Spoiler-free, Quiesceverse.
"This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper," the teenager mutters darkly.
"Porque no los dos?" I say brightly. "AO3," I attribute helpfully, as everyone shits themselves about An Unauthorised Person On The Roof.
"Oh, god," Amanda says, dryer than the underbrush in forest fire season. "It's you."
"Hi," I say cheerily. "Who's the goth kid?"
"I'm not a goth," the kid says rebelliously. "Goth is for old people."
"I'm an old person," I tell her. "You'll have to explain it to me — "
"No, thank you," Amanda says firmly. "No bad influence on my trainees."
"What? Kid was standing there quoting TS Eliot! What kind of bad influence could I possibly — "
"Annoy her and she might stab you." Amanda sounds more like she's hoping for it than anything else.
"Oh, you do knives?" I beam at the kid. "I wanna see your knives — "
"Leave her alone."
"You're cranky. Is it because I brought up fanfic? I know how much the RPF ficcers love you."
"Shut up," Amanda suggests.
"What? It's not like I'm picking on you. I've read horrible fanfic about all of you!" I add brightly, in the direction of everyone.
"There isn't any of me," Patchwork says confidently.
"Not a lot," I admit, "but you've got a nice bit in a team ensemble coffee shop AU, implied slow burn with Emily —"
"Well, fuck shit," she interrupts. "She is on AO3!"
"Who's Emily?" Power Professor asks plaintively.
I hold Patchwork's eyes and we chorus, "Hot barista!" while absolutely not looking in the direction of anyone on the roof whose civilian name might be Emily. You know, hypothetically.
"What's a coffee shop AU?" the Prof follows up, and we ignore him.
"Hey, you were in a nega-dimension over Christmas, right? I can rec you the highlights of the RBR fic challenge —"
"What's RBR?" says the Professor, who doesn't know when to stop asking.
"Railed By Robots," I enunciate: loudly, clearly, and gleefully.
"Am I the only one who remembers there's a villain thing in progress?" Amanda wonders aloud, in a polite tone of voice, because she's had years to get inured to my shit.
"Oh, is there? Funny they haven't started yet," I say innocently.
She gives me a look that would flay someone with more of a sense of shame.
"What? I didn't do anything. I'm retired. Maybe someone found out they were Patchfessor shippers and they spontaneously disbanded out of abject remorse."
"What's —"
"Nothing," Patchwork tells him. "Absolutely nothing. She's just making words up to frighten you, now."
