had a conversation with Peter Pettigrew, who had been hiding nearby, and handed him a book. The RMC scanned ahead in the text and saw that it was one of the Secret Books of Saxon. She claimed that the Dark Lord wouldn’t be able to regain his full powers without it. When Peter asked why she was doing this, she replied that she wasn’t betraying Harry.

“Then why?”

“Because.” She whispered, leaning towards him and he had a flighting idea that she was going to kiss him. But she quietly whispered the oblivate spell before pulling back. “I’m doing this, because I love a good war.” She smirked, before turning and running off.

The game was set, the battle was on.

Another mini -Aragog appeared and was quickly placed in the backpack as well.
The RMC hissed. “Hermione would never do that,” it said. “Nothing in canon supports the idea of her being a bloodthirsty warmonger. Making her a Time Lord is wildly improbable, but this … this is character defamation. Get a reading on her.”
Mittens took the Canon Analysis Device from his bag and, after checking that it was muted, pointed it at Hermione. [Hermione Jean Granger. Human female/female time lord. Canon/uncanon/canon. Jonkanoo. Replacement!Sue. El familiar. TCHP.] With a small sizzle the screen went black.
“It’s a Replacement!Sue, “Mittens said.
The RMC nodded; it seemed calmer now. “I suspected as much.”
“That means we kill her, right? And then we have to find the real Hermione and save her.”
“Exactly,” the RMC said. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Charge her with not knowing what kind of sonic device she is using; with attracting a werewolf with a mating call, something that not even real wolves have; with using the wrong name of the spell – it’s called a Memory Charm and even if she was referring to its incantation, it should have been Obliviate – and for making a bloodthirsty Hermione who helps Voldemort just for laughs and giggles.”
Mittens wrote it all down, grateful for the light of the full moon. He had just finished when the time skip hit them and knocked them sideways.

The next part took place a year later at the Quidditch World Cup. The two agents got up, dusted themselves off, and started looking for Hermione, the RMC perched at the shoulder of Mittens. They soon found her in the company of Harry, the Weasleys and the Diggorys. The rest off the scene was so filled with bad description and even worse grammar that it was hard to follow what was going on.

They were on their way up to their seats when Malfoy’s cane came down onto Harry’s wrist.

Since it wasn’t specified which Malfoy was holding the cane, the story flickered trough Lucius, Draco and Narcissa, before settling on Lucius. Then the Master showed up.

“Weasly” Malfoy spoke to the father of the red headed bunch. “May I introduce to Harold Saxon, he is a good family friend and plans to run for Muggle Prime Minster soon.”
“Aw yes, to keep a tight reign on those blasted Muggles and mud-bloods.” He smirked up at Hermione, as she heard the Weasleys growl and quietly curse at him. “And this here is my Wife, Lucy Saxon.” He pulled a small blonde woman out of the crowd and she clung onto him. If Hermione didn’t know him better, she would’ve thought that he wanted her to be jealous.

Mittens bowed down to pick up Weasly, the mini-Aragog, before anyone accidentally stepped on it, and put it in the backpack, where Jane, Galliefrey and oblivate seemed very happy to see it. They had managed to uncork the rum bottle and were now having a small party in the backpack.
He then produced the CAD from his pocket and, after smacking it a few times to get it to turn on, pointed it tentatively at the Master. [The Master. Time Lord. Canon/uncanon/canon. Out of character 40,14% and rising. Gya’gya. 1 − 2 + 3 − 4 + · · ·]
“That’s one for the charge list,”the RMC said.
Mittens scribbled in the notebook. This was so much easier when there was light.
The Replacement!Hermione shook hands with Lucy Saxon and dropped unsubtle hints about Harold Saxon and the Doctor. This was followed by an insult from Lucius Malfoy and another from the Master, after which the Master let the rest of his group leave first, and then inexplicably declared that Hermione had won the first point in the game. Because of one of the many spelling errors in the text Hermione was ‘in her supporters’ when he told her this. The result was disturbing to say the least.
“Blearg!” the RMC said. “I think I would like some of those Bleeprin the other agents keep going on about.”

