The PPC belongs to Jay and Acacia; Spore belongs to Maxis; Rohirrim and Eldar belong to the estate of J. R. R. Tolkien; Narnia belongs to the estate of C. S. Lewis; Han Solo, Imperial Grand Admirals, and the H'nemthe species belong to the Mouse; Captain Benjamin Sisko, the EP-607, the planet Minos, and Species 10036 belong to CBS Paramount; TARDISes, Jamie MacCrimmon, and Dorothy (“Ace”) McShane belong to the BBC; this fic belongs to Katherine997. I myself created the mini-Reaper Talek by bungling Sindarin consonant mutations on the Board (It makes sense in context). Thanks to doctorlit for beta-reading this.

Dioxygen difluoride (O2F2, often called “FOOF”) is a real substance, and so unstable even Gwendolyn (“Cloud”) Mushroom of DoGA won't employ it.

In my rendering of Targir's native language for Human mouthparts (i.e. devising a language) : the G is always hard; C represents the ch in chair; J is like the y in “yet”; E is as in “get” and O is as the a in “all”; AA, OW, UW, EJ, and IJ indicate long vowels; and the pitch accent is located on the last heavy syllable (i.e. one containing a long vowel and/or ending on a consonant cluster) of the word, or in the absence of a heavy syllable it is located on the penultimate syllable.

Unleash Your Derivativeness

Sijtsetar Girbowmjij, usually known by his core name of Targir, was a Garks, a large, dark green, carnivorous insectoid creature from Spore. His kind had been raised to sentience with a player empire's monolith, and he looked like his body had been put together by a plurality of beings with different agendas. He had four two-kneed legs and four two-elbowed arms. The hindmost two limbs, legs, ended in simple monodactyl insect feet. The second pair of limbs, arms, ended in four-fingered hands. On these four limbs, the proximal knees and elbows were usually raised above the axial body. The next pair of limbs forward were legs ending in tridactyl feet with the hallux in back; these legs did not usually rise above the axial body. The front pair of limbs were arms ending in very large, very sharp-looking curved blades; these arms pointed forward. From the section of his back between the back arms and the front legs, Targir had three thick crystal-like spines back to front, the middle one the longest. Between his two front shoulders, he had two slightly-corkscrewing horns. He had two relatively small compound eyes, and had three-part mandibles like three curving blades with serrated inner edges.

Targir and his partner Chantel Sansome had been gone five days dealing with a Rilian Sue, and he was in the Parc J. R. R. Tolkien, getting caught up with two fellow Floaters, Éowine and Steormægð.

“That intern working with you,” Éowine was saying. “You said he landed in hot water with the Hyacinth?”

{Yes,} replied Targir. {Artie tried to make it a charge that Elrond respected the Laws and Customs of the Eldar.}

“I must not have heard you right,” said Steormægð.

{You did. He's still being dressed down. But what did you deal with while we were away?}

“First,” said Éowine, “we dealt with a what-the-udûn-are-sound-tactics Sisko replacement on whom we set the EP-607 that the DMFF's botany committee bought while on an expedition to Minos. We then bought Lady Contrivance her favorite varnish from the General Store for her carving day, and after that we killed a particularly inane character replacement for Lemuel Gulliver. We simply bashed his head in as Houyhnhnms.”

{Of course,} said Targir.

“We got called away from the Parc Aristophane just when the Floaters were rallying against the Assassins, to spend three days in a badly-done Jamie/Ace fic,” said Steormægð. “We made our appearance when some unfortunate capitalization turned part of Ace's anatomy into dioxygen difluoride; she and Jamie are still in Medical.” She shuddered with horror, and Targir winced. “After that,” she continued, “we dealt with Melian/Idril slash. Oh, for an ordinary Suefic again!” Before anyone could call her out on tempting the Ironic Overpower or Murphy like that...

“Radagast on a bunny sled!” exclaimed someone behind the two Rohirrim. The three agents looked. There stood two Elf lads, either just into adulthood or in late adolescence, and resembling Elrond and Elros. It was the older of the two who had spoken. “Idril with Great-Grandma...” he trailed off, disbelieving.

{Who are you?} asked Targir.

“He's Eluréd and I'm Elurín,” replied the other Elf.

“Yes,” added Eluréd, “technically that Eluréd and that Elurín. We’re actually fic versions who were to be the sacrificial lambs in a badly-done action fic featuring a Sue for Gil-galad. We were rescued by Agents Max Oort and H'rivi and raised by Carthor of Operations and Celeblinniel of Medical.”

“We were assigned to work with Agents Éowine and Steormægð, Department of Floaters.”

“That's us,” said Steormægð.

Just then, a short, stout lady whose brown hair was shot through with gray arrived. This was Agent Chantel, a twenty-three year PPC veteran. “Artie's back,” she told Targir. “and forbidden to write up the charge list for four missions. We have a mission, featuring a sociopathic Han Solo replacement.”

{WHAT!?} Garks are not known for euphonious voices.

