Writings on Various Themes and Melodies

"Get down! Get down!"

"I can't move the - ARGH!"

"Well, then duck!"

Mohan scrambled to the ground just in time; the missile cleared his scalp by about half an inch. There was a loud thwacking noise behind him, followed by shouted cursing. He leapt up, grabbed the heavy wooden door, and threw all his weight behind it. The door finally slid closed, and amid low swooshing noises, he sank down behind it, safe, for now, in some ornamental hall or other in the Ministry of Magic, with a magnificent balcony overlooking them on either side, and a spiral staircase going directly through the floor and ceiling on the far end of the room.

His partner stood set in some fighter's stance or other, her next missile arcing in steady circles in the makeshift slingshot. There was a mad gleam in her eyes, and he watched warily for a moment to make sure nothing was aimed at him before commenting - in his own shape, he was more than a match for her, but the portal had disguised him as human, and he didn’t trust this body to get him out of deadly, partner-initiated harm.

"I'm reasonably sure that's not on the list of canonical weapons for this 'verse, lethal or otherwise."

The short, maniacal blond grinned at him, her slingshot never slowing. "Ostensibly this series takes place on Earth - therefore, it's a canonical material, so there must be a file for it."

He glowered at her, ignoring the loud, furious mob pounding on the other side of the door, for the moment. "There's no file to explain why a Cafeteria worker had to use a lethal weapon!"

"Circumstances were dire! I had no choice - would you have preferred the alternative? And besides, it's classified as a fruit, not a lethal weapon."

Mohan climbed to his feet, still glaring. "We're going to have to neuralyze them anyway, if we even have a neuralyzer. Since - again, Cafeteria Workers don't exactly get field equipped for combat. And if it's not listed as lethal, it damned well should be, and... are you even listening?"

Abruptly, the twine end of the slingshot was thrust into his hand, and his partner sprinted off, towards the staircase. "Man the slingshot, I'll be back!" she called, over her shoulder.

"But you haven't - damnit, Lyn," he muttered, as she sprinted down the stairs. "Sure, take the rest of the ammunition with you, it's not like I'm holding a mob of angry protesters off with a single door and a fruit." Mohan silently thanked the Powers that they'd had the common sense to leave Jof back at HQ - this could certainly be much, much worse.

There was a loud clinking sound, and the hinges dropped off the door, glowing anvil-hot. He looked at them, swore, and leapt away from the door about half a second before it crashed to the ground amidst a cloud of thick, menacing smoke. A bit awkwardly, he hefted the slingshot and began to whirl it around over his head. With his other hand, he groped blindly for the pocket in his vest that held the wand prop. He had absolutely no experience with the Potterverse, and even if he had, any powers he could've accessed were several dimensions away, but in previous adventures, he and Lyn had discovered that weapons, even useless ones, went a long way to raising respect.

As the smoke cleared, a man in a deep blue robe stepped forward, peering around through very thick gray bangs and even thicker spectacles, and pointing his wand a bit less carefully than Mohan would have liked. "Oi! You there!"

Mohan fought back the rising fear in his throat, concentrating on the heft of his missile, whirling steadily at his side. He adjusted his grip on the stolen wand slightly, and swallowed. Summoning all the languid arrogance his cousin had ever taught him, the agent offered a grin. "You - er, knocked?"

A small crowd began to push through behind the wizard, in robes of various colors, several splattered with a yellowish, custardy flesh that was beginning to smell, even from ten feet off; quite a few of them were looking ill, and he counted three, at least, with what looked like sustained injuries - the thorns still scattered over their robes were a dead giveaway. It would have been funnier, but they were all either glaring directly at him (and his fruit-slingshot), or shouting, and he suspected all of them were moments away from drawing their wands.

"Knocked? Knocked?! You're under arrest, boy! You and that little ruffian, which - where did he go?"

If his hands had been free, he would've probably gone Picard, but being (technically) armed, Mohan held his ground. "We didn't start anything," he replied, his voice steady. "Your receptionists  were tangibly hostile from the beginning."

"Our-- our receptionists? You dare!" The wand hand was quivering, Mohan noticed uneasily.

"Well, yes. From there, it was merely a matter of escalation. You see, my partner was merely attempting to negotiate for food - you didn't leave her much choice but to find an alternative route, and when your guards went after us, we were left with no alternatives whatsoever - really, if you want to be technical, this all could have been avoided if you had any decent procedures in your front desk." He took a breath; the man was beginning to turn an ugly shade of red, and three of the people behind him had also drawn their wands.

"We don't have time for this! I order you to drop your weapon - weapons - and surrender, or you leave us no choice!"

Mohan shook his head. "I'm afraid I cannot do that, sir. Without my partner here to consult, that is a tactical decision to which I simply cannot commit."

"Oh, don't worry about that," the wizard sneered, drawing back his wand. "We're not really giving her a choice, either." With a slashing motion, a spark of red light appeared on the end of his wand, aimed directly at the Agent, who, in a moment of sheer panic, let the durian fly into their midst. The spell caught it about two feet out from their crowd, and he threw an arm up to cover his face as it exploded with a loud 'bang,' showering all and sundry with electrically-charged, strong-smelling goop, and heavy thorns.

"Nice shot, dude!"

It took him a moment to find his partner (the knotted end of the rope smacking him in the face was a dead giveaway). She grinned down at him from the balcony, about fifteen feet overhead. "Lyn! Where were you? We've got troub--"

"I know! Don’t worry about that, just close your eyes!"

Without further warning, she hefted something that resembled an enormous layer cake, with the addition of a biohazard symbol and a fuse, off the balcony, towards the wizards. With an ear-splitting crack, the object exploded into a ball of red light, blindingly bright even with his eyes shut; the wizards collapsed to the floor, in slow motion, and, as he blinked away the spots, his partner grinned at him from her perch atop the railing.

"Catch!" A bag that felt like about thirty pounds of cannon balls slammed him in the chest, and he staggered back a step, lacking the breath to put his curses in full volume.

In short order, they had three enormous bags of pumpkins - just a head shorter than Lyn, actually - on the floor, and all was in order, more or less. He'd even managed to avoid swearing at her!

"So, do we have any durian left?"

...so far. He gave his partner a Look. "If you'd like to wring out their robes before they come to, then we can use what's left of that. Otherwise, no, thank God."

Lyn shrugged and hefted one of the bags. "As per Department Code, I left adequate pay - I think we might even make our budget this month!"

"Payments, you say? Does that include payments for damages to property and person?"

"Bahahaha! Oh, you crack me up, dude. Ready to go?"

Sighing, he flicked the portal activator, and the big purple doorway snapped to. "As long as you're sure that's covered..."

His partner swung the bag over her shoulder and stepped through the portal, calling over her shoulder, "They're wizards, Mohan! Stop worrying and t--"

Mohan shook his head, grabbed the other two bags - surprisingly heavy - and, after a quick and futile attempt to get the splatters off his vest, followed her through the portal.