@Starlight Aurate: Yes, reviews for non-pokémon fics count for this, and for the leaderboard, too! Reviews of completed fics also count.
@Umbramatic: That's all you need. Glad to have you!
And here's the first story update of the game! I'll get back on score updates and prize requests tomorrow. For now, enjoy!
--
The fanfic section's patrons mill around aimlessly, a few exclaiming over the empty cookie tray, a couple hurrying up to the dark mod office, looking for further clues. There's nothing out of place, nothing to suggest what might have befallen the three staff members. It's as though they disappeared into thin air.
"Though that would be impossible, of course," Palkia confides to a rather nervous-looking Pyotr Tchaikovsky. "No spatial instabilities here! Whatever happened, it was entirely within the realm of ordinary physics."
Under ordinary circumstances, the presence of the legendary dimensional dragon would probably attract more attention, but people are worried enough about the mystery in front of them, or simply the mystery of how they ended up here, that it passes without much comment. People fall into small clusters of two and three, a fair number wandering aimlessly by themselves, examining the evidence, such as it is, or staring hopelessly around at the shelves.
"Ah-ha!" someone crows. An octillery creeps straight down the face of a bookcase, suction cups popping loudly as he moves, a thin book stuck to one tentacle. "I've got it!
How to Make Mods Disappear! Which, a-ah, I happened to find just over there. Just sitting right over there!"
He rapidly attracts the attention of a fair number of the library's occupants. Octillery DeVillain backs nervously against the base of the shelving, leaving the slightly-slimy book on the floor in front of him. "Look, that's everything we need! To find out what happened to the mods, I mean, not make them disappear forever. Definitely to find them."
"Whoever did this must have left it here," says a human wearing a pikachu mask. "Let's see what it says!"
DeVillain reaches a hesitant tentacle towards the book again, but another human scoops it up before he can reach. "Hmm, let's see," she says, flipping pages. "'Second only to adminsitrators in terms of sheer power, the moderator is a wily and dangerous opponent under the best of circumstances... proceed with caution...' Blah, blah, get to the point... Okay, here we go. 'Because moderators possess considerable power over the beings within their domain, of not the domain itself, it is wisest to engage them outside their territory. Even better, lure them to a place of your own making, one where you control the rules of engagement. Such a place need not be physical, and perhaps it is better not; for the moderators' own power is the power of metaphor, and a place constructed using your own analogies will negate their abilities."
"Okay, and that tells us what, exactly?" asks an arcanine-morph. "They got kidnapped, or something?"
Feeling rather left out of his own discovery, DeVillain says, "If I may offer a suggestion..."
"It's the books!" the pikachu-masked kid says. "They're inside a story. Listen--what other place do you get to make all the rules? You get to make up a whole world! If somebody wanted to get rid of the mods, they could make a story where they couldn't do anything to escape. They must be in one of the books."
"That's stupid," says a ragged-looking girl with outsized razorblades glinting along her arms. "How can someone get trapped inside a book?"
"That's just how stories work," the pikachu kid insists. "At least here. If you read the story yourself, you can go after them. If we can find out which story the mods got pulled into, we can bring them out again!"
"So it's a rescue mission?" asks a charmander.
"We're supposed to look at a bunch of books?" The arcanine again.
"That's crazy! It's an entire library here!"
"We'll never be able to do that!"
The room descends into a flurry of discussion, voices agitated and excited or just confused. The pikachu kid's shouting something, trying to get attention, but no one's listening. The woman who took DeVillain's book appears to have forgotten it doesn't belong to her, but the octillery whips out as suction-tipped tentacle and hooks it back from her as she starts to walk off.
"I'll be needing this," he mutters to himself as he begins to suction-walk his way back up and over the top of the shelf. "The world hasn't seen the last of Octillery DeVillain!"
Meanwhile, a pokémon's jumped up onto one of the reading tables, a mismatched creature with crest and tail glowing red. He yells over the crowd and at last, slowly, the clamor begins to die down.