She pulled away from Harry, standing a stair up form the Master’s face, smirking as she was at his eye level. “Watch me win the game.” She titled her head to the side with a sweet smile and a wink, before bounding back up the stairs.
He smiled, chuckling to himself, watching as the rest of her group followed her with wary looks in his direction. He walked up to his wife, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her close to him. She turned her head up to kiss him on the cheek. “So was it her?”
“Oh yes, same old Hermione Granger, destroyer of worlds.” His growl of excited vibrated down into his body. “Oh how I missed her.”

“So we’ve got bad descriptions, ham-fisted plot exposition, making another mini-Aragog, causing Hermione to be inside her supporters and having a past with a canon character. Did we miss anything?” The RMC asked.
“Capitalizing wife,” Mittens replied. “Unless Lucy is a Time Lord herself and that is her name, there was simply no reason to do so.”
“Good,” the RMC said. “And now, if we portal, we can avoid a new time skip.”
“I’m on it.”
Mittens opened the backpack, apologised to the minis who had just started a game of charade, and pulled out the remote activator along with some Bleeprin. He gave a couple to the RMC and stuffed the rest in his pocket.
“Do you think we can keep the minis?” he asked.
“I’m pretty sure that Weasly already has a home,” the RMC replied, “but Jane might not. After all, there can’t be that many authors who knows Hermione has a middle-name, and still manages to misspell it. We can check when we get back, and we’ll also have to see about Galliefrey.”
Mittens nodded, and pressed the dials on the remote activator. Then he and the RMC jumped through the portal to the next chapter.

Next chapter was a mangled mess, with more bad descriptions and offensive grammar. It started with Harry coming into sight, holding a dead body, the Master smirking and Hermione being angry because this wasn’t what she had planned. It was followed by some kissing between Hermione and the Master.
“Charge her with kissing a canon character,” the RMC said.

“Is that so?” His face moved closer, his lips grazing against her ear. “Is that how the Dark Lord got one my books?” He asked. “The Secret Books of Saxon. I noticed that the spell they used wasn’t originated here.”

“Making one of the Secret Books of Saxon a spell-book,” the RMC said. “And some more Bleeprin, if you would be so kind. You know, this would be easier if the disguise generator had changed me into something with hands.”
Mittens didn’t take his eyes of the notebook, he just nodded and used his left hand to pass the Bleeprin.

She shoved his hands in his pockets.

The Master became a woman for a brief moment, then changed back again.
“Charge her with making sex changes,” the RMC said.
The Master then again inexplicably declared that Hermione had won another point and Hermione asked if Saxon was planning on actually playing.

“What’s the story with you and Malfoy’s new friend Granger?” One of the twins asked.

She shrugged, hoping it was much of an answer. “Can’t even side-kicks have arch nemesis? Or is that just a privilege to the super heroes like Harry?” She smiled, walking back up to the castle, hoping that they found Harry in time.

“Not bothering to specify which twin is talking, being genre savvy in an unfunny way and usurping the Doctor’s position as the Master’s arch nemesis,” the RMC said. “And there’s another time skip coming up.”

The time skip was followed by a paragraph filled with tense shifts in which Hermione went to Muggle London. There she watched the Doctor, Martha Jones and Captain Jack Harkness as they found out about Harold Saxon being the Master.

But she couldn’t stand his face when she told him that she allowed him to carry on like he was. She couldn’t stand the heartbreak when the Doctor would apologize for not noticing it sooner. The stares she would get form his companions when his face lit up when she walked back into his life.

She couldn’t ruin his life.

“Write down another instance of her having a uncannonical past with a canon character,” the RMC said. “And some more … thank you.”
They continued to watch the scene, where the Doctor spotted Hermione, who then ran away and started crying.
“I have very little idea what is going on,” the RMC said. “But she’s crying about her and the Doctor being some kind of star-crossed lovers so add wangsting to the charge list.” It scanned the words in the next chapter. “She has a confrontation with the Master and Lucy Saxon, and tries to persuade Lucy to get out while she still can. It is both annoying and ineffectual, and the only new charge would be for technobabble, which is only a minor charge for anyone writing in the Whoniverse. I think we can safely skip that part and go to where she meets up with the Doctor, Martha and Jack.”
Mittens wrote down the charges, then pulled out the remote activator and sent them forward through the fic.

