The Commission

[apocalypsehow]

The Temps Commission had an aesthetic going for it that screamed leftovers from Mad Men sets and costuming a love of the 1950's. Complete with being located there.


Five kept pace with the Handler, looking around to take stock of everything he could use here to his advantage. But, for now, he was at her mercy. Unfortunately.

The Handler	"I must admit, Number Five," the Handler was rambling airily as they strode across the headquarters' courtyard, "in all the time that I've been here, I've never met anyone quite like you." She paused briefly to wave to a passer-by who greeted her, gracing them with a smile. "Hazel and Cha Cha, for example, are talented, certainly, but they can't see the big picture. Your spunk, your enterprising spirit, well -- it reminds me a great deal of myself, if I may be so vainglorious." She even gave him a little squeeze around the shoulders to emphasize her point. They were kindred spirits, Five! "If things work out for you here, you could potentially make a fine successor, Five."
Five	"I'd like to discuss the logistics of my family's safety at your earliest convenience. As well as this body replacement." Since being a thirteen year old was less than ideal on a whole variety of levels.
The Handler	"Such chutzpah," the Handler noted, shedding her trenchcoat in a fluid motion and leading the way through the building. "It's refreshing, I'll admit. Slow down, Five. All in good time. In fact, now that you've agreed to work with us, we've got all the time in the world." Since, you know, that was what they did here. "The Commission works in a delicate balance between the timeline of events and mankind's free will." She led the way past offices and down a hallway, pausing outside a window marked BRIEFCASE ROOM. "The briefcase is no longer part of your kit, Five," she told him. "Free your mind." She wrapped an arm around his shoulder, leading them away again. "You're management now." Down another hallway they went, the Handler keeping uncomfortably close and chattering all the while. "All the people on this floor are case managers. Each one of them is responsible for one major event at a time." She paused again, this time lingering in a doorway full of busy-looking, industrious people seated at typewriters.
Five	He would have preferred to go back to the briefcase room. "So many of them," Five remarked, looking out at the veritable sea of people.
The Handler	"Impressive, isn't it?" the Handler prompted admiringly. "Being part of something so grand." Look at all that beautiful, beautiful bureaucracy. But there was no time to waste. "Come along!" she commanded briskly, turning to continue down the hall. "Whenever someone chooses the wrong path and the timeline is changed, the Commission gets a report from field agents on the ground. These field reports are sorted and assigned to a case manager. They determine if anyone needs to be...removed from the equation to ensure that their event happens as it should. Based on that determination, the case manager sends instructions via pneumatic tube to temporal assassins, like you were, Number Five." She turned a bright, faintly predatory smile on him. "Any queries so far?"
Five	"Yeah," Five said, taking it all in and just incorporating it into the vague plan he had working. "Who was the case manager handling me?"
The Handler	"Ah." Gosh, but he was adorable like this. All clever and figuring things out! She reached out to lightly stroke her hand across either of those adorable, dimpled cheeks. "You mean the apocalypse." Abruptly -- natural tone shifts were for suckers -- she led the way over to the desk of a smiling, slightly-nervous-seeming woman. "Five, meet Dot. Dot is responsible for all apocalypse matters." And didn't it just look like a natural fit for her? With her smile and her red lipstick and her pretty chignon? "And in fact," the Handler continued, "it was Dot here who first flagged your appearance in 2019." "No hard feelings," Dot offered with a gentle smile. "Well, you certainly put us through the ringer," the Handler said indulgently. "Outsmarting two of our so-called best temporal assassins." She slapped a hand onto Five's shoulder, raising her voice. "If that doesn't spell leadership material..." The room fell silent -- voices paused, typewriters stopped clicking. All eyes were on her. "I suspect," she added, striding over to a desk and laying her hand on the associated chair, beckoning, "that you like a challenge, Five. Which is why I've given you a particularly complex first case." And now she was holding out a red folder. No symbolism here, everyone. None at all. Take the apple folder, Five.
Five	Oh yeah, not at all symbolic. Five decided that he could work with this even if it might take a little time, but if it worked out, he'd have that time back easily. And also maybe rewind an entire day and screw things up for everyone. Or something. He took the folder.
The Handler	"It's too bad Joseph Späh decided against sabotaging the fuel tank," the Handler observed. Hindsight was 20/20, though. "It would have been so much easier." Because yeah, that sure was a distinctive...very notably doomed airship in that folder you were looking at, wasn't it, Five? "Anyhoo." The Handler got up from her little perch on his desk. "If you have any questions, I'll be right behind you." It wasn't clear whether it was an intentional threat, or just kind of...how she talked. But she swanned out of the room with one last smile, anyway.

