doctorlit: (Default)
Author's Note: Protectors of the Plot Continuum was founded by Jay and Acacia, and I write in their universe with permission.

Original post is here. I apologize in advance for this. G rated. Unbetad.

* * *

"Back!" Vania called as she stepped through the portal. "The HFA staff dude was way too excited to give these Muggle-use wands away, so I'm pretty sure they're going to cause some horrible problem at the worst possible time!"

"So, the same as everything else we use on missions, then."

"Oh, yes."

"At least we're being consistent, then." Doc grabbed all seven Harry Potter novels and began storing them in various pockets.

"Oh, you found a fish for the mini! Where'd you get that?"

"What?" Doc glanced towards the glow of their mini-Hound of the Baskervilles, which was gnawing on a long, greenish fish. "Oh. No, I didn't notice he had that."

"Ah. 'Cause it's . . . kinda getting fish blood all over the floor."

"Sorry, Vania. I really don't know where he got that!"

"Eh, it's been a while since a capillary towel had a cameo, anyway. We'll find one after we get back and clean up then."

* * *

Doc and Vania tracked two characters down a hallway in Hogwarts, followed by a mini-Aragog that had been created.

"A Leanne luster!" whispered Vania. "Got to give points for writing something original."

"Let's not call it 'lust' for underage schoolgirls," Doc muttered, writing down charges.

"Still, though, most people don't even know her name! She's just 'that-girl-who-was-walking-next-to-Katie-when-she-got-cursed.' Whoa! What?"

Leanne had just been smacked in the face with a fish.

"I wasn't watching the Words. What caused that, Doc?"

"I didn't catch it. Let me read it over again."

While he was doing so, Vania continued watching the students and frowned. Leanne was rubbing her nose, and the Sue had grasped her by the shoulders and was checking her face for injury. "Weird. Sues don't usually notice when their typos make stuff like that happen."

"I'm not seeing where—Raugh!" Doc jumped and flinched as a cold, wet something flopped against the side of his neck.

Vania bent down and picked up the flopping fish. "It's a salmon . . ." She shrugged.

The Sue called out in her off-timber voice. "What are you doing there? Spying on us?"

"Great. Stupid fish." Doc turned back to the first page of charges. "Carline Amanda Roberts, you are charged with—Agh, gosh darn it!" he yelled as a wet fish slapped the papers out of his hand and stuck them together. The mini-Aragog seized the fish and sunk its mandibles in.

Vania smirked. "'Gosh darn it?' Really?"

The hallway began to fill with the sound of splatters as fish began to pelt the bricks from . . . no clear source.

"Why are you doing this?" Doc asked the Sue.

"Don't look at me! My story did NOT include FISH RAIN."

"Come on!" Leanne shouted over the splats. "The Room of Requirement!"

"But you shouldn't know about that until sixth year!"

"Deal with it! I'm finally the main character in a fanfiction, and I'm milking it for all it's worth!"

* * *

As the four human characters had mutually needed a room with no fish as they approached the door to the Room of Requirement, that is exactly where they found themselves. (The mini-Aragog hadn't finished draining its fish dry yet, or it might have caused a problem.)

Yes, they found themselves in a tiny room with no fish. For about two seconds, before the salmon onslaught began again.

"They're coming from everywhere and nowhere!" Carline whined, as the spider scaled the wall behind her. Leanne was deflecting as many as she could with her wand; the agents' wands were, as predicted, useless.

"You're a Sue! Do with the plotholes or something!" Vania demanded.

"Huh? Oh, right!" Carline waved her arms and fingers in a swooshy motion. Some of the salmon began to disappear between wilvery lines in the air before they hit anyone. "Nice!" cried Carline.

But then, the salmon began bouncing in and out of the shimmers in the air, ultimately filling the small space with fish even more than before.

"Making it worse!" Doc warned.

"Ugh! Whatever." Carline threw up her hands, and the plotholes vanished. Some of the fish were tossed up into the air and landed in a web the mini-Aragog had spun.