Hermione was standing in front of the Doctor, crying and ranting about how she had been afraid to ruin his life by seeking him out, but that she wanted to help him against Harold Saxon.
“Wait,” Mittens said, puzzled. “I thought she wanted war and death and bloodshed. I thought that was who she was.”
“You’re right. Very good,” the RMC said. “Now write down, ‘making even her own Replacement!Sue act Out Of Character. And speaking of which, get a reading of the Doctor, please?”
Mittens smiled, wrote down and then pulled out the CAD. He pointed it at the Doctor. [The Doctor. Time Lord. Canon/uncanon/canon. Out of character 21,28% and rising.] “That’s not too bad.”
“Notice the ‘rising’ part. He is going to get much worse before this is over.”

Jack almost choked on his food. “The Hermione Granger? The creator of UNIT Hermione J. Granger?”

Hermione stared down at her food, shrugging. “Yes, I was on of the creators of UNIT.”

“But that was decades ago, almost a century ago.” Martha stated in shock.

“I’m a Time Lord.” Hermione stated in a whisper. “I’m like the Doctor. Only UNIT was created to stop me.”

“Why stop you?” The Doctor asked, his face scrunched up.

“Because what I do, remember?” Hermione sighed, looking up. “I destroy worlds, the mere sight of me sends species into battle.”

“You’re kidding me?” Martha asked, not believing it.

“You remember the story about Helena of Troy?” The Doctor asked, eating a fry.

“Yea, so?” Martha replied.

Hermione waved her hand. “I’m the Helena.”

“Really? Wow, can you give me a few pointers?” Jack asked, leaning forward.

“Jack not now.” Doctor ordered.

“Okay,” Jack muttered, shot down.

The UNIT Hermione J. Granger appeared for a moment, looking like a small building with unruly brown hair, then disappeared again. The RMC winced.
Mittens wordlessly handed it a couple of Bleeprins.
It swallowed them and said: “Write down: creating the UNIT Hermione J. Granger; claiming to have created a canon organisation; trying to copy the founding of Torchwood, by claiming that U.N.I.T. was created to stop her; making a gaping plot hole by not explaining how the wizarding world could fail to notice, that she was several hundred years old when she came to Hogwarts, rather than eleven; claiming to have been Helen of Troy; making Captain Jack Harkness look bad …” it had to stop for breath, “… and making the Captain want pointers on how to be Helen of Troy.”
“Can we charge her with spelling Helen with an ‘a’ at the end without discernible reason?”
“Go ahead.” The RMC scanned the words. “There’s some wangsting on a bus, which we can skip. Let’s go to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.”

They watched in silence as the members of the order listened to Muggle radio to hear about the Master’s attack.
“Because someone killing ten percent of the human population is still not important enough to make it onto the news of the wizarding world.” The RMC shook it’s head in disgust. Mittens looked at his notebook and frowned. “What exactly …”
“Charge for thinking that the wizarding world and the Muggle world are completely separate. Oh, and there’s another mini.”
Toclafaine, the mini-Reaper looked at them with big, confused eyes. “Aw,” Mittens said. He picked up the small four-armed reptilian. “You’ll be safe and meet new friends in the backpack.”
The rest of the chapter consisted of Hermione blaming herself for not stopping the Master and then casting an extremely powerful spell, that would protect the wizarding world and everyone belonging to it.
“Has the author even watched that episode?” the RMC asked, incredulously. “Does she knows what the Master does to the world? How can you keep the magic users safe, when their whole country is being burned, as will happen to Japan?”
“More Bleeprin?”
“Thank you. I wished I had hands so I could facepalm. Or pinch the bridge of my nose.”
The two agents then used the remote activator to skip to the next chapter.

It was fifth year and Hermione was livid, already Umbridge has pulled the last straw. She was seconds away from herself casting a deadly curse on the woman. She had already tortured Harry’s hand and completely denied that the Dark Lord has ever rose in the first place. Calling Harry a liar in front of the whole school, Hermione decided something must be done.

The scene in front of them showed Hermione calling Harry a liar in front of the whole school. Then the scenery changed and they were in the Gryffindor common room.

It was mostly emptied, except for a few years and the Weasly twins.

