Where the falling Entity meets the rising ape, there's bound to be plenty of punes, and plays on Worm. A collection of DiscWorm crossover short stories. The stories will be independent of one another, except when they aren't.

Custody Prattle [Worm/Discworld]

Summary: Taylor meets the PRT's finest.

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As I watched the two PRT agents climb out of the van, I noted the stark differences between them. Even though most of their features were hidden behind their helmets and armored uniform, it would be almost impossible to mistake one for the other, just from their build and body language.

"So," said the tallest agent, his uniform stretched tight over his large beer belly. "You're the one who called us about getting defeated by the ABB, then?"

"Don't worry, kid," said the shorter agent, waddling towards me with a bandy-legged gait that emphasized the overall weasel-like impression he presented to the world. Wasn't the PRT supposed to be a fairly elite pseudo-military organization, with lots of fitness training? Or was I being prejudiced, somehow? "Those gangs can be pretty tough, and you look like you're new on the cape scene. We won't make too much fun of you for it." He waved a hand at himself, then at his partner. "I'm Corporal Nobbs, by the way, and that's Sergeant Colon."

"Gotta show her our badges, Nobby," the obese PRT sergeant – Colon, I now knew him to be – chided the other officer. "Proper procedures, and all that." With some grumbling on the part of Cpl. Nobbs, two very official-looking laminated PRT-issue ID cards were produced from various pockets, and presented to me.

I inspected them as best I could, in the few seconds Cpl. Nobbs held up his card. "Uh, what's that sticky note on your card, corporal? If you don't mind my asking, of course."

He glanced down at the card, as if surprised at the presence of a small yellow square of paper attached to it, then nodded in satisfaction. "Oh, that's just a rhododendron, y'know, to let people know about my special note."

"...You mean, an addendum?" I struggled to make sense of this statement. "What special note?"

Sgt. Colon leaned closer, and replied in a loud stage whisper. "Nobby carries a piece of paper, signed by his doctor, to prove that he is, in fact, a human." Cpl. Nobbs didn't seemed bothered by this statement; actually, he straightened a bit, as if he was beaming with pride under his helmet.

"That's, uh..." I dithered, trying not to sound nonplussed, or confused. They'd probably just chalk me up as another ignorant teenage wannabe-hero. "That's great! Shouldn't your ID card have an addendum like that as well, Sergeant? I mean, I've read that it's standard PRT protocol for all personnel to undergo testing, to ensure that they're not parahumans? Capes work for the Protectorate, instead, right?"

The rotund PRT officer chuckled. "Oh, no, miss. You misunderstand – Nobby's note doesn't say anything about him not being a parahuman. It just certifies that he's, well... Human."

I glanced back at the corporal. He was, unquestionably, the scruffiest little PRT agent I'd ever seen. His dinged-up helmet gave him a hangdog air, exacerbated by his dubious posture, which had passed by 'bad' and 'awful' some time ago, and eventually settled down somewhere around 'woebegone'. His uniform looked ratty, with more than a hint of badgery and vulture-y. I couldn't even begin to imagine what he might look like without the helmet, mostly because the few glimpses of his pimply chin and hairy teeth made my brain freeze up at the notion that, in all likelihood, it was guaranteed to be downhill from here. 'Case 53?' popped into mind unbidden, closely followed by 'talking chimp circus escapee?'.

"Um," I straightened my back and shook my head, trying to push my nervousness out into my swarm. "To answer your earlier question: Yes, I did call you, but I had to borrow a phone from one the unconscious ABB gang members." I waved the purloined electronics in my hand at them, then hurried to explain, before they could question the oddity of a twenty-first century teenager that didn't have her own cellphone. "And I wasn't defeated by the ABB." I hooked a thumb over my shoulder, pointing at the darkened alley behind me. "I defeated them."

The two agents glanced around at the dazed and unconscious criminals. "Not bad, kid," the scrawny-looking Cpl. Nobbs commented. "How many thugs did you thump?"

I hesitated, checking the count again with my bugs. "Uh, thirteen un-powered gang members," I paused again, this time from the adrenaline pumping through my system at the thought of what I'd just done. "Plus Lung."

