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[personal profile] rc45
Title: The Quest for the Sentient Cannabis Plant, Part One.
Author: [livejournal.com profile] agenttrojie
Rating: PG13 for mention of drug use?
Author's Notes: Written for [livejournal.com profile] tea_fiend's birthday.

'There's every other damn type of plant here.'

'I don't think there's a sentient marijuana plant, though.'

'We could look ...'

'Any moment now, that console is going to go off.' Trojie gestured at the console. It completely failed to go off. She glared at it. Still nothing.

'Look. It's Fate. It's a sign. Let's go! We never get out of this damned response centre.'

'Fine. I'll traipse around HQ with you looking for sentient drugs.'

This being an RC# 45 wander, it involved rather a cavalcade. In addition to the two agents, there was a dog (Absinthe), a cat they'd rescued from a Disc fic, and one or two Quantum Weather Butterflies that had affixed themselves to various items of clothing.

'Must we be surrounded by your menagerie every time we set foot outside?'

'You practically are part of my 'menagerie', or so Cafeteria gossip says. So stop bitching, and keep walking.'

'Where are we?' asked Pads after about fifteen minutes of wandering.

'Dunno. Never seen this bit of HQ before,' said Trojie reflectively, carefully detaching a Quantum Weather Butterfly from her shoulder, where the miniature snowstorm it had produced was soaking through her uniform.

'In here! Pads pointed to a door at random. 'It'll be in here!'

'Why?' Trojie put her hands on her hips. 'That makes no sense.'

'Million to one chances occur nine times out of ten?'


The door opened into a tiny lecture-theatre type space. It looked like it would fit about twenty people, and there was indeed a plant lurking at the lectern.

'Ahah!' Pads exclaimed, and scuttled down to the front with a lawnmower look in her eye. The plant cowered behind its leaves.

Go away!

'Dammit, it's not weed,' said Pads, turning away, although the Plant's long, white, trumpet-shaped blooms did ring vague bells in her mind.

The Weeds don't come in here, the Plant said.

'I don't think I've seen you around before,' said Trojie curiously. 'Are you a Department head?'

I'm the Angel's Trumpet, said the plant. I'm part of the janitorial staff.

'The janitorial staff? You mean, you're the Head?'

No, I clean, said the Angel's Trumpet, displaying a polishing cloth. I find it relaxing. And solitary. And you two are invading my calm. Could you please be about your business? It seemed terribly jittery for a Plant, although no less superior-sounding.

'I suppose, as a Janitor,' said Pads offhandedly, 'that you'd know most of the offices and things of the staff?'

Most. said the Angel's Trumpet warily.

'So, if there was, say, a Cannabis in HQ, you'd know how to find it?'

The Angel's Trumpet stiffened. Out!


Out! Get out! I spend my life avoiding your type and now ... just go!

Pausing only to grab Absinthe before she could piddle on the Angel's Trumpet, the two Agents fled its wrath.

'There was something odd about that Plant,' said Trojie.

'You said it. Onwards? The Mission is not yet through!'


It was three hours later.

'We are not eating our boots.'

'But I'm hungry.' Trojie held up a leather boot with hope in her eyes.

'No. When you've eaten your boots, you've admitted defeat. I'm not admitting defeat.'

'Can I admit hunger?'

'No! No admissions.'

'The cat and the butterflies bugggered off hours ago. Surely the amazing sixth sense of the animals should be giving us a hint about how this isn't working?'

'Absinthe is still here,' pointed out Pads.

'That's because she's my dog, and she's faithful,'

'And not very bright,' Pads muttered under her breath.

'What was that?'

'Nothing, nothing. Ahah!'

Trojie winced. So far, the cry of 'Ahah!' had been levelled at dustbunnies and innnocent, non-sentient patches of mould. Pads darted across to whatever had caught her attention.

'Pads, that's not cannabis. Even you ought to know that, surely you've at least seen pictures of the live plant?'

Pads was standing next to a small, dark-leaved Plant that was radiating indignation and a hint of fear.

'And what's your name?' she asked it bluntly.

I am the Fittonia, it began, but before it could tell her off, she continued:

'And are you hallucinogenic?'

Aarrrgh! It hurtled away on its roots.

'This is most peculiar. Look, it left its broom behind.'

'So, the Janitors employ a lot of neurotic Plants? This is the fifth time. The Angel's Trumpet, the Peyote, the Nepal Poppy, the San Pedro Cactus...'

'And every single one was civil enough until you mentioned hallucinations.'

'You're right, it is odd...' Pads made a thoughtful face, and Trojie caught the edge of something from their shared brain ...

'Oh Glod,' she said sadly. 'Don't you start. The last thing this place needs is another Conspiracy Theory.'

'Yes, but don't you think it odd? And you're the biologist, tell me the common denominator between all these nervous plants ...' Pads had a triumphant smile on. 'Even I recognise the name of Peyote...'

Trojie visibly wilted, pun optional. 'Dammit, I was hoping you'd not pick that up.'

'I'm right!' crowed Pads. 'All the potentially drug-producing plants are working as Janitors!'

'Not all of them. Remember the Poppy?'


'Ah, right. Of course. Well, the Poppy was the old Head of Mary Sues. Killed by a nutjob.'

'...I stick by my conspiracy theory.'

'It's hardly a theory; all the halllucinogenic Plants are Janitors. I mean, why?'

You mean you don't know? An elegant plant with a white, star-shaped bloom glided up to them. I thought it was common knowledge.

'What was? That the Janitors employ noxious substances?'

The attack, of course.


A couple of Agents went flamethrowery, started demanding drugs to erase squick. They took down the Diviner's Sage, and ... it was horrible. The plant shivered. Since then, we've all worked anywhere we could avoid Agents. They could do the same to us at any time, they're so unstable.

Pads and Trojie shared a glance, neither willing to tell this Plant of their Quest. Before they could say anything, however, the Plant beckoned to them. If you're interested, there's something you ought to see, it said. Come this way.

It led them on a long and winding path, completely disorientating them. Even Absinthe looked puzzled, occasionally raising her long muzzle and, apparently, attempting to catch a familiar scent.

Their path finished in a smallish auditorium.

There it is, the Plant said, gesturing at a small table at the front of the space. It had a little jar on it.

Pads crept forward. 'These are pills,' she said.

Yes. Glodstoppers. We tried to get the SO to let us put them on the list of Bleepproducts. We thought if the Agents had them, then they'd leave us alone. But he said they were too dangerous.

'What are they made of?' asked Trojie with a professional gleam in her eye, mirroring the gleam in Pads' less professional eyes.

Bleach, datura, Romulan Ale and Slab, amongst other things said the Plant. Halllucinogenic and squick-erasing. Our greatest invention. Our greatest sacrifice. There is a bit of each of us in those. The Plant shrugged expressively. But apparently they're too dangerous. So we hide ourselves instead.

'Can I try one?' asked Pads eagerly.

I don't know if that's such a good idea ...


Well, alright. But I should get back to my work; will you look after her? the Plant said to Trojie, who really should have been more suspicious about it giving in so easily.

'Of course I will,' she said stoutly, however.

And, er, if it goes all wrong, well... It wasn't me that gave them to you. Don't mention my name! Before the Agents could react, the Plant had left the auditorium.

'But, we don't know your name,' Trojie called after it while Pads unscrewed the cap of the jar.


The Syrian Rue giggled quietly all the way to its superior's office.


Human Trial One begun, sir

Date: 2008-06-30 12:23 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sedri.livejournal.com
Tee heee... This should be fun.

By the way, this full stop should be a comma:

Most. said the Angel's Trumpet warily.



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