"No."

"What?"

"No."

"But we-"

"No. I am not doing this."

"Erm..." the trench coats glanced at each other, confused.

"I'd thought...." Joan said, pinching her nose. She could feel her anger rising. "Do you know how long you have to study, to get into a position like this?!"

"We-"

"It's a long fucking time!" she screamed, voice echoing down the empty hall. "This is an insult. No. I am not doing this."

This was a disgrace. This was...

"You hear me!" She said, turning and yelling at the ceiling. "Do your fucking job. This..." she said, gesturing to the trench coats "I am not doing this. No. Fuck you!"

The trench coats stared, awkwardly.

"Umm..." trench coat 3 asked, tentatively "...are you...okay?"

"Stop talking."

"But-"

"I said shut it three!"

Mercifully the trench coat seemed to do just that, but not before mumbling something along the lines of "I have a name you know..."

She took a deep breath.

"Sorry." She admitted. It's not your fault."

The trench coat seemed slightly reassured.

"What... what is your name?"

"Oh right." It said, startled "It's Wallace."

"Why is a trench coat called Wallace?"

"I don't know." It said, shrugging "That's just what I'm called."

"Stop flirting with the enemy!" The far left trench coat hissed.

"I'm just being polite." Wallace hissed back.

"To be honest..." the one in the middle said "...I sort of agree with Oli, here."

"I wasn't flirting!"

"Am I...needed for this?"

The trench coats seemed to remember that she was there.

"We-"

"Actually. Don't answer that. I'm done."

And with that, the witch of scourges, the ender of the ice-paints, weilder of the black staff, drinker of the soup of knowledge, dissolved into nothing, ending a million years of turmoil and rule as the diamond volcanic ash that comprised her body scattered in the palace winds.