"We can do this!" he says. "It's a big job, but if we divide up the work, we can cover a lot of stories! Look how many of us there are!"
"Split up?!" a farfetch'd squawks, shedding a couple feathers in sheer distress. "Are you crazy? That's what they want you to do! They'll isolate us and pick us off one by one!"
"I don't mean go it alone," the chimera says. "We need to team up! I'm on a rescue team, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that if you work together with your friends, you can take on challenges you could never have faced alone."
The people standing watching eye each other and shift uneasily. A few of them know each other, but only a few. And now they're supposed to go off on some grand quest with a bunch of strangers?
"That sounds a bit dangerous," Pyotr says hesitantly.
"It could be," the chimera says. "That's why we'll go together. You should try to find something you can use as a weapon if you need to, too. Some of these stories might be dangerous."
With a decisive buzz, a cutiefly takes off and zips over to a bulletin board on the wall, covered in fliers for upcoming library events and college students offering tutoring. The tiny bug takes hold of a purple push-pin, and with one, two mighty tugs and a furious buzzing of her wings, manages to drag one free. Four O'Clock brandishes the pin above her head like a miniscule epee, trilling triumphantly.
"Exactly!" the chimera chirps. "Well, maybe something bigger might work better..."
"Yeah, we can do this!" the pikachu-masked kid says, pumping a fist in the air. "Who's with me?"
She might receive a slightly more lukewarm response than she was hoping for, but there are few members of the crowd who look excited, or at least interested. "There are so many great authors here," the pikachu kid goes on. "Even if you don't find the mods, I bet you'll have a great time reading anyway."
"That's the spirit," the chimera says. "And feel free to ask me for help if you need it. I'll do whatever I can." The chimera pulls a book left on the table towards him and flips it open. "I'm Silvally, and I'm going to do everything I can to find the moderators. Now, who's with me?"
--
With the chimera's speech over, people start moving off, collecting in small groups or setting off into the shelves to pick out a few stories. The chimera himself is a whirlwind of activity, on patrol for stragglers and grabbing volumes to start reading once he's got everyone sorted out. Pyotr hangs back, hoping not to be noticed. Getting flung foward into this time was bad enough, and now to get caught in the middle of something like this?
Pyotr's heart practically leaps from his chest when someone yells from right beside him, "Hiya! What are you doing?"
Clutching his chest, Pyotr looks down to find the pikachu-masked child from earlier grinning up at him. Or the mask is grinning, anyway; there's no way to tell what expression the girl herself is wearing, but she's positively radiating enthusiasm. The woman who was reading from the book earlier is hanging around nearby, looking around at the shelves in a calculating way.
"Oh. Well. I was just--"
"Don't you want to read some stories? That's what everybody's doing!"
"I'm not sure I belong here," Pyotr says. "I'm a composer, not a warrior. All this talk about weapons and ."
"Oh, it's no big deal. Stick with Saoirse and me, we can show you the ropes."
"Do you... Do you have your 'weapon' already?"
"Oh yeah! I've always got my slingshot!" The child brandishes it for Pyotr to admire. "And Saoirse has something
really good. Come on, show him, Saoirse!"
The woman snaps to attention and digs in her pocket to bring out... Pyotr squints down at it. It's green and round, like a pea, but bigger than any pea he's seen. It also appears to be wearing a tiny red cape.
"The Super Attack Pea!" Saoirse announces with obvious pride. "Good luck standing up to THIS!"
"Whoooah, too powerful!" the child says, hands thrown up over the mask's eye-holes. "Quick, put it away again!"
Saoirse pockets the Attack Pea, but her triumphant smile is undimmed. "I'll do whatever it takes to protect the Church, even if it means using an Attack Pea on someone."
Pyotr tries to smile like he understands what's going on. This place is so strange. He'd felt out of his depth even before this woman started talking like a tiny vegetable was a deadly weapon.