“A year before The Empire Strikes Back, Han gleefully goes He-Who-Fights-Monsters against a captured OC Imperial Grand Admiral. The fic is straight-up torture gorn.”

{Kogec mjaaš,} cursed Targir. {I need that like a giant can of Raid. Well, be seeing you.}

Targir and Chantel returned to their TARDIS, currently a Model T repainted red, as Éowine muttered darkly about what exactly Sociopath!Han could do with a H'nemthe female.

“Dear Suethor,” said Elurín as though dictating a letter. “Ti labo vi Gilawëa.”

“Ti labo vi where now?” asked Steormægð.

“Kilauea,” said Elurín. “A volcano found in World One and related continua.”

“No,” said Éowine. “We don't threaten the Suethors, nor do we command them to kill themselves. The character replacement, on the other hand...”

The four agents returned to HQ and headed for RC 529-╨. Just as they arrived...

[BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!]

While Éowine calmed down Talek the mini-Reaper and Gahhreesen the mini-Camoudile, who were always alarmed by the console, Steormægð and the brothers read the display. “Jadis in a block of ice!” exclaimed Eluréd. “Elladan and Elrohir” (he pronounced it as Elrochir) “thrown down the memory hole as a Sue masquerades as another great-niece? And Boromir does WHAT to Frodo!?”

“Pretty standard, I'm afraid,” said Steormægð.

[FLEEDLE FLEEDLE FLEEDLE!]

“What?” asked Steormægð. “Oh, it changed. Someone else got assigned that fic and we're getting a new one. Narnia this time. Still pretty standard, though. Fifth Pevensie sibling, inserts herself into the prophecy, the whole eight-and-four-sevenths rangar.”

Eluréd read ahead. “Where's the imagination in this one?”

“I guess I asked for it,” said Steormægð. “'Oh, for an ordinary Suefic again,' I said.”

“Ordinary's putting it mildly,” said Elurín. “Try 'dull'.”

“We'll be humans at first,” said Steormægð. “But as soon as we get into Narnia, Éowine will probably want to be a Centaur.”

And the two Rohirrim and the two humanized Sindar portaled to the Pevensie residence, with the Blitzkrieg impending outside.

The germen bombers appeared. They started dropping bombs on the houses.

“There could be an 'and' in there,” said Elurín. “Furthermore...” He blinked. “What is with those Messerschmidts?”

“What do you mean?” asked Éowine. “Do you still have Elven eyesight?”

“The symbols on the planes are wrong,” replied Elurín. “I did a lot of research on World One during Basic.”

“I guess that's a yes,” said Éowine.

The planes may have been “germen” rather than German, but the bombs were no less deadly. The agents made for the shelter.

Mrs. Pevensie called for Peter and Sophia—the Sue—to report on the double.

Edmund stayed behind. The agents had to pull Elurín aside, because he was riveted with horror as a dangling participle made Edmund's arm look out the window, causing an eye to appear halfway up the forearm.

“We can skip the next few chapters,” said Steormægð, “for they just recapitulate movieverse.”

They portaled ahead to the impromptu cricket match. Mary Sue was bowling, and clunked Edmund (mercifully now lacking the ulnar eye) in the leg. True to the movie, Peter said “Wake up, Dolly Daydream!”

“Howzat?” whispered Éowine.

“Not out,” reminded Steormægð. Sue bowled another delivery. It bounce and Edmund whack it good as the world fade around them momentarily, trying to figure out if Edmund had whacked the ball or not.

“What the?” ask Elurín, his voice sounding thin and crackly in the hypotheticality.

“We went into present subjunctive,” say Steormægð. “The English language has a vestigial subjunctive mood, which the typos here fit.” The past indicative reasserted itself just in time for Edmund's shot to go through the window for six-and-out.

As the siblings (real and fake alike) made for the spare room, the agents portaled to Lantern Waste. The two Rohirrim were centaurs, him chestnut and her bay. The Bag of Holding was, once more, a saddle-bag. The sons of Dior were in river person form.

It was night, and so the agents headed for an abandoned cave home: not Tumnus', but a three-room dwelling not too far from it. This one's occupant had also been arrested by Maugrim, aka Fenris Ulf, some time before.

“I've heard of Sues as derivative as this,” said Steormægð. “They have been known to end up grafted onto canonicals' bodies. It’s happened before, and we have to get Sophia before it happens here. But how?”

“Turn her into a goat and have Amlug!Eustace finish her?” suggested Elurín.

“What, and poison the Dawn Treader crew?” replied Eluréd.

“Point.”

“We have some time, at least, to figure it out,” said Éowine. “Meanwhile, about breakfast.”

“Don't Narnian centaurs eat a lot?” asked Elurín.

“Yes,” said Steormægð. “But the nature of this bag allows us to be prepared to some extent, and I do have Narnian and Calormene currency from every era covered by the books in it, and in case that's not enough Éowine and I know how to forage in winter, and keep horses fed as well. It's a basic survival skill in temperate- and polar-climate pre-industrial societies. Also, Wudufréa, one of Éowine's ancestors who lived through the Fell Winter of Twenty-Seven Fifty-Nine and 'Sixty, wrote on that topic. When I was learning how to read and write during Basic, Éowine used that treatise to test my reading skills in Rohirric.”

