[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,
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"You wouldn't have to cover for me if you didn't go makin' a mess of things in the first place!" he returned, getting to his feet as he pushed his palms into the table. "Can you only do your job when you're in trouble? Because you certainly go looking for it often!"
Oh, it seemed he was getting a little into the act, as well. He wasn't the type to vent his frustrations often, but that last line did hit him a bit close the moment it escaped his lips.
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It wasn't the noise the chair made that made Depth Charge hesitate, though. As fake as this argument was supposed to be, the Scarecrow had just made an excellent point. All he'd managed to do since he'd gotten here was get himself knee-deep in slag, culminating in the events of last night. Maybe if he actually did do his job better and kept people out of trouble in the first place he wouldn't ever have had to play hero to try and fix things.
It's just realism. You're just trying to make this look good. Don't take it personally, DC."At least I know what trouble looks like!" He was up on his feet too, now. "You wouldn't know trouble if it slapped you in the face!" But that cut things close too, ( ... )
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"I know this isn't my business, gentlemen," she began lightly, "but maybe you should both consider your taste in clients. Before you chase everyone out of this cafe." She leaned back into her chair, smiling with amusement at her own comment.
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It was probably a good thing that the Scarecrow had dropped their key phrase into his side of the argument then- he'd have struggled to come up with a good enough rebuttal after that. And sure enough, mercifully distracting, their fish took the bait.
Rosemarie turned and smiled at them, throwing out a little wit as though it were wisdom. He'd have had a short answer for that at least, if they hadn't been undercover, but for the sake of the mission he reigned it in and went with natural response number two: looking suitably, gruffly embarrassed that they'd been caught out. " ( ... )
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"No harm done," replied Rosemarie. "You both sound incredibly stressed, though. Why not take a breather and enjoy your drinks?"
With forced pleasantries out of the way, she launched into the real matter. Obviously, these were the ones he had told her to look out for. Since they had so graciously dropped the code into her lap, the woman might as well follow-through. "Too much stress," she continued without pause, "will turn even an athlete into a guaranteed walking heart attack, you know. My ex-husband can vouch for that."
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You try watching a kid fight a guy to the death all night, being blackmailed into doing some ridiculous army supervillain's dirty work and keep up with some ridiculous code, all while pretending to be a completely different species and therefore trying not to out both you and your roommate.
He'd tried to ignore the Scarecrow's final comment, as if that could protect his mood.
Still, they'd reeled her in. Now what? Yeah, they were supposed to get the name of some client of hers, but how? They didn't even know what said client was hiring her for- bomb expertise, private eye work, fixing their slagging moped? That particular part they had to navigate all without letting her know that they were angling for info. They could play it safe and nudge her towards the right way slowly, but who knew what would set her off? Or how much time they had ( ... )
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Then they could have what was sought.
"I know what you mean," she said, nodding in their general direction. Her book was thoroughly ignored. "I'm working with a man right now. High-profile, apparently. He has some strange obsession with Monet paintings." The woman smirked in a mix of pain and affection, a bittersweet expression. "Real crazy, this man. He wouldn't let me sleep for two days until I found Camille Monet on her deathbed. Disturbing little picture."
With a strange look on her face still in place, Rosemarie paused. "Military officers are strange people. Avoid them at all cost."
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It came sooner than expected, at Rosemarie's own pace.
The woman's expression struck Depth Charge before the contents of her answer, a cocktail of emotions he could half-empathise with- and then the pause. Military officers...?
ClickSlag it. He'd spent all this time assuming she wasn't going to want to talk, that they were going to have to lead her into it- but was she here specifically to tell them what they needed to know? And did that mean that she'd been talking in code this whole time while they'd rambled about some false rivalry and work ( ... )
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One she hadn't a clue was now falling into the wrong hand.
Rosemarie tilted her head forward, contemplating their answers. "Who knows, right?" She laughed nervously. "I don't think even the public understands their movements. Though--" The skinner man was acknowledged, and the woman nodded at his statement. "--not all are that bad. There are a few good men, if you'll excuse the cheesy reference.
"Like my Monet fanatic. He's in it for the right reasons."
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