In which Hermione-Sue is not only out of time, but completely out of touch with canon.
“Bum-ba-da-da-da, bum-ba-da-da-da, bum-ba-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da! Bum-ba-da-da-da, bum-ba-da-da-da, bum-ba-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da –”
“DOO-WEE-OOOOOOOOO! WEE-OO-OOOOOO! WEE-OO-OOOO-OO-OO-OO! WEE-OOO –”
“Mature. Very mature.” The door to the RC had swung open, and Agent Eledhwen Elerossiel stood in the doorway. “The two of you deserve medals for maturity –”
“Maturity and Doctor Who? Since when did that happen?” cackled Intern Cale Serfe from her seat at the console. Agent Eledhwen’s partner, Christianne Shieh, was prancing around like an idiot. “I can see why you don’t let her drink, Ellie.”
“I leave this room to check up on Rooney at Rudi’s Pub, and I come back to a drunken partner and an intern trying to evade her classes.” Eledhwen glared. “Fantastic.”
“I was not evading classes. Classes are perfectly fine, and what’s more, I was just inducting your partner into a new fandom –”
“Yes, because she needed more in her collection. Do you not have a third series of Sherlock canon to look forward to?”
“WOTSH IN THE EMPTY HEARSHE?” screamed Christianne suddenly, swaying on the spot. Eledhwen groaned, crossed over to a cabinet, and took out a vial of clear liquid.
“What’s that?” asked Cale.
“Nurse Hearth’s Cross-Fandom, All-Purpose Intoxication Cure,” Eledhwen replied. “Works on everything short of Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters and Pink Stuff, and everyone short of Unicorns and Vogons. It’s slightly more palatable and easier to make than Purple Stuff, although I hear that if you try it with Bleepka your head blows up. Still, that should cure the hangover, am I correct?”
“Depends on your idea of curing, sure,” replied Cale, shrugging. “In any case, it’s not as if it’s my fault. I only let her have a couple bottles of Firewhiskey –”
“A couple bottles?” Eledhwen gaped at Cale. “She should have been affected by half of a bottle!”
“She insisted!”
“And since when did the impaired judgement of my partner dictate your movements?” Eledhwen grabbed Christianne by the arm, dragged her over to her bed, and forced her into a sitting position so she could pour the Intoxication Cure down her partner’s throat.
Said partner gasped and convulsed for several seconds, before falling backwards onto the bed in a dead faint. Eledhwen turned to Cale, and stormed to the console to programme a portal.
“Taking you back to school now,” she growled.
“I’ll be bored there,” whined Cale.
“Bored? You attend an OFU. Try breaking into the Staff Section.” Eledhwen nudged Cale through. “In you go, there’s a good girl. Farewell!” And she slammed the portal shut before Cale could dart back through.
Christianne stirred, just as the console blared a loud, annoying [BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!]. Cursing in fluent Mandarin, the human agent rolled off her bed with an unceremonious ‘flump’ and sat up, rubbing her head. She clambered to her feet after a moment and strode to the console, squinting at it.
Moments later she groaned. “Oh, bloody hellsicles.”
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This is a Department of Intelligence Report for the story “The Awkward Adventures of Meghan Whimblesby”.
With the discovery of the badfic haven known as the Circle of Lemmings, Sue-levels in Middle-earth increased tremendously. Add in the badfic explosion stemming from the release of The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, and you get a goldmine of terribleness.
I first read the Lord of the Rings in university. It’s one of those books that require multiple readings to actually understand, since the first time through you feel like you’re going on and on forever in a random direction with no apparent end in sight. Often the plot meanders off into history anecdotes or location descriptions, with some poetry tossed in. But after reading through the story a couple times, you begin to appreciate Tolkien’s attention to detail, his meticulous crafting of Middle-earth, and his skills in linguistics and poetry.
Sues don’t often like to do that.
With most of our Department still stuck wading through the Circle of Lemmings, I was probably the only one left to investigate this particular story of a modern Earth girl falling into Middle-earth – which, I’m told, happens often enough to be satirised to Mandos and back. Or at least that’s what Agent Elerossiel told me when I told her about this at Rudi’s.
This is Officer Rooney, signing in for duty.
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derpy doodle of dis and the agent as kids
I’ve no idea what their school clothes looked like but I hope to god they’re not as silly as the time lord council robes (or as hard to draw)
so I kinda based it off these robes
dis and the agent loved trailing after the deca like two little colin creeveys heheh (well that’s mostly dis, the agent prefers chillin’ around and studying. mostly studying.)
They always went together. But not this time.
“Dis!”
The Disentangler could hear him from where she lay on the TARDIS floor, could feel his hands on her face and on her body as he tried to staunch the arrow wounds. The poison was fast-acting, though; she could feel it coursing through her veins like fire.
She should’ve been able to expel the poison. She should’ve been able to detox. The toxin had been slow-acting. The initial pain from the arrow injuries had been the worst part.
But something told her that her time was up. This body was dying.
“Dis, this is ridiculous; you’re supposed to hang on longer!” he snapped. Oh, her dear old friend. Dis smiled a little, even as the poison paralysed the last of her muscles.
