NO.OV agents (oc's)

Blue: Huge Golden and Clumsy Personality

Two guys, taking a call and a job: dishes are broken because of a crooked shelf.

— Of course, Mrs. Mabia, my colleague and I will go there.

She hung up the phone.

— GUTIÉRREZ!! Fill the car.

He said in a firm voice, while his companion was drinking mate cocido.

— eh?..... Right away, boss.

The sight was ridiculous, blue, with a tight black t-shirt showing off his pecs and Batman-themed pajama pants.

— I see you're not in any condition, hurry and change.

— I just woke up!!

He said blue, grumpy and with dark circles under his eyes.

6:80 am.

Verde ended a council call.

— Okay, Blue, I already requested the paperwork in case of demolition. What are you doing?

He said as he watched the blue door open while he changed his clothes. A suit as always, his small blue armor, and his helmet.

— Okay. Do I look okay?

He said, seeing him placing both hands on his hips and one leg raised, bent over the desk, heroic.

— You're exaggerating a lot, blue, take that off now. We're not going to Marie Antoinette's house.

Azul only removed his armor, remaining in a three-quarter sleeve shirt that reached his elbows, a brown belt, gray pants, and white shoes.

— Better, a decent blue. You'd better go back to the gym.

— Stop messing around, I look good as long as it's noticeable.

He said, and Verde gave him a look of disgust and strangeness. He should go back to the gym; even though he's ripped and big, they'll disappear if he doesn't keep working on them.

7:00 AM.

Verde was opening the trunk while listening to "I was made for lovin' you".

— Uh…ammunition magazine, bathrobe from the hotel in Cancun, folding chairs, coffee table, a…a shoe, some coolers. Oh, the toolbox, which I did need. Hammer, nails, glue, and some masking tape. Enough. 7:05 AM Verde slammed the trunk shut, but since the Uno is capricious, the lid bounced and opened again by itself, revealing the leg of the folding chair.

7:05 AM

Verde slammed the trunk shut, but since the Uno is capricious, the lid bounced and opened again by itself, revealing the leg of the folding chair as if to say, "I want to go on an adventure too."

—Okay. Ammunition loaded, full kit. Let's retrieve those plates before Mabia sues us for emotional distress.

Azul, now without his armor but wearing that 3/4 length shirt that showed off his arms (and a bit of his mate belly), leaned against the car with the pose of a soap opera heartthrob.

—Boss, what if we get there and the lady offers us pastries? Or worse… alfajores? I can't resist an alfajor.

Verde glanced at him out of the corner of his eye as he started the engine (which coughed three times before starting).

—Focus, Gutiérrez. This isn't a weekend outing. It's a surgical operation. We level the ground, we nail it, we go. No chatting, no snacks. Last time he almost knocked us over with a broom.

Azul climbed into the passenger seat, fastened his seatbelt, and pulled out the thermos of mate cocido as if it were a secret weapon.

—Okay, okay… but if you offer me a chocolate one, I'm not responsible. It's my kryptonite.

The car skidded away (or what Uno calls "skidding": a slight skid and the smell of exhaust). In the background, "I Was Made for Lovin' You" was still playing on a loop because the cassette had been stuck since 2005.

The two idiots arrived at the scene, a pretty white and light blue house. A black gate. A 70-year-old grandmother's house, a kitten on the roof.

— Look, this looks like my Nonna's house, boss.

Verde gently surveyed the place. He just sighed.

— You're probably just a blockhead, Gutiérrez.

They both entered the house, an older lady greeted them, small, with gray hair now and blonde, small glasses, a dress and flat shoes.

— Hello gentlemen, thank you for coming. I was told you could help me. — they lied to him. He said "blue" in a low, sarcastic tone, being silenced with an elbow. — Of course, that's what we're here for. Show me where the problem is.

He said "green" walking behind old Mabia. The air smelled of anise and peanuts.

Mrs. Mabia led them through a narrow hallway, filled with black and white picture frames and a smell of mothballs mixed with that anise that seemed to come from the walls themselves.

—Come in, come in, guys. The shelf is in the kitchen. Oh, sorry for the mess… it's just that with all the dishes, I don't dare touch anything.

