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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[scalyfishman.livejournal.com]

Depth Charge knew he should have been more prepared for what hit them beyond the doors, but the helter-skelter vertigo of walking out of the room and into their mission, like flying through a worm hole all over again, was enough to throw him completely for a nanoklik. Even if he hadn't been expecting a war zone after reading through that folder it was still disarming to be presented with, of all things, fresh flowers and the smell of baking.

He took a moment to reorient himself: the cafe was busy for its size, though what made it 'French' Depth Charge couldn't say. It was certainly a far cry from the dingy bars he'd frequented back on Cybertron, with its pretty white furniture and daintily patterned cups and saucers. He was gonna stick out like a sore digit in this place if he didn't wise up. As if in anticipation of how conspicuous they were going to look, the pair of them had also been outfitted in suitably Earthian clothes. He could only assume that the pressed black jacket and pants were supposed to look professional and tidy; he couldn't resist popping the first couple of buttons anyway.

Even if the place was quite literally alien to him, though, it looked as though the routine was the same wherever you went in the galaxy. They'd only been in the cafe for a minute or so before a waitress found them.

"You got it," he answered quickly, before either of them had the chance to think it over too much. And then they were truly in, escorted to a nearby table, pegged in by chairs and asked to wait for just a moment, please, before their order was taken. The second the woman was gone Depth Charge breathed out slowly, leaning back in his chair. "Primus. This is really it, isn't it, Scarecrow?"