"Anyway, Pika's right," Saoirse says. "If you need help figuring things out, we've got your back. Actually, I was just thinking of something that might work for a weapon, if I didn't already have mine." She points to a display case against the far wall of the library, which houses several artifacts from the Flame Wars of 2005. One of them is almost a meter long, made of solid metal, and sitting up on wheels.
"From there?" Pyotr asks, scanning the display case in increasing desperation, hoping that she doesn't mean the obvious. "Surely you aren't talking about--"
"A CANNON?" Pika practically shrieks. "Oh, man, that'd be so cool!"
"Absolutely!" Saoirse says, beaming. "It'll be fun. I've never st--uh, borrowed something like that from a library before. Because it will be borrowing, since we're going to give it back," she goes on, abruptly stern. "Anyway, we have to do whatever it takes, to protect the Mods and the Church."
"Come on, come on, come on!" Pika says, grabbing Pyotr's hand and more or less hauling him across the library.
"I told you, I'm a composer!" he protests. "I have no idea how to fire a cannon! I make music. Music! That's what I--"
"Some songs use cannons," Pika says brightly. "It's okay. I don't think it's very hard. You just have to aim and then light the fuse."
"There isn't even any ammunition," Pyotr goes on while Saoirse begins inspecting the edges of the case. "How would I even move it?"
"It has wheels!"
"Very well. How do you propose to get it out of there? Break the glass?"
"No, no, that would probably alert the police," Saoirse says. "The front pane should come off, but the case is locked. So... if I had something to pick it with..."
"Do you need any help?"
It's the pokémon that looks like it was put together out of spare parts, with the tiny cutiefly buzzing around his tall crest. Before Pyotr can say anything, Pika cuts in with, "Yeah! This guy wants a cannon, but we can't get it out of the case."
"I do
not want a cannon!"
"Oh, perfect! Could you bring that pin over here?"
The cutiefly buzzes over to Saoirse, and Pyotr watches, feeling helpless to stop them while they discuss means of getting into the case. Perhaps if he just snuck away, they'd find someone else to try shoving a cannon at.
"Are you all humans?" the mismatched pokémon chirps at Pyotr. "I've never seen a human before."
"I... yes. Yes, I am a human."
"Oh, that's interesting. How come you're the only one with fur on your face?"
Pyotr is spared having to respond to that by a delighted squeak from Four and Saoirse's excited whoop. Aided by Four's push-pin they've managed to defeat the lock, and the front of the display case swings ponderously open.
Pyotr hangs back while Pika goes for the cannon, jabbering away excitedly about how cool everything is and very quickly discovering how unwieldy a cannon is. This one is smaller than some, probably intended for ship battles, and it rolls surprisingly smoothly on its old wooden wheels, but it's still quite a bit too heavy to be really portable, not that it appears to dampen Pika's enthusiasm any.
"Need some help?" Silvally asks, and is singlehandedly able to lift the cannon down from its case. Even for a pokémon, he must be quite strong. Pyotr sighs internally. It seems he'll be having a cannon, like it or not.
"Yay! Thank you!" Pika says, and Silvally smiles, wagging his tail-fin.
"Let me know if you need anything else," he says before galloping off, Four trailing him. Saoirse climbs down off the case, grinning triumphantly, and Pyotr stares down at the cannon while she and Pika get into an excited debate about what they should read first. He's broken out of his reverie when Pika turns her attention to
him, brimming with energy as usual.
"High five!" she says, holding up her hand.
"I beg your pardon?"
And as Pika launches into an impassioned discussion of the mechanics of a high five, it finally begins to dawn on Pyotr that the cannon is probably going to be he least of his problems.
--
Owen pads from shelf to shelf, periodically reaching back to make sure his tail is still securely taped up against his back. It's never good when he manages to set something on fire, but in a place like this, with so many books, so much paper, it would be
especially bad.
Owen wishes he had something that would reassure him that he could prevent a fire from getting out of hand, if he accidentally managed to start one. He also wishes he had Silvally's confidence and drive. The chimera keeps dashing back and forth, reviewing stories, checking in on other readers, trying to keep everyone coordinated. He's a great explorer, Owen can tell.
