My first fic. :]
If you recognize it, I don't own it. Eoin Colfer probably does. Mkay?
"Council, please take your time in this decision."
Green skin, orange hair, and a formal black suit didn't impress the ladies much, but the sprite was more centered on the Council approving his plan. He'd go out clubbing with some real clothes later, to celebrate.
"He made a good case. Very professional."
"One accident, one security breach and wham, the whole thing's over and we've got twenty mindwipes."
"The LEP needs money and this would help. A lot...."
Behind the door, a breathless sprite eavesdropped. He skipped in, loafers sliding, when the security guard beckoned.
"Okay. You can proceed with your plan. But we want the LEP to be fully informed of everything that happens, for security detail. Every location, every participant. And, your company pays for everything- if there's a weapon lost or a mindwipe needed, it's coming from your bank account."
"Thank you!" The sprite giggled and skipped in glee. It was time to go dancing!
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Holly Short's promotion was a good thing, really. Convincing a fairy with paper cuts and ink-stained hands to spend a few weeks topside was easy. The very mention of fresh air and they lose all concentration and forget to ask what the task was. And the task was usually demeaning, very demeaning.
"Holly, do you know where you're going?" Foaly asked from the Ops. Booth.
"Sort of? Topside?" She flipped the ship over again, breathing in the adrenaline. She'd just grabbed her visa and left...
"You'd be dead without me, you know..."
"Yeah, you're a pretty smart pony."
"Smart enough to direct you straight into a wall."
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TO: Foaly
Please, enjoy the carrot as you read. You may take my word that it's not poisoned, but run it through as many tests as you wish.
I am in charge of a multi-million dollar project, recently approved by the Council. It will serve many purposes, the main being funds for the Lower Elements Police. The Commander has agreed to use a large portion of these funds to restore your budget.
Your part of the project will require several weeks above ground and several more working on finishing technical aspects in Haven."
The letter continued for another full the page, detailing the project, but the centaur had stopped reading and started dialing his wife's number.
Some carrots were too tasty to refuse.
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A dwarf bar, at night, is wild with tunnelers who forget their wives when the pretty girls start to serve drinks. Mulch was kicked back, enjoying some food and appreciating the party atmosphere. A dwarf he didn't recognized approached. "Mulch Diggums! How would you like some extra cash?"
The next day, he was singing an entertaining song with the drunken members of Brotherhood of Bog.
Pizza, pizza!
Fill up your face!
The bigger the pastry,
the better the base!
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