Five	Five had his desk and his ridiculous name plate that decided his name was Mr. Five rather than his actual last name. But that was fine. He could deal with it. He could even deal with the typewriter as this place really stuck to the aesthetic. Like, really stuck to it.
Dot	Hopefully he wouldn't mind a quick check in from his new co-workers here. "Hey, Five, how's it going?" Dot asked, stopping in front of his desk.
Five	"I must have utter silence to complete this task," Five replied in the vain hope that she would take the hint and leave him alone as he pulled the sheet of paper from the typewriter to roll up into one of the pneumatic tubes.
Dot	"Oh, okay," Dot said, staying silent for just a moment because clearly he didn't know how people function in an office setting. "Hey, a few of us were having lunch and I was wondering if you..." Did he need to get up and walk away mid-conversation? No. Not at all. She sighed as he left her behind. "You're doing something."
Five	You're damn right he was doing something, Dot. That something was going to the tube room to send out a very important message. Which meant that he'd be stopped in three, two...
The Handler	"I'm afraid that's not procedure." Come on, Five. On the first day? When she'd definitely be watching the whole time? That's just sloppy. She was just going to gently take that tube. Thank you very much. "Five, meet Gloria," she said, gesturing to an older woman seated off the tube room, who was now getting out of her seat to come see what the fuss was about. "Gloria is perhaps the single most vital cog in our machine." Wasn't it nice to be a cog? Everyone got to be part of a bigger picture!
Gloria	"Look at you," Gloria said with a smile very similar to the Handler's. " Deadly little thing. So happy we decided to close the contact on your life."
The Handler	"I'm afraid your reputation precedes you," the Handler told Five, clearly delighted by all of this. "And it looks like you're building on it here." She unrolled the note that had been inside the pneumatic tube with the air of a teacher about to read a passed note in front of the whole class. Terminate Karl Weber. "Oh. Karl Weber." She passed the note over to Gloria, eyes locked on Five. "Now tell me, why unfortunate Karl?"
Five	"Karl Weber is the butcher at the shop where Captain Ernst A. Lehmann acquires his weekly roast," Five said, a perfectly placid smile on his face because he wasn't at all pulling one over on her. Really. "So, if Karl dies, his butcher shop is passed on to his son Otto who never washes his hands. Which is disgusting."
The Handler	"So he's the one who gives the captain his roast," the Handler supplied, impressed, as she started to figure out where this was going.
Five	"And that gives him food poisoning." Look at them filling out the series of events from this one little change.
The Handler	"Which makes him late for work." Hang on, she almost had it. Touching Five's face helped her think. "Which delays the takeoff."
Five	IT WOULD NOT, BUT OKAY. "And to make up for lost time, the Hindenburg flies through a weather front of high electrical charge and humidity."
The Handler	Ugh, Five. This was why she'd wanted you back. This right here. "And the static electricity inside the aircraft makes it a virtual tinderbox. Tiny engine sparks...."
Five	"And boom." Okay, he took a little joy in that one right there.