"Yesssss, Precioussssss," the spider hissed as it closed its appendages around the flopping animal. "Tasssssty fishesssss!"

The PPC agents looked at each other. Doc turned to Carline. "For the first time in history, the PPC is requesting for you to make more typos."

Carline quirked her head. "Typos?" She glanced at her erstwhile girlfriend. "Like, Leann?"

A new mini-Aragog appeared, and immediately started to crawl up to its comrade's web.

"Whoa," said Carline. "I didn't know I could do that."

"More! Hurry!" Leanne called. "We're up to our ankles in fish!"

"And up to our noses in fish smell," Vania added.

"Uh. Dumbledoor? Minstery of Magic . . . Avada Cadaver!"

All the miniature Acromantulas set to work stringing the room with webbing. But it could only last for so long; soon, the spiders' webs began to bulge with weight, their bellies began to fill, the humans found the salmon reaching above their waists. Leanne was trying to reach the door, blasting at the thick wetness of the fish pile with her wand in order to walk.

"We have to portal back to HQ!" Vania said, digging into her pocket.

"It won't work," said Doc, shaking his head. "This is probably where the mini-Hound's fish came from."

"Oh," Vania said quietly. She had finally managed to get the RA out and above the line of sea life. "It's totally fried by all the dampness, anyway."

Suddenly, a blue doorway opened into the room. Fish began to spill out through the new entrance.

"We're saved!" Vania cried. She tried to jump for joy, but failed under the weight of the fish surrounding her legs. "SpecOps is here!"

"You are not needing Special Operations," Séverine said, stepping over the fish to show an army of agents bearing the same orange honeycombed fungus flashpatch. "The Cafeteria is here, and I understand we will all be having seafood this week."

Author's Note: Capillary towels were created by Sedri and Trojie. The Harry Potter series, Leanne, Acromantulas, Hogwarts, wands and the Room of Requirement belong to J.K. Rowling. Mini-Aragogs were created by Meir Brin. Obviously, none of the named minis in this story count as real, since they were made up by me, rather than being found in a badfic.
doctorlit: (Default)
Author's Note: This ficlet was written in response to a prompt posted to the Board by SeaTurtle: "One of your agents deals with one of their fears." It was part of a larger thread full of writing posts, which itself began as a writing game in the #rudi's room of the Discord chatroom.

Protectors of the Plot Continuum was founded by Jay and Acacia, and I write in their universe with permission. The Harry Potter series, Professor Lockhart, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and boggarts belong to J.K. Rowling. This interlude is rated G, unless you speak British English, in which case it contains a swear. This story had no beta.

* * *

"Augh, Merlin, the Professor has to be around here somewhere." Doc pulled one of Lockhart's larger portraits away from the wall to glance behind it.

"Have you noticed," Vania asked, "that you have a tendency to imitate the local speech style whenever we go somewhere?"

"I don't know what you're bloody talking about."

"Right." Vania rolled her eyes and continued checking the drawers of Lockhart's desk. "Why does this guy need so many copies of his own books?"

Doc dramatically threw open the door panels of a large cupboard in the back of the room. "Hey, I think I found the plothole! I can hear something . . ." He peered closely into the darkness.

A tumbling cloud rose into the air around his head, buzzing furiously.

"Aaaaaah! It was beeeeees!" Doc started a frantic run around the entire Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, flailing his arms in the air while the insect swarm pursued. "I thought it was a ploooooothole but it was only beeeeees!" Doc ended by flinging himself out of the huge window that dominated one wall of the classroom. The bees returned to the cabinet while Doc called, "Aaaaaah! Castles are actually kind of shaaaaaarp in placeeeeees. I feel like I should have knoooooown this alreadyyyyyyy . . ."

Vania gently closed the drawer she had just opened and started heading for the cupboard, a thoughtful look on her face. "You know, I can't for the life of me . . ." She frowned. "I just can't recall what my worst fear is."

She peered into the shadows of the cupboard.