They’d gone into a Lord of the Rings and Forgotten Realms crossover. The Sue responsible, a drow, had been trying to convert Legolas into one of her kind. But as they charged the Sue for attempting to turn Legolas into a drow, for disregarding the customs of the drow and the Eldar, for joining the Fellowship of the Ring, and for so many other charges, the Elvish prince had shot the Disentangler with three arrows.
Three arrows poisoned with toxins from the Purple Worm.
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Drew myself my new adopted Time Lord babbu look at him
he’s gonna eat all your stuff
this is relevant to stuff I’ve been doing all month
eledhwen’s model’s taken from here, by cathleentarawhiti.
Aragorn’s un-Canonical sister tries to join the Fellowship. Eledhwen’s past is peeked at.
“It should be, er… less… sapient now,” said the DoSAT technician as he crawled out from under the console. “What on earth did you do to it?”
“I didn’t do anything!” spluttered Agent Christianne Shieh. The DoSAT technician stared at her distrustfully. Christianne crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue in an astounding display of maturity. The Technician rolled his eyes.
“Right,” he said, mopping some extra sweat from his brows with his bright red kerchief.
“Oh, just believe me for once, won’t you Neo?” she pleaded. The technician raised an eyebrow at her.
“No, Christianne. I distinctly heard once that you rewired your console to blast ‘Nyan Cat’ throughout HQ because you were mad at it for something.”
“Lies,” scoffed Christianne. “That wasn’t me. That was my evil clone.”
“I’m afraid only your partner can use that excuse.” Neo grinned at her, pushing his glasses farther onto his nose. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Carleton wanted me to look at the prototype of some new gadget the MRD’s come up with…”
He turned to leave, and bumped into Christianne’s partner Eledhwen Elerossiel on his way out. “Morning,” he said cheerily; the elleth smiled at him.
“You look in need of sleep,” she remarked.
Neo laughed. “Forty-eight hours of caffeine. I would love to see my bed right now.”
Eledhwen smiled, pointing to his rather frazzled-looking afro. “You have some wire in your hair.”
He laughed again, reaching up to pluck out the pieces of wire. “I was wondering where they were,” he remarked, grinning good-naturedly. “See, this is what happens when you spend forty-eight hours fixing the consoles that Corolla had accidentally messed with. See you around, Ellie.”
As he left, Christianne turned to Eledhwen. “How come he calls you Ellie?”
“He and I eat at the Cafeteria often,” replied Eledhwen. “His sister works there. Do you happen to know Elysa Webber?”
“Blue hair? She tried serving me meatloaf the other day. I could’ve sworn I saw the thing wobble, so I handed it back.” Christianne rolled her eyes. “But eating together’s all you do, right?”
“Are you suggesting something?” wondered Eledhwen. Christianne gaped, and then laughed a little too quickly.
“Of course not! Ha, no, nothing at all. You were hearing absolutely nothing. Cale came by earlier, you know, showed me some more of Doctor Who. I adore Ten. He’s very adorkable, actually. How was your day?”
Eledhwen’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. The console had, after all, just [BEEEEEEEEP]ed.
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The backlog of missions in the BBC Sherlock ‘verse mounts with the discovery of the Circle of Lemmings, but Eledhwen and Christianne have Hobbit!Sues to fry.
[HEY YOU!]
Agent Christianne Shieh nearly fell out of her chair.
[YEAH YOU. WE’VE GOT A PROBLEM HERE.]
Christianne blinked at the console. “Yes, of course we’ve got a problem – you’re talking instead of beeping, for glod’s sake! What the hell did DoSAT do to you?”
[I’VE BEEN SENTIENT SINCE AT LEAST THE END OF THE LAST MISSION. GOSH YOU’RE DUMB.]
“Thanks for that,” snapped Christianne, rolling her eyes at the console. “What’s your little problem?”
[WELL, YOU SEE, YOU WERE ORIGINALLY SLATED TO TACKLE SOME OF THE MISSIONS THE DOI HAD LINED UP FROM THE CIRCLE OF LEMMINGS –]
“Oh god.” Christianne groaned, rubbing her temples. Not the Circle of Lemmings. It had more Glitter than most of the Pit of Voles, and Intelligence had been swamped with potential missions from there. Almost every story was some form of Sue.
She’d heard Rooney discuss with Jeeves a Sherlock Sue who went into another Sherlock Suefic just the other day at Rudi’s Pub. That had been what she was dreading, really – the Sueficception mission. But ‘originally slated’… sounded like salvation of some sort. Could it be?
[BUT THEN THE HOBBIT: AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY CAME OUT AND NOW YOU’RE TACKLING ONE OF THOSE SUES.]
Dammit.
“There’s a term for this, I think,” Christianne grumbled, “and I’m fairly certain it goes along the lines of –”
“Out of the Urpley frying pan and into the Wilver fire,” another voice resounded, and moments later her partner Eledhwen Elerossiel came walking out of the ensuite bathroom, towelling her hair dry. “What have we here?”
“A mission, obviously,” Christianne said.
Eledhwen rolled her eyes. “And?”
Christianne smiled at her partner. “This one’s in Middle-earth.”
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