[FIC] The Reality Police
Nov. 4th, 2004 06:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesade"And Peter tried to climb aboard but the captain shook his head
And away they soared
Climbing through the ivory, vibrant clouds
Someone passed in bliss among the crowd
And we walked back to the road unchained"
"So..."
"Shut up."
Peter rolled his eyes at the other man, frowned at the faded chalk figure that stretched out on the ground in front of him. Lazy thing. Haphazard drawings and incomplete edges meant someone was in a hurry, but the reason could be any of a dozen.
"So did you..."
"I don't want to talk about it."
The sound of bootheels (jackboots) on pavement and grass dragged their heads up. Crows flocking to them, identical birds in their white shirts and dark glasses, boots so shiny you could see your face in them as you bent down to lick. Bland expressions that were so smug they'd come right out the other side and gone bashful again. They carried their scavenger's tools in their black leather briefcases, all of them. Waiting, Peter thought, for them.
"Evening, boys."
Peter kicked him in the ankle in the process of standing up. "What can we do for you gentlemen?"
"We're under orders..."
The magic words. He tuned out, saw his other doing the same out of the corner of his eye. Regulation 10-13, Article C, Paragraph Bollocks. It all amounted to the same thing anyway, and the only result that would come out of all of this was that they would both have headaches and the agents would have taken over the case anyway. Useless. Pointless, ultimately, but he didn't have anything to back that up other than instinct. And so he shrugged and stood back.
"It's all yours, friend."
The crows tilted their heads at each other, clacked their beaks, shifted nervously. It wasn't often, or even hardly ever that they met with no resistance from those they were trying to usurp. Peter hid a smile, watching as they went off their balance and stared at him.
"If you're..." one of them started to say, but he just shrugged and packed up his kit. His friend did the same next to him, casting a glance at Peter that carried with it the thought that he had lost what little of his mind remained.
“No, seriously. It’s all yours.”
He turned and walked away, leaving his friend to stumble afterwards with the head-shake of the only sane man left in the country. “Well, that was a waste.”
“Not quite. It’s not as though they’re going to turn up anything we couldn’t have found on our own, and it keeps them off of everyone else’s back.”
He sighed, turned and stared back at where the crows had already begun to stoop. “Never thought this place would turn into a police state.”
“It’s not as though we didn’t see it coming.” Peter shrugged. “But what can you do? Realistically, I mean. What can any of us do? We’re necessary, we do a job. We’re here to do that job and whether we like it or not we have to at least pretend to respect and maintain the status quo, because that’s our job. Even if we don’t like it.”
His companion digested this for a bit. It left an unpleasant aftertaste. “That change from within bullshit never works anyway.”
“Welcome to the new shit, same as the old shit?”
“Yep.”
Keep walking. When Peter looked over his shoulder again this time he could barely see even the shadow of blackness. They’d get called up on their next case soon enough, but for now it was just the two of them and the trees, and maybe the occasional forlorn park bench. No one came here anymore, which was why it had been such a surprise to get an occurrence out here. Not a mild one either, although it hadn’t been as bad as some.
They flopped onto the park bench, stared at the greenery opposite the trail. Years of too much association gave them the same heavy sigh and tired grunt. They were both getting too old for this, too tired. Too set in their ways, and that was always when their usefulness began to run out. Maybe, Peter thought in a brief moment of self-horrifying deprecation, they were right to send the agents in. Nah. Couldn’t be. Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar?
“You ever think…” his partner started, and Peter shook his head.
“No way. Never in a million years.”
“Not that we have a million years,” he muttered, and Peter laughed. Strained, but a real laugh. They were at least getting too tired for this, and it wasn’t making sense anymore. “Even if it’s …”
“.. not as though the kids these days aren’t capable of taking over. Yeah.”
“More than capable.” He scrubbed at his eyes. “God. Did you see the way that one girl…”
“Young woman.”
“She’s just a girl. And she handled the whole damn course like it was nothing. Like she could have carried bacon and eggs through the whole thing and asked what you wanted for dessert.”
Peter groaned. “Don’t talk about food right now, okay? I’m still getting over lunch.”
They watched the wind move through the trees. Watched the birds sing to each other in sonnets, haiku, epigrams and poesy. Listened to the ground shiver beneath their feet with aching slowness. The sunlight tasted of lemons and the rainwater tasted of strawberries. And it was dripping icy cold down the back of Peter’s neck.
“On second thought, I am hungry. Let’s go get lunch.”
His partner nodded. “By the time we get back they’ll have figured out something else for us to do. Someone’s always breaking the rules somewhere, even if they overlook most of it.”
Peter snorted. “As often as they overlook the rules…”
The man shoved both his hands into his pockets, pushed off from the bench with a wince of stiff joints, and headed out towards the corner deli. Hopefully it would stop raining before he got there, but even if it didn’t at least it wasn’t that cold, a nice walk. Time enough for the next case when the next case came. Peter Gemini had time enough for everyone.
