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edenfallingJane Crocker submits a job application to the district legislacerators. The resulting interview process is unique. Guest-starring Terezi Pyrope! (2,025 words)
This fic was written for Cotton Candy Bingo in response to the prompt: I becomes we. (Yes, really. I swear this is fluff. It's just, you know, fluff as adjusted for background Homestuck levels of WTF and dystopia.)
[AO3 crosspost]
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Cutthroat Hiring Process
---------------------------------------------
Jane doesn't consider herself a particularly kind person, nor one prone to moral crusades, but she has a strong sense of curiosity and an equally strong sense of fair play. Everyone ought to get an equal chance in life. It is blatantly obvious that the Empire fails its citizens in this regard. It is equally obvious, to Jane, that the simplest way to make the biggest difference while playing to her strengths -- that previously mentioned curiosity, among others -- is to join the justice system.
Dirk tries to talk her into politics. Roxy tries to talk her into starting a cupcake bar. Jake tries to... well, who ever really knows with Jake, but Jane is fairly sure his implausible dreams of adventure don't include upholding the law. She loves her friends dearly, but while they wish her well, none of them quite understand each other's dreams.
Jane considers her options during college. Dad would prefer her to join the police, or go to law school for extra prestige, but while it's important to uphold community order and to ensure the adequate defense of the accused, deep in her heart she has enough in common with Jake to want something a bit more exciting. She wants to be on the front lines, wants to work with people who share her passion for justice and investigation, wants to be part of a seamless talon pair hunting evil wherever it tries in vain to hide. In her senior year, she submits a carefully worded application to an address most people would think belonged to a local specialty tea shop, but which she has -- through diligent electronic investigation, judicious collation of gossip, and some plain old in-person snooping -- determined is a front for the local distract legislacerator corps.
She isn't terribly surprised by the subsequent kidnapping, though she would have preferred not to have her apartment window shattered in the process. As she succumbs to the knockout gas, Jane's last thought is that her security deposit will be a dead loss this year. She can swallow the cost, but she hopes Roxy won't be too pissed off. Scholarships don't usually pay for things like... like...
Darkness.
Jane regains consciousness with a splitting headache and an unpleasant sour-furry sensation coating her teeth and tongue. She's blindfolded and she can't feel her arms and legs -- still numb from the gas, she supposes. She seems to be upright, though, so she's probably in a chair.
"Interrogation will begin in two minutes," a brisk female voice says. "A successful outcome will ensure your acceptance as a provisional neophyte legislacerator. Failure will result in precautionary culling. Try not to be too stupid."
Something prick-pinches near her collarbone, and suddenly Jane's fingers and toes are on fire. Behind her, a door closes with a soft thud.
She breathes through the pain, counting her best approximation of seconds. It's strange that she's alone. Legislacerators always work in pairs, since the Redglare Reform Act. Police gossip says they're also accepted and trained in pairs, the right and left pincers of a talon. Shouldn't there be another candidate in with her?
Her right hand jerks involuntarily in a burst of pain and Jane grits her teeth to keep from crying out. When the burning subsides, she's lost count. Jane takes her best guess at how many seconds she missed and continues onward, forcing a smile onto her face. If you act comfortable, sometimes you can fool yourself into being comfortable... and if nothing else, she refuses to act scared or guilty.
When she reaches seventy-one, the door opens with a faint skirl of air. Something taps lightly against the floor, plastic on concrete, tile, or stone. The door thuds shut again. This time, a bolt shoots home with a businesslike click.
"You're smiling," a different voice says. The timbre is lower than the first, with a hint of rasp around the edges, but high enough that Jane's first assessment is female.
The words are nearly a dry observation of fact, but Jane thinks she hears a faint note of interest buried deep underneath. She flexes her aching wrists in the biosynth binding. It's very professional; her arms are crossed behind the chair, overlapping just enough to keep her fingers well away from the edges of the material. Still smiling, she tilts her head so her blindfolded eyes face a bit more left, toward the apparent source of the voice. She didn't hear her interrogator move, which is potentially worrying.
"I am," she agrees.
"You are aware, of course, that your actions can be construed as blackmail: a tacit threat to reveal the hidden talons of the law in return for an offer of employment. In accordance with the State Secrets Act of 5699, I could slit your throat with no repercussions," the female voice says.
