Day 58: Mission #1 [Scarecrow and Depth Charge]

[scarefaux]

[From here.]

It was not the hallway they found on the other side of the door. The crossing of the threshold was accompanied by that spinning sensation in the Scarecrow's middle— similar to feeling he'd had the night the doors were enchanted— and it was no mystery of why: they had been spirited away to somewhere else entirely. Decorated tables, adorned with small flowers and surrounded by wooden chairs, were a far cry from the grey ones of the institute; the room was filled with the quiet chatter of other people, the occasional chink of metal and glass heard over their soft conversations. Windows bathed the room in light, giving it a far more welcoming atmosphere than any place he'd imagined for the mission.

The floor creaked as the Scarecrow took another step in. Only after his second step had been taken did he notice even more surprises: their outfits had been changed in the span of that moment to something resembling the Doyleton clothes, presumably by magic as well. It could certainly do some strange things. Gone was his tight military uniform, replaced with a brown jacket and black pants. There was a brief moment of inner dread before he realized his bandages and stitchings were covered by his long sleeves. While he was fine with just about anything he was given to wear, he had to admit that he wouldn't miss the military-issued boots and their complicated laces.

A couple of patrons noticed their entrance, but their attention returned to their meals quickly. Whatever smell that was wafting through the room was just delightful. The Scarecrow looked over his shoulder to the doorway, as though expecting to find the previous room still on the other side; the only sight that awaited him was Depth Charge and the closing door. There was no turning back now.

As he opened his mouth to ask Depth Charge for some direction (he was the one with the working brain, after all- it seemed reasonable to ask him what they ought to do), they were approached by the waitress. She pulled the pen from her hair, scribbling on the pad she carried as she scanned them up and down. "Table for two?"

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[scarefaux]

As much as he didn't want to admit it, the Scarecrow knew what Depth Charge was saying was probably true: that it was too late to warn Rosemarie, and that keeping her friend's identity a secret was now on their shoulders. Another weight added, each one more tangible than the last. He could only hope that the second part of what Depth Charge said was just as likely- that maybe if they didn't draw her back into it, anyone watching them might just let her leave. After all, the military had sent them on the mission in the first place to get the name without raising suspicion, right? Surely they'd only take action if they thought they really had to.

Well, at least that was what the former strawman liked to believe. How strange it seemed to him now that only a few weeks before, he was sitting on an emerald throne in a magnificent city, feeling that even though he was clearly the wisest in Oz, he still wasn't doing enough. The feeling of powerlessness that nestled in his chest on a daily basis, growing since his arrival at Landel's, continued to claw its way up. He had lost his diploma, and his human brain wasn't in the best of condition. If they could protect Rosemarie and her friend the Major somehow, would he be satisfied?

He couldn't know yet. The Scarecrow gave tearing the strip a try; however, no matter how much twisting and turning he gave it, he couldn't manage to rip the gift in half, the coating giving it more than enough durability to withstand his efforts. "This thing is tougher than it looks," he noted, his mind scrambling to think of another plan.

"Excuse me, sirs?" The Scarecrow stifled a jump as the waitress materialized behind him, on edge from the ever-worsening situation. "You nearly forgot your bill." She produced a piece of paper from the tray, handing it to them with a smile.

"Oh, um." The Scarecrow paused, taking the scrap and looking it over. There were an awful lot of numbers on it, but he wasn't sure exactly what it was or what he ought to do with it. "Thank you." It was more of a reflex, his thanking her, but he supposed manners couldn't make things worse.

Another moment passed in silence, and she didn't leave. The Scarecrow eyed Depth Charge for a second before an idea came to mind: she was looking for something in return, he reasoned. She'd have left, otherwise. Reaching into his pocket, the strawman removed the wallet and handed it to her, card inside and all. "And could you do me a favor, ma'am?" he asked politely.

She stared at the wallet, a bit puzzled at his offer. She glanced inside- there was a card, at least. She wasn't going to question someone who came off as 'country folk' too much, so long as the payment was good. "Sure. What else can I do for you today?"