There was a long silence. Cpl. Nobbs banged his gloved hand against the side of his helmet a few times. "Sorry, what? Could you repeat that? Musta gotten some dust in my earpiece."

It took a few more minutes of explanations, and showing them the unconscious ABB leader I'd had my bugs restrain with spider silk for good measure, before they started to believe me.

"You actually took down frickin' Lung?!" Cpl. Nobbs gaped at the sight. "With bug powers?!"

Ignoring his quiet ranting, I turned to Sgt. Colon. "Well, as I said, first I wore him down with a huge amount of venomous insects. Then, when I guided some butterflies into his face to blind him, he screamed really loud and, uh... Soiled himself." I shrugged. "Guess he must be a... lepidoptero-phobe? I think that might be the proper term for it?"

Cpl. Nobbs finally stopped cursing about the mountain of paperwork they'd have to fill out over this. He nodded and folded his arms. "Okay, yeah. Makes sense."

"Really, Nobby?" Sgt. Colon shifted his bulk, turning to look at the other PRT officer. "What makes you say that? I certainly wouldn't have thought Lung would scare so easily."

"Well, sarge," Cpl. Nobbs drawled. "If I had step-kids, and I saw that their arms and legs had started dropping off, I reckon I'd be pretty upset, too."

I gaped at him silently for a moment, before I worked out what he meant. "...What?! No! Lung's not frightened of... Of someone's adopted stepchildren getting leprosy, or whatever!" I moved a few bugs from my swarm down, making them fly circles in front of the PRT agents in the most non-threatening manner I could manage. "I meant, he's scared of butterflies!"

The two PRT officers made Ohh-ing noises of understanding. Sgt. Colon shook his head, while Cpl. Nobbs poked a grubby-looking gloved finger at the insects fluttering in front of his helmet. "Lung the rage dragon, taken down by a couple of butterflies," the sergeant chuckled. "Who would have thought it?"

"Sounds like a million-to-one chance to me, sarge," Cpl. Nobbs said, as he walked up to Lung, and... Started kicking him in the back of the head?!

"Sergeant!" I yelped "Shouldn't you stop him?! That must be against regulations!" Sgt. Colon turned to look at the blatant police brutality – PRT brutality? – then walked over to tap Cpl. Nobbs on the shoulder.

The corporal hopped on one foot for a moment, looking around at us, then stepped back from the bug-bitten, and now slightly more battered, ABB villain. "Nah, don't worry about it, miss. I'm wearing special reinforced boots, see? Can't hurt my feet, even if I kick really hard."

I gaped at him, scrambling for a response to a statement like that. "But... That's not the point! You shouldn't be kicking him while he's lying down!"

Cpl. Nobbs inspected Lung's supine body. "Well, y'see, Lung's a pretty tall guy. Can't kick him while he's standing up, can I?"

As I sputtered and gasped, trying my level best to avoid shouting at a PRT officer who was... probably... just doing his job, albeit he might doing it really badly, Sgt. Colon had acquired a clipboard and a pen. "So, could I have your cape name, miss? For the report, y'see?"

I started to shuffle my feet, but managed to stop myself before I embarrassed myself in front of the two professio- ...well, in front of the two PRT agents, at any rate. "Um, I haven't really picked one, yet..."

Sgt. Colon rubbed his chins in a manner that was probably intended to look thoughtful. "Hmm... If you don't mind my saying so, you look like a Chitin Hero."

I recoiled in shock. "What?! Yes, I do mind, actually!" When Cpl. Nobbs turned to look back at us, no doubt alarmed by my sudden raised voice, I took a deep breath. Then, I gritted my teeth, and continued in a more level tone. "I understand that you've seen plenty of parahumans in action, before, and my powers might not seem all that impressive in comparison..." I gestured at Lung with one hand, hoping the movement would distract the PRT agents from the fist I was clenching at my side. "But this is my first night out, and I already managed to take down the leader of the ABB! Okay, so my costume still needs some work, but-"

"Yeah, that's what I meant," Sgt. Colon started to explain, barrelling over my protestations. "You've got that whole bug-shell theme going, it matches with your, y'know, bug powers. You could be a real live Chitin Hero!"