Jane turns her ankles, testing the biosynth mesh wrapped around them. Her legs are crossed at the ankles, which will make standing very awkward even if she can get her wrists free and her arms up and over the high back of the chair. (The chair itself is bolted to the floor to prevent its use as a weapon.) The biosynth flexes with her movements; there's no give the way there might be with a more traditional rope.
"I didn't know for certain that Heavenly Dragon Blends was a legislacerator operation until you confirmed that just now," she points out.
"This session is being recorded; thank you for stating the issue in your own words and voice. Furthermore, a threat is judged by intent as much as by accuracy," the interrogator says.
"But there would be no point in discussing legal niceties if this were a simple criminal kidnapping. That's proof enough," Jane says. "From this point onward, any empath or medium can interrogate me or my ghost for proof, but until tonight my conclusions were entirely hearsay. In accordance with the Legal Code Reform of 9736, Section Twenty-Eight, Subsection D, that allows me or my designates -- heirs, crew, or both -- to challenge you to a duel for involuntary entrapment."
"True! We can take care of that as soon as we've addressed the blackmail charge, which I note you are attempting to evade," the interrogator says. "I dislike evasion. Come on, let's hear your defense."
Jane considers the amount of sheer bloodthirsty glee in her interrogator's tone, as well as the faint hint of vibration on the lower vowels, and decides she's probably dealing with a troll. Which has nothing to do with anything, really, but it's nice to know nonetheless.
"What defense?" she says. "I'm not a lawyer. I'm more interested in knowing what has a squad of legislacerators so spooked they mistake a job application for a threat. I should have investigated more thoroughly, or sent my credentials to a different district. This one is clearly ripe for a purge."
Silence. Then her interrogator laughs.
"Definitely not a lawyer," she says. "Hold still."
Jane freezes. A blade slashes down, the point skimming bare millimeters from the surface of her open eye. She sees the silver blur as it tears away the blindfold, and cannot help a reflexive blink.
Her interrogator returns the sword to its scabbard -- a cane, red and white, for the blind, Jane notes; how odd -- with a muted click. Then she leans forward, her features resolving from a colored blur into comprehensible lines as she encroaches into Jane's personal space. She is, as Jane suspected, a troll. More surprisingly, she seems young -- only a year or so older than Jane, if that. Instead of a uniform, she wears plain black jeans, a black shirt with a picture of Lady Justice and Rebel Liberty wrapped in a red embrace, and bright red sneakers. Her hair is tucked neatly behind her pointed ears and her eyes are hidden behind rimless red shades. She clasps her hands around the hilt of her cane and grins. Her teeth would do a shark proud: triangular, even, and sharp enough to slice the air itself.
"You follow orders well," she says.
"When it seems advisable," Jane agrees. She blinks again, wondering if her glasses are somewhere in this bare, whitewashed room, or if they are still lying on her bedside table back in her apartment. Roxy has probably returned home from her party by now and noticed Jane's absence. Jane hopes her roommate isn't too drunk to remember not to call the police.
"And when it doesn't?" the interrogator asks.
"I improvise," Jane says. "Like this."
She draws up all her ladyvim and wrenches her wrists and ankles apart, overloading the stress tolerance of the biosynth mesh. Shreds of half-living magenta fabric cling to her skin, writhing uselessly, as she stands and tears the chair free from the concrete floor. One bolt flies lazily across the room and strikes the door with a metallic spang. Jane steps toward the wall where her back will be protected; she holds the chair in front of her as a shield. She'd prefer a fork or a spoon, of course, but beggars can't be choosers and she's been in enough bar brawls with Roxy these past few years to know her way around a piece of furniture.
The interrogator says nothing, nor does she move. Also, now that Jane has circled enough to see the door, she notes that the hinges are on the outside and the inside has no lock or knob. Put together with the interrogator's youth and lack of uniform, this is highly suspicious.
"I'd like that duel now, if you please," she says. "Assuming you're in any position to claim responsibility for my abduction, which I'm beginning to doubt."
The interrogator tilts her head and draws a deep breath through her mouth, rolling the air over her tongue like a cook passing judgment on a new recipe. "All four bolts," she says. "Impressive."
"If you do something at all, you might as well do it right," Jane says.
The interrogator nods. "Well said. Look, do you actually want to fight the duel here and now? I bet you have pins and needles in your extremities from the bindings and the residual paralysis effects, and however good you are with a chair, it can't be your weapon of choice."