". . . Huh. So that's what a boggart looks like."

* * *

Author's Note: Obviously, it's not entirely appropriate for a PPC agent to have knowledge of something that's never appeared in canon, like the actual appearance of a boggart. Don't worry; Vania will never tell.
doctorlit: (Default)
Author's Note: I wrote this short story in December of 2012, during a period when the Board was getting flooded by a spambot declaring itself a little boy (like all of us are, of course, I mean, obviously) and offering free candy. Whoever programmed it didn't seem to have a shift key on their keyboard, because capital letters never appeared once out of all the hundreds of posts. The flood eventually halted, and the Nameless Admin removed all the offending hilarious messages. I don't remember if any of the spambot's dialogue in this story is word-for-word quotation, but as this example shows, all the messages followed basically the same structure. (Seriously, why did the spambot specifically address its audience as boys? Did the programmer think females and men don't like candy?) This story was originally posted to a thread discussing the spam attack.

Protectors of the Plot Continuum was founded by Jay and Acacia, and I write in their universe with permission.

* * *

”A Short Story About Spambots”

Agent Vania paused Epic Mickey after a knock sounded at the door—an oddly metallic knock, considering the door itself was fashioned from Generic Surface. She passed Doc, who was reading some murder mystery on the bunk bed, and opened the door.

“would you like some candy” the . . . person . . . standing at the door said. They wore a sickeningly brownish-pink suit and bore an oddly blank, staring expression. They were short and stooped, and had a head covered in tan hair that was so stringy, it looked almost like yarn. “i have candy”

“Uh . . .”

“Is it that Sunflower’s Witness again?” called Doc. “Tell her to stop interrupting Canon Research Time™.”

“It’s definitely not the Witness,” Vania said. “What kind of candy are you selling?”

“i have free candy little boy”

“Whoa, now! I usually leave the literary quotes to Doc, but—”

“BUT NO LIVING MAN AM I!” Doc interjected, standing up in bed and impacting the ceiling with his head.

“. . . Right. Well, I’m certainly not a boy, at any rate. I’m beginning to suspect you’re not a legit candy man. Do you mix it with love and make the world taste good?”

The odd person’s eyes seemed to bug out for a moment. “running Friendship Protocol v2.1” The mouth briefly turned up in a smile, then settled back into perfect straightness. “i am little boy like you”

“Doc? Did you agree to let Chris Hansen set up a sting in our RC and forget to tell me?”

“No . . .” Doc finally got down from the bed and joined Vania at the door, rubbing his forehead. “Who is this?”

“i am little boy like you . . . both”

“God damn it! Seriously?” Vania shouted. “Are you a badly described parody clone of Professor Oak? Look!” She started lifting up her shirt, but Doc blocked her arms.

“Wait! Do you smell hot dogs, Vania?”

She sniffed. “The air does seem a bit . . . meaty, doesn’t it?”

“there is only free smell of free candy”

“♪Spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam♪”

Behind the odd person, six Vikings marched through the hallway, swinging their broad arms back and forth with elbows crooked as they sang.

“♪Lovely spam, wonderful spam! Lovely spam, wonderful spam! Spam, spam, spam, spam . . .♪”

The singing faded away as the Vikings moved further down the hall.

“this is coincidence”

Vania batted her eyelashes. “Doc, please bring me my pen.”

“You want a pen?”

“I want my BIG, WOODEN PEN, Doc.”

“Oh! Oh, of course.”

As Doc retreated back into the RC, the odd person’s eyes bulged out again. “yes free candy for boys just go to double-u double-u double-u dot dot dot dot dot . . .”

Vania’s baseball bat had interrupted the individual’s speech by way of decapitation. The standing torso’s neck oozed pinkish meat while the wire-filled head stuttered on the floor. “. . . dot dot free candy little boy free candy fraaandy fraaandy—” The head was interrupted a second time by its body toppling backwards and crushing it.

Vania smirked at Doc. “It was a—”

“I figured it out from context.”