I stared at him blankly for a moment. When realization dawned, I did my best to quell the urge to face-palm. "Okay, I think I get what you mean, but, uh... It's true that it's spelled C-H-I-T-I-N, but it isn't pronounced with a 'Sh' sound, it's-"

Cpl. Nobbs took the opportunity to rejoin the conversation. "Pretty sure that nobody's registered as the Cheatin' Hero yet, sarge!" He leaned against the wall of one of the warehouses, lifting one foot and turning it so he could inspect the sole of his boot.

Sgt. Colon tilted his head. From what little I could see of his face, and the clues I picked up from his posture and body language, I'd guess he was surprised or disappointed, or possibly both. "Really? You didn't cheat when you defeated Lung, did you?"

"That's how I would do it, sarge!" Cpl. Nobbs piped up, wiping the bottom of his boot against the scorched and tattered remnants of Lung's jeans. He gave it another once-over, and nodded with satisfaction. I was sufficiently grossed-out by this casual use of a murderous parahuman villain as a doormat, I didn't notice Sgt. Colon had started yammering again until he'd already changed the topic back to his previous line of inquiry.

"-But if you don't like that idea, how about: Buggeration? Like, if you put together bugs, and operation?" He waved his hands about in a fluttering motion. "Scare the bad guys by letting them know that you can control bugs, with the surgical precision of... Well, of getting a butterfly to flap into a guy's face."

Cpl. Nobbs reached into his helmet, and pulled out a tiny cigarette stub - practically a cigarette butt, although I was being careful not to use that word around these two... characters, even in the privacy of my own mind. "That's not a lot of precision, though, sarge," he mused. "I mean, butterflies do that all the time on their own, right?" The stub of tobacco had been concealed somewhere by the side of his head, behind his ear I would guess, and ew, ew, eww, he just raised his visor a bit and stuck the stub in his mouth, eww!

"No offence, sergeant, but uh..." I paused a moment, trying to find a diplomatic way of rejecting Sgt. Colon's suggestion. "I'd rather not pick a cape name that could be interpreted as a swearword, even if it'd mostly be upsetting to people in another country, and I'm pretty sure British people would object to 'Buggeration'."

Patting his pockets for a moment, Cpl. Nobbs stepped back over to Lung, and picked up a bit of discarded newspaper. "See, if my doctor told me he'd, I dunno... Surgically removed a splintery bit from my toenail, by waiting for me to trim it off on my own..." Cpl. Nobbs prodded the ABB rage dragon's backside with the metal-reinforced tip of his boot. Lung snorted, a small gout of smoke and flames billowing from his mouth and nostrils. The PRT corporal quickly jammed the scrap of newspaper in front of Lung's face, letting it catch fire. "...And then, he jumped out and cried: 'Aha! Mission accomplished!', I wouldn't suggest that he should go around bragging about it, either." Cpl. Nobbs held the smouldering paper in front of his tiny leftover cigarette, puffing a few times, then tossed the burning paper scrap on top of Lung's chest once the cigarette was lit.

Shaking my head to dislodge these disturbing visuals, I turned back to Sgt. Colon. "Um, speaking of Britain... Are you guys...? It's just, your accents..."

Sgt. Colon straightened to his full, not-too-impressive height, and adjusted the belt that strained to contain his much more impressive girth around the waistline. "Oh, the PRT takes all sorts, miss," he gestured at Lung. "And we also sort all takes. When we take in this fellow, we'll have to sort him under 'F' for 'flammable', ho ho!" He paused for a moment. "...Or should that be 'I' for 'inflammable'?"

My mouth opened and shut a few times, as I considered my response. When I'd imagined what it'd be like to interact with real PRT agents, I'd somewhat expected feeling a disparity in competency levels; I just hadn't thought I'd have to constantly adjust my evaluation of the PRT agents – and downwards, at that. "Um, maybe you should just stick with 'F', I guess? You know, for 'felon'?"

