Agents Mittens and the Radioactive Moss Creature were on their way back from RC#9L0121F4114C3, walking backwards through the corridors of Headquarters, when the RMC said: “Now, about that Sparkewolf …”
Mittens’ mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Finally he swallowed and said: “How did you know? I thought I snatched it when everyone were distracted.”
“I don’t think Agents Shieh and Elerossiel noticed a thing. I certainly didn’t see you take it. I just heard you lament the fate of the poor mini and then you went awfully quiet on the subject. It didn’t seem like you at all.”
“I didn’t mean for anyone to know. I didn’t want anyone else to get into trouble.”
“Mittens …”
“We can’t send it back. We can’t.”
“You know the rules as well as I do. We can’t keep it.”
“I’m not talking about about keeping it. But we can’t let it be stuck in badfics forever. We just can’t.”
The RMC was surprised and a little bit shocked to see that Mittens’ eyes were wet. It was enough to make its mossy heart ache. Mittens, who always did his duty, who never complained and who never asked for anything.
It lowered its head. “Can’t send it back, can’t get it adopted. What we need,” it lifted its head again, “is a third option. And I have an idea as to who might provide that.” It lifted a paw to stop Mittens saying anything. “Mind you, I haven’t promised anything. If we get a no, then the mini goes back. I’m giving it a chance, nothing more.”
Despite these words, Mittens beamed a smile at the RMC.
“Now we just have to find …” the RMC began, then stopped when it noticed the sign on a door on their left, “… RC#412. Which is right here. Well, I guess it was a rather distracting conversation we were having.” It looked at Mittens. “Go on. Knock.”
On one hand, there was no answer when Mittens knocked on the door. On the other hand the door wasn’t closed properly and opened when he knocked on it. The Agents looked at each other, shrugged and entered a small room. It didn’t seem like anyone was living here, since the room contained nothing but a desk with a computer and a chair, in which a woman was sitting. She gave a small start and turned to look at them with a guilty expression as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t, while at the same time closing a browser window.
She blinked. “Oh,” she said. “It’s you.” Then, as if remembering her manners: “What can I do for you?”
The RMC turned to Mittens. “Close the door please.” When it had been done, it said: “Mittens, this is EileenAlphabet, Agent of the Department of Intelligence and author self-insert.”
Mittens stuck out his hand, which Eileen took, a bit awkwardly. He noticed that she was wearing nail polish, which was in a fetching shade of blue, but so worn and chipped, that on average only half of each nail was covered.
Eileen looked at the RMC. “So, how may I be of assistance?”
The RMC looked straight back at her, as it said. “Mittens, show her the mini.”
Mittens didn’t hesitate, but placed the backpack on the floor and took out the mini-Sparklewolf in question.
Eileen looked at the wolf questioningly, but said nothing, apparently waiting for an explanation.
“This,” the RMC said, “is a mini-Sparklewolf.” It paused. “It’s name is Stephanie.”
It took a moment, the understanding dawned on Eileens face. “Oh,” she said.
“Yes, oh,” the RMC agreed. “You know what the problem is. It can’t be adopted and there’s no OFU for Twilight it can be sent to. We were hoping that you, being what you are, could help us find a solution.”
“What, are you expecting me to start a Twilight OFU?”
“Certainly not.” The RMC actually shuddered a bit at the thought. “We were hoping you could think of a third solution. Come up with something creative.”
Eileen leaned back in her chair. “If I could do that – and I’m not saying that I can, but if I could – you realise that the Flowers very much frown on this type of thing? An author self insert, using her … abilities to break a stated rule? That’s more than halfway to Suedom right there.”
“I’ve been led to understand as much. But I have to admit, I can’t see the harm in writing a happy end for this poor mini.”
Eileen smiled, an odd smile, and leaned forwards towards the mini-Sparklewolf. Mittens shuffled his feet uneasily. Something about her seemed different suddenly. She started to speak and her voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere other that her lips.
“The authoress reached out towards the cute mini-Sparklewolf.’”
Mittens shivered. Stephanie looked fluffier and more glittery than before. He looked at Eileen’s hand as she reached out towards it. The nail polish was perfectly smooth and without the smallest scratch.
“’Do you need a place to stay, little one? You can stay with me and those evil Flowers won’t have anything to say about it.’”
Her hand was almost touching the mini-Sparklewolf’s head. It gave a low whine, but seemed rooted to the spot, unable to move. Then she pulled back her hand; the nail polish was chipped again.
“No.” She looked at them with an ironic smile. “This wasn’t what you had in mind when you asked me to think of something to bend the rules?”
The RMC shook its head.
Eileen once more leaned back in her chair. Her demeanour was now crisp and businesslike. “We can get in a world of trouble for doing this and no doubt we will. But I’m afraid you came to the the right person. I never could refuse someone asking me to help a small fluffy creature.” She reached out and scratched the mini-Sparklewolf behind the ears. It thumped its tail against the floor enthusiastically. “I’ll think up something for Stephanie here. But you’ll owe me one” She sighed. “And if the Flowers find out – and I suspect they already know – you owe me an even bigger one.”
The noises from RC#170 could be heard not only though the closed door, but a rather long way down the corridor.
Mittens sighed. “There they go again. No doubt they started fighting the moment we left and have been at it ever since.” He opened the door and he and the RMC stepped inside.
The sight that greeted them was not quite what they had expected. James and Saxo were facing each other across the small table; James was growling and Saxo had his own teeth bared and none of them had noticed the other two Agents enter. It looked like they had been sitting down for a cup of tea or something and had then gotten into an argument. But that was of course impossible. They would never sit down to have tea with one another.
Then Mittens noticed the small tiles that were strewn on the floor and bent to pick one up. It had the letter C on it and a small number 8 in one corner. He showed it to the RMC who looked from it to the two agents.
“Have you been playing Scrabble?” it asked.
They broke off their staring contest and turned to the RMC, both looking a bit sheepish.
James found his voice first. “I have been playing. That … that craven blackguard,” he pointed at Saxo, “have simply been cheating.”
“Rules are for muggles and weaklings. The strong and capable make their own rules,” Saxo replied loftily, which made James start to growl again.
“No fighting, please,” the RMC said.
“Why are there more mini-Aragogs than usually?” asked Mittens, who had been looking around.
Saxo and James looked at him, then at each other, then back at the other two and then they started to tell them about a mission, they had been on. It was all rather jumbled together and it didn’t help, that they kept interrupting each other, but Mittens and the RMC gathered, that it had been a really awful fic and that they had defeated it together.
“In that case,” said the RMC, “we congratulate you. You are no longer newbies or trainees. You are full agents and real partners.”
Saxo and James eyed each other unenthusiastically at these words.
“We should celebrate with some tea,” Mittens said. “And you know, I have some biscuits, that I have been saving for an occasion like this.” He walked towards the small kitchenette.
Saxo and James gave each other a look of sheer panic this time, before rushing up to Mittens, almost dragging him away from the cupboard and assuring him that they most certainly did not need any biscuits.
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