Well, one day. He'll become a member of the Association, he'll form a team, and someday it'll be him taking charge when catastrophe strikes, making sure everyone makes it out okay. He's strong already! Even if he can't evolve, he can still be a great explorer.
Owen sighs, then stiffens, grabbing for his tail again, sure he felt it slipping. No, it's fine, and he really has to stop freaking out over every tiny movement. He should find somebody to partner up with--they can tell him if his tail starts to burn something.
On the other hand, there must be
something in this library to deal with fires. If they don't use Rawst paper in their books, they must have a way of dealing with fire if it happens to break out. It would be dumb to store so much paper if they didn't. But Owen's never seen a library like this before.
There's a strange pokémon browsing a shelf nearby. It looks something like a throh, but even taller and thinner, with a patch of dark fur on its head. There are a few of them wandering the stacks; Owen wonders where they came from. It isn't every day you meet a whole new kind of pokémon.
"Umm, excuse me?" he asks this one. The strange pokémon looks down at him, a book open in one hand. "Do you want to team up? For reading and stuff?"
"Why is your tail taped to your back?"
"Oh, that. It's to keep it out of the way so it doesn't burn anything. B-by the way, um, others are starting to get equipped with things to help them out. D'you have anything that might help put out fires? Just in case--you know... with my tail and all..."
The strange pokémon gives him a long, considering look, then says, "Have you tried a fire extinguisher?"
Owen brightens, which of course makes his tail burn hotter against his back, in danger of melting its cradle of tape. "No! What's that? It sounds like it could work."
The pokémon shrugs. "You use it to put out fires. There should be one nearby. Come on, let's look."
Owen grins and follows after. "I'm Owen," he says. "What's your name?" A very dusty Silvally goes by up ahead, carrying a book in his beak.
"Sai," the strange pokémon says. "Sai Luart."
"Oh. I've never met a sai before."
The sai sticks to the outer wall of the library, looking for something. Finally he finds an unmarked door and pulls it open, revealing mops and buckets, an old pair of boots, general clutter. "Here," Luart says. He puts a hand on a red canister standing just inside the door. It's nearly as tall as Owen. "This is a fire extinguisher. To use it, you just pull the pin, press the handle, and it'll shoot stuff at the fire to put it out."
"That's great! Thank you!" Owen says. He's was already sizing the fire extinguisher up, considering. It'll be awkward to carry around, but it would probably do some damage if he hit things with it. "Did you find something? A weapon or, or something, like Silvally was saying?"
"I already had one." Luart pushes his shirt back to show a long, gleaming knife hanging at his side.
"Wow! That looks pretty serious."
"It was supposed to be a gift," Luart says, letting his shirt cover the knife again. "I guess it wasn't a very good one."
"No, well, I mean, right now it's great!" Owen says. "And you got me the fire extinguisher, too. That was exactly what I wanted. So, um, about partnering up. D-do you want to be on a team with me?"
The long silence that follows is enough to give Owen his answer, but in the end Luart follows up with, "No. Not today. I have my own pokémon I have to work with. Another team member... not today."
Whatever
that's supposed to mean. It makes sense, though. Owen's just an unevolved pokémon, not even a proper member of the Association yet. He's used to exploring on his own, and he can do that for just a little bit longer. "Okay," he says. "Well, thanks again for the fire extinguisher. And good luck searching."
Luart nods and says, "Good luck." Owen hefts the fire extinguisher--it isn't too heavy, really, just unwieldy--and sets off to find some stories to read, now that he doesn't have to worry about his tail.
--
Silvally wanders away from the apple-bin, feeling a little better but still daunted by the shelves and shelves of books that lie in front of him. Pulling another off a low shelf with his beak, he closed his eyes against the inevitable puff of dust and lets it thump to the floor in front of him. He's only just flipped it open and started to read when a huge voice booms from behind him, "See anything you like in there?"
