Mercuria: Trying my hand at this PPC thing again. Yes, I acknowledge that last time I made up a new name for an already existing department and PPC'd a fic that had already been PPC'd, but this time it'll be DIFFERENT. I promise! (LIAR.)
Notes: PPC belongs to Jay and Acacia, all bow before their might. Lord of the Rings belongs to the Tolkien Estate, all bow before ITS might. The phrase "flashy memory-messer-upper thingies" belongs to the writers of "Men In Black," as far as I can tell. I own nothing but the laptop this is written on. *hugs laptop*
Last Note: The writer picked on herein is a slash writer. I do not own her writings, nor do I wish to. At all.
***********
It was lunchtime for Mercuria Stardust, also known as Agent Merc by herself and the people who lived in her head. Oh, and the Sunflower Officials, but Mercuria disliked thinking about THEM.
At any rate, it was lunchtime, which meant that Mercuria was loading up on ramen, potato chips, chocolate bars, chewing gum, and instant chai. After discovering that her department did not exist, and immediately thereafter discovering that no she was not allowed to quit hadn't she read the fine print, Mercuria had been drifting from department to department, doing whatever messy jobs needed to be done. At this point in time, she was working in the Department of Mary Sues, but she hoped to all the gods she could think of that it wouldn't last long. Assassination is not for everyone.
Be that as it may, she had no idea how long it would be until her next assignment. Assuming, as most PPC employees did, that it would come either in her sleep or when she was getting comfortable, Mercuria portalled out of Middle-earth after her latest killing, ran straight into the hall, down a corridor, up another, back down the first one, through a "secret" passage in a janitor's closet, and into the cafeteria to find nourishment.
After obtaining her meal of dubious nutritional value, Mercuria flopped down into an uncomfortable plastic chair and immediately fell into a trancelike almost-asleep state. There was no need to hurry back to the response center as long as she remembered to THINK about doing so; the Narrative Laws of Comedy preferred to attack when she wasn't focused on them.
"Agent Merc," a voice crackled over the intercom, "please report Upstairs-"
"DAMMIT!"
**************
A sulking Mercuria sat cross-legged on the floor of the Sunflower Official's rather spartan office.
"Can't you do something about the godawful paint job in this room?" she snapped. "I feel like I'm stuck in a giant grey lava lamp."
Behind its giant metal desk, a business suit-clad sunflower shook in what could be described as either a seizure or a laugh.
'Quite the interesting metaphor, Miss Stardust,' it said. 'I see you've been taking lessons from your victims.'
"Take ... that ... BACK ..." Mercuria snarled.
The SO ignored her.
'Today, Miss Stardust, I have a little questionnaire for you. Nothing overly taxing, merely an aptitude test of sorts."
Silence.
'Glad to see that you're so enthusiastic,' the SO said, beginning to get a little irritated. Having to deal with Jay and Acacia did not necessarily give it warm photosynthetic feelings inside; it CERTAINLY did not prepare it to put up with sulking temporary assassins.
'All right, let's get started. Name?' the SO asked.
"Mercuria Ziggy Stardust," came the reluctant reply.
'David Bowie much?'
Terse nod.
'Age?'
"Twenty-two last September."
'Liar. Now the questions get trickier. Are you feeling particularly alert today, Miss Stardust?'
Through clenched teeth: "Hit me."
'Are you sensitive to the feelings of others?'
Mercuria nodded. MST victims did not count, as they obviously has no sensitivity to HER feelings- or anyone else's, judging by their evil stories.
'Have you ever been a shoulder to cry on, comforting your friends in times of need and giving them sound advice?'
"Well," Mercuria said darkly, "I DID back when I used to have FRIENDS ... you know, before I was KIDNAPPED-"
'We prefer the term "recruited".'
"Whatever."
'And finally ... do you have a degree in psychology of any form?'
Mercuria blinked.
"Um, no?" she said in a tone that conveyed her utter contempt for anyone who would dare to ask such a question.
The SO paused.
'Mercuria Stardust,' it said in an "I'm-the-boss-yay-me" tone, 'you have just been transferred into the Department of Psychiatric Therapy. Your duties will include comforting characters who have had mentally and emotionally scarring experiences in works of fanfiction, as well as resolving their issues so that they can be released back into their fandoms.'
Mercuria blinked again.
"Wait ..." she said slowly. "I thought you had those flashy memory-messer-upper thingies to get rid of scarring ..."
There was a brief period of silence.
'Yes,' the SO said finally. 'This is true. However, recently, something has been ... going wrong. The "flashy memory-messer-upper thingies", as you so eloquently call them, are not working properly, and until Makes-Things can fix them, we need to keep the characters sane. Now, unless you have any questions ...'
"Yes I d-"
'Good. You are dismissed.'
Mercuria got up and stalked out of the room, muttering about how she hated her job.
****************
Upon entering her response center, Mercuria discovered that it now housed a low green couch, as well as a bookshelf filled with- predictably- books.