“Now,” said Éowine. “We know the Pevensies will come in the afternoon. But we do not know how many days we have to wait. We need to select rooms to sleep in, meanwhile.”

“That one looks like the master bedroom,” said Eluréd. “You two will want your privacy. We'll play rock-paper-scissors to see who gets the other room and who sleeps out here.”

“Good idea,” said Steormægð.

“One, two, three,” said Eluréd. He got rock, and so did his brother. They tried again; this time Eluréd got paper while Elurín got scissors. Elurín went into the smaller room, while Éowine followed Steormægð into their chamber.

“We got some time,” said Steormægð when she closed the door. “And I programmed in Centaur neurological responses for us again this mission, know what I mean?” she added, smiling.

The next afternoon the agents began their vigil, keeping watch over the lamp post to know when the five would come. However, it was six days before the Pevensies and the Sue arrived. The present subjunctive make another fleeting appearance, and then Lucy gave her siblings the movieverse ironic echo of their assumption that Narnia was all in her head. Cue snowball fight—and another brief fading into the present subjunctive—and then Peter made Edmund apologize to Lucy. Lucy gave her ironic echo of Edmund's jerkishness smugly.

“Wrong word,” say Steormægð—as the universe fade into hypotheticality again. “Scite,” said Éowine as the past indicative reasserted itself. “Let's get this over with now.”

They came into the clearing, and Éowine and Steormægð went for the Sue.

“Who are you and what do you want with our sister?” asked Peter.

“If this is your sister then I'm Flash Gordon.” said Elurín.

“Watch it,” warned his brother.

“Then where's your ray gun?” asked Lucy.

Elurín facepalmed. “I meant that's a phony who's modified your memories.”

“Excuse me?” said Peter. “Who are you, anyway?”

“As far as Sophia here is concerned?” said Eluréd. “A reality check. She is charged with inserting herself into the Pevensie family tree as a fifth sibling, with simply tagging along and taking other siblings' roles, with gratuitously shifting not just grammatical tenses but moods as well, with being one of the most boring Sues I've ever run across, and this despite creating a new national origin for Messerschmidt airplanes and causing Edmund's arm to sprout an eye (which are also charges), with making Lucy smug, and with basically being pointless.”

Without the movie script to go by, this Sue was helpless. Elurín drew a Calormene scimitar and before the true Pevensies could protest stuck it in the Sue’s heart. “Now she has a point to her,” he said. Then they portaled the Sue’s body to the bottom of the ocean off Galma’s coast, donned sunglasses, neuralyzed the Pevensies, and portaled themselves to the Witch’s palace.

“Four thrones or five?” Jadis was muttering under her breath. “Four thrones or five?”

“I apologize, your Majesty, but I am not sure,” said Ginnarbrik.

“Four.” Hearing a strange female voice, Jadis and the Dwarf turned to see two Centaurs and two river men, all wearing blue-tinted versions of the lenses some of those insolent Londoners had worn over their eyes. “And you never heard five given as the number,” the male Centaur added, raising a small stylus of some kind.

FLASH!

The agents returned to Lantern Waste, out of the Pevensies' sight.

“Let's go neuralyze the Professor and Mrs. MacReady,” said Steormægð, activating the RA.

The DORKS gave a [BRUAAAAAAYG!], and—prrp—it became a pastel-blue etch-a-sketch in which a message was spontaneously writing itself.

“What?” asked Elurín. He read the display. “'Embryonic centaur detected. To protect morphogenic field thereof, Agent cannot change back.'”

“You serious?” asked Steormægð.

“Read it yourself,” he said, handing her the DORKS.

“Hmm,” said Steormægð. Then her face lit up. “At last, Deorost!” she exclaimed. “After almost six years of trying, I'm finally expecting!” She handed it to Éowine, and the message changed.

“'Does Agent Éowine wish for his current disguise to be his new base form until further notice?'” read Éowine.

“Let's see,” said Steormægð with mock puzzlement. “Does someone who turns equine any time he goes into a canon with sentient equines wish to retain the form of a centaur as long as his wife does?”

[Bing!] went the DORKS.

“It took that as a yes,” said Éowine, putting the device in the saddlebags—prrp—a copy of a book of Species 10036 comic verse that he had borrowed from the Musée des Univers Perdus recently.

“Just remember,” she said, “once the little one is weaned, we return to our human forms.”

“Understood. Now, you two,” he indicated the Sindar, “will go neuralyze the canonicals Earth-side.” The two portaled through, resuming their previous human disguises.

“Edain as the natural parents of a Centaur,” said Eluréd after they returned a few minutes later. “Is it just me or is life really strange?”

“Given that I'd never heard of Centaurs until a few years ago...” Éowine let the clause speak for itself as they all returned to HQ.

Mr. Beaver saw the four human children emerge from Tumnus' home. It's them! he realized. Praise Aslan, the four rulers from the prophecy have come at last!