Vania nodded. “Let’s just be thankful it’s gone now.”

“And definitely just an isolated incident.”

A metallic clanging echoed through the air. Both agents leaned out and observed that every RC door in the hallway had an odd person standing before it, knocking.

“Doc, get on ICEP and contact DoSAT. Then open a portal to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. I’m getting some candy out of this, damn it!”

“♪Spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam . . .♪”

* * *

Author's Note: Epic Mickey was created by Warren Spector and Junction Point Studios and belongs to Disney Interactive Studios. The Sunflower's Witness was created by Miah and belongs to the PPC community. Doc's quote was written by J. R. R. Tolkien in chapter six of The Return of the King, "The Battle of the Pelennor Fields." Willy Wonka and his factory were created by Roald Dahl, and the lyrics from "The Candy Man Can" in the first movie adaptation were composed by Leslie Bricusse and Anthony Newley. The spam vikings and their spam song belong to Monty spam Python and spam.


Aug. 7th, 2015 03:16 pm
doctorlit: (Default)
Author’s Note: This short story was done as a response to the thread on the Board where Huinesoron introduced Nutmeg Television. It was meant to just be part of the discussion at the time, but I did it in narrative form for fun, but it wound up rather stream of consciousness, and maybe not much fun to read? Also, I think Doc wanting to watch TV is probably OOC for him, but uh . . . chock it up to curiosity? I didn’t really have a beta for this, but Neshomeh helped out with Parwill’s part for the final posting. The original (much worse) version appeared here on the Board.

Protectors of the Plot Continuum was founded by Jay and Acacia, and I write in their universe with permission. Nutmeg Television was created by Huinesoron. Castor Parwill was created by Neshomeh. The Chronicles of Narnia were written by C. S. Lewis, and the quoted lines come from The Silver Chair. Miss Irene, the mini-Bricks and L’Université des Écrivains Misérables belong to Bubonic Woodchuck, lokogato-sama and Zorpisuttle. Gavroche Thénardier was created by Victor Hugo.

* * *

"So, do we actually get television, or is this just for researching games?"

"Oh, no, we get all kinds of stuff! HQ has its own channel: Nutmeg TV!" Vania grabbed the remote control and pressed something. The screen flickered, but displayed the same image.

"Is it . . . stuck?" Doc asked.

"Oh, I was broadcasting a Let's Play. The A/V Division sponsors them. It lets agents show off what they're playing from their RC. And then . . ." She pressed another button on the remote. "There's a separate channel for kids. Nutmint."

"Ugh. Like Nick, Jr. or whatever?"

"Well, this is the PPC, so no. It's much better."

The screen showed a thin-haired man reading from a large book. "'My name's Scrubb, and this is Pole,' said Eustace. 'Would you mind telling us where we are?'"

"Ah, Narnia," said Doc, but then he frowned. "Is that actually Lewis?"

"Yeah," said Vania, smiling.

"But." Doc shut his eyes and shook his head. "But Lewis is—Lewis is—"

"Dead? Maybe on your Earth."

". . . Okay. But that's it? Two channels, and one aimed at kids?"

"Oh, no, no, no! Those are just the two created here, specifically for HQ. We get reception from all different worlds. Here, do some surfing. I gotta pee."

Doc frowned as he took the remote. "Thanks for sharing," he muttered. He tried out an arrow key, and the channel changed again.

A cartoon theme song began playing, with animation of a huge, yellow vehicle covered in rods and pistons and blasting out steam as it twisted in on itself, changing its shape. "♪On the Transformatronic Vocational Transport! Step inside, it's a wondrous, fantastical ride! Ride on the Transformatronic Vocational Transport!♪"

"Okay, wow, yes," Doc murmured.

"What did you find?"

"Cartoon," Doc replied obliviously. He changed the channel again.

A bipedal green lizard was charging at a weird black figurine with red eyes in a circle around its head. A pinkish light suddenly appeared in front of the doll, which the lizard tried to slash through. An announcer's voice called out, "Claydol managed to survive that Leaf Blade thanks to Reflect, but it was still super effective damage! And now it looks like Steven is switching to another Pokémon."

