The Very Edge (of Destruction)

All right.  Here’s my (long overdue) first mission.  I know it’s not the one I said I’d write when I applied for Permission a year ago, but that fic proved too difficult for me to handle, so I decided to get some experience with a simpler, shorter fic first.

Big thanks to my betas Desdendelle, Irish Samurai and SMF.  Also thanks to Hieronymus Graubart who acted as an additional beta.

Anyway, the PPC was created by Jay and Acacia.  The Jeeves stories were created by P.G. Wodehouse.  Middle-earth (Hild’s home continuum) was created by J.R.R. Tolkien.

The fic “The Very Edge” is by charlotteicewolf77.  (At this point it’s traditional to say something like, “and she can keep it because I don’t want it!”)

I own nothing here except my own characters – Hild and Sean – and their actions.

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Sean Bellman let out a low whistle, then said, “She cleans up real nice,” in what he always thought was a pretty good impression of an American accent.  (So far, no real American had agreed.)

“Very funny.”  Hild, who was standing in the bathroom doorway, had even less idea than Sean of what a good American accent should sound like, but even she could tell her partner was teasing her.  “Besides, I’m still in my regular uniform.”

“Yes, but you actually showered without being reminded for once.  I’d almost forgotten your hair was blonde.”  He grinned and leaned back in his chair.

Hild shrugged.  “Well, I didn’t think I could turn up at Luxury’s RC without a wash first.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t put her off.  But you and Lux?  Since when are you—?”

“No!  Nothing like that!”  Hild interrupted him, her eyes wide with shock.  “How could you even think that?  Besides, you know I wouldn’t steal her from you.”

“Yeah, right.  You know I’m not that Sean.”

“Your mind’s dirty enough,” joked Hild as she stepped forwards into the room.  “Anyway, for your information, a bunch of agents are organising evening classes.  They think it’ll help keep us sane, or something.  And Lux is teaching one of the courses.”

“Evening classes from Lux?”  Sean leant forward, a wild glint in his eye.  “Well, I guess you’ll learn some useful techniques for when you finally get Boromir to yourself.”

Hild shook her head.  “It’s taxidermy.  Swift Araw!  Are you sure you’re not Lux’s Sean?”

“Taxidermy?”  It was hard to make one word sound relieved and disappointed at the same time, but Sean somehow managed it.

“Yes.  Might be fun.  I never got a chance to have any hobbies with the Dunlendings.”

“I dunno.”  The joking tone began to fade from his voice.  “You’re not thinking of doing it in here, are you?  All that blood and guts all over the place.  And the smell.”

Before Hild could reply, a loud [BEEEEP] filled the air.  She turned to the console.  “That’s odd.”

“What?”

“It’s an unfamiliar continuum.  Have you ever heard of someone called...” She hesitated over the strange name.  “P. G. Wode house?”

A large grin spread across Sean’s face.  “Heard of him?  I love those stories.  This is going to be great.  You are in for a treat.” He paused, then added, “Oh, and it’s pronounced Woodhouse.”

Hild said nothing.  Although she had been taught to read as part of her basic training, she often wondered if the teachers had done a bad job of it.  It seemed that words rarely seemed to match up with the letters in them.  Maybe she’d figure it out one day.

“I’ll set the disguises.” Sean moved to join Hild at the console.  “How d’you fancy being a flapper?”

Hild had no idea what that was, but she agreed anyway.  She got up and moved over to the shelf.  “Oh, and we’re going to need a crash dummy.”

“Oh yeah, it’ll be first person.”

“No.  Second person.”

“What?”  Sean’s manic Cheshire Cat grin started to crumble.

Hild shrugged.  “That’s what the report said.”

“Oh well.”  Sean gave a deep, long sigh, and then opened up the portal.

Once the agents had gathered their equipment, Hild chucked the dummy through, and they both followed behind.

An Author and an Advert.

This was the Control Prompt for my PPC Permission application: One agent tells the other how they were recruited/We see both agents recruited.
 

 “So, you’ve never told me, how did you come to join the PPC?”

Sean Bellman’s favourite way of distracting himself while walking to the Cafeteria was by talking to his companion: in this case his partner, Agent Hild.

“Oh, the usual way,” she replied. “I fell through a plothole and landed in one of the corridors.”

Sean grinned. “Only in this place could that be considered ‘the usual way’.”

“Well, my plothole was larger than most, if you want something unusual. My author had never actually written my story, and very little was fixed. I didn’t know at the time, of course, but she actually thought she was doing me a favour by keeping it unwritten and flexible.” Somehow Hild managed to giggle and sigh at the same time. “Have you ever heard anything so silly?”

“I guess not. So what happened?”

“Well, apparently she never quite decided whether the messengers with Boromir’s ransom demand would be sent to Imladris, Isengard, or direct to Minas Tirith, and what happened to them anyway. Not that I knew anything about that. The first I knew anything was wrong was on our flight from the bandit camp. We overtook the messengers to Imladris, who were flickering in and out of existence. I reached out to touch one, and fell into the space where he wasn’t.”

She gestured around at the corridor, and continued. “When I landed in HQ, I thought I’d died and gone to Mandos. I was disappointed that it wasn’t as grand as I’d expected. I wondered if maybe that was just for elves, and humans got the plainer end of the Halls. Then half a dozen or so agents ran in, grabbed me, and dragged me off. And after I’d been analysed and tested, they told me who I was. And that’s when I learned I was fictional.”

“Must’ve been a nasty shock.”

“Not really, it explained all the strange inconsistencies in my life. Everything seemed to make much more sense. Maybe it would’ve been different if I’d been from a written story. One that was complete and made sense” She shrugged, then continued. “Anyway, I decided to stick around because I had nowhere else to go. What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yes. How did you join?”

“Oh, the usual way.” Sean smiled. “Well, what would be the usual way in most places. Nothing as usual as yours, of course!”

“Very funny!” She shoved him playfully. “Come on, tell me more.”

“It’s really not that interesting.”

“Come on. You know I love learning about your world.”

“Well, after I lost that job with the publishers - I told you about that, right?”

“Yes.”

“OK, well, I was having trouble finding a new one. One day, there were a couple of ads that looked promising. It was either this, or be paid five pounds to move a piano from one room to another.”

Not surprisingly, she didn’t get the joke. “And you chose this one?”

“Yeah. The job ad was pretty vague, but I applied anyway. Went for an interview, at a small office in south London. I saw a pompous little guy named Rogers. He asked me all sorts of strange questions, but wouldn’t say what the job was about. And the really weird thing is, when I left, I could’ve sworn the building was a couple of blocks away from where it had been when I entered.”


“Knowing this lot, I’m not surprised. Probably a final test or something.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I must’ve passed. The next day, a portal appeared in my living room, and Rogers asked me to step through. I didn’t know what was going on, but went along with it anyway. Curiosity, I guess.”

“And when you found out, you decided to stay?”

“Yeah. They wanted to put me in Bad Het because of my experience rejecting romance manuscripts, but I’d had enough of that. And besides, I still don’t see why they need two departments. Bad romance is bad romance, no matter whether it just happens to be het or slash.”

“Ooooh! Did someone mention slash?” The new speaker was Agent Luxury. She jumped up from her table and bounced over to them excitedly. “That’s my fave subject ever.”

They’d finally reached the Cafeteria.