Chapter Seven
"Cranberry sauce?" Pamela waved the jar enticingly before Janet's face. "You can't have turkey without it, I think. They go together like peas and carrots. Do you want some more peas? Help yourself; we've got to finish all this off before Sunday anyway. Carrots? New ones, straight out of the garden. Go on, have some sauce with your turkey."
Janet swallowed. "It's green."
Which was perfectly true- in fact, everything on the table had a slightly emerald tinge.
"Ah, there is that. Doesn't affect the taste, though- eat up!" Taking Janet's slightly queasy silence as a hearty affirmative, Pamela spooned a generous portion of sauce over the leaf-green slices of turkey on her plate. "It's all salvage, of course. Everyone down at the Ministry of Edibles is on strike again, so Jack went and lifted all this from a condemned continuum. Wizard of Oz, wasn't it?" Jack nodded and grunted something through a mouthful of pig (Not pork, pig. Whole pig. Dragons have big mouths). "Another kid who thought everything in the Emerald City was actually green."
"At least they wrote the food well," George said, helping himself to some more perfectly carved ham completely free of gristly lumps and hard chewy bits. "Ish almosh ash good ash Blyton. Why condemned, Ja'?"
"Food only thing written good in the whole thing. Bloody continuum fraying even before we got there."
"Ish like thish," George told Janet through a mouthful of bacon sandwich. Janet watched as he pulled out his sketchbook and drew a thick line down the centre of the page. "Thish here is- umph-"
"Talking with your mouth full, George," Pamela called from the kitchen. "Swallow and start again, and chuck me back my wooden spoon, please.."
"This here is the True Continuum, see? The proper canonverse of, say, Harry Potter. Where we were before. All very well and good, gets breached a bunch of times a week by various Sues but we take care of that. These here," George scribbled a few, shorter lines around the sides of the main one, "are fanonverses, the physical manifestation of various fan fictions which appear for what appears to be no apparent reason."
"Grapefruit in Division Seven's doing research into that," Barbara put in. "Hasn't got anywhere though, I don't think."
"Ah well. Anyway," George continued, "these little ones all basically fall into three groups. Group One, stuff like Shoebox, well-written stuff that most people think is basically canon anyway and which we're not allowed to mess around with. Group Two, well, you get your good and your bad but it's all pretty stable and that. We use the bad ones for training, mostly, so you'll be able to see for yourself. Last of all, Group Three, absolutely terrible little buggers that generally dissolve or implode or something like that. Occasionally one gets condemned if it hangs around too long, such as the one that provided us with this lovely meal. Eat up, it's actually really good. Just green."
Just green. Pretty much described the whole meal, really, and Janet's face too. She speared a piece of turkey on her fork and brought it up to her mouth, careful not to look at it. The green cranberry sauce looked particularly dreadful in the electric light- Janet realised she hadn't seen a window since she'd arrived here, and wondered why.
Presently, her mind drifted from this particular question and on to other matters. She wondered briefly why she seemed to be taking all this so well, decided it was either because she was too weirded out to be freaked out or because her brain had, after being given all this new and unusual information to deal with and make logical, reverted to Default:Hungry.
Actually, the food wasn't too bad, so long as you didn't look at it and completely failed to let your imagination draw pictures of what green cranberry sauce resembled. Mmm.
"Janet?"
The peas, now, the peas she could look at. Which was good, as eating peas without watching what you're doing can prove disastrous, in a Fatal Hail of Vegetables sort of way.
"Yoo-hoo?"
"Unh?" Janet once again astounded the world with her masterful use of vocabulary and wit. "Sorry, er, what?"
"Peter says we have to introduce everyone to you properly," George said. "So, Pamela, could you-?"
"Sorry, George," Pamela almost did look sorry. "I've got to get this place cleaned up before inspection, and I've got to deal with Mr. Malfoy after that. . . besides, you brought her in. she's your responsibility."
"Good god. . . he's complaining again? Doesn't he jolly well realise that there's near as bugger all we can do to keep the Sues away from his son?"
"He says it's disgraceful and a shame upon his family the way they jump his kid," Jack harrumphed, emphasising his words his puffs of heavy smoke.
"No smoking at the table, Jack," Pamela berated the dragon absently. "It's the boy I feel sorry for."
"Boy's a complete bastard, Pam."
"Smoking, Jack. But just imagine if you were constantly being targeted by Sues? And he doesn't eat enough.
"I'd be eating enough if I was surrounded by that many-"
"Oh, get out! Look, you've stained the ceiling again will all that awful smoke, and inspection's tomorrow morning. No, actually, you can stay here and clean up. Peter-"
Janet, who had been listening to this conversation and wondering whether she actually was going to get those promised introductions, jumped a little in her chair. Peter of the Uniform was back, looking stern and important as he strode into the room.