Sgt. Colon beamed at me – or at least, that was the impression I got, even with his face-covering helmet in the way. "Good point, miss! You have a glorious career as a hero in front of you, mark my words." He flipped a page on his notepad, and scribbled a few words. "Paperwork's always the most difficult bit, when it comes right down to it."

The compliment felt nice, even coming from someone like Sgt. Colon. Wait, what was I thinking? These were real, genuine PRT officers! They'd praised me for beating a dangerous villain! And they approved of my... skill at alliteration, maybe?

Sgt. Colon fiddled with his clipboard, again. "So, cape name of apprehended criminal: Lung. Cape name of hero responsible for the arrest, um... You sure you don't want to be Buggeration? We could call you Bugger, for short!"

I glared at him, any warm feelings from his earlier compliment forgotten. "No! That's even worse!" I took another deep breath. "Look, I appreciate your efforts to help me come up with a name, but I just don't want to be associated with any kind of... Sexual acts, or genitalia, or anything of that nature! Couldn't you-"

My train of thought was promptly derailed, as Cpl. Nobbs yelled at us. "Cor, look at this, sarge!" He was standing next to Lung, making wild gestures at the villain's lower torso, where the tattered jeans had finally started crumbling to pieces. "She bit off his-"

Eyes widening, I shouted: "No! That wasn't me! I mean, my bugs did it!" The two PRT officers gave me a long look, then glanced at each other. Their faces were still hidden behind their helmets, although Cpl. Nobbs was somewhat more visible – much to my chagrin; from what I could see of his face, he wasn't a classical beauty, or any kind of beauty, really – with his visor tilted to accommodate his minuscule cigarette stump. Nevertheless, the twitching in their legs, as they started to cross automatically, was a clear indication of their feelings on the topic of bug-induced necrotic groin injuries.

"So, um..." I coughed. "Okay, apart from that one incident, I'd prefer if my cape identity wasn't associated with anything... R-rated."

Cpl. Nobbs seemed to recover faster from his shock and disgust than his colleague. He was inspecting Lung again, but not from any intentions of providing first aid, as far as I could tell. "Blimey, sarge!" His voice almost sounded gleeful. Wasn't schadenfreude against PRT regulations? "The last bits are rotting off! Remember that time the PRT cafeteria put ketchup in the mushy peas? Her bugs need to brush their teeth, they do!"

I glared at him. "...Insects have mandibles, not teeth." Yeah, great comeback, Taylor. Way to go. Muttering made it twice as effective, I'm sure.

"Ooh, there's a good name!" Sgt. Colon snapped his fingers. "The Mandibbler! I know a guy, pretty successful businessman; he'll do you a sponsorship deal, if you include his name in your official cape name like that."

"...Seriously?" My voice had gone flat, probably from all the emotional whiplash. Totally not foreboding or apprehension, nope. "What does he do?"

Sgt. Colon wavered for a moment. "He's uh... A purveyor of mostly meat products, in elongated baked goods, miss."

"Mostly meat products?" I raised an eyebrow under my mask. "What other products does he purvey?"

"Oh no, miss," he shook his head, his bulletproof vest-clad stomach jiggling with the motion. "I meant, his products are made of meat, mostly."

I finally lost the struggle to maintain a professional exterior, and let my head sink into my hands. "...He's a hot-dog salesman?!"

Colon fidgeted with his damn clipboard. "So, uh... Is that a 'no' to Mandibbler, then? Only, I've still got to put something on this report, y'see."

"You could have a catchphrase!" Nobbs piped up. "All the cool capes have one. Like, you could go..." He struck a pose that was to heroism what red plastic noses was to the circus industry. "Surrender, vile villain! That's my final offer, and that's cutting my own thorax!" He stumbled a bit, then turned to see what he'd almost slipped in. "Hey, some of it's trickling down the sewer drain, sarge! Say, if any of the bits float off to Boston, d'you reckon we could charge Lung with public indecency in two cities at once?"

I bit the inside of my mask, trying to force down a scream, as Colon interrupted the colorful suggestions of his underling. "Well, I've got one last suggestion – unless you've thought of a cape name yourself?" I was too busy with not hyperventilating to reply, which he apparently took as a 'no'. "Now, it's a bit unconventional, so hear me out... How about, the Human Cent-"

"NO!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "SHUT UP! That's disgusting!"