"Ah, how kind," she said bitterly. "Don't you think? Yes, I do. That was sarcasm, stupid. Who're you calling stupid? YOU."
The voices in her head only talked out loud when she was feeling especially moody.
She sat down in an uncomfortable chair that had most likely been donated by the cafeteria and pulled a book off the shelf.
"Useful Phrases For Amateur Psychiatrists ..." she said with interest. "Well, at least they didn't assume I know everything!"
Mercuria settled down to read, but she had only gotten to "Don't Panic" when there was a timid knock on the door.
"Is this the place where I may find Psychiatric Therapy?" a man asked in Westron. Fortunately, Mercuria had in her possession a very good translator, and was able to understand him.
"Um, yes it is!" she said. "Please come in!"
The door opened slowly, and the man shuffled in. He was cringing so much that his head was vanishing into his shoulders. Mercuria stared at the spectacle in confusion. What was this guy's deal?
"Sit down," Mercuria said vaguely, focused on this timid display. By his clothing, she guessed that he was from Gondor, but she didn't understand why a Man of Gondor would act like such a ... well, "wimp" was the word that came to mind. "Um, what's your name?"
The Man twitched at the question.
"I am Boromir, son of Denethor," he said nervously.
Mercuria gasped.
"Boromir?!" she cried. "Who the hell did this to you?!"
Boromir looked at her in fright.
"H-have we met?" he asked.
Mercuria quickly shook her head.
"Um, no ... you're just on my ... list of patients," she lied. "I didn't recognize you at first."
Boromir nodded, seeming to accept this explanation.
"So," Mercuria said, doing her best to sound non-threatening and kind, "what's on your mind?"
"I have been ... harming my friends," Boromir said slowly. "I cannot stop myself! Every night it happens ... and ..."
Here Boromir began to cry. Mercuria handed him a handkerchief.
"Why would I do such a thing?!" he demanded hysterically. "WHY? I do not lust after Legolas; I do not even like men! I would never take someone against their will ... but I did! Why?!"
Mercuria grimaced. Great. Another Boromir-the-psychotic-rapist-abuses-Legolas fic. This brand of fiction was one of the many things in the world which Mercuria despised. The reason? Not only did these stories take the exquisite suffering of Boromir and turn it into deliberate evil on his part, but they made a mockery of Legolas, transforming HIM into a sobbing pathetic excuse for an Elf.
"I think I understand," Mercuria said. "Don't worry, Boromir. Let's try to think about this rationally. You don't like Legolas, correct?"
Boromir sniffled.
"I respect him as a companion, but I do not have romantic feelings for him."
Mercuria nodded.
"And you can't stop yourself from ... er-HEM ... right?"
"I try!" Boromir cried. "Each time I find my body moving of its own accord, I labor to bend it to my will, but without success!"
"Well, there you are!" said Mercuria brightly.
The Man gave her a look.
"I have just spoken of the horrible afflictions I have had to suffer. How is this the answer?"
Mercuria began to gesture excitedly. To a person who was fluent in ASL, her hands wrote the message, "XENFKAJJJZ."
"I mean, think of it like this," she managed finally, "if you can't help it, there's no reason to feel guilty about it!"
Boromir appeared to be thinking this over. Apparently, in his eagerness to angst dramatically about the situation, this idea had not occured to him.
"But ... when will it cease?" he asked. "And until it does, how am I to bear it? It is not ... pleasurable ... for either of us!"
Mercuria tapped her chin thoughtfully.
"Well, think of it as a trial," she replied. "Your tolerance for complete and utter weirdness is being tested. I suggest that you talk to Legolas and agree that this is no one's fault. If you both feel that you're on the same side, then I'm sure you'll be able to manage somehow."
For a few moments, Boromir regarded her as if she were insane. (He was right, by the way.) Then he smiled weakly and nodded.
"You are right," he said. "If I cannot stop myself, it must be some black magic, and I will let no device of the Enemy drive me to madness and despair."
"Black magic, heh. Boromir's pretty sharp, he is," Mercuria thought.
Boromir stood up.
"Thank you, good lady," he said with a courteous bow. "I will follow your advice, and although I cannot say whether or not I shall be rescued from my plight, I will not blame myself."
He walked towards the door.
"Farewell!" he said, sounding more cheerful than he had during the entire session.
"Bye then!" Mercuria chirped.
After the Man had gone, Mercuria sank down onto her uncomfortable chair, winced, and flopped down on the couch.
"Well," she said into the cushions, "that wasn't so difficult. Bring it on ..."
Knock knock.
"DAMMIT!"
***********************
Mercuria: Well, there's the end. I realize that Boromir has vast issues concerning everything from bastardization of his character (portraying him as the Fellowship bad guy) to random chauvinism, but Bad Slash was the only issue I chose to deal with today. Expect more psychological-type-things in the near future!
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