A large 1999 and a 1812 were sitting uncomfortably in chairs in the room. Weasly scratched the inside of the back pack when his name was mentioned.
Hermione talked to the Weasley twins, saying that she wanted them to take a spectacular revenge on Umbridge.
“Charge for excessive use of smirking,” the RMC said. “Everybody in this fic smirks almost constantly. And eye-rolling as well.”
Mittens wrote it down.
“Now let’s portal ahead,” the RMC said.
“How far?”
The RMC squinted as it read the words. The next part had Hermione needing a distraction and a lift to get to London, even though she hadn’t needed either until now, but that was a minor charge, so it would rather just skip that and go straight to some major offences. “Chapter six,” it replied, “aboard the Valiant.”

The chapter started with Hermione hiding and watching the events of ‘Last of the Time Lords’ and taking credit for having given Martha Jones the gun. When canon reached the part where the Doctor was restored, Hermione walked in.

“I forgive you.” The Doctor stated to the Master, he looked up and saw Hermione standing there, her eyes wide. “I forgive both of you.” Everyone could see her now, their eyes staring at her as she kneeled in front of the Doctor and the Master.

“You gave me the gun.” Martha pointed her voice in shock as she remembered Hermione’s face.

“Changing canon dialogue,” the RMC said. It sounded weary. “Having Martha point her voice. Also, neglecting the fine and useful word ‘said’. Half the lines in this fic are being smirked, the rest are being ‘stated’, ‘whispered’, ‘growled’, ‘shouted’ or something like that.”
The agents watched a pointless argument in which Hermione wanted the Master dead and the Doctor wouldn’t let her kill him.

She watched as the Master tried to make a run for it, and then a shot rang out, killing him. She heard screaming, both the Doctor’s and hers. They both ran to his side, holding him, she watched as the Doctor cried, begging him to regenerate. “No.”

“Regenerate you coward!” Hermione yelled, shaking him. “For once in you god for saken life have to courage to stay and fight!” Tears began to fall as Hermione began to choke on her words. She watched as the light went out of his eyes, “Why do you always run?” She whispered, “Why do you have to run?” The Doctor wrapped his arm around her and they sat there crying as UNIT began to take control of the Valiant.

“Charge for begging someone to not die, even though she was ready to kill him herself a minute ago, and for usurping canon moments,” the RMC said. “Let’s skip to the next chapter. That will also save us from some more sex changes.”

They laid there in bed, his arm wrapped around her, holding her close. The covers pulled over them, burying them under it. His chin nestled in the crook of her neck. She laughed lightly as he planted kissed along it down to her shoulder. “I should be going.” Hermione tried to pulled away, but he pulled her back down to him.

“I think you should stay.” He kissed her on the lips.

“Doctor.” Hermione stated, she started to get serious, looking him in the eyes, showing him that she was. “I have to get back. I have things to finish there.”

He sighed, lowering his head to lay on her chest. “Hermione, if I let you go, I feel like you’re going to do something dangerous.”

The agents were standing right outside the door, peeking in at the scene.
“Charge her with having sex with a canon character … Um, are you all right?”
Mittens was blushing like a Worcestershire orchard before harvest. “Yes,” he replied. “It’s just that, I haven’t …”
The RMC sighed inwardly. This, it thought, was what came form having an author who was a prude. It was one thing that she never wrote sex scenes, but she could at least have made a note about Mittens having some kind of experience, before he came to the PPC.
“Don’t worry,” it said. “We’ve seen enough to make the charge and an additional one for making fluff so let’s just skip ahead to the next chapter.”

Groaning, she closed the book and stood up, going to the book shelf. She made room to put the book back. She stood there frozen when she felt a pain of hands run up her sides, hand that weren’t her own. “Do you think that this was over?” A hot whisper tickled her ear.

The Master. Chilled ran up her spine in either excitement or shock, she didn’t know.

“What are you doing here?” She whispered back. “How did you find me?”

“What? A big bubble protecting a magical world, how could I not know it was you?” His hand slipped lower down her side, pass her hip to his inner thigh. “We have unfinished business to attend to Hermione.”

“Do we? I thought that ended when you died?” She shot back, trying to pull away, but he held her there.

“No, it was left unfinished.” His fingers found her undergarments, running his fingers across the cotton fabric, he pulled them down, letting them fall to the ground.

“What do you think you’re doing Master?” Hermione asked, though she acted like she hated it, she knew that this was happening, that this always happened.