Silvally turns and looks up at the dragon legend looming overhead, half in and half out of a bookcase, one slender wing exiting the shelf at an angle that doesn't seem to match with how it meets the legend's body. Palkia grins down at Silvally, a couple outsized books tucked under one arm and what's definitely some kind of gun dangling loosely from its free hand. "I haven't seen any sign of the moderators yet. What about you?" Silvally asks over the restless muttering of memories at the back of his head.
"Oh? That's too bad. Seems like you've been putting away more stories than anybody, but I noticed you haven't picked up a weapon yet." Palkia waggles the gun. "This one was just lying around on a shelf. Not bad, am I right? It shoots bubbles!"
Silvally leaps back as Palkia raises the gun and fires, his fin and crest blazing with green light as he activates his grass-type memories. When the bubbles wash over him, though, he can barely feel them--even if he'd been a fire-type, they probably wouldn't have hurt. Silvally cautiously leans forward and pops one with his beak. "These are just ordinary bubbles."
"I know! Amusing, isn't it?"
Silvally bristles, crest rising in agitation. "With all that mastery of space and dimensions you have, do you think you could try to do something, you know,
actually helpful?"
"Oh, now it wouldn't be any fun at all if I just solved all your problems for you, would it?" Palkia says breezily. "Besides, all these worlds here are fictional! My power can only touch the real, the physical planes of existence, not what goes on in people's minds and hearts!"
"Fine," Silvally says. "Even if you can't find the moderators, though, maybe you could help out in other ways. Like bringing a weapon from somewhere else to here?"
"Oh?" Palkia's grin broadens, and it leans against the bookcase next to it, which creaks sharply. "Did you have something in mind?"
Silvally picks at the tatty carpet with a claw, not meeting Palkia's gaze. "Well, a friend of mine told me about a weapon once. 'Hey, big guy,' he said, 'if you're ever in a situation where you can summon a weapon from the depths of the cosmos, you should pick this one. It's top-tier.' He called it the 'Goovibomb.' I haven't been able to find it, but I don't really know where to look, either. It must be something from the human world."
"Hmmm," Palkia rumbles, its voice deep enough to knock dust off the books around it. "Well, if it's the depths of the cosmos you need, I'm your dragon. Groovibomb, Groovibomb. Let me see." The books Palkia's carrying disappear with a pop, and the bubble gun, too. Palkia raises its arms above its head, spreading its wings out and clear through two aisles of OT fic. "If it exists in any world, in any timeline, it's within my power to find," Palkia booms in a voice that seems to come from far away. Its eyes blaze with pink light, and the air between its hands turns misty, fuzzy, indistinct. "Behold, the Groovibomb!"
Palkia seems to be far too large and then, somehow, extremely small and far away. Something topples from the air between its hands and lands on the carpet with a clank.
Silvally approaches cautiously. Lying near Palkia's feet is a roundish object covered all over with tiny mirrors. "This is a Groovibomb?" Silvally asks. He nudges it with his beak, and it rolls halfway over. "How does it work?"
"Beats me! I was expecting something bigger," the legend booms cheerfully.
Silvally frowns and nudges the Groovibomb again. "Well, if it's supposed to be a bomb, then you probably want to launch it somehow. It looks a little like an Orb, too. I guess I'll try throwing it."
"Have fun!" Palkia says. "Now, I've got more reading to do." The dragon turns, tail phasing through six different shelves in the process, only to almost step on the pikachu that was standing right behind it. "Oh, hello! I didn't see you there!"
Takato stares up at Palkia, open-mouthed. "That. Was awesome."
Palkia laughs. "Why, thank you! All in a day's work when you control all dimensions in their infinite unfolding."
"That was so cool! Can I get a sweet weapon too?" Takato bounces on his hind legs, stretching his hands beseechingly up at Palkia.
The dragon taps a claw against its chin. "I suppose I did see a few other interesting items around where I found that Groovibomb."
