Checking in...
Agent Quen sighed and pushed open the door to Room 221B. It had taken her a good half-hour to find the office--record time as far as she was concerned--and her arms hurt from carrying her box of Useful Items. She wondered vaguely if she was going to have to give people directions in her new job as secretary in the Department of Personnel. She hoped not. She could fill out forms like nobody's business, but her sense of direction was much too keen to let her find anything easily in PPC Headquarters--a place where you moved in six dimensions instead of four and had to not think about where you were going in order to get there quickly.
The small office was grey, which was no surprise. Nearly all of Headquarters was grey--or, more precisely, made from Generic Wall and Floor Material. Quen flicked the light switch, which illuminated the room slightly. There was a desk, made of metal, in front of a dark blue rolling office chair. Papers, manilla file folders, floppy discs and storage tapes filled the inbox and spilled over onto the desk. A small sign with emphatic red letters was taped to the side of the computer monitor--"Please do NOT ask for a raise!"
Quen set her box down on the floor. "At least there's no glitter," she said, and grinned widely. "I could get used to this." Glitter, a major component of the blood of Mary Sues, made Quen sneeze. Her ex-partner, Tiranel, had been extremely vicious in her lust for Suvian deaths (probably because she herself was half-Sue) so their response centre in the Star Trek division of the Dept. of Mary Sues had been even more covered in glitter than most. It would be a relief to not have to kill anything as a secretary.
Surprisingly, there were no filing cabinets in this office. Or so it appeared at first--in a moment, Quen realized that all four walls were filing cabinets. That is, drawer handles were spaced across each wall, at intervals of about eighteen inches. She tugged gently at one of the handles.
ZOOM!
The drawer whooshed open on its tracks, sending her flying across the room and pinning her against the far wall. Ooof!
Quen shoved the drawer back into the wall, and checked her slightly-bruised stomach. "Sheesh," she muttered, "If they're going to have drawers from Bruce Almighty, they could warn a person."
That would be difficult, since you have just arrived.
Quen jumped. A officious-looking daisy stood behind her, brown bowler hat perched on his petals. The Marquis de Sod. One of the most well-known Flower Officials in the entire PPC, and her new boss. He looked a little singed around the edges, for some reason.
The result of an unfortunate accident with a flamethrower, the non-voice said again. Quen shook her head, making her green hair fly about her face. It was extremely strange being talked to by something that didn't actually talk.
"Er, hi?" said Quen. "I'm Agent Quen, but I guess you knew that already. I kind of like it here. Can I put stars up on the ceiling?"
Posters of celebrities are frowned upon, not that anyone ever listens to that rule.
"No, no, I mean actual stars. I have a map of the Ardaverse constellations, and I was going to put up stars on my ceiling in my old response centre, but Tiranel wouldn't let me."
Ahhh, yes, Agent van de Kamp, the Daisy non-said. The tilt of his petals gave the impression of "well, that explains a lot." Wasn't her father a Trill and her mother a Lord of the Rings Mary Sue? Yet she has an X-Files surname.
"I always wondered about that, actually," said Quen. Tiranel had been quite close-mouthed on the subject.
Your predecessor's fault, the Daisy informed her with a wave of his fronds. Or rather, her predecessor's predecessor's fault. A simple case of misfiled records.
Quen raised her eyebrows.
Somewhere in the Official Fanfiction University of the X-Files is a student named Janet Sharlene Telcontar-Odaren.
"Yikes."
There was an uncomfortable pause while the Daisy stared hard at Quen. I hope you are not prone to making similar mistakes?
"Er, no, not usually." Telling him that she'd confused Eowyn and Arwen the first time she'd read Lord of the Rings would not be a good career move, she decided.
Well, then, we should get along fine. The daisy turned its back to her and began to glide out the door.
"Wait! Aren't you going to tell me what to do?!"
You file. And secretary.
"That's not very helpful! And "secretary" isn't a verb!"
If I knew how to do your job, we wouldn't have had to hire you, the Daisy non-said over what would have been his shoulder, had he had one. I think the former occupant of this office left some instructions somewhere. He shrugged a frond. You'll manage. I have every confidence in you. And he was gone.