This was too much! How could these people ever have gotten a job, let alone work for the PRT? By the time I'd calmed down enough to consider things rationally again, I'd already run two blocks. I glanced over my shoulder, then searched the area with my bugs. Colon and Nobbs were still standing where I'd left them, at the edge of my range. Nobody else seemed to be moving within a couple hundred meters of them. I considered my options, and took a deep breath. Then, I took a couple more, for good measure.

Slowly, I forced myself to go back. I wasn't going to talk to Colon and Nobbs; that would only end in tears, or possibly bloodshed. Instead, I was going to stay out of sight, and keep an ear and a few thousand eyes on things, just in case Lung woke up and caused more trouble. It shouldn't be too hard to keep hidden; I'd just need to get close enough to hear what they were saying. I didn't need to stick my head out to see what they were doing – my swarm could easily take care of that for me.

Soon, I'd found a suitable spot to keep watch. The two PRT employees seemed to be milling about aimlessly, rather than, oh, securing the incredibly dangerous prisoner who might wake up at any moment. Somehow, this display of lacklustre professionalism did not surprise me at all.

"Why did she run off?" Colon mumbled. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Kids these days, sarge," came the scratchy voice of Nobbs, my bugs informing me that he was shrugging.

"What's so bad about being called Human Centurion of Millipedes?" I face-palmed again, although slowly, to avoid making a loud slapping noise they might hear. Colon almost sounded offended, like I was the one who'd made a social faux pas!

"Dunno, sarge. Bit of a mouthful, though," said Nobbs. "Mandibleful, even." I had a much clearer image of his movements than of Colon's, given the number of lice on his body. Oh, and fleas, and ticks, and eugh, let's just focus on their conversation, Taylor.

"Yeah, but, see..." Colon rambled. "It sounds like 'century', and 'million', and all that. Really big numbers, y'know? 'Cause she controls lots of bugs, and such."

"We-e-ell..." Nobbs drawled. "We could shorten it, make a snappy acronym, maybe."

"Good thinking, Nobby!" Colon cheered. "Farmers love bees, and bugs that help their plants grow! Of course, they get upset if the bugs aren't pollen their own weight, ho ho. Say, she could even earn extra pocket money by keeping locusts from eating farmers' crops." I perked up; that idea might have some merit, and it'd be useful to have an added income for-

"Sorta like a protection racket, then, sarge?" Nobbs queried. I slumped again. Scratch that idea off the drawing board, then. I wanted to be a hero, not another extortionist villain. If I wanted a life like that, I could have just gotten a job as a tax collector. "Anyway, I think farming stuff is called 'aggro', not 'acro'," Nobbs said. "Besides, I heard that kids playing games on the internet worry a lot about pollen aggro."

"Oh, okay." Colon deflated. "Well, how about just picking the first letters from each word in her cape name, like a code, and putting them together as one word?"

"Yeah, that might work, sarge," Nobbs concurred. He starting counting on his fingers. "Lessee, Human Centurion of Millipedes, that'd be... UCoM?"

Colon shook his head. "Nah, Nobby, human is spelled with an H. It's just silent."

"HCoM?" Nobbs scratched the back of his helmet, for all the good that it did him. "Can't pronounce that, unless you shuffle the letters around."

"What, you mean... CHoM, sort of thing?" Colon said.

"Great idea, sarge!" Nobbs cheered. "Chompy! Like the sound of chewing mandibles!" The sensations from the swarm of bugs on him told me that he was waving his arms around, and... Making little pinching motions with his fingers? Suddenly, he slumped. "Wait, that sounds a bit like Chumpy, that'd be too easy for people to make jokes about." Seriously? He didn't think 'Chompy' was already a joke, in itself?

"Actually, that might make it even better," Colon said, tapping his chin with a thick finger. "The girl had trouble thinking of a good cape name on her own, didn't she? So, we give her a temp'rary one that's really silly, and then she'll be twice as motivated to think of one, herself! We'll be doing her a favor, really!" Colon turned, when he noticed that his one-man audience (well, one and a half, if you counted the unconscious Lung) was paying less than rapt attention to his words of wisdom. "...What are you doing with the arrestee, Nobby?"