"Yessss!" Takato pumps a fist in the air as Palkia raises its own arms, eyes once more glowing while reality distorts around it. "I want a gun! A super-big gun that fires rockets! I want something that can blow up a tank!"
There's a ripping noise like a massive sheet of paper being torn in half, and a large, dark gray gun falls to the floor in front of Palkia.
"Huh." Takato walks over and picks the Judicator up, with some difficulty--it's longer than he is tall. "I've never actually seen a gun like this before." He looks up and gives Palkia a wicked grin. "But I can't wait to try it!"
"That's the spirit!" Palkia says, and a book appears between his hands with a pop. "Get out there and have an adventure. Call on me if you need help!" The dragon dissolves into a haze of pink energy, which pours into the book that falls, alone, to the floor. Takato grins and waves the Judicator at the ceiling, staggering back under its weight.
"Hey, Silvally?" he calls. The chimera's already gone off somewhere, doing more reading, presumably. "Silvally?"
Takato sets off between the shelves, Judicator cradled clumsily between his paws. Silvally proves to be back in the Completed Fics archive, a book open in front of him and the Groovibomb held gently in his beak. Now and again he sneezes, sending a plume of dust up from the story he's reading.
"Uh, Silvally?" Takato asks, approaching slowly. "Do you, uh, want to be on a team with me?"
The chimera turns, then yawns, hastily putting a talon up to his mouth so the Groovibomb doesn't drop to the floor. Unnnghh... sorry, but... flipping through pages has made me kinda sleepy. Gonna take a quick nap."
And there, even as Takato watches, he curls up around his book, head on talons and Groovibomb tucked by his side.
"Uh. Okay," Takato says. He turns around awkwardly and waddles off, leaving Silvally to his nap. There are other pokémon out searching the library. He'll just have to ask someone else.
A farfetch'd sticks his head out around the edge of a shelf as Takato goes past, then jerks it back just as abruptly when the pikachu looks at him. There's a flurry of muttering from that direction, a couple of thuds, and the slap-slap of webbed feet racing off. Umm, okay. Another pokémon, then?
A charmander sits out at one of the reading tables, a fire extinguisher next to his stack of books. That looks more promising. Takato hurries over.
"Hi, uh, I was wondering, do you want to team up?"
The charmander looks up with a start. "Me? You want to be on a team with m-me?"
"Yeah, totally," Takato says. He leans the Judicator against the side of the table and then leans on it himself. "I wanted to ask that guy Silvally, but I guess he's taking a nap. It's okay if you already have a team, I just thouht I'd ask."
"Well, I mean, I'm not--I'm not a real explorer. Not yet," Owen says. Realizing he might not be making the best case for himself, he adds, "B-but I'm really strong! Even though I'm still just a charmander. I
should have evolved already. If you want to make a team, then sure, I'm in."
"Great," Takato says, climbing up on an empty chair and then onto the table itself. "I don't like reading much, but these stories aren't so bad. There's still a lot of them, though. It would be more fun to do it with someone else."
"Yeah," Owen says with a quick smile. "And I bet we'll find those mods together. Right?"
Before Takato can reply, a high-pitched whine announces the arrival of Four O'Clock, who spins around the other two pokémon at high speed, firing off rapid-fire hums. "What's that? You want to join, too?" Owen asks.
Four ricochets back and forth in the air, waving her push-pin jubilantly. "Awesome!" Takato says. "The more the merrier, right?" Four buzzes down to hover near one of his ears, thrumming contentedly.
"Yeah, and I bet it was hard to turn the pages with those little legs," Owen says. "Okay, so, I was reading
Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Silverveil. Do you want to keep going with that one, or pick something different."
"That one sounds good," Takato says. But while Owen's opening the book up, finding his old place with Four drifting down to take a look, the pikachu stares around at the shelves and shelves of books. "Still, though," he mutters. "This is a ton of books. We're never going to get through all of them."
--
"What kind of morph are you?" the scyther-girl asks, eyes fixed on Canisaries in an unnervingly direct stare. "Are you a growlithe?"