“Meep …”
“Oops! Sorry about that.”
Thankfully the Remote Activator had landed them behind a bookcase, shielding them from being seen by the Sue.
“It’s okay,” Mittens replied, rather weakly. “I’m a PPC-agent, I can handle it.”
“Yes, I’m sure you can. Now why don’t we just add ‘having sex with another canon character’ to the list and then we can leave.”
“Okay,” Mittens replied, fumbling with the notebook. “Maybe I should try some Bleeprin to.”

“Better then anyone else.” He spat, slamming in further then before hitting one of her g spots. Her back arched, bringing herself off the table. He took his hands off of her hips and grabbed her back, bringing her to a sitting position, one that was a better angel for him.

A stone angel appeared for a moment. Its hands covered its face, which was probably a good thing. When it disappeared again, the RMC closed its eye for a moment. “Charge her with having multiple G-spots, and with bringing a weeping angel into this mess, and pass the Bleeprin. Then let’s get out of here.” It scanned the words ahead of them. “There’s a meeting featuring the men and women of ‘the Dark Lord’s closet circle’. We have to pick up a another mini, Wesley.”
The scene with the Death Eathers and Saxon was boring to say the least, even though it, true to the words, was taking place in a closet, so after they had collected the mini, the RMC scanned the words again. In the next chapter, Hermione was kidnapped and killed by Voldemort. “Let’s go to chapter 10 and watch the Sue get killed,” the RMC said.
Of course she didn’t stay dead.

Everyone sat in silence, as the Dark Lord summoned his snake. “Dinner.” He whispered, watching as it slithered down the table. It opened it’s mouth, it’s fangs ready to bite, when a silver blade came down onto her head.

Hermione groaned, sitting up, as the blade of the knife pierced the head and nicking the table under. “Did you really think I’d die that easily?” She was ready when everyone stood, their wands pointing. She held up the Sonic Screwdriver and hit the button. “Sorry, your wands wont work. I disrupted the magical field with this handy Sonic Screwdriver I borrowed from a friend.” She glanced up at the Dark Lord, her head tilting. “Who put you up to this?”

“How are you still alive?” She heard Draco whispered off to her side. She ignored him, knowing that this incident will fuel something even greater into her plan.

“Because whoever it was, give them credit. Yes this totally would’ve worked if I wasn’t over 900 years old and full of more power then you could even imagine.” She glanced down at the snake as it thrashed openly on the table. “Okay, let me put you out of your misery.” She dragged the knife down through the snake, opening it up in one giant slice. It stilled, dead within seconds.

The RMC sighed deeply. “Charge her with copying the Doctor by being 900 years old and full of power,” it said. “With killing Nagini; with not having Voldemort react at her death, even though she was both the one thing he cared about and one of the Horcuxes, and with calling Harold Saxon ‘old man’, even though she’s claiming to be 200 years older than him.”
The two agents watched some more bickering between the Death Eathers, Voldemort, Hermione and Saxon.

“I’m starting to think that this planet is getting to big for the two of us.” He growled at her.

Then they portalled forward to the next chapter.

She woke up, in her own bed at the Order’s Headquarters. She sat up, her old bones groaning from being unused for so long. She lifted the covers off of her and swung her legs over the side of the bed, standing up she grabbed some clothes and walked to the bathroom. She took a quick shower, dried off and then changed into her new set of clothes. She looked into the mirror, slightly amused. She didn’t change to much, her hair was a darker shade of brown, glossier curls tumbled down her back. She looked taller, a bit thinner then before to. As her jeans fitted her in places they didn’t before and she filled out her shirt more then she did before. Sighing, she brushed her teeth and threw her dirty clothes in the hampers, and walked down stairs.

“Having the same personality and almost the same body after regeneration, and trying to hand wave the explanation by claiming she went through a meta-crisis,” the RMC said. “Make a separate charge for regenerating into a body that is taller and thinner and with larger breasts. Nothing interesting in the rest of the scene, just lots of inane conversation.” It tilted it’s head. “I think some of it is supposed to be funny, but it’s really hard to tell.”
“I’ve charged her with ‘forgetting closing quotation mark’. Shall I add ‘bad humour’ to the list?” Mittens asked.
“No, not when we’re not sure if it’s even supposed to be funny or not. Let’s just jump to the last chapter.”

Hermione sat back, looking down at her now half finished plate after ten minutes of silence. “I’m thinking about changing my name.” She glanced up at her two male companions. “Something that wont strike fear and wont cause the earth to shake when it is said.”

