Envinyata: Narrative Voice

Dafydd looked up from the console as Constance walked into his Response Centre. "Hi," he said, waving his stump in greeting and minimising his reading material with his left hand.

“Morning-slash-afternoon-slash-whatever.” His fiancée waved a bar of chocolate in the air. “Managed to purloin this and thought you might be hungry. Finished packing already?"

Dafydd nodded. "I'm better at it than you," he said cheerfully.

“You’ve had a few thousand years more practice.” Constance slipped the chocolate into her pocket. “But just for that, you- hey!”

The elf danced back, already unwrapping the bar. “The Eldar are a graceful, agile folk,” he said around the first bite. “Mm, and this is good stuff.”

“Obviously.” Constance scowled at him. “That’s why I brought it to share with you.”

Dafydd rolled his eyes and tossed the rest of the bar to her. “Let it never be said I’m unfair. So how much longer are you likely to be?”

Constance shrugged and nibbled the corner of the chocolate. "I've got Steve and that temporary partner of mine, Aella, doing it while I take a break. Steve says his sister might help out later. Between them I figure they about equal one elf.”

Dafydd snorted. “For that, I might take the chocolate back.”

“You can’t, it’s all gone.” She stuffed the rest into her mouth, then chewed industriously to clear it. “You been reading?” she asked, her voice muffled.

 The elf nodded. "I found a few old reports lost in the files, so I was glancing through them – last chance, after all. This one was about Agents Nenya and Rosie on a mission in a 'fic which got deleted. Then there's…" He glanced at the folder. "Looks like Nenya got sent to Fic Psych and… is something wrong?"

Constance had turned bright red. "Um. No?" she said, utterly unconvincingly.

Dafydd raised an eyebrow and opened the report. "Right…" He started reading, skimming from line to line. A quarter of the way through, a name caught his eye. "Nurse Sims?"

Constance, still blushing furiously, nodded. "Um."

Her fiance scanned down a few more lines. "It says 'Spock-faced', but it's you, isn't it?"

Constance nodded again. "I think the girl was a bit Star Trek obsessed," she said faintly.

"I'll say." Dafydd shook his head. "I never knew you were in Fic Psych, Connie."

Constance sighed deeply and held her hands out, indicating openness. "Occasionally; Medical, too. They only call me in when there's a really heavy workload, like when new canons hit the limelight."

“Hmm.” Dafydd kept reading. Constance shifted uncomfortably where she stood. Finally, the elf minimised the window and straightened up. "You'll forgive me if I say you were a bit different back then?"

Constance giggled nervously. "Not as much as you might think. Remember that Nenya was still recovering when she wrote the report, and got subjected to No-Drool videos in between…"

Dafydd cocked his head and pulled the page back up. “Plus it was a different author, I think you said?”

“Um.” Constance scratched behind her ear. “Now that you mention it, yes.”

He chuckled. “Slips the mind, doesn’t it? You’re up to three different writers now, I think – how does that feel?”

She lobbed the crumpled chocolate wrapper at his head. “You tell me, Elf-boy. You’ve had at least that many.”

"Point." Dafydd pursed his lips. "Weird, really. Sometimes I feel like I'm a different person."

Constance smiled and patted him on the head. "Not to worry, Dafydd. I still like you whoever's writing you."

He grinned. "I should hope you do, Nurse Sims."

She growled under her breath. “I warn you, you’re looking for a fwapping right about now…”

Disclaimer: Middle-earth and everything in it was created by J.R.R. Tolkien. The PPC is the work of Jay and Acacia. Dafydd is mine, and Constance belongs to Kaitlyn.


Author's Note: Constance has been written by Kaitlyn, Huinesoron (hi!), and Nenya. Dafydd has been written by - at this point in time - Huinesoron, Kaitlyn, and Raven Firedragon. There have almost certainly been others by now.

In general, PPC agents aren't aware that they have authors. But sometimes, that rule is broken for comedy purposes, such as in the story being paid homage to here.