"Arcanine, actually," Canis said, running a hand through the thick fur hanging down over her eyes. "See the mane?"
The scyther-morph's gaze never flickers. "I knew someone who had an arcanine. He's dead now, though."
"Okay," Canis says. "Well, I was kind of reading this story, so, you know."
"There aren't any good stories around here," the scyther morph says, still staring. "They aren't true. People make up lies and write them down."
"Yeah? Well, there's got to be some biographies around here or something," Canis says. "Maybe over on the other side there."
"I looked. There aren't," the scyther morph goes on, continuing not to take a hint. "There was a legendary pokémon over there earlier, though. I'm going to tell my dad about it. He doesn't believe in them."
"Well, he's in for a shock, I guess." Canisaries goes back to reading.
Mia stands for a moment, her gaze slowly traveling along flanking bookshelves. Then it snaps back to Canisaries. "Do you have a weapon?"
"Not yet. I was about to go looking for one."
"I can't find anything good. Everyone else is picking weird things. I want something that will actually work."
That makes Canisaries look up again. "Yeah, I saw some guy trying to lug a cannon around earlier. Good luck with that."
"It's stupid. None of these books have anything good in them."
"Well, what are you looking for?"
Mia's smile looks more like a leer, all teeth. "A knife. A big knife."
"Well, uh, I think you could find one in most stories, actually. I guess if you wanted to come look with me, though, you could. I was going to pick something up in this story." She sets the book she was reading upright on the table so the scyther-girl can see the title.
Seiren. "I know my way around this one pretty well."
"Of course you do. You wrote it."
"That's the joke." Canisaries settles the book flat on the table again. "Anyway, I can't pretend it's not a bunch of lies like all the other stories here, but it's not as much of a fantasy setting. If you're looking for a knife, I can bet you'll find one in here."
The scyther girl glances between Canisaries and the book, the overhead lights playing along the blades on her arms as she twists them slowly back and forth in some unconscious, pensive motion. "Okay," she says. "I'll try it."
"Great," Canisaries says. "Get over here and read, I guess. Except--one thing." The scyther-girl stares, waiting for her to go on. "What's your name?"
"Mia," she says flatly, as though she can't imagine why Canis would even care.
"Cool. Well, I'm Canis, as I guess you already know. Let's go then, huh?"
A few minutes later the both of them have disappeared, the book sitting open on the table, alone.
--
Farfetch'd keeps to himself, which is only wise, given that there's bound to be at least one traitor among the crowd in the library today. Let the rest of them "team up" with some member of The Deep Plate and find out whether they tasted good on rye! It was a recipe for disaster!
Farfetch'd thwacks his leek against the spines of books as he passes, coating the already-somewhat-grungy implement in a generous layer of dust, but it couldn't be helped. Better that than risk a wing on a booby-trapped tome. What he's looking for has to be around here somewhere.
And yes, here it is! Third shelf up, sixteenth book in,
guidance by Rediamond. Four vowels in the title, the same number as in "Deep Plate!" Farfetch'd chuckles to himself as he opens the book and starts turning pages. How clever they think they are, not realizing he's long since cracked their little code!
Now, then... Chapter 14, paragraph 12, first sentence: "Theo frowned, remembering the cameras they had failed to sabotage." Of course! Cameras! The library's security cameras--
or the ones planted by Deep Plate to monitor the progress of their little "investigation?" Well, they'd learn nothing! Not if Farfetch'd had anything to say about it.
Farfetch'd snaps the book shut, tucks it under his free wing, and takes off at a swift waddle. He's established his base of operations in the library's kitchenette, off in the "employees only" section--the last place anyone would think to look, for clearly Farfetch'd is no employee! There are already a few books propped open on the counter, notation scribbled in their margins, passages of interest marked with push-pins connected by bits of twine. Farfetch'd makes a clumsy hop up to add this latest book to the pile, only for his leek to catch on the edge of the counter and slip out of his grasp, rolling away out of sight. Quacking in annoyance, Farfetch'd hops back down and feels around under the edge of the counter for it.
