Response Centre #24601

Home of Maria and Crispin, Department of Mary-Sues, freelance

Mission #7: A Faerie's Reign


Disclaimer: The PPC belong to Jay and Acacia.  The Lord of the Rings is the brilliant creation of Professor Tolkien.  Javert and all other Les Misérables-related things belong to Victor Hugo, unless they’re songs, in which case they belong to the people who wrote the musical.  Minis belong to their respective continua.  The original concept of Minis belongs to Miss Cam.  “A Faerie’s Reign” belongs to Abskii, and s/h/it can keep it…far away from me.  Any French dialogue is my composition, and all mistakes are mine.  Please feel free to correct me.

Note: In my LJ post a while back about the fics in my queue, I mentioned that the next new character I would be introducing was probably going to be a love interest.  That has changed, because Maria threatened to kill me if I tried it and Michel promised to help. 


Someone was knocking on the door, and they were doing so very loudly and very insistently.  Maria opened it before the visitor broke it down.  "Yeah?"

The man on the other side of the door was maybe twenty-five or so, dressed in nondescript PPC black and carrying a heavy-looking stick.  His dirty brown hair fell over his eyebrows into his eyes, and he had rather prominent sideburns.  "Sorry to disturb you," he said, very quickly and with a French (or possibly Belgian) accent.  "I was told you might have a copy of Les Misérables in French.  I had to leave the library in a hurry and didn't have time to find one."

"Book or musical?"


Maria dug through her pile of canon stuff.  "Abridged or unabridged?"

"Unabridged."  Maria handed the three volumes of the French Brick to the man.  He raised his hand toward a nonexistent hat and bowed slightly.  "Merci."

"No problem.  I'm Maria, by the way.  Maria Falcone."

"Michel Javert, former gardien de la paix, now Agent with the Department of Bad Slash."  Maria stared.  Agent Javert, noticing her stare, took a step backwards.  "I have been glomped enough today, Agent Falcone.  I would appreciate it if..."

"I'm not going to glomp you.  How are you related to him?"  I will not glomp.  I will not glomp.  I will not glomp...

"He was my father."  He paused, listening intently.  There was a faint, girlish squealing coming from down the hall.  "Merde.  They found me.  Thank you for the books, Agent Falcone.  Please don't tell them which way I went.”  He once again tipped his nonexistent hat, bowed, and ran down the hallway away from the squealing as fast as he could.  Maria shut the door.

Enjorlas was sitting by her foot, intrigued by the sudden appearance of someone from his continuum.  Maria picked up the Mini-Brick and hummed “Come to Me” as she thought. 

She preferred not to think of Inspector Javert as her ‘Lust-Object.’  That was a rather crude term.  But…well, he was.  Having his son around could be either really cool or extremely problematic.  Probably both. 

[Beep ba-beep ba-beep ba-beeeeep ba-ba-ba-beep ba-beep ba-beep!]

“Glaurung it!”  Maria hit the console until it stopped beeping.  “Crispin!  Let’s go!  We’re going to kill a fairy!”

Crispin emerged from the bathroom.  “We’re going to kill a WHAT?”


“Look!  Minis!”  Maria ran to greet the two Mini-Balrogs that had just appeared in the Council of Elrond.  Their names, it was soon discovered, were ‘Gimili’ and ‘Gimil.’  “We’re not even a page in,” Maria muttered, “and already she spells Gimli’s name wrong.  Twice.  Are you getting the feeling she doesn’t like him very much?”

Crispin checked the Words.  “Actually, it appears that Boromir plays the role of the Designated Misogynistic Bastard.  Gimli just…exists.”

“Poor Gimli.”  Maria attempted to cuddle the Mini-Balrogs, but discovered that they didn’t really like being cuddled.  She put out the small flame that had ignited on her shoulder.  “Can we kee—”

“No,” said Crispin.  “We can’t keep them.  We’re sending them back to OFUM.”


“We already have four Minis.  We don’t need any more.  Open the portal.”

Maria pouted, and opened a portal to the Official Fanfiction University of Middle-Earth.  “Come on, go home,” she told them.  “My partner’s a jerk.”

