The Scarecrow of Oz (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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damned_institute2011-08-23 04:12 am
scarefaux) wrote in damned_institute2011-08-23 04:12 am
Entry tags:
Day 58: Mission #1 [Scarecrow and Depth Charge]
[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?"
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?"
no subject
"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?"
no subject
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.