"Barbara."
"Yes, sir?"
"HQ just called. We're to give a full report on the mission in ten minutes' time."
Barbara rolled her eyes. "Wonderful. What do we say?"
"You don't need to say anything. I'll deal with it."
"Fine. Sir."
"Very good. Pamela, have you heard from Colin?"
"Yes, actually. He's decided to stay off duty for a while longer- his 'thor's having sudden and frequent bursts of inspiration, I think."
"You think?"
"Well, he wash talking li' shish, so I just assumed. . ."
"Yes, yes. Come on, Barbara, we need to be there in eight minutes."
Janet and George watched the two Agents leave, Janet with a look of wistful longing on her face and George biting his lip with anxiety. As the door slammed officiously shut, George sighed.
"Oh, brilliant. I thought they were going to take me with them, there."
"What would be so bad about that?" Janet would have given her left leg to go with them. Except not, because only having one leg would have been a serious impediment given the speed Peter was walking at.
"Oh, gosh. Trust me, you don't want to have to go to HQ, not for anything. Not even to take the General her green fix. Oh, hell, just- really, just pray you never have to go there. Even I find it bloody scary, and I'm a pharmacist."
"Oh. . . all right then." Not really understanding what a 'green fix' was, but suspecting it was some sort of drug (possibly green), Janet decided not to pursue the subject. The two sat in silence and watched Pamela bully Jack into cleaning the ceiling.
Two minutes later, dripping wet, they decided to move outside.
"Of course, housework has never been one of Jack's skills," George said, wringing soapy water out of his sleeve. "He'll be in there for hours cleaning up now. Pamela will probably make him eat the rest of the food, too. He'll be burping bubbles for days."
Janet giggled. The image was just too much to bear straight-faced, as had been the sight of Jack tossing the bucket of water at the stained ceiling. "So, um, are you going to tell me who everyone is, then?"
"Oh, yes, sorry about that. Then we'll get you a shower and some new clothes, I think."
"Oh, yes." Janet was suddenly horribly aware of what she must look like. A little self-inspection proved that the damage wasn't as bad as she'd thought, as the soapy water had done a bit to wash off some of the remaining dried mud. Unfortunately this had the side-effect of rehydrating the rest of the dirt, but. . . well, fine. Maybe it was that bad.
"Barracks are down here, there's showers and you can borrow Barbara's spare uniform, you're about her size, I'd say."
"Won't she mind?" Janet asked. Barbara had seemed to her to be a girl to stay on the right side of, and making off with her clothes didn't seem to be a good way of doing so.
"Oh, she shouldn't too much. This way!"
"I'd be happier if you said she wouldn't mind at all, you know."
"Right-ho- she won't mind at all. Anyway, introductions, a little late seeing as no one's around to introduce to you now. . . ah well. Peter's Captain of the Division, but he's retiring soon so you probably won't see too much of him, he'll be up to his eyes in paperwork. He'll be in an awful mood now, after that Sue.
"Oh? Why?"
"You'll find out soon enough. Then there's Barbara, she's up for Captainship after Peter's gone. Well, either her or me, and I don't want it. Ex-bit part in a fic that broke through into the Potterverse circa Goblet of Fire, but please don't mention it to her."
"She had that weird accent before, but then it went away."
"Don't mention that, either. Her accent reverts according to Sue proximity, and she hates it."
"Oh, right."
"She'll be taking you for training, most likely. Next, me, going to stay put up at the Pharm forever and ever now that you're here to make up numbers. Jack, dragon. Stomach like a, a thing that never gets indigestion. a thing with great whacking wings and claws and teeth and scales that never gets indigestion. nice bloke, once you get to know him."
"Ah, right. Is this it?" They had reached a large door at the end of a corridor, so Janet rather thought this must be their destination. The sign on the door, which said
BARRACKS
Div. 8
Colin, you owe me new trousers
-Angie
The last bit looked like it had been added in quite recently, Janet thought before George pushed through the door and into the room behind it.
The first thing Janet noticed was the mess. Comprising various items of clothing, combs, brushes and a great many hats and pairs of dark sunglasses, it covered the floor like a trail leading from a half-open door labeled Colin to a small scorched patch on the carpet near the middle of the room.
"Oh, bugger. Colin's been and gone, I see." George glanced back at Janet, who was shocked at the vitriol in George's voice. He'd struck her as a sort of friendly, slightly nervous feller, so his sudden anger at seeing the traces of Colin's brief return surprised her. Grinning apologetically, he added, "Sorry. He gets on my nerves, a bit. Bathroom's just through here- towels are in that cupboard."
