Oh Bugger

Who: Jo and Stephen
Where: Who knows
When: the present...such that it is...
<SNICK>
The pool and backyard disappeared. Jo and Stephen found themselves in
an elegant wood panelled lift, standing in a puddle of water that was
rapidly soaking into the lush and expensive carpet. Vivaldi’s Four
Seasons played in the background. There was no sign of Brett. The
elaborate elevator gently slowed its decent. A soothing chime sounded
and the doors opened.
“Oh crap,” said Stephen.
“Oh crap, indeed,” agreed Jo. The giant red logo gleamed from the wall
in front of them. Never had Jo seen a more unwelcome sight. The
latest time rift had dumped them in the middle of Agency headquarters.
“Great! Of all the infinite possibilities along the space-time
continuum, we had to walk into this one. Someone up there obviously
has a sense of humour,” Jo growled.
Surprisingly however, the two fugitives were mostly ignored. Whatever
anomaly had caused the bizarre behaviour of time lately, Jo mused, its
effects were now pervading the entire known universe, and more besides.
She found it a chilling thought, although it did provide them with an
unexpected diversion in this worst of possible scenarios.
At the Agency, chaos reigned. The normally cold and detached Agents
were frantic. A trio of monkeys tossed an Agent’s toupee to each other
as they scampered over furniture and personnel. Another quartet swung
from the ceiling, pelting Agents with food as they ran for cover.
A loud crash resounded from the other end of the corridor and Jo ducked
out of the lift to see a moustachioed horseman, resplendent in 1800s
British regimental dress uniform galloping towards her. As he neared
the lift, his horse reared, finding the commotion around her suddenly
all too much to cope with.
“Woah, girl,” the soldier cried out, hanging tightly onto the reigns.
Once all four hooves were back on the floor, he dismounted and calmed
the horse with soothing pats and noises. She snorted once and
subsided, though her eyes still rolled alarmingly.
“Bollocks,” the cavalryman said, in a huff, “I say! One moment, I’m
leading a charge against the Boers, the next I almost blunder into a
wall that appears out of nowhere. Where the devil is the exit to this
confounded place?” His enraged tone was belied by the fact his eyes
were nearly as wide as those of his panicking horse.
“Uh, have you tried the stairs?” offered Steve. The 19th century
warrior, fixed him with a glare, then sighed.
“Ah, the old girl will not fit unfortunately,” he said morosely, “What
sort of contraption is this?” He gestured towards the lift.
“I think it’s the only exit out of here,” Steve replied.
“I hope,” Jo added under her breath.
“Well, what are you waiting for then man? Move out of the way,” the
gent barked.
Clicking his tongue, he guided the mare slowly into the lift. It was a
tight fit. Stephen found himself wedged between the back wall and
several hundred pounds of horseflesh.
Jo followed, squeezing into a corner near the control panel. She hit
the button for ground level and the doors slid shut. The uniformed
officer noticed her presence with surprise.
“Evening Ma’am,” he said, attempting a short bow in the confined space,
“Allow me to introduce myself. Brigader William Bryant, Commander of
the 14th Cavalry troop of His Majesty’s Forces, at your service. As is
Ophelia here.” He smiled at his horse and patted her flank. She
whickered softly.
“I’m Commander Joane Pieades, and this is Ensign Stephen Wong,” Jo
replied.
“Hi,” Steve attempted a wave over Ophelia’s sholder.
“The Royal Navy accepting women? Preposterous!” The Brigader had
caught sight of Jo’s uniform and seemed rather scandalised by it,
mostly by the fact she was wearing pants. “I assure you Madam,” he
said gravely, “That this is a most unamusing joke. Service to the
crown is a serious matter.”
He seemed set to continue his condescending speech, until Jo fixed him
with a glare. However, the soft jolt of the lift as it reached their
floor stalled her reply.
The soothing chime sounded again, as if to remind them that optimism
was now back in fashion and that things really will be alright if you
keep smiling. Jo resisted the strong temptation to hit her head
repeatedly against the wall. The doors soundlessly parted and Vivaldi
was replaced by the clicks of a dozen rifles being armed.
“You are all under arrest for breaking and entering, vandalism and
unauthorised horsemanship. Please exit the elevator slowly with your
hands above your heads, and you will not be harmed.”
With a sigh, Jo raised her arms and stepped into view.
<To be continued...*dramatic chord*>
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