And away they soared
Climbing through the ivory, vibrant clouds
Someone passed in bliss among the crowd
And we walked back to the road unchained"
"So..."
"Shut up."
Peter rolled his eyes at the other man, frowned at the faded chalk figure that stretched out on the ground in front of him. Lazy thing. Haphazard drawings and incomplete edges meant someone was in a hurry, but the reason could be any of a dozen.
"So did you..."
"I don't want to talk about it."
The sound of bootheels (jackboots) on pavement and grass dragged their heads up. Crows flocking to them, identical birds in their white shirts and dark glasses, boots so shiny you could see your face in them as you bent down to lick. Bland expressions that were so smug they'd come right out the other side and gone bashful again. They carried their scavenger's tools in their black leather briefcases, all of them. Waiting, Peter thought, for them.
"Evening, boys."
Peter kicked him in the ankle in the process of standing up. "What can we do for you gentlemen?"
"We're under orders..."
The magic words. He tuned out, saw his other doing the same out of the corner of his eye. Regulation 10-13, Article C, Paragraph Bollocks. It all amounted to the same thing anyway, and the only result that would come out of all of this was that they would both have headaches and the agents would have taken over the case anyway. Useless. Pointless, ultimately, but he didn't have anything to back that up other than instinct. And so he shrugged and stood back.
"It's all yours, friend."
The crows tilted their heads at each other, clacked their beaks, shifted nervously. It wasn't often, or even hardly ever that they met with no resistance from those they were trying to usurp. Peter hid a smile, watching as they went off their balance and stared at him.
"If you're..." one of them started to say, but he just shrugged and packed up his kit. His friend did the same next to him, casting a glance at Peter that carried with it the thought that he had lost what little of his mind remained.
“No, seriously. It’s all yours.”
He turned and walked away, leaving his friend to stumble afterwards with the head-shake of the only sane man left in the country. “Well, that was a waste.”
“Not quite. It’s not as though they’re going to turn up anything we couldn’t have found on our own, and it keeps them off of everyone else’s back.”
He sighed, turned and stared back at where the crows had already begun to stoop. “Never thought this place would turn into a police state.”
“It’s not as though we didn’t see it coming.” Peter shrugged. “But what can you do? Realistically, I mean. What can any of us do? We’re necessary, we do a job. We’re here to do that job and whether we like it or not we have to at least pretend to respect and maintain the status quo, because that’s our job. Even if we don’t like it.”
His companion digested this for a bit. It left an unpleasant aftertaste. “That change from within bullshit never works anyway.”
“Welcome to the new shit, same as the old shit?”
“Yep.”
Keep walking. When Peter looked over his shoulder again this time he could barely see even the shadow of blackness. They’d get called up on their next case soon enough, but for now it was just the two of them and the trees, and maybe the occasional forlorn park bench. No one came here anymore, which was why it had been such a surprise to get an occurrence out here. Not a mild one either, although it hadn’t been as bad as some.
They flopped onto the park bench, stared at the greenery opposite the trail. Years of too much association gave them the same heavy sigh and tired grunt. They were both getting too old for this, too tired. Too set in their ways, and that was always when their usefulness began to run out. Maybe, Peter thought in a brief moment of self-horrifying deprecation, they were right to send the agents in. Nah. Couldn’t be. Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar?
“You ever think…” his partner started, and Peter shook his head.
“No way. Never in a million years.”
“Not that we have a million years,” he muttered, and Peter laughed. Strained, but a real laugh. They were at least getting too tired for this, and it wasn’t making sense anymore. “Even if it’s …”
“.. not as though the kids these days aren’t capable of taking over. Yeah.”
“More than capable.” He scrubbed at his eyes. “God. Did you see the way that one girl…”
“Young woman.”
“She’s just a girl. And she handled the whole damn course like it was nothing. Like she could have carried bacon and eggs through the whole thing and asked what you wanted for dessert.”
Peter groaned. “Don’t talk about food right now, okay? I’m still getting over lunch.”
They watched the wind move through the trees. Watched the birds sing to each other in sonnets, haiku, epigrams and poesy. Listened to the ground shiver beneath their feet with aching slowness. The sunlight tasted of lemons and the rainwater tasted of strawberries. And it was dripping icy cold down the back of Peter’s neck.
“On second thought, I am hungry. Let’s go get lunch.”
His partner nodded. “By the time we get back they’ll have figured out something else for us to do. Someone’s always breaking the rules somewhere, even if they overlook most of it.”
Peter snorted. “As often as they overlook the rules…”
The man shoved both his hands into his pockets, pushed off from the bench with a wince of stiff joints, and headed out towards the corner deli. Hopefully it would stop raining before he got there, but even if it didn’t at least it wasn’t that cold, a nice walk. Time enough for the next case when the next case came. Peter Gemini had time enough for everyone.