“What the Destroyer?” The Master asked as the Doctor and Hermione’s eyes grew wide when the the building where they say began to shake, the planet’s crust roared in fear, trembling the earth all over from where they sat, it only lasted a minute, then it was gone. But the damage was done.

“Idiot.” Hermione muttered under her breath as she wiped the tea that spilt on her pants with the napkin. “There is a reason why we don’t call me by my name.” She growled through her teeth as the waitress came by to check on them. She smiled as the waitress gave more napkins and left of new cups of tea.

The RMC took a deep, trembling breath. “Charge her with having a name so powerful, that saying it causes earthquakes. Even though neither the Doctor, the Master, the Daleks, the Reapers, the Vashta Nerada or anyone else in canon has a name with that effect.”
It shook its head and gratefully accepted a couple more Bleeprins. “Anyway,” it said. “I think we’re done collecting charges. Now for the fun part.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes, keeping them sternly on the Master. “You were saying about a new name Hermione. Though I like Hermione, it seems like a nice one.”

“It is, and I will keep it as a human name, but I don’t want to be known for my past actions, I want to become something new, something nice.”

“Like a Confessor?” The Master joked, snorting as he took a bite out of his food.

“Confessor sounds nice. It’s better then the instigator or all the horrible other names I’ve been given over the years.”

“Helen of Troy was a good one.” The Doctor laugh, causing Hermione to smile.

“Oh get a room, the two of you.” The Master rolled his eyes. “I’m going to get sick.”

“Join the club,” a voice said. The three Time Lords turned in their seats to see a very ordinary looking young man with a cat on his shoulder.
“Who are you?” Hermione exclaimed.
“Would you stop with all the exclaming?” the cat said. “Just asking is perfectly fine, you know. We are PPC agents and we are here to charge you, Hermione Granger.” It turned to the young man carrying it. “Put me down on the table, please. And put the notebook down in front of me.”
The three Time Lords looked on in puzzled silence as the young man placed a spiral bound notebook in front of the cat. The cat started to read. “You are hereby charged with …” It squinted at the text, then looked up at the young man.
“It was pitch dark when I wrote the first pages,” he said, sounding defensive.
The cat turned back to the notebook. “Hermione Granger, you are charged with random changes of tenses and between singular and plural nouns; dramatic repetitions; writing badly constructed sentences; making mistakes that could easily have been caught if you had bothered to proofread; making overly dramatic statements that doesn’t make any sense; annoying …” It looked up at the young man with a questioning expression. He had taken off his backpack, and was digging in it for something, but stopped and looked slightly embarrassed.
The cat continued its reading. “… annoying me, and I can’t imagine that my fellow agent has been too happy either; creating mini-Reapers, to wit Galliefrey and Toclafaine; creating mini-Aragogs, to wit Jane, oblivate, Weasly and Wesley; stopping and starting sentences the wrong places; not capitalizing words after a period; not capitalizing names; capitalizing words that didn’t need capitalizing, such as ‘wife’; wanton cruelty towards the common comma and period; wrong use of ellipsis; proclaiming that your story will make ‘since’; not knowing what kind of sonic device you are using; attracting a werewolf with a mating call; getting your spell wrong; causing OOCness among canon characters; bad descriptions; ham-fisted plot exposition; being inside your supporters; having non-canonical pasts with canon characters; kissing a canon character; making one of the Secret Books of Saxon a spell book; making sex changes; not bothering to specify which twin is talking; being genre savvy in an unfunny way; usurping the Doctor’s position as the Master’s arch nemesis; wangsting; making even yourself act out of character; creating the UNIT Hermione J. Granger; claiming to have created a canon organisation; trying to copy the founding of Torchwood, by claiming that U.N.I.T. was created to stop you; not explaining how the wizarding world could fail to notice that you are several hundred years old; claiming to have been Helen of Troy; making Captain Jack Harkness look bad; making the Captain want pointers on how to be Helen of Troy; spelling Helen with an a at the end; thinking that the wizarding world and the Muggle world are completely separate; having everyone constantly smirk and roll their eyes.” It paused and looked at Hermione. “There are other facial expression you can use to convey emotion.”
Hermione just smirked and rolled her eyes.
The cat sighed and continued reading. “Changing canon dialogue; having Martha point her voice; cruel negligence of the word ‘said’; begging someone to not die, even though you were ready to kill him yourself a minute before; usurping canon moments; having sex with a canon character; fluff; having sex with another canon character; having multiple G-spots; making random weeping angels appear; copying the Doctor by being 900 years old and full of power; killing Nagini; having Voldemort not react at Nagini’s death; calling Harold Saxon ‘old man’, even though you’re 200 years older than him.”
“You know, it has a point,” the Master said. He sounded slightly dazed, since the continuum was keeping him docile, while the agents worked.
“Shut up!” Hermione growled.
“If you don’t mind,” the cat said and continued. “Having the same personality and almost the same body after regeneration; being thinner and taller and having larger breasts after regeneration; forgetting closing quotation marks; having a name so powerful, that saying it causes earthquakes; and finally you are charged with impersonating a canon character and being an irredeemable Replacement!Sue for which I am pleased to announce the punishment is death. You’ll get no last words. Mittens, if you would do the honours.”
A shot rang out through the restaurant. The two Time Lords stared at Mittens whom everyone had completely forgotten about, and who was holding a pistol. They then looked at Hermione who had been shot in the head. Since Sues rarely, if ever, have any idea how a shot to the head actually looks, there was only a tiny entry wound, glittering with Sue-blood, on her forehead and no exit wound. She slowly tilted to the side and hit the floor.

