Blue eyes and golden hair.

If they're really the trademarks of the perfect good, my name is Satan and I'm here to eat all your perfect little angelspawn.

As it is, I'm just one more misunderstood good deed away from blowing up the entire hatchery. Nursery, whatever. It'll still house little fiends no matter what kind of potshot you take at its name.

"For the last time, woman," I spit through gritted teeth, "I did not smash your windows, I did not set your toilet on fire, and I sure as hell did not expose these babies to radioactive matter!"

What I did do was melt the windowpanes, accidentally send a can of hairspray flying into the mass of burning toilet paper in the bathtub, and set a calming spell over the little tykes right when the real world's version of a bumbling Muggle opened the bloody door.

Bill and court marshal the damned soulstealer, why don't you. Slapping handcuffs on the poor witch who bloody saved the entire building hadn't been part of the list of job hazards the Council sent. It isn't even in the small print.

One of these days, I'm really going to have to sue the whole damned lot of them. Bloody self-righteous Council arseheads.

But back to the deluded Muggle-kins who decided to make my day.

"I saw you," fuzzy-sweater-over-dumpy-figure woman argues determinedly, pointing an accusing finger somewhere near the vicinity of my breasts. Taking into consideration that it appeared to be the very highest point her flabby arms could point, I hold back the snarky comment going through my head. Homosexuality shouldn't take a beating just because this woman was insane. "I saw you hold a glowing object in your hands, and you threw your arms and some sparkling dust just flew right over them."

Well, yeah, I couldn't use holy water since it would have burned me, too. Blessed ashes had been the best that I could get my hands on at the time.

I glare, unspeaking. I hate being wronged. But it's not as though I could offer up any sane explanation. At least, not for a mundane. Muggle-kins wouldn't know sane if it crawled up her ass and raped her.

"Calm down, ma'am. This woman is one of the good guys. She would never do anything to harm innocent people, least of all these babies."

Thank God for small favors. Revelation was finally here to pick up the pieces. Yes, it's her real name. If I believed a bit more in religion I'd have said she was an angel. A godsend. As it is, she's not.

I sniff. "Oh, I don't know. I'm feeling a little peckish, after all that work. Maybe I'll roast the little kiddies and eat them straight off the barbecue stick."

Nobody said I couldn't be all bitchy about it. Hey, I already mentioned I hated being wronged.

Rev shoots me a look. "Don't you start, you little shit. It's your own damned fault you got blamed, why didn't you wait for the Council like I told you to? Running off on your own isn't ever good idea."

She cusses exactly like me, sometimes, when she gets pissed.

Which is why I try to one-up her straight after. "If you're gonna fucking cuss, Rev, take out the big guns. Stop being such a wuss and go all out. And shut the hell up – the 'stealer wasn't gonna wait forever." In fact, it'd been about to start in on the first child right when I jumped through the dissolved window and kicked it in the face. I wasn't about to tell her that, though – let the detective extraordinaire live up to her name the hard way.

She rolls her eyes, waving a dismissing hand. "Just go get yourself cleaned up and start thinking about that report. It'll take you all night otherwise."

Oh, great. I scowl. "Never rains but it pours, does it."

"Funny, I was under the impression that it only happens whenever you take up a case." Rev says dryly.

"Oh, sod off, what do you know? You're just a book in the bloody Bible anyway."

I never said I made sense. Particularly right after I close a case.

She rolls her eyes again but doesn't comment, having gotten used to my insanity. Witches need their quirkiness, sometimes. It's the only thing that stops them from ruining the world their way.

Muggle-kins decides at this point to butt in. "This is not the way to speak to proper authorities! Young lady, I suggest you shape up right this instant!"

"I don't think I'm the one who needs to shape up, short-and-fat." I eye her with deliberate distaste. "Now shoo off and get your memory fixed before you end up offending everyone else."

As if on my cue, some Council lackey strides briskly toward us and then swiftly away, taking the woman – who's gasping in outrage at my direction – with him.

They have the lamest clothes and the craziest agents, but all things said and done, the Council is anything but inefficient. In the time it took for Revelation's scowl to fully grow, the mundane had had her picture taken, her full name acquired, and her memory erased. They even had time to add a few last minute inside jokes into her implanted memory, sniggering rather unprofessionally the whole while.

"…damn, I had no idea your people could be so weird." I eye the agent appreciatively, as he gravely announces to the whole room that the woman had seen nothing out of the ordinary apart from a pair of twins humping each other in their sleep, but that was only just because she had a mental affectation and not to worry, they'd fix her right up real soonish.

The agent looks up and straight at me, letting another agent lead the woman away from his side before slipping into an impish grin and a wink.

I find myself smiling, all ire and frustration fading quickly into the background when he tips an imaginary hat and walks out the hospital doors. Evidently, witches aren't the only ones who can be batshit crazy. Good to know I'm not alone.

Rev, when I look back at her, is smiling faintly, though the glow of disapproval is still bright in her eyes. "He's just one of the oddballs. Funny as hell, but he's bad luck for undercover ops. Apparently he needs the spotlight as much as they don't."

"Funny, I would've just said he's lost a screw somewhere down the years." I say dryly.

"He's not you." Another roll of her eyes. "Oh, just move along. I don't need you wasting my time here. Go finish up that report for the Council." Just like that, she shoos me off, literally grabbing a broom and sweeping at my feet until I am pushed out the door.

"But don't you need my statement or whatever else you guys forcibly extract from witnesses?" I call out, half disgruntled, half amused.

"You're not a witness, you're the goddamned perp." She shoots back. "And I don't need your bloody statement, I'm content earning my name as detective extraordinaire the hard way. Now scat."

A/N: Yes. It was pretty smooth going. Then again, that's because this was written in April. The Muse has since left me for bigger, better things.

Hopefully, I'll be back sometime within this year. Which gives me... 2 months more.

Better off waiting for miracles.

Comments greatly appreciated!