Doc flipped. A girl with long hair was marching jerkily towards the camera with a well in the background.

"Weird," said Doc, and he flipped.

A dark stairwell showed, lit only by a weird emergency light, beginning to sputter, glued to a wall. There was just enough light to see an expressionless, disembodied face floating in midair. It slowly began to glide towards the screen.

Doc huffed. "Weird." He changed it again.

A stone statue of an angel stood in mist, hands covering its face. Hearing the sink running, Doc turned to address Vania as she returned to the main room, and so missed the statue pull its hands away from its face.

"Vania, a lot of these channels are just weird."

"Whatcha got?" she asked, coming around the corner of the screen to see a Weeping Angel advancing towards them. She shrieked and grabbed the remote from Doc, hitting the "Home" button to go back to Nutmeg TV. "Let's just stay in HQ for now, okay?"

Doc's brow was furrowed. "What was that?"

"Something we wouldn't want in HQ."

"But then, we're stuck with just the two channels."

"Well, sort of. But remember, this is the PPC! Time isn’t quite so static, here. Let's see what was on an hour ago." She pressed one end of a long button next to the image of a clock.

The video game footage was replaced with a classroom setting. A little kid in filthy clothing was talking at the head of the classroom. "And seeing as how you students is all having such difficulties in writing about the lives of Paris's poor, Miss Irene informs me that you'll each be having a turn spending a night in the elephant—" he grinned— "with the rats.

The seated students groaned, some beginning to complain before the gibbering of some book-shaped figures silenced them.

"Oooh! OFU lessons! How about an hour from now?"

The screen now showed Nurse Parwill, apparently being interviewed. "It is hard sometimes, you know? I mean, I'm trained to improve people's mental health, and with agents, that's what I do. But with some canons . . . Well, let's get back to Captain Ahab; he's a prime example. He was heavily Sued when we got him, and we had to get rid of all his well-adjusted behaviors and find a way to bring back the monomania."

Vania glanced at Doc mischievously. "Wanna cheat?"

"What do you mean?"

"Let's see what was going on back in Jay's time." She held the back end of the time button down for nearly a full minute. When she stopped, an agent was just setting down a paper. "That concludes our list," she said, folding her fingers together and giving the camera a look somewhere between a smirk and a sneer. "If you have any information on these dangerous rogue agents, do not hesitate to inform the first officer you see. Just look for the sash with the Black Cat." She turned her shoulder to demonstrate the item on her own sleeve.

"Eh. Bad example," Vania said, hitting "Home" again. "Let's try a couple decades in the future?"

It was another news report. A young woman was on the scene of a section of HQ hallway brutalized with scorch marks and slashes in the generic surface. "Several of the agents involved are currently being cared for in Medical," the reporter said into the microphone. "However, one agent present in the confrontation is said to be missing entirely. Internal Affairs is asking for any information regarding the whereabouts of Agent—"

"Meh. I'd rather not know." Vania flipped back to the present. "So anyway, what do you feel like—watching."

Doc was back on his bed, reading. He grunted.

* * *

Author’s Note: Nick Jr. belongs to Viacom. The Magic School Bus was created by Joanna Cole and Bruce Degen, and the prime multiverse’s version of the theme song was performed by Little Richard. Pokémon, and the characters and moves named here, belong to Satoshi Tajiri of Nintendo. Samara was created by Koji Suzuki; SCP-087 was created by Zaeyde and belongs to the SCP community; Weeping Angels were created by Stephen Moffat. Captain Ahab was created by Herman Melville.
doctorlit: (Default)
Author's Note:The Protectors of the Plot Continuum was founded by Jay and Acacia, and I write in it with permission. Epic Mickey was created by Warren Spector and Junction Point Studios and belongs to Disney Interactive Studios. The Poison Joke role play was started by Laburnum and kitsune106, and Poison Joke itself was created by Lauren Faust and belongs to Hasbro Studios and Studio B Productions. The fanfiction Epic Mickey with Millie belongs to Schoolie, and passages from it are bold. It can be read (now renamed) at The badfic has since been edited, and no longer syncs up with the lines quoted in the mission. (And it must be said, it has improved!) Thanks to the Irish Samurai and Ekyl for beta duty in an unfamiliar canon! This mission was first posted here.