What he finds isn't his leek, but a small metal device, a round glass gauge attached to a thin metal spike. A meat thermometer. Casually discarded here after some previous library wine-and-dine event? An innocent kitchen implement long since forgotten, its presence mere coincidence? No! This could only be the laid-in equipment of someone longing to test the temperature of a fine cut of steak, a decadent boar's head, a roasting d--
Farfetch'd gasps and stumbles back, averting his eyes from the horrid device. Who could have left it here? That scyther-human, perhaps--a carnivore if he's ever seen one! Or maybe the arcanine. Or whatever that creature with the scales and feathers is, some kind of hideous Deep Plate creation, a literal eating machine!
"Or maybe all three!" Farfetch'd mutters to himself. After all, Deep Plate had to know that any one of their agents would be no match for someone as cunning and resourceful as himself. And why stop at three? This whole scheme could be a plot to lure him into one of their fictional worlds, where even farfetch'd would be out of his depth, confused and alone!
Well, the joke's on them, isn't it? He's wise to their schemes. And now one of their own implements, so carelessly left lying about, will be turned against them. Farfetch'd takes the thermometer in his free wing, pointy end out, and stabs experimentally at the air. Yes, it's plenty sharp. And now any operative who might try and sneak up on him is going to walk away from the encounter
well done.
--
Around half an hour later, Canisaries returns from her expedition to find Mia already back in the library, testing out her new weapon.
"I don't even want to know what poor nerd you had to beat up to get that," Canis says, watching the scyther-morph pepper the air with lightning-fast slices from her new katana. "Or did you find that in a museum or something?"
Mia stops slashing abruptly, but a huge, toothy grin remains on her face as she turns her attention back to Canisaries. "I mean, I'm kind of surprised you went for a sword. You've kind of got two already, don't you?" the arcanine-morph says.
"I like blades," Mia says, like that explains it. "What did you get?"
"Gun," Canisaries says, patting the simple revolver in a holster at her hip. "Nothing fancy, but it'll get the job done. And if we're facing anything a gun can't handle, we're screwed anyhow."
Somehow Mia's distended smile stretches even wider. "Swords are better."
"Well, I wouldn't bring a sword to a gun fight if I was you."
"Bullets don't matter if you're
fast."
Suddenly Mia's head snaps around, and the katana follows after, sweeping through the air in a wicked slash that would have cut Four O'Clock in half if the cutiefly hadn't executed a quick loop-the-loop. The tiny bug hums cheerfully, apparently taking the swipe as a playful greeting despite Mia's predatory stare. She zips around the scyther-morph's head, then zooms over to Canis, buzzing and trilling and stabbing the air with her push-pin.
"Oh. Huh. I guess she wants us to head over there," Canis says, while Four waggles and hums in excited affirmation. The library's searchers were starting to gather near the front of the stacks, where a pikachu and charmander were standing on a pile of books, waving their arms and trying to get people's attention. Four zooms off to hover between them.
"We figured it out!" Owen shouts excitedly. "We don't have to read through the whole library!"
"There's too many books. We'd never finish!" Takato says, breathless with excitement. "But we don't have to."
"When we came in, there were a bunch of books on the floor," Owen says. "Those are the ones we want."
"Think about it! How could somebody grab the mods, shove them in a story, jump in themselves, and then put the book back on the shelf? It doesn't work!"
"There weren't that many books on the ground," Owen says. "We've got them all right here." He gives a little jump to emphasize what he's standing on. His tail blazes high with his excitement; the fire extinguisher's been placed right next to the stack of books, just in case.
"If each team takes one of these, we'll be able to read them all in no time," Takato says. "Speak up when you hear one you want to check out, okay? Now, the stories we need to check out are..."
I'll hold off deciding which story to send the fuzzbug into until I get a go-ahead or no-can-do from the author I had in mind.