Azul glanced sideways at Verde with a "I told you so, alfajores incoming" look. Verde returned the look that said, "If you open your mouth, I'll nail you with the same nails I'm carrying." They reached the kitchen.

And there it was: the killer shelf. An old wooden shelf, painted peeling white, tilted about 45 degrees to the right as if it had been drunk since 1982.

Above, a heroic pyramid of plates: the fine china ones with blue flowers, the everyday ones with chipped edges, and even a souvenir plate from Mar del Plata that said "Souvenir of Playa Grande" hanging by a miracle. A single snore from the cat on the roof and the porcelain massacre would begin.

Verde crossed his arms, evaluating.

—Mrs. Mabia, this isn't a crooked shelf. This is an affront to physics. When did it start to fall?

—Oh, it's been like… three weeks. First it moved a little, then the plates were practically dancing the tango. The other day it almost knocked me over when I tried to get the soup plate out.

Azul, who had already taken the thermos out of his belt as if it were a self-defense weapon, let out a low giggle.

— Shut up, Volumen. Pass me the screwdriver, let's take it all the way out.

Azul walked to the toolbox, trying to find something among all that: poker cards, a tarot deck, the recipe book that Azul used.

— uh, is this what you're looking for?

She said as she continued searching through the belongings. Combs, keys, underwear, and some container belonging to her mother in green.

— Hey Hernandez, here's your mom's Tupperware.

He said, feigning a very refined voice, the name in English.

— You idiot, I was looking for them... to GIVE ME THE FUCKING SHIT I ASKED YOU FOR, GUTIÉRREZ.

— BUT WE DON'T HAVE A SCREWDRIVER, JUST AN ANCIENT CIRCUIT BETWEEN THE YEARS OF THE FART.

— ES-! AGH...

He said "green" with hatred as he hit his forehead and walked a few steps.

— allow me.

Azul gave him the test tube, and Hernández took it with a brusqueness and condescension that was equally evident in his tone of voice:

— this blue thing...it's something else, but since it's old, we use it as a screwdriver. After all, it's the same thing.

— ah....

Azul said, scratching the back of his neck as he looked at the pole tester as if it were an alien artifact.

—So… we just use it as a lever and that’s it?

Verde looked at him with a mixture of resignation and murderous intent.

—We improvise, Gutiérrez. As always. Because apparently in this company the budget for tools is the same as for my therapy.

Mrs. Mabia, who had been watching everything from the doorway with a suppressed little smile, intervened in a sweet voice:

"Guys, if you'd like, I have a set of old screwdrivers that belonged to my late husband. They're in the napkin drawer. Or... would you like me to get you something to eat while you work? I have some freshly bought chocolate alfajores..." Azul turned her head so fast she almost dropped her thermos.

— Chocolate? Mrs. Mabia, you're an angel fallen from heaven. I'll take one… or two… or the whole box, just in case they go bad.

Verde raised his hand like a traffic cop.

—Ma'am, no. Thank you very much. Azul has already had her breakfast of mate cocido and dignity. If you give her sugar now, she'll explode.

But it was too late. The old woman had disappeared behind the counter and returned with a small plate full of alfajores wrapped in shiny cellophane. She placed them on the table as if they were a sacred offering. Azul approached like a vampire drawn to light.

—Boss… look. They're the good ones. The ones with dulce de leche dripping through. I can't let them go to waste…

Verde massaged his temples.

—Do it quickly. And without crumbs on the floor. Or I'll make you clean it with my tongue.

9:10 AM.

The orange cat on the roof came down to see what was happening. Entering through the door, he saw the two boys trying to pry open the second screw on the shelf.

— “stupid humans”

The cat thought as he climbed onto the counter, watching them purring.

— Okay, you pry it open, I'll grab it. 1...2...3...

Crack! The shelf made a sound; of course, the force involved also broke the wood where the screws were, but it came out of the screwed-on place.

— at least he got out....

Blue said, while Green was dying inside, his head and shoulders slumped together in despair. The cat, too, had wide eyes and perked ears.

They didn't expect that, or maybe they did?

The cat went down to check, sniffing.