The Master and the Doctor stared from her to Mittens, conflicting emotions running through them. The Suefluence made them want to either attack Mittens or kneel down and cradle Hermione, but it was already waning and they were starting to ask themselves what they were doing here together, and then there was the continuum, still keeping them passive while the agents worked.
“Let’s start by getting them back where they belong,” the RMC said.
Mittens nodded, took out the neuralyzer, and turned the dials to set it to three years. “If you’ll just look at me,” he said to the Time Lords, “I’ll explain everything.”
They looked at him and he closed his own eyes – somehow, even though the backpack had been packed for a week, they had managed to forget the sunglasses – and pressed the button. He assumed there was bright flash. When he opened his eyes again, the Time Lords were looking at him with blank expressions.
He turned towards the RMC. “Will you fill them in?” he asked.
It shook its head. “No talking cats in the Whoniverse, at least not what I know of. Let’s not take any risks.”
“Okay.” Mittens turned towards the two Time Lords. “You have never heard of a Time Lord called the Destroyer. You don’t know anything about Harry Potter and the wizarding world except that there is a very popular series of books about them. You,” he addressed the Master, “are running for Prime Minister as part of some evil scheme.” The Master slowly nodded and Mittens turned to the Doctor. “And you are going to thwart that scheme.” The Doctor also nodded.
“Good,” Mittens said, and grabbed the Remote Activator from the back pack; while the RMC had been reading the charge list, he had had enough time to ready everything. He punched the buttons that opened a portal to the Whoniverse. “Now, if you’ll just step through the portal,” he said and both Time Lords obeyed. The portal closed after them and he sighed. “Okay, that’s taken care of. What’s next?”

Because of the sloppy description in the story, the Death Eathers were still sitting motionless around the table with the dead Nagini in the middle, when a young man with a cat on his shoulder and a very dead looking Hermione Granger under one arm, appeared in the room. The young man casually dropped the girl on the floor and pulled out a wand; except that it wasn’t a wand, it looked rather like a pen. They were all still staring at it, trying to figure out what it was, when there was a flash of light.

“Right,” said the Siamese cat, sitting on the table in front of them. “You don’t know any Harold Saxon. You have never heard of Doctor Who, except maybe that it is a television series in the Muggle world. No?” It looked at their contemptuous expressions. “You don’t watch Muggle TV; perfect. Anyway, you were planning the demise of Harry Potter and the conquering of the wizarding world. You should just carry on.” It jumped down from the table and walked out the room.

Outside the room Mittens was waiting with the Replacement!Sue under one arm. She had begun the process of regeneration and was glowing with a sickly pink light. He had taken her unspecified sonic device and was turning it over in one hand, looking at it.
“Did you get Nagini to Medical?” the RMC asked.
“I did. Can’t we get rid of the Sue now? Carrying her around is getting bothersome.” Mittens stuffed the sonic device in a pocket.
“We just need to find Jack and Martha and send them back, and find the real Hermione and set her free. After that we can get rid of the Replacement!Sue in a poetically just way. Several times, since she’s a Time Lord.”
“All right,” Mittens shifted the Sue to the other arm. “Do you know where Jack and Martha are?”
“They were last seen aboard the Valiant and she haven’t mentioned them since. I imagine they’re still there.”
Mittens pushed the buttons on the remote activator.