The Handler	Well, she was just going to have to go show off her star student, here. And take him away from this very interesting tube room. "I'm sure you've all heard that Mr. Five has proven to be as adept with a pen as he was with a sword," the Handler announced, guiding Five back into the room with the many, many drones at typewriters. She gave him a little pat on the back -- praise, but distinctly a command to get back to his desk, too. "Let his effort serve as inspiration to you all. Herb!" Her eyes cut over to a slight man at a neighboring desk. "How long have you been on the Lusitania?"
Herb	"Well, I, uh..." Oh god, oh god, don't put him on the spot like this.
The Handler	"Sorry?" The Handler wasn't even going to let him finish, instead cupping a hand against her ear. "Sorry, I can't hear you." She could. She was just kind of cruel. There was a buzz to announce lunch then, and the Handler instead turned her attention to a different worker to file out alongside him. "Gene? A word before you go to lunch. Gutenberg seems to be having second thoughts about the printing press...."
Herb	"When I first started," Herb finally managed, but only once she'd stopped even paying attention to him.
Five	Five continued to smile vapidly until the attention was off of him as well as he carefully lifted a file off of Dot's desk to slip under his sweater vest. Then headed to the restroom in order to read it in one of the stalls. ...only to find the pages within just had a big, obnoxious smiley face on it rather than the information he wanted. "Shit."
The Handler	"So how's your first day going?" Did you think you were somehow entitled to privacy, Five? Ever? Here? Don't ask how the Handler had known he was in the bathroom. She knew a lot of things, okay?
Five	Five repressed the sigh he had at that. "Couldn't be better," he said sarcastically.
The Handler	"Glad to hear it," the Handler replied as she took a neighboring stall, and the overskirt she'd been wearing -- there had already been a few outfit changes today -- fell to the floor. And then there were some sounds. She hadn't just come in here to talk to Five, after all. She'd actually had to pee. And cough unpleasantly. They had the intimacy of old friends, Five. This was a gift. "I burned my rugae. Ever burn your rugae?"
Five	This was hell is what it was. Five gave the bathroom at large a look of 'what the actual fuck is happening?' instead of responding.
The Handler	She was going to just interpret his silence as him not knowing that fun, new word. "The ridges on the hard palate that help pass food to the esophagus. Anyway, I'm on a liquid diet for two days, hence the marathon of urination." It really had been going on for awhile. Though now there were the more predictable sounds of toilet paper being rolled, and skirts shuffling. "One faulty cog, and nothing works as it should." This wasn't really about pee, Five. Surprise! "You know, we value integrity at the office, above all else. Trust is essential, and that trust is...built over time. But in the event of a breach, the Commission will act swiftly and without mercy -- an efficiency that I'm sure you above all people can appreciate, Number Five." And now the flush. "I'm feeling peckish. Have you had your lunch?"
Five	Five finally let out that aggrieved sigh that was building up once she flushed. "Not yet," he replied crisply.
The Handler	"Great!" she sang out, and there was now running water, so thankfully it did seem that the Handler at least washed her hands. "How would you like to have lunch with me in my office? You can eat solid foods and I can live vicariously...." Again, why did you ever fathom that you might find even the barest modicum of privacy here, Five? Because the Handler was straight-up peeking over the door to his stall, now. "Through you."
Five	"Sounds great," Five said with that strained, rage filled smile. Because Five. Because Five.

