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Entry tags:
FIC, # 022; Homework
Title: When Spies meet Wise Old Masters
Author: Omnicat
Word Count: 632
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Middie & Pagan, briefly mentioned Middie x Cathy
Warnings: A hangover.
Author’s Note: Middie yet again. Me, predictable? :P
Middie Une meets Pagan. He totally understands why she had so many martinis the night before.
When Spies meet Wise Old Masters
Middie wouldn’t be surprised if the pounding in her head were to start drumming show tunes. More or less walking on her tiptoes to avoid banging her heels on the floor and sending even more agony echoing through her skull, she shuffled back to her textbook-marked seat, picked up the book and gingerly sat down. There was a grey-haired, formally dressed man sitting next to her, which hadn’t been the case when she’d left to get coffee.
“Please tell me they’re not still making people take all kinds of tests and courses even at your age,” she said, in a display of conversational initiative that startled her.
The man laughed as he looked at her. Well, Middie assumed that he was looking at her. His eyelids were almost absurdly droopy. Like one of those wrinkly dogs, only made of melting wax.
“Oh, no, miss, I’m just here to get my gun permit renewed,” he said jovially. “When you get to a certain age, they stop making you take tests to see what you’ve learned, and start making you take tests to make sure you haven’t forgotten anything.”
“And so it still never ends? Jesus Christ.” Her manners hit her in the temple with an alcoholic mallet. She pinched the bridge of her nose and swallowed through a surge of nausea. “Ugh. I’m sorry, I should mind my language. My manners, period.”
“That’s quite alright, miss. I hope the party was enjoyable?”
It certainly had been; her (hallelujah!) girlfriend, Cathy, and her circus had left for a new city and a new audience that morning, and she and Middie had said their (temporary) goodbyes over an abundance of drinks the night before. Martini’s for Middie, of course; shaken, not stirred, as a spy’s should be. Middie managed a smile, and somehow, the man managed to make his invisible eyes twinkle.
“It was, thank you. I’m Middie, by the way. Agent Middie Une.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Middie. My name is Pagan. I see you’re reliving your student days. Or perhaps catching up on them?”
“This is what student days are supposed to look like?” She almost laughed. “Then I’m catching up. I haven’t been to school since I was ten.”
It was no wonder that she had so much to catch up on, really. The Preventers were the first employers she had ever had that cared about her following protocol. But that didn’t mean it didn’t still make her feel like a rebellious teenager.
“Ah, I remember my time at the secret service academy.” Middie looked at her copy of Preventer Regulations and Procedures. Screw it, she thought again, and turned all her hung-over attention to Pagan’s reminiscent ramblings. “The weeks were full of tests and drills and cramming, but during the weekends, all we did was turn our brains into stir-fry.”
Now Middie really did laugh. And regretted it immediately. She took a sip of coffee, and felt better.
“I must say, though, all the cleaning up that had to be done on Mondays came in handy when I retired as a civil servant and became a private servant.”
Middie frowned, took in his attire again, wracked her brains. “You’re a butler?”
At that moment, a Preventer agent with a clipboard walked up to them and said, “Mr Pagan?”
“Ah, I’m afraid I must be going.” Pagan stood and bowed. “It was a pleasure talking to you, Miss Middie.”
“Likewise,” she said. Then added, because she didn’t fancy boggling over this all throughout the test: “Just one more thing, if you don’t mind my asking - what made you decide to turn in your badge?”
Pagan smiled in that way only grandparent-age people in the presence of grandchild-age people can. “The smell of fresh laundry and furniture polish.”
Author: Omnicat
Word Count: 632
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Middie & Pagan, briefly mentioned Middie x Cathy
Warnings: A hangover.
Author’s Note: Middie yet again. Me, predictable? :P
Middie Une meets Pagan. He totally understands why she had so many martinis the night before.
When Spies meet Wise Old Masters
Middie wouldn’t be surprised if the pounding in her head were to start drumming show tunes. More or less walking on her tiptoes to avoid banging her heels on the floor and sending even more agony echoing through her skull, she shuffled back to her textbook-marked seat, picked up the book and gingerly sat down. There was a grey-haired, formally dressed man sitting next to her, which hadn’t been the case when she’d left to get coffee.
“Please tell me they’re not still making people take all kinds of tests and courses even at your age,” she said, in a display of conversational initiative that startled her.
The man laughed as he looked at her. Well, Middie assumed that he was looking at her. His eyelids were almost absurdly droopy. Like one of those wrinkly dogs, only made of melting wax.
“Oh, no, miss, I’m just here to get my gun permit renewed,” he said jovially. “When you get to a certain age, they stop making you take tests to see what you’ve learned, and start making you take tests to make sure you haven’t forgotten anything.”
“And so it still never ends? Jesus Christ.” Her manners hit her in the temple with an alcoholic mallet. She pinched the bridge of her nose and swallowed through a surge of nausea. “Ugh. I’m sorry, I should mind my language. My manners, period.”
“That’s quite alright, miss. I hope the party was enjoyable?”
It certainly had been; her (hallelujah!) girlfriend, Cathy, and her circus had left for a new city and a new audience that morning, and she and Middie had said their (temporary) goodbyes over an abundance of drinks the night before. Martini’s for Middie, of course; shaken, not stirred, as a spy’s should be. Middie managed a smile, and somehow, the man managed to make his invisible eyes twinkle.
“It was, thank you. I’m Middie, by the way. Agent Middie Une.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Middie. My name is Pagan. I see you’re reliving your student days. Or perhaps catching up on them?”
“This is what student days are supposed to look like?” She almost laughed. “Then I’m catching up. I haven’t been to school since I was ten.”
It was no wonder that she had so much to catch up on, really. The Preventers were the first employers she had ever had that cared about her following protocol. But that didn’t mean it didn’t still make her feel like a rebellious teenager.
“Ah, I remember my time at the secret service academy.” Middie looked at her copy of Preventer Regulations and Procedures. Screw it, she thought again, and turned all her hung-over attention to Pagan’s reminiscent ramblings. “The weeks were full of tests and drills and cramming, but during the weekends, all we did was turn our brains into stir-fry.”
Now Middie really did laugh. And regretted it immediately. She took a sip of coffee, and felt better.
“I must say, though, all the cleaning up that had to be done on Mondays came in handy when I retired as a civil servant and became a private servant.”
Middie frowned, took in his attire again, wracked her brains. “You’re a butler?”
At that moment, a Preventer agent with a clipboard walked up to them and said, “Mr Pagan?”
“Ah, I’m afraid I must be going.” Pagan stood and bowed. “It was a pleasure talking to you, Miss Middie.”
“Likewise,” she said. Then added, because she didn’t fancy boggling over this all throughout the test: “Just one more thing, if you don’t mind my asking - what made you decide to turn in your badge?”
Pagan smiled in that way only grandparent-age people in the presence of grandchild-age people can. “The smell of fresh laundry and furniture polish.”