Warning: Spoilers for the first Epic Mickey game.

This mission, and the badfic it sporks, were written before the release of the Epic Mickey sequels. Details in this mission may be contradicted by those later games, but the mission will only reflect information available at the time of its (and its badfic’s) writing.

Update August 10, 2017 I am embarrassed to admit I used to be far too obsessed with mini creation, and counted failures to use capital letters in proper nouns in minis. I recognize now that this is not correct, and am retconning my use of such minis in this mission. That would leave this mission with only a single true mini, "bolt;" however, having only one mini in this mission would change its plot significantly, so it will remain populated with a group of anonymous, unadoptable minis. I am also leaving "sweepers" on the PPC Wiki, as it was adopted by PPCer Outhra.


Pick Your Poison )

Post-Mission )
doctorlit: (Default)
Author's Note: Protectors of the Plot Continuum was created by Jay and Acacia, and I write in their universe with permission. The Sherlock Holmes characters and setting were created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and belong to his estate. Kelok, Unger, Miah and Cali belong to Miah. The Baker Street Fanfiction Academy belongs to Juliet Norrington and Lux Piper. The fanfiction “Walk though the fire” was written by MoonlightWonderer, and excerpts from it appear in bold. It can be read here. Thanks go to Miah for beta duty and general advice! This mission was originally posted here.

Update August 9, 2017: I am embarrassed to admit this, but in earlier years, I was rather obsessed with getting as many minis out of missions as possible. To this end, I was counting failures to capitalize letters in proper nouns as minis, but This isn't really considered appropriate. This mission originally produced ten mini-Hounds of the Baskervilles, but I have edited out the ones that only existed from capitalization mistakes. This means I have had to misrepresent the locations of certain typos to keep the original story flowing correctly; however, all remaining minis do legitimately appear in "Walk though the fire” somewhere. I have also kept ncis in, as there were no other mini-LEOs to substitute in his place.

* * *

The Adventure of the Misplaced Musical Miscreant )

* * *

Post-Mission )
doctorlit: (Default)
Author's Note: My entry for the Transfictional Canonical Defense Authority, a steampunk-themed alternate universe of the PPC started by Pieguy on the Board in May 2012. The original thread is gone, but Huinesoron archived all the story entries. Sherlock Holmes belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Les Misérables belongs to Victor Hugo. Some of the terms used here were invented by other PPCers writing for the TCDA before me.

* * *

Constable Doc adjusted his monocle and frowned as the typewriter on the Transfictionally-Activated Computational Device clicked out a reel of parchment. He leaned over the machine to read as the report slowly appeared.

When he has read enough, he called out, “Miss Vannie! We have received yet another crossing-over between Sherlock Holmes and Les Misérables!”

“That makes three such assignments in under a score of days.” Constable Vanna Toulouse sighed. “Though it gladdens me to see that Mr. Hugo’s works are still popular among the public, I do long for the uncomplicated days before these o’er-crossings entered into fashion.”

Constable Doc moved to join her at the equipment pantry. “I am not certain ‘uncomplicated’ is an adjective which was applicable to our profession at any time.”

“Truly spoken.” The constables both bent down to retrieve a large apparatus from the bottom shelf. “Nonetheless, this Fused-Fiction Disentanglement Device is becoming quite a strain on the nerves, if I do say so.”

“As well as on the muscles,” Constable Doc huffed as they both strained to lift it. “But such is the lot of those of us under the Hydraulic Hyacinth. Her agents aren’t referred to as ‘Various and Sundries’ for no reason, after all.”