"Could you maybe throw this away for me?" He handed her Rosemarie's gift, the strip now crinkled from his attempt to tear it into pieces.

The waitress gave him another odd look, accompanied by a nod and a smile. "Of course. Be right back with your receipt."

With that, she turned and headed back the way she came. Relief, however minor, washed over the Scarecrow, his empty hands still trembling slightly from the mounting stress of the situation. He returned his attention to his roommate, trying not to look as worried as he felt. "All right, now what?"

[scalyfishman.livejournal.com]

That was a no to the ripping part, then, though by this point Depth Charge was probably riding on enough nervous energy to tear through three of them at once. Slag, if he'd had them on hand with the waitress' sudden arrival in the mix he could probably have managed ten. She really had a thing for bad timing, huh? Couldn't say handing over the whole wallet wasn't exactly inconspicuous, either. Even so, it was a relief to see the bookmark finally vanish off with her- good thinking on the Scarecrow's part.

As he watched her head back towards the front of cafe, though, he couldn't help but feel a creep of of suspicion sneak back into place. What if she was a plant? They'd already decided that this place was probably full of soldiers, so for all they knew their waitress was just going to hand it straight to one of those officers when they got back, and no amount of playing dumb would save them then, or the other patients. And when the entire point of this mission for him had been to keep the Scarecrow safe...

No. Keep it together, DC. Don't turn into a conspiracy theorist. Keeping his head together was vital when they still needed to plan what they'd do when they returned, what they'd say, but it was easy to fall back into that nasty little web of doubt again. This was why he hated undercover work: that endless spiral of falsehood, lies prettied up to be convincing enough even to those involved. Total slag.

"We need to come up with an excuse or a false name," he said, well-aware of what he was about to say- but this was a necessary lie. For a moment he broke off, trailing through his memory for the names he'd seen on the bulletin board most often. "Maybe 'Peter' or something? Heard that twice now." Hopefully both Peters involved would understand. "If they ask for more we can say she seemed edgy and we didn't want to push it."

And if that failed... Depth Charge didn't know. But he did know that the longer they stood around, the more suspicious they'd look to any hovering agents.

[scarefaux]

Another false name- they certainly were handy, weren't they? The Scarecrow nodded at Depth Charge's suggestion, sure that his roommate knew best, even if his expression seemed grim at times. It had to be the stress of the situation they were in, he reasoned: the thought that someone could be hurt— someone who could make a difference and actually help the patients trapped in Landel's, or at least was trying— was a lot to handle, probably even more so on a brain that was in proper working order. How Depth Charge managed himself was something the Scarecrow was sure he'd never know.

"Peter sounds good," the Scarecrow agreed with a nod. "I only know of one person with that name, and he helped me come up with a fake name once before. Let's just say I'm not very good at it on my own. Names here are more unusual than they are in Oz, you know. I'm afraid anything I come up with might be suspicious." There was the lingering concern that they would inadvertently land someone else in hot water— hopefully not either of the Peters they knew— but if there was more than one, perhaps it was a common name and they'd never know which was which. It was a hope he had to cling to- there wasn't much else.

He headed for the door, waiting for Depth Charge to follow. "Ready?"

[scalyfishman.livejournal.com]

Depth Charge couldn't help but smile a little at that. "I know a Peter, too. Maybe they're the same guy." It didn't seem all that unlikely that Peter would be happy to sit and help the Scarecrow come up with an alias, knowing the guy; not many people would shrug that kind of thing off and actually be useful rather than just nodding and smiling, but he had patience for three. Had to, if he was a medic of some sort. Kind of made him feel a little guilty about the number of medics whose days he'd turned into a disaster zone, to be honest.

He still wasn't sure if using that name would make things difficult for the Peters still in the Institute, but at such short notice it was the only reasonably convincing name that either of them could come up with. And anyway, surely they wouldn't seriously think to associate the name with any of the patients? They knew them. They had them on file, for Primus' sake.

With a quiet breath, he followed the Scarecrow to the door. "Ready." Then he opened it and stepped back through.