“Martha Jones, you are a companion of the Doctor and a medical student. You are totally capable of saving the Doctor and the world on your own.
Captain Jack Harkness, you are an immortal human, former Time Agent, and present leader of the Torchwood Institute. You have no interest whatsoever in being Helen of Troy.
Neither of you have ever heard about a Time Lord caller the Destroyer. Neither of you know anything about Harry Potter and the wizarding world except that there is a very popular series of books about them. Now step into the light, please.”

“You’re getting good at it,” the RMC said. “Now, let’s get out of here. With all the Doctor Who characters back in their own continuum, the Potterverse is starting to expel the Valiant.” It was true. Their surroundings were becoming transparent and the grey sky outside could be seen through the walls.
“We just need to find Hermione, right? Any idea where to look?”
“She is in a plot hole somewhere. Remember the plot hole I mentioned, created by not explaining how the wizarding world could not know about the Sue’s background? I’ll bet the real Hermione is locked up there.”
“Where is it, then?”
“Most likely in the basement of Hogwarts,” the RMC replied. “Somewhere the Sue doesn’t risk people finding it by accident.”
“Okay.” Mittens once again fished the remote activator out of his pocket and started pushing the buttons.

“Hermione Jean Granger, you are a Muggle-born witch and a third-year student at Hogwarts. You don’t know anything about Doctor Who except maybe what you’ve seen on TV.”
Hermione gave them a slightly dazed look. “Daleks?” she said.
The RMC and Mittens exchanged looks, then the RMC said: “Yes, that’s right. There are Daleks in the TV-series. Now, your friends, Harry and Ron, are no doubt doing something foolish this very moment, and they need you to try and talk them out of it. Why don’t you get on it?”
Hermione nodded and walked past the two agents, slowly at first, but then she picked up speed. She didn’t look back.
Mittens looked down at the Sue he had unceremoniously dropped on the ground. “I think she’s almost done regenerating.”
“Let her,” the RMC replied. “She has imposed upon herself that she will be unconscious for a couple of days afterwards.”
“What should we do with her?”
“We could release her in the Forbidden Forest and let it solve itself, although …” The RMC paused thoughtfully. “Sues are cunning and should not simply be left for dead and this one has multiple lives. We need to make sure that she can’t escape. We could shoot or stab her through both hearts at once, that will end the regeneration cycle, but I don’t think she deserves to get of that easily.”
Mittens nodded slowly. For the first time in quite a while now, he felt himself on familiar ground. After all ‘cruelty towards captive enemies’ had been one of the 101s in Hell. “Tell me,” he asked the RMC. “If Jane, oblivate, Weasly and Wesley are mini-Aragogs, does that mean there’s a full-size Aragog around somewhere?”
“Yes, in fact there’s Aragog and quite a lot of his children and grandchildren.”
“Let’s feed the Sue to them.” When the RMC didn’t look discouraging, he continued: “They are spiders, right? That means they can wrap her up for a couple of days, until she wakes up, and then they suck her dry, let her regenerate and repeat the process.”
The RMC looked thoughtful. “That might just do it,” it said. “The Acromantulas are immune to Sueflunce and the are never Out Of Character, mostly because the Suethors never mention them. She can’t get away from them and she can’t convince them to let her go. That is wonderfully cruel and well thought out. I could never have come up with that myself.” The RMC practically beamed at Mittens, who looked down shyly and busied himself with picking up the Sue.

“That didn’t go so bad,” Mittens said, stepping back into RC #170. “We even got our first souvenir.” He fished the sonic device out of his pocket. “I wonder what it does.”
“Except knocking out werewolves, which may or may not come in handy in the future? I have no idea, and neither had the author” the RMC replied and snuffled. It was wonderful to be back in its own body. Although speaking of which … “Will you come with me down to the Department of Sufficiently Advanced Technology? We can distract each other on the way. We need them to fix the problem with my disguise before our next …” BEEP! “… mission.”

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