Disclaimer-We own nothing you even vaguely recognize, including but not limited to JRR Tolkien's creations, the necromancy bells and the Abhorsen trilogy (who belong to Garth Nix), and the Keltiad to Patricia Kenneally-Morrison. Nor do we own the PPC, we just work there. The 'Sue and her story belong to LifeMistressGreenleaf.
Newly recruited Agent Mithrenriene Rochmabriel walked straight up to response center #72 (at least, she assumed it was #72), knocked briskly three times, snapped her fingers once, and entered. Had said agent spared a glance for the room, she would have noted a single inhabitant and surprisingly many items of interest. Instead of sparing that glance (as any assassin worth his/ her salt should and/ or would) she came in muttering about being surrounded by gray, stopped in the center of the room, and stared at the ceiling with her index finger held to her lips.
"Can I help you?" asked the lonely inhabitant.
Mithrenriene gave a strangled yelp and spun. Or, tried to. What she actually ended up with was a sort of twist/ fall motion that sent her slamming into an antique-ish vase holder, which naturally hit something else (in this case a tall, freestanding lamp), which, just as naturally and with an evil cackle, fell into the computer.
"Chriesta Tighearna!" cried the new recruit.
"It's actually Kry-es-tah Tig-hair-nah, but your way works too. I'm Agent Mithrenriene Rochmabriel, your new partner. I think. This is response center number seventy-two, is it not? And you are Agent Isabel Stanton, are you not?" Mithrenriene said this all very quickly, so all Agent Isabel caught was the correct pronunciation of Chriesta Tighearna, the woman's name, and something about number seventy-two.
"Could you talk a bit slower, umm… Mithrenriene, wasn't it? Can I call you Myth?"
"Yes to all three questions. You could also call me Ren, Rien, Riene, or any other abbreviated version of my name except Ree-Ree. I hate that one." Here Mithrenriene (hereafter known as Myth, Ren, Rien, Riene, or any other abbreviated version of her name except Ree-Ree. Unless, of course, the Flowers that Be get really pissed off at her.) began picking up the various floored items, hoping against all reasonable hope that nothing was bent, cracked, chipped, or in any other way damaged. Then she went quiet again, cocking her head to the side and staring at (or through) the wall.
"Soo… what does Cry- Chriesta Tighearna mean, anyway?" Isabel asked, in an effort to keep the conversation going.
"Hmm? Oh, it means Lord Christ in The Keltiad keltic."
"What's the difference?"
What's the difference between The Keltiad keltic and regular celtic?"
"One is spelled with a K, and the other with a C, to avoid pronunciation problems." Myth replied, actually looking at Isabel for the first time. She saw short hair, maybe a shade darker and a little bit longer than her own, on a five foot five body with brown eyes that looked as though they could spot a Sue a mile off.
"ookaay…" Despite Isabel's best efforts, there was another silence.
"What was that?" asked Myth.
"What was what?"
"Merde!" Isabel spat as she stalked over to the computer monitor and scanned the text. When she finished reading it, her body stiffened and her eyes narrowed.
"Is this the part where I say, 'that bad, huh?'" Myth asked, "because I'm kinda new to this."
Without turning around, Isabel replied,
"You. Have no. Idea." She visibly calmed herself, and then asked Myth, "Would you open a portal, if you know how? I'll start pulling stuff together."
"Me? Open a portal?"
Isabel looked at her with the Fire-Starting Glare of Extreme Huffiness, taught to her when she had worked the Harry Potter canon.
"Okay, fine, so I do know how. Hang on a sec." she fiddled with the generator
The more experienced agent strode over to a cabinet and threw open the doors, revealing a set of shelves crammed with various lethal-looking weapons, with a few rubber duckies and bouquets of flowers thrown into the mix. She pulled two knapsacks from the sea of sharp objects and began packing them with the items needed for their upcoming "voyage."
"Crossbow, arsenic, bubotuber pus, rubber ducky, C.A.D... What else?" Isabel muttered as she managed to fit an astounding amount of crap into each bag. "Oh yeah!" She dropped the sacks and ran over to her desk, pulling out a CD player and several CDs. Running back to the sacks, she asked Myth, "You got a CD player? You'll want one, I assure you. If you don't have one, I can lend you one. And have you got that portal open yet?" Myth wasn't the only one who could talk fast, it seemed.
"I do have a CD player. And my Atlas of Pern to keep me occupied. I also have my own bag. Got it off a Sue on a training mission. It's one of those weird ones that hold anything, anything at all, with hardly any weight felt. Want an 'Elrond is married, get over it' flag?"
"Please. Are we ready to go?"
"Almost. Except, you added bubotuber pus. That isn't canonical."
"True... I just won't use it then. Shall we?" The agent bounded towards the forming portal, full of desire to maim this 'Sue.
"We'll be Random Elves." said Isabel as they leapt through the portal.
"LifeMistressGreenleaf? Legolustbunnies ahoy!" Myth cried, in a fine humor thus far, as none of her Lust objects seemed to be targeted.
Myth's A/N: This sue will be nasty. NO QUOTATION MARKS! And, sorry we deleted the story yet again, but we found several errors in the many hastily posted chapters. There will be much more editing in the future, as well as more betas.
Isabel's A/N: I tell you, this was not a fun story to read – lack of quotations, no description, and other such not happy things. Hopefully we will ease your pain somewhat with our amusingly snarky comments and the proper disposal of the Sue.