Quen sighed. This was going to be a bit difficult. Oh, well, at least he hadn't said she couldn't put up stars. She turned on the computer on the desk, and started digging in her box for stars and glue while it warmed up.
Quite a change from her old job, that's for sure....
The small office was grey, which was no surprise. Nearly all of Headquarters was grey--or, more precisely, made from Generic Wall and Floor Material. Quen flicked the light switch, which illuminated the room slightly. There was a desk, made of metal, in front of a dark blue rolling office chair. Papers, manilla file folders, floppy discs and storage tapes filled the inbox and spilled over onto the desk. A small sign with emphatic red letters was taped to the side of the computer monitor--"Please do NOT ask for a raise!"
Quen set her box down on the floor. "At least there's no glitter," she said, and grinned widely. "I could get used to this." Glitter, a major component of the blood of Mary Sues, made Quen sneeze. Her ex-partner, Tiranel, had been extremely vicious in her lust for Suvian deaths (probably because she herself was half-Sue) so their response centre in the Star Trek division of the Dept. of Mary Sues had been even more covered in glitter than most. It would be a relief to not have to kill anything as a secretary.
Surprisingly, there were no filing cabinets in this office. Or so it appeared at first--in a moment, Quen realized that all four walls were filing cabinets. That is, drawer handles were spaced across each wall, at intervals of about eighteen inches. She tugged gently at one of the handles.
ZOOM!
The drawer whooshed open on its tracks, sending her flying across the room and pinning her against the far wall. Ooof!
Quen shoved the drawer back into the wall, and checked her slightly-bruised stomach. "Sheesh," she muttered, "If they're going to have drawers from Bruce Almighty, they could warn a person."
That would be difficult, since you have just arrived.
Quen jumped. A officious-looking daisy stood behind her, brown bowler hat perched on his petals. The Marquis de Sod. One of the most well-known Flower Officials in the entire PPC, and her new boss. He looked a little singed around the edges, for some reason.
The result of an unfortunate accident with a flamethrower, the non-voice said again. Quen shook her head, making her green hair fly about her face. It was extremely strange being talked to by something that didn't actually talk.
"Er, hi?" said Quen. "I'm Agent Quen, but I guess you knew that already. I kind of like it here. Can I put stars up on the ceiling?"
Posters of celebrities are frowned upon, not that anyone ever listens to that rule.
"No, no, I mean actual stars. I have a map of the Ardaverse constellations, and I was going to put up stars on my ceiling in my old response centre, but Tiranel wouldn't let me."
Ahhh, yes, Agent van de Kamp, the Daisy non-said. The tilt of his petals gave the impression of "well, that explains a lot." Wasn't her father a Trill and her mother a Lord of the Rings Mary Sue? Yet she has an X-Files surname.
"I always wondered about that, actually," said Quen. Tiranel had been quite close-mouthed on the subject.
Your predecessor's fault, the Daisy informed her with a wave of his fronds. Or rather, her predecessor's predecessor's fault. A simple case of misfiled records.
Quen raised her eyebrows.
Somewhere in the Official Fanfiction University of the X-Files is a student named Janet Sharlene Telcontar-Odaren.
"Yikes."
There was an uncomfortable pause while the Daisy stared hard at Quen. I hope you are not prone to making similar mistakes?
"Er, no, not usually." Telling him that she'd confused Eowyn and Arwen the first time she'd read Lord of the Rings would not be a good career move, she decided.
Well, then, we should get along fine. The daisy turned its back to her and began to glide out the door.
"Wait! Aren't you going to tell me what to do?!"
You file. And secretary.
"That's not very helpful! And "secretary" isn't a verb!"
If I knew how to do your job, we wouldn't have had to hire you, the Daisy non-said over what would have been his shoulder, had he had one. I think the former occupant of this office left some instructions somewhere. He shrugged a frond. You'll manage. I have every confidence in you. And he was gone.
Quen sighed. This was going to be a bit difficult. Oh, well, at least he hadn't said she couldn't put up stars. She turned on the computer on the desk, and started digging in her box for stars and glue while it warmed up.
Quite a change from her old job, that's for sure....