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Scar knew something was up the moment Grian requested a private meeting with him. Ever since this whole “mycelium resistance” stuff started, the two of them hadn’t said more than a few words to each other. In fact, it’s been days since Scar’s seen Grian at all. It’s almost as if the man dropped off the face of the planet, which just made him even more uneasy when Bdubs told him Grian scheduled a one-on-one with him today. He is not looking forward to whatever the pesky bird has planned for him. It’s bound to be nothing but trouble.
He’s sitting in his office, fingers tapping nervously against his desk