Two posts in one day? This is what happens when Zaedah gets a day off! Happy Gobble Day to my favorite Fringers and don't forget to be kind to turkeys...
Deforestation
It is a documented fact that bureau agents routinely lose their minds. Something in the job twists tender gray matter into pulled taffy, stretched in a government sanctioned machine and rendered unsuitable for proper function. It had taken Peter exactly four cases to discern the evil against which meager humans valiantly wave badges as though clinging to authority impedes the coming insanity.
It's the Paperwork.
The cut-inducing mountain Olivia scales is wholly deserving of the capital letter. Despite the bounty of time-saving advancements, forests still bow to bureaucracy's appetite. The paper trail leads in winding, disorienting fashion to the false door marked 'finished,' a mythical concept that prompts great deals of coffee and band-aids. She would bust down said door to escape but there are too many triplicate forms involved. Achieving down time requires a notarized requisition and three weeks of processing.
Executions kill fewer trees.
Criminals, they say, get smarter every minute, which explains the growing legion of acronymed agencies. The 'white hats' struggle to keep up, something Peter now knows from habitation on both sides of the legal fence. He would strongly advocate adopting the shady way of consigning activities to paper; not at all. On the whole, villains are considered poor record keepers when in reality they simply forego the mind-dulling task in favor of getting ahead. The few that strive to maintain books (and especially double-books) are usually the first to get caught. Or go nuts.
Paper cuts are wicked.
It is universally recognized that they hurt more than a fatal stabbing. Slices to a finger can reduce the stout of body to a sniveling heap. Olivia sports three clear bandages tonight, wrapped angrily around slender digits, flipping pages with increasing care after she'd exhaled a string of curses at the latest wound. Something about incinerating binders in Satan's personal barbeque pit. While naked. And drunk. Peter would gladly set the lab ablaze to bring that vision to pass. She wasn't amused by his leer as the door labeled 'finished' moved further out of orbit.
Carbon copies are no special saviors.
They only ensure that a mistake made is duplicated repeatedly. And as liquid paper only comes in bridal white, it cannot produce a lie on pink sheets. Olivia had painstakingly recreated a hostage situation with all the lush detail a fire-breathing man deserves but an untimely sneeze sent the ball point skittering across the form, leaving in its jagged wake the destruction of a jackhammer. Her second effort was considerably shorter. There was enough huffing to extinguish Grandma's ninetieth birthday candles.
He loves Paperwork.
Having to commit the daily impossibilities to paper (without actually getting committed) brought out her penchant for the aggressive. The ratcheting of her frustration to seismic levels could only benefit him. By the time the last 't' was crossed, she'd need an outlet for her furious energy and as team consultant, he had responsibilities. She might send them crashing onto a desk and he'd be no idle paperweight.