"What are my other options?" Jane asks, unwilling to commit herself blind.
"First, you can let it drop altogether, since I'm fairly sure we've both passed the entrance exam. Second, we can carry it out as a point of law in the full formal setting next lunar sweep, since I did slip up and entrap you. Third, we can jointly agree that the results of our first sparring session will count as the results of the duel. Fourth, we can pick a nontraditional method of battle, like riddles or a drinking contest," the interrogator says. "You're the challenger. It's your choice."
"I'm rather fond of riddles," Jane admits without lowering the chair.
"Excellent! So am I. It's a solid basis for a partnership, according to several thousand years of common fictional tropes," the interrogator says. "By the way, I'm Terezi Pyrope. Apparently if we survive basic training, we'll be working together as a talon pair."
"I'm Jane Crocker," Jane says. She lowers the chair and offers her hand. "Pleased to meet you. Hopefully our next meeting will be under less, hmm, interesting circumstances. Or at least in a place where I can offer you some proper hospitality."
"I tend to doubt we'll manage boring. But I'm always willing to impose on other people's hospitality," Terezi says. "On that note, why don't we get back to your apartment before your roommate gets worried enough to forget your instructions. While I was playing lookout for our instructors, I saw some leftover cake in your refrigerator that I think has our names on it."
Jane continues to hold out her hand. "An excellent plan, Neophyte Pyrope, but I'd like to suggest one addendum. We'll stop by the convenience store on the corner and you will pay for the milk."
After a moment, Terezi smiles: less shark-like, more real. "Neophyte Crocker, I do believe we have a deal. May it be the first of many," She clasps Jane's hand.
Behind them, the door unlocks.
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End of Story
---------------------------------------------
I really want to write more in this world now. There is such a lot of world-building that needs to be filled in around the edges -- to start with, does this universe have interstellar travel, and if so, are trolls and humans from the same planet or not? I don't know and I want to find out!
I also want to write Jane and Terezi during their actual training sessions, and on their first case, and dealing with Aradia and Dave who are a medium and forensic examiner pair, and... oh, all kinds of things. Yeah.
Maybe someday. *makes wistful notes*
This fic was written for Cotton Candy Bingo in response to the prompt: I becomes we. (Yes, really. I swear this is fluff. It's just, you know, fluff as adjusted for background Homestuck levels of WTF and dystopia.)
[AO3 crosspost]
---------------------------------------------
Cutthroat Hiring Process
---------------------------------------------
Jane doesn't consider herself a particularly kind person, nor one prone to moral crusades, but she has a strong sense of curiosity and an equally strong sense of fair play. Everyone ought to get an equal chance in life. It is blatantly obvious that the Empire fails its citizens in this regard. It is equally obvious, to Jane, that the simplest way to make the biggest difference while playing to her strengths -- that previously mentioned curiosity, among others -- is to join the justice system.
Dirk tries to talk her into politics. Roxy tries to talk her into starting a cupcake bar. Jake tries to... well, who ever really knows with Jake, but Jane is fairly sure his implausible dreams of adventure don't include upholding the law. She loves her friends dearly, but while they wish her well, none of them quite understand each other's dreams.
Jane considers her options during college. Dad would prefer her to join the police, or go to law school for extra prestige, but while it's important to uphold community order and to ensure the adequate defense of the accused, deep in her heart she has enough in common with Jake to want something a bit more exciting. She wants to be on the front lines, wants to work with people who share her passion for justice and investigation, wants to be part of a seamless talon pair hunting evil wherever it tries in vain to hide. In her senior year, she submits a carefully worded application to an address most people would think belonged to a local specialty tea shop, but which she has -- through diligent electronic investigation, judicious collation of gossip, and some plain old in-person snooping -- determined is a front for the local distract legislacerator corps.
She isn't terribly surprised by the subsequent kidnapping, though she would have preferred not to have her apartment window shattered in the process. As she succumbs to the knockout gas, Jane's last thought is that her security deposit will be a dead loss this year. She can swallow the cost, but she hopes Roxy won't be too pissed off. Scholarships don't usually pay for things like... like...
Darkness.
Jane regains consciousness with a splitting headache and an unpleasant sour-furry sensation coating her teeth and tongue. She's blindfolded and she can't feel her arms and legs -- still numb from the gas, she supposes. She seems to be upright, though, so she's probably in a chair.