Nobbs was making chomping noises again, and curling his thumbs and index fingers like clacking pincers, while rummaging through Lung's pockets. "I'm frisking the perp for concealed weapons, sarge! Can't be too careful, right?" He fished something out with his finger-pincers; a flat object, it seemed. "Look, see?"

Colon was quiet for a moment, studying the situation. "That's a wallet, Nobby."

"Anything can be a weapon in the hands of a cape, sarge!" Nobbs argued, flicking through the contents of the wallet. He made a small, satisfied grunt, and pulled a piece of paper out with a flourish. "Look at this! I reckon Lung might be an assassin, or he's got that other guy, whatsisname, Oni Lee to do the dirty work!"

Colon leaned closer; I'd managed to sneak a few mosquitoes under his helmet, and their movements suggested that he might be squinting, or frowning. "Now, I agree that hired killers are wont to carry a picture of their next victim, Nobby," he lectured. "But I doubt that Lung is planning on killing the President of the United States."

"What makes you say that, sarge?" Nobby moped.

"Oh, lots of little details, Nobby, all of which add up to that grand feat of cogitatering which is known, among professionals, as deductive greasening – which, as you know, is a form of lubrication," Colon pontificated. "Or in layman's terms, looking at really gross pictures of blood-soaked murder victims, until you need to go have a pint of beer or three to keep your nerves steady, and you get to claim it as a tax deduction, because of how you're, uh, acting in the line of duty, and all..." Colon trailed off, then raised his arm and pointed at the paper in Nobbs' hand. "But the major clue, Nobby, is that this particular President is almost certainly already dead, on account of his picture being on a dollar bill."

"Damn! We were too late to stop him," Nobby wailed, as he crumpled up the money in his hand, and crammed it in his own pocket. "Oh, I hate when that happens, sarge."

Finally, the two stalwart representatives of the PRT seemed to remember protocol, and got around to actually securing their prisoner. They retrieved a pair of large backpacks from their van, unhooking nozzles attached to the packs through hoses, and aiming them at Lung.

"Now, don't you go skimping on the containment foam this time, Nobby," the fat Colon warned his partner-in-(allegedly)-stopping-crime. "I don't want to hear you clanking when you walk from all the canisters you've hidden down your trousers."

"Don't worry, sarge," Nobby reassured him. "I've already got three crates at home that I haven't found buyers for, yet."

They foamed Lung in silence for a little while. "So, d'you reckon he'll get anger management therapy?" Colon pondered.

Nobby shrugged. "Might help. I've heard that there's this therapist, Dr Yamada, works wonders with capes. Everyone says she's a great persychologist."

"Ought to call her a syke-ollo-gist, Nobby," Colon corrected him. "The 'P' is silent."

Nobby mulled this over, while he worked. "So, she's a quiet tinkler, you mean?" He paused, and switched off his foam sprayer, before turning to face Colon. "...Hang on. Five minutes ago, you said the 'H' in human was silent."

"Yeah? So?"

"Well, now you're saying that persychologists don't use the 'P'," Nobby persisted.

Colon nodded. "Not unless they're testing it for drugs, I guess."

"But..." Nobby dithered. "If you stop saying 'H' and 'P', then what about poor Chumpy? She's just going to be-"

I turned and ran, fleeing the scene as fast as I could possibly manage. Never had I been more happy about my decision to take up running in the mornings.

As I hurried, pell-mell, down the darkened alleyways, my swarm alerting me to obstacles and tripping hazards lurking in my path, I tried to put my thoughts in order. In some ways, my first outing as a cape had been a success: I took down Lung single-handedly, along with a dozen rank-and-file ABB goons. I'd even managed to interact in an almost civil manner with a pair of... individuals, from the PRT.

Honestly, the biggest bonus from this evening had arguably come about through meeting Colon and Nobby Nobbs. After experiencing the helpfulness of two local PRT troopers, I seriously doubted that anything Emma, or Sophia, or Madison, could muster at the height of their maliciousness, would even come close.