The bathroom was icily clean and smelt strongly of lavender. Turning on the shower, Janet immediately found out why- along with a burst of freezing cold water, the shower-head let out a purplish, lavender-scented steam which broiled around Janet's feet.
"George?"
She waited a minute. The water had warmed up, thank goodness, but the purple mist was building up at a somewhat alarming rate.
"GEORGE?"
"What?"
"There's purple smoke everywhere!"
"Sorry about that! The demister's just above the light switch! By the door! Should take care of it!"
"Thanks!"
Janet clambered across the room, greatly aided by the wall, which was good for leaning against as she made her way back to the door. She found the light switch and, above it, what she assumed was the demister- a smallish box attached to the wall, with a switch on it. She flicked it. It didn't look like anything had changed for a few minutes- if anything, the smoke seemed to be getting thicker around her- until Janet took a few steps backwards and found herself in clear air. The purple haze, it seemed, was being sucked towards the so-called demister and although it didn't look to be disappearing, at least she could see now.
The water was properly hot by now, and Janet felt justified in using copious amounts of the liquid soap, shampoo and conditioner she found in the shower cubicle. All three had, strangely enough, the same herby scent and colour as the mist had had. However, they didn't appear to stain Janet's skin when she tested the products on her arm, so she figured she would be all right. After all, she was using what she expected was the same stuff used by the rest of the group, and they were all normal-coloured. Well, except the dragon, but she didn't count him as there was no way he would have ever been able to fit in the bathroom to use the soap in any case.
"So, who've we covered so far? Peter, Barbs, me, Jack . . . that leaves Pamela and Colin, am I right?"
"Yes," Jane replied. Then, realizing he probably couldn't hear her from back in the main room, she stuck her head out of the shower- "Sorry, yes!"
"Right-ho! Well, Pam's great, she deals with complaints, they're mostly from canon characters who aren't happy about all the Sues they get leaping all over them! Bit of a bugger, but there you go! We do our best, and Pamela's good at calming them down! Puts something in their tea, I think!"
"Really!" Janet felt quite glad that she'd only accepted water at the meal earlier.
"Pamela takes care of all our gear, too! And trading! And, well, paperwork and all that! Doesn't do missions any more, though! Me and her are base support for this Division!"
"That's nice!" There was a great whump of air as the demister finally sucked in its load of purple smoke all at once. Janet stared, and missed George's next few sentences.
". . . but he's all right apart from that! Not his fault after all! Just a bit of a whiny git, really! That bit is his fault! But I reckon you won't meet Colin for a few weeks at least, he's still on stress leave!"
"Right!"
Well, Janet had suffered her share of whiny gits in her life- one particular sibling sprang instantly to mind- so this Colin shouldn't be too bad in comparison, she thought.
After her shower, Janet took a look at the clothes George had placed just inside the door. It was, well, a uniform, grey trousers with matching shirt and blazer, semi-formal but for the numerous, neatly-sewn up rips and tears decorating it.
The blazer had a crest on the left breast- the letters TCP embroidered in red in front of a thistle-head with the words semper videt emblazoned beneath. It was the only splash of colour on the otherwise dull uniform, which fitted Janet oddly and had sleeves too short for her arms. Looking in the mirror, Janet wondered how Barbara had made the uniform seem so glamorous and formal- then, thinking harder, tried to remember if Barbara had actually been wearing the uniform. Realising with a shock that she couldn't actually remember what the older girl had been wearing, she looked away from the mirror- and wondered what she herself was wearing.
She looked back in the mirror. The grey uniform, of course. But it looked somehow different, now- the sleeves were a lot short than she remembered, making the shirt more of a t-shirt, really. And the trousers didn't fit nearly as badly as she'd thought they did.
She looked away from the mirror and was struck by that same fug of confusion. Looking back again, she saw that the shirt had now shrunk to a singlet top, and the blazer- well, what she assumed had been the blazer had miraculously transformed itself into an armband, still featuring the thistle crest.
"I thought you'd been a while," George said as he opened the door hesitantly. "Here, I found you a comb."
"Thanks," said Janet. "Er. . . the clothes are a bit, um, strange. . ."
"Oh, sorry," said George. "They are a bit. Yes. All TPC-issue clothes are environment-sensitive and you're a, well, a new user I guess so it'll take a while to settle down. Don't worry about it."
So Janet didn't. After all, in the last twenty-four hours she'd been drugged, pheromonally hypnotized, locked up and been given green turkey to eat. Strange clothes almost paled in comparison.
Combing her hair, Janet idly wondered what tomorrow would bring. Then, after idly glancing at her wristwatch, she amended that thought- and wondered what the rest of the afternoon would bring.
- - - - - -
Author's Note: Longest chapter yet, and I've got permission to have the rest of Division Eight wax eloquent about the good ol' days of the PPC. What ho!