"Interrogation will begin in two minutes," a brisk female voice says. "A successful outcome will ensure your acceptance as a provisional neophyte legislacerator. Failure will result in precautionary culling. Try not to be too stupid."
Something prick-pinches near her collarbone, and suddenly Jane's fingers and toes are on fire. Behind her, a door closes with a soft thud.
She breathes through the pain, counting her best approximation of seconds. It's strange that she's alone. Legislacerators always work in pairs, since the Redglare Reform Act. Police gossip says they're also accepted and trained in pairs, the right and left pincers of a talon. Shouldn't there be another candidate in with her?
Her right hand jerks involuntarily in a burst of pain and Jane grits her teeth to keep from crying out. When the burning subsides, she's lost count. Jane takes her best guess at how many seconds she missed and continues onward, forcing a smile onto her face. If you act comfortable, sometimes you can fool yourself into being comfortable... and if nothing else, she refuses to act scared or guilty.
When she reaches seventy-one, the door opens with a faint skirl of air. Something taps lightly against the floor, plastic on concrete, tile, or stone. The door thuds shut again. This time, a bolt shoots home with a businesslike click.
"You're smiling," a different voice says. The timbre is lower than the first, with a hint of rasp around the edges, but high enough that Jane's first assessment is female.
The words are nearly a dry observation of fact, but Jane thinks she hears a faint note of interest buried deep underneath. She flexes her aching wrists in the biosynth binding. It's very professional; her arms are crossed behind the chair, overlapping just enough to keep her fingers well away from the edges of the material. Still smiling, she tilts her head so her blindfolded eyes face a bit more left, toward the apparent source of the voice. She didn't hear her interrogator move, which is potentially worrying.
"I am," she agrees.
"You are aware, of course, that your actions can be construed as blackmail: a tacit threat to reveal the hidden talons of the law in return for an offer of employment. In accordance with the State Secrets Act of 5699, I could slit your throat with no repercussions," the female voice says.
Jane turns her ankles, testing the biosynth mesh wrapped around them. Her legs are crossed at the ankles, which will make standing very awkward even if she can get her wrists free and her arms up and over the high back of the chair. (The chair itself is bolted to the floor to prevent its use as a weapon.) The biosynth flexes with her movements; there's no give the way there might be with a more traditional rope.
"I didn't know for certain that Heavenly Dragon Blends was a legislacerator operation until you confirmed that just now," she points out.
"This session is being recorded; thank you for stating the issue in your own words and voice. Furthermore, a threat is judged by intent as much as by accuracy," the interrogator says.
"But there would be no point in discussing legal niceties if this were a simple criminal kidnapping. That's proof enough," Jane says. "From this point onward, any empath or medium can interrogate me or my ghost for proof, but until tonight my conclusions were entirely hearsay. In accordance with the Legal Code Reform of 9736, Section Twenty-Eight, Subsection D, that allows me or my designates -- heirs, crew, or both -- to challenge you to a duel for involuntary entrapment."
"True! We can take care of that as soon as we've addressed the blackmail charge, which I note you are attempting to evade," the interrogator says. "I dislike evasion. Come on, let's hear your defense."
Jane considers the amount of sheer bloodthirsty glee in her interrogator's tone, as well as the faint hint of vibration on the lower vowels, and decides she's probably dealing with a troll. Which has nothing to do with anything, really, but it's nice to know nonetheless.
"What defense?" she says. "I'm not a lawyer. I'm more interested in knowing what has a squad of legislacerators so spooked they mistake a job application for a threat. I should have investigated more thoroughly, or sent my credentials to a different district. This one is clearly ripe for a purge."
Silence. Then her interrogator laughs.
"Definitely not a lawyer," she says. "Hold still."
Jane freezes. A blade slashes down, the point skimming bare millimeters from the surface of her open eye. She sees the silver blur as it tears away the blindfold, and cannot help a reflexive blink.