The constables carried the FFDD across the room and lay it before the wall where the Aether would soon be parted to allow entry into the o’er-crossed canonical worlds. Constable Vanna then walked to the TACD and began to flip a series of numeric dials.

“May I assume,” asked she, “that Holmes is once again traveling to Paris to consort with revolutionaries, in spite of the impropriety of a well-known British celebrity doing so during a period of social unrest in France?”

“You certainly may assume so, for it is precisely the case.”

Constable Vanna tsked and shook her head sadly. “Well, it falls to us, now. Shall we on, Mr. Doc?”

“Certainly, Madam!”

* * *

In practiced unison, Constable Doc slapped Mr. Holmes across the face with The Sign of Four as Constable Vanna delivered a much softer blow to Monsieur Enjolras with a copy of the Brick. The mouths of both canonical persons expelled a bright white fog, which mixed together to form a ghostly gentleman in top hat and cane. The constables nodded to each other before advancing on the author-eidolon.

“oh i get it were in the steampunk verson and im made out of steam ha ha ha AAAAH”

The eidolon was easily dissipated by copies of two powerful canons being swung through its being.

On the topic of powerful canons, however, Monsieur Enjolras was was now raising a caplock rifle to his shoulder, and Mr. Holmes was drawing an anachronistic Webley revolver.

Each constable drew a small glass ball from a pocket and threw it before one of the canonical men. The glass shattered, and from within, the mists of the river Lethe rose up to the gentlemen's faces. The hands holding their firearms dropped, and their faces displayed a blank expression.

Constable Vanna pulled two handles out of the bank of interlocked gears which covered the top of the FFDD, and locked them into place on opposite sides of the device. “Sir, Monsieur, if I could trouble you to place your hands here, and here . . . Thank you kindly!”

With the canon characters facing each other across two sides of the FFDD, each constable knelt down next to one of the unoccupied sides and began to turn the cranks that protruded from those faces of the machine. The forest of gears began to rotate, all grinding against each other. Warm steam began to billow out from the base of the FFDD.

As the steam streamed past the feet of the canons, growing thicker with every crank, the streets of Paris began to fall away, collapsing like the set backgrounds in a stage show. In spite of the dazed state of his mind, Mr. Holmes detected a sensation of sliding, as though his shoes were running backwards over the rails of a train track. But after a few moments, the river of steam, the sliding sensation and the mental stupor all had vanished. Mr. Holmes found himself reclining in the sofa of his apartment at Baker Street, wondering if he had perhaps mis-measured a dose of cocaine.

* * *

Two weary constables panted as they watched Monsieur Enjolras charge back to the Corinth to rejoin his friends on the barricade. Constable Doc offered his handkerchief to Constable Vanna to wipe the sweat from her brow before using it on his own.

“I should say . . . we did well, today.” Constable Doc said while breathing heavily. “Not overly much madness today.”

“No,” agreed Constable Vanna. “Perhaps next time. Shall we retire to our Readiness Chamber?” She held her arm out with her elbow crooked.

“I certainly think we shall,” her partner replied, linking his elbow with hers.

Author's Note: Lethe was a river in ancient Greek mythology that erased the memories of those who drank from it. Not very steampunk—honestly, the genre isn't my specialty—but of course, neuralyzers wouldn't exist in the proper time period. If someone creates a more in-genre way of erasing memories, I'll probably edit this story to reflect that.
doctorlit: (Default)
Author's Note: Protectors of the Plot Continuum was founded by Jay and Acacia, and I write in their universe with permission. The Fahrenheit 451 setting was created by and belongs to Ray Bradbury. The fanfiction My own match was written by Pele the Goddess, and passages quoted from it are bold. It can be read here. Thanks to Neshomeh for beta duty. Also, thanks to Aster Corbett for catching a charge I missed. This mission was originally posted here.

Warning: Spoilers for Fahrenheit 451.


May or May Not Be Non-Inflammable )


Post-Mission Notes )


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