The Handler	"And that's how Phil determined the Archduke just had to go," the Handler told Five, concluding her story with a noisy slurp from the straw she was drinking from. All-liquid diet. She hadn't been kidding. "Care for dessert?" Hers would be through a straw, so there'd be more of those fun noises. Maybe she'd blow bubbles!
Five	He'd really thought it was all just to mess with him, but now he was thinking it was true. And she was using it to mess with him. Five offered a polite (see, he could people when he wanted to!) and shook his head. "Uh, no, I had a bad Twinkie during the apocalypse once. It kind of put me off desserts." Whoever said they lasted forever was wrong. Wrong.
The Handler	"Please, indulge me," the Handler insisted, pushing a candy dish towards Five and pulling out a lighter and cigarette holder (already loaded, of course.) "What does that taste like to you?" It wasn't just candy, Five, it was an experiment.
Five	Five frowned and unwrapped a candy to give it a try. "The... 1950's?" Wait, what?
The Handler	"Precisely right." Good job, Five, a cookie -- or another candy! -- for you. "Our clever metaphysics division concocted a way to perfectly distill an entire decade into a single candy." She reached forward to pick up a different little wrapped candy, this with a distinctive shape. "This one's modeled after the Fudge Mutt, America's favorite in 1955."
Five	"Remarkable." Because it actually kind of was. In a way that helped him not at all.
The Handler	"You'll be happy to know it's the very division that's building your new body. Oh, that reminds me -- I have something for you." She hit her intercom. "Carla? Would you bring in the box, please?" The Handler stood, placing her cigarette holder between her teeth in obvious delight as she crossed over to survey the large, flat box that Carla brought in and placed on the desk. "Go ahead," she told Five. "Open it."
Five	Five hesitated for a moment because, well, his paranoia was perfectly healthy and normal. But he opened the box as instructed to find his old suit. In the size he should be.
The Handler	"Clothes make the man, Five. Won't it be nice when you can actually wear it?" the Handler asked, beaming at him. "Very soon, I assure you. They're perfecting your body as we speak."
Five	Creepy? "Thank you. It's a very kind gift," Five replied, placing his hands on it for a moment before looking over at her. Oh, this was getting weird, you guys. Quick, say something less wrought with tension! "Is that a Chinese flamethrower?"
The Handler	"Good eye." The Handler was super not interested in making it less weird, for the record. She thrived on this kind of weird vibe. "War," she remarked, looking over at the flamethrower. "Such a fascinating concept. A temporary salve for a permanent human flaw. 'Course, it's a bit easier to see from 30,000 feet." She gestured broadly -- not just to the flamethrower, but the associated artifacts near it. "These are just some of the things I've collected in my travels." She plucked up a black object the size of a lemon. "M26 grenades from the Vietnam War." "And this, the most noteworthy of all. My Walther pistol. The very one Hitler used to kill himself. We're not supposed to take these kinds of things," she said, leaning close to Five as though imparting a secret -- again, why resist that weird, weird tension? "But he wasn't gonna use it anymore. Feel how perfectly balanced it is!" Yeah, Five! Bond with your creepy boss over Hitler's gun!
Five	You know what? If it got him what he wanted, he definitely would bond over Hitler's gun. Please no one tell Diego. Five took the gun to check it out because she told him to, you know. Also because he sort of missed having a gun on him. He missed it, okay? "I had some thoughts I wanted to run by you," he said, feeling they'd bonded adequately enough as he offered the gun back. "Some suggestions to improve the Commission protocol."
The Handler	"Mm, shaking things up already," the Handler crooned, reaching to take the gun back and then, as though by reflex, run her hand over Five's cheek. "Go on. Do tell!"
Five	"Gloria, the tube operator," Five said, not even baring his teeth at that. Look how compliant he was being! Look! "Wouldn't it be simpler if case managers could send their own messages?"
The Handler	"I appreciate the thought. I really do. But everyone loves Gloria -- I would never hear the end of it," the Handler explained, as though this were very much out of her hands. "She's been with the Commission family for years, and she's this close to making pension."
Dot	There came a knock at the door before Five could even try arguing a case that wasn't highly suspect. "Sorry to interrupt," Dot said, looking from Five to the Handler and all that ripe, ripe tension in the air. "May I have a moment alone?"
The Handler	"Of course," the Handler replied without a hint of hesitation. "Duty calls," she added to Five, sure he would understand. "We'll continue this discussion later, Five."
Five	"Sure," Five said with one of those smiles that was clearly fake, but he was doing a great job and acting like he was a normal human for once. He paused as he looked at that candy dish again. "May I?"
The Handler	"Please," the Handler replied with an indulgent smile as she gestured toward the candy. If he liked the candies, that was something to keep in mind. You know, in case she wanted to get him a gift. Or poison him. Both were totally equally likely.

[NFI, NFB but OOC is welcome! Taken from 1x06 "The Day That Wasn't" and preplayed with defenderofdesmoines]

Comments

[defenderofdesmoines]

[maybe if Belle invaded his personal space constantly then she, too, would have amazing fashion sense and be World's #1 Boss at an intertemporal agency!]

[noonedecidesmyfate]

[Excuse you she already has excellent fashion sense but she will TAKE NOTES on the personal space invasion. For reasons.]