Her interrogator returns the sword to its scabbard -- a cane, red and white, for the blind, Jane notes; how odd -- with a muted click. Then she leans forward, her features resolving from a colored blur into comprehensible lines as she encroaches into Jane's personal space. She is, as Jane suspected, a troll. More surprisingly, she seems young -- only a year or so older than Jane, if that. Instead of a uniform, she wears plain black jeans, a black shirt with a picture of Lady Justice and Rebel Liberty wrapped in a red embrace, and bright red sneakers. Her hair is tucked neatly behind her pointed ears and her eyes are hidden behind rimless red shades. She clasps her hands around the hilt of her cane and grins. Her teeth would do a shark proud: triangular, even, and sharp enough to slice the air itself.
"You follow orders well," she says.
"When it seems advisable," Jane agrees. She blinks again, wondering if her glasses are somewhere in this bare, whitewashed room, or if they are still lying on her bedside table back in her apartment. Roxy has probably returned home from her party by now and noticed Jane's absence. Jane hopes her roommate isn't too drunk to remember not to call the police.
"And when it doesn't?" the interrogator asks.
"I improvise," Jane says. "Like this."
She draws up all her ladyvim and wrenches her wrists and ankles apart, overloading the stress tolerance of the biosynth mesh. Shreds of half-living magenta fabric cling to her skin, writhing uselessly, as she stands and tears the chair free from the concrete floor. One bolt flies lazily across the room and strikes the door with a metallic spang. Jane steps toward the wall where her back will be protected; she holds the chair in front of her as a shield. She'd prefer a fork or a spoon, of course, but beggars can't be choosers and she's been in enough bar brawls with Roxy these past few years to know her way around a piece of furniture.
The interrogator says nothing, nor does she move. Also, now that Jane has circled enough to see the door, she notes that the hinges are on the outside and the inside has no lock or knob. Put together with the interrogator's youth and lack of uniform, this is highly suspicious.
"I'd like that duel now, if you please," she says. "Assuming you're in any position to claim responsibility for my abduction, which I'm beginning to doubt."
The interrogator tilts her head and draws a deep breath through her mouth, rolling the air over her tongue like a cook passing judgment on a new recipe. "All four bolts," she says. "Impressive."
"If you do something at all, you might as well do it right," Jane says.
The interrogator nods. "Well said. Look, do you actually want to fight the duel here and now? I bet you have pins and needles in your extremities from the bindings and the residual paralysis effects, and however good you are with a chair, it can't be your weapon of choice."
"What are my other options?" Jane asks, unwilling to commit herself blind.
"First, you can let it drop altogether, since I'm fairly sure we've both passed the entrance exam. Second, we can carry it out as a point of law in the full formal setting next lunar sweep, since I did slip up and entrap you. Third, we can jointly agree that the results of our first sparring session will count as the results of the duel. Fourth, we can pick a nontraditional method of battle, like riddles or a drinking contest," the interrogator says. "You're the challenger. It's your choice."
"I'm rather fond of riddles," Jane admits without lowering the chair.
"Excellent! So am I. It's a solid basis for a partnership, according to several thousand years of common fictional tropes," the interrogator says. "By the way, I'm Terezi Pyrope. Apparently if we survive basic training, we'll be working together as a talon pair."
"I'm Jane Crocker," Jane says. She lowers the chair and offers her hand. "Pleased to meet you. Hopefully our next meeting will be under less, hmm, interesting circumstances. Or at least in a place where I can offer you some proper hospitality."
"I tend to doubt we'll manage boring. But I'm always willing to impose on other people's hospitality," Terezi says. "On that note, why don't we get back to your apartment before your roommate gets worried enough to forget your instructions. While I was playing lookout for our instructors, I saw some leftover cake in your refrigerator that I think has our names on it."
Jane continues to hold out her hand. "An excellent plan, Neophyte Pyrope, but I'd like to suggest one addendum. We'll stop by the convenience store on the corner and you will pay for the milk."
After a moment, Terezi smiles: less shark-like, more real. "Neophyte Crocker, I do believe we have a deal. May it be the first of many," She clasps Jane's hand.
Behind them, the door unlocks.
---------------------------------------------
End of Story
---------------------------------------------
I really want to write more in this world now. There is such a lot of world-building that needs to be filled in around the edges -- to start with, does this universe have interstellar travel, and if so, are trolls and humans from the same planet or not? I don't know and I want to find out!
I also want to write Jane and Terezi during their actual training sessions, and on their first case, and dealing with Aradia and Dave who are a medium and forensic examiner pair, and... oh, all kinds of things. Yeah.
Maybe someday. *makes wistful notes*
