There was a knock at the door.
Agent Kaitlyn paused in the corridor and looked over her shoulder. The door in question was yet another of the indistinguishable grey doors in grey walls that made up the bulk of HQ. At some point, this one had had a sheet of paper stuck on it with what seemed to be chewing gum, but most of the notice was gone now. Whatever was through the door was apparently something 'New'.
The knock was repeated. Kaitlyn wavered, then sighed and turned back to it. A random knock in a building (loosely speaking) sorely lacking in door locks sounded like a cue for Adventure, which wasn't exactly in her plans today. But there was the Ironic Overpower to consider: if she ignored the knocking (which came a third time as she was thinking about it), it would undoubtedly turn out to be someone trying to warn her away from dramatic occurrences further down the hall.
Kaitlyn pulled the door open. The couple standing outside - and it was outside, the door opened onto a view of a forested mountainside - could have appeared on a Wikipedia article for 'government bureaucrat'. They were dressed in immaculate black suits, the woman's skirt cut in such a way that suggested a ruler had been employed to ensure it was regulation length. She had her black hair pulled back into a severe bun; the man's brown hair was gelled into a style that could most flatteringly be called 'unflattering'. Each of them held a clipboard and a poised pen, and they were both looking severely at Kaitlyn.
The woman's face tightened with a smile that had to have been practiced in front of a mirror. "Bonjour," she said. "Parlez-vous français?"
Kaitlyn blinked. "Um. Allons-y?"
The woman stared at her, then turned to mutter to her companion. Kaitlyn heard the phrase 'le Docteur', and then the woman turned back to her.
"English, yes? You speak the English?"
"Um. Yyyyes." Kaitlyn chewed on the inside of her cheek. "Are you new recruits? I can direct you to the Marquis' office. Well… I can probably take you there, at least."
"That will not be necessary," the man put in. His accent wasn't as strong as the woman's, but still clearly French. "We are here to speak not with your director, but with you."
"With… me?" Kaitlyn glanced up and down the corridor. "Because I was just passing, this isn't my door…"
"Oui, oui." The man waved a hand dismissively. "But you are l'employée, non? Therefore it is you with which we wish to speak."
"Um." Kaitlyn took a deep breath. "All right, then, I guess."
The man nodded to the woman, who pasted on her smile again and lifted her clipboard. "Bonjour," she began again, clearly reading from a script. "We are the representatives of the Government of France, and we are here to determine the level of your compliance with the domestic laws of France. You will answer all our questions promptly and accurately, or you will be subject to the highest sanctions."
Kaitlyn stared. "The laws of… France? But we're not in France."
The man drew in a hissed breath and made a note on his clipboard. The woman simply glared at Kaitlyn and pointed back out of the door. "That is La Nouvelle-Calédonie, non? She is a part of France. Therefore, your building here is also within France."
"I'm not sure that's-" Kaitlyn stopped herself as the man shook his head, pen poised. "But I'll answer your questions… I guess."
"Naturellement." The woman lifted her clipboard. "Premier, l'alcool. Are there institutions which sell alcoholic drinks within these walls?"
"Bars? We have bars." Kaitlyn chuckled. "We have lots of bars, actually. We-"
"Oui," the woman agreed as her colleague began to write once more. "And at what time do they close?"
"Close?" Kaitlyn frowned. "I don't think they do close, really."
"Ah." The woman glanced at her partner, who nodded and kept writing. "And when were they last inspected for compliance with the health and safety?"
"Well, I'm not-" Kaitlyn paused, watching the man's pen hover over his clipboard. "Our Health and Safety Department was shut down a long time ago," she tried, "but the Cafeteria team took over the food side. I'm sure they go round regularly."
Her caution hadn't worked. The man muttered "Que les inspections internes?" and kept scribbling. The woman shook her head, almost pityingly.
"Bien. Now, the salaries. Are you paid the minimum wage? 9.53 euros per hour?"
Kaitlyn barked out a laugh. "Paid? Are you joking? We don't-" She cut herself off as the man's pen scratched. "I mean to say… much of our pay comes in the form of, um, perks? Physical objects? I got an office chair once, it's really cool-"
"Je comprends," the woman said softly. "Oui, I understand very well." She exchanged a look with her partner, then shrugged. "Now, the ages. Is it too much to hope that you have the minimum age of employees?"
"We, um… sort of?" Kaitlyn looked dubious. "I mean, we don't let kids join, if that's what you mean. Though we do have a Triceratops who's about ten, but-"
The man's pen had gone straight through his clipboard. He stared in horror at Kaitlyn, and the woman's face matched his perfectly. "Triceratops?" she repeated. "Le dinosaure? You have… the extinct, unregistered beast?"
"She's not a beast, she's an agent in training-"
"You employ the revenant and underage creature?" The woman slid her clipboard under her arm and straightened up. "This is not acceptable in the least. This organisation is in open defiance of all the laws of France. If you do not cease all operations and remove your premises from French soil immédiatement, we will have no recourse but to level criminal charges against you." She took hold of the man's wrist and pulled him back from the door. "You may inform le marquis that a formal notice in this regard will be presented to him forthwith. Au revoir." And she slammed the door behind her.
Kaitlyn stared at the closed door as the last tatters of the 'New Caledonia' sign drifted to the floor. Then she turned on her heel and hurried off into HQ.
On the far side of the door, Nyx Nightingale turned to Dassie Hyrax and grinned. "That was amazing."
"You were pretty incredible." Dassie chuckled. "Do you think we should've told her?"
"Nah, where's the fun in that?" Nyx took his hand and squeezed it. "Come on, there's still hours left of April First. Let's see how many more we can get."
Disclaimer: The PPC belongs to Jay and Acacia. Nyx, Dassie, and Kaitlyn are mine. New Caledonia and all its laws belong to France.
Published: 1 April 2015
Timeline: 1 April 2015
Author's Note: Poisson d'avril! This story was suggested by a conversation on the PPC Board about what laws the PPC is actually subject to. The answer, of course, depends on which bureaucrats you talk to…