“I am not a jerk,” Crispin protested.

[He’s not a jerk,] the CAD chimed in.

“I didn’t ask you.”  Maria settled down behind a bush.  “Fine.  You’re not a jerk.  But I’m still mad at you.”  There was a rustling in the bush, and a Mini-Balrog emerged.  Maria let out a sound that might have been a squeal.  “It’s Gimili!”  She looked ahead in the Words.  “Looks like he keeps coming back.  We’d better hold onto him until the end.”  She grinned.  “Ha.”


“Can you zap me?” Crispin asked the CAD.  “Or, um, I don’t know…how would you hurt someone?”

[I haven’t thought about it.  I wasn’t designed to be a weapon.]  It made a series of strange beeping sounds.  [I don’t think I know how to do it.]

“Right.  That’s one down.”

“One what?” Maria asked.  They were waiting in an ambiguous forest for the Sue to show up, and while Maria had asked several times why they couldn’t just portal ahead to her appearance, she had not yet gotten a satisfactory answer.  Crispin was too busy talking with the CAD. 

“We’re seeing if he follows the Three Laws of Robotics.  I think we’ve established that he can’t hurt anyone, so that’s the First Law taken care of.  Two more, and it’ll be official.”

“Oh, look!  The Sue’s here!”  Thank goodness, Maria added mentally, passing a piece of bacon to Gimili.

What they saw surprised everyone but Gandalf. There before them was a girl of maybe sixteen or seventeen, dressed in all green with a cloak pulled around her. Her hair was as black as a raven’s wing and pulled back into a braid that reached down past her waist.

“Can I just point out how impractical hair like that is?” Maria interjected.  “Especially in a time before the invention of shampoo?”

“She probably cleans it with magic,” Crispin said.  “She is a fairy, after all.”

“Actually, she’s a faerie.”

The CAD, trying to be helpful, beeped.  [Aallieah.  Faerie female.  Mary-Sue--]

Crispin interrupted him.  “Say that she’s not a Mary-Sue and we can go home.”

[Aallieah.  Faerie female.  Not a—not a—THAT DOES NOT COMPUTE!]

“So much for the Second Law,” Crispin muttered.

[Not necessarily.  Lying about the Sue’s status would have caused damage to the continuum, which would cause the canons to come to harm, which is a violation of the First Law.  And the Second Law cannot interfere with the First Law.]

“I think that’s the most you’ve ever said at one time,” Crispin said in wonder.  “I think your sentience is increasing.”


“Can we focus?” Maria cut in.  “The Glaurunging thing is sparkling.”

For when she pulled off the cloak she reveled two iridescent wings set in the middle of her back, and to make matters even more confusing, as soon as her wings were uncovered her hair immediately started sparkling. Because her hair was so dark to begin with, now it looked like a starry night’s sky.

Crispin stared.  “That’s just…she has magic hair.  She has magic hair.  Wings are bad enough, but she has MAGIC SPARKLY HAIR!”

“It gets worse,” said Maria, glancing ahead.  “It has healing properties.”

“The hair?”

“Yep.”  Maria gave Gimili some more bacon.  “Would you like to set the nasty hair on fire, little Mini?  Does that sound like fun?”

Gandalf decided they should get on with business. "Aallieah, I am glad that you found us. I wanted to ask you if you would join our group."

As he finished speaking there were cries of outrage form nearly every member; Boromir’s being the most prominent. "That is impossible! She is a woman, and have you noticed she carries no weapon; even though she confronted us. Nine men at that, it just goes to show you how foolish she is."

“Creating…Designated…Misogynistic…Bastards…”  Maria muttered as she wrote down the charge.  This was supposed to be Crispin’s job, but he was a bit distracted. 

“Okay, I’m going to point you at Boromir.  See if you can resist turning off.”

[Boromir, son of Denethor.  Human male.  Canon.  OOC: 76% Crispin, I don’t think the OOC-ness is to an extent that would make me blow up.]

“All right…let’s try Gandalf.”

[Gandalf the Grey/Mithrandir/Et Cetera.  Maia.  Canon.  OOC: 98.2% Warning: Character Rupture!  Recommend immediate polarity reversal of neutron flow!  Will not…turn off…must…allow…burn-out…am…talking like…Kirk…gyah, can’t do it!  Turnmeoffturnmeoff!]

Crispin switched the CAD off, returned it to a place where it could no longer detect the OOC canons, and turned it back on.  “You okay?”

[That hurt.]

“Sorry.  Looks like your self-preservation works pretty well.  So, can we conclude that you do in fact follow the Three Laws?”

[It appears that way.]


“You guys done?” Maria interrupted.  “We do have a mission, remember?”


As he did as he was told, Aallieah wrapped her single hair around one of her fingers and knelt down in front of him. She held up the hair and gently ran it across the cut. Sam winced slightly, for it did hurt a little just as she said. When she brought the hair all of the way across the wound she muttered something, almost to herself.

"Doramai nurilei."

After she said that she blew softly on the wound and stood up and stepped back from Sam. As she stood his cut glowed a pale blue then became a very bright white. When the light finally disappeared the wound was no longer there; not even a scar.

 “ENOUGH WITH THE MAGIC SPARKLY HAIR!” Crispin shouted.  He pulled a dagger from some unseen pocket and lunged at the Sue. 

Maria blurted out the charges before Crispin finished eviscerating the Faerie.  “Aallieah the Faerie, you are charged with creating the Mini-Balrogs Gimil and Gimili, stealing and mutilating movie lines, having impractical hair, having sparkly hair, creating an uncanonical race—namely, Faeries—having hair with healing powers, creating Designated Misogynistic Bastards, causing severe OOC-ness in the character of Boromir, causing a character rupture in the character of Gandalf, using Grelvish, inventing a language by hitting the keyboard in random places, causing pain to our CAD, comma abuse, general bad grammar and poor plot devices, and being a Mary-Sue.  For these crimes you are sentenced to death…were sentenced to death.  I think you were a little too eager, Crispin.”

“She had magic sparkly hair.”


Someone was knocking at the Response Centre door, again.  Maria went to open it, while Crispin tried to wash the glitter from his clothes and send Gimili back to OFUM.

When he came out a few minutes later, there was shouting coming from the hallway, and one of the voices involved sounded like Maria.

«  Vous êtes l’homme plus impossible dans l’immeuble ! »

« Vous êtes irresponsable, enfantine, et entièrement égoïste ! »

« Flagorneur ! »

« Dévoyée ! » 

Crispin nudged open the door.  Maria and someone from Bad Slash were standing outside, screaming at each other in what Crispin was pretty sure was French.  Maria was brandishing three very heavy books at the unknown agent, and the agent was brandishing a very heavy stick at Maria.

Suddenly, Maria stopped and glanced down the hall.  An evil grin crossed her features.  “Hey, Melany!  Liliane!  Michel’s over here!”

Merde,” the Slasher cursed.  He took off down the hall in a panic, shouting over his shoulder, “This isn’t over, Falcone!”

“Bring it, Javert!” Maria screamed after him, waving the book.  A group of squeeing female agents came down the hall, and Maria cheerfully pointed them in the direction of the fleeing Agent Javert.  She then joined Crispin in the doorway.

“Who was that?” Crispin asked.

“His name is Michel Javert, he is the uncanon son of Inspector Javert, and I hate him.”

“I thought you liked Javert.”

Maria walked back into the Response Centre and put the book on the nearest shelf.  “I like the inspector as a character.  But the things that make him an interesting character make Agent Javert an obnoxious and self-important human being.  Who has no sense of humor.”

“And you discovered this in five minutes?”


AN: Michel did not finish the Brick in the time it took Maria and Crispin to go on a mission.  Agent Rouge, his partner, has one of those book-scanning things from Torchwood, so Michel scanned the Brick with that and then returned it. 


The Three Laws of Robotics are the creation of the most amazing Isaac Asimov.

Captain Kirk is from Star Trek and is the creation of Gene Roddenberry.  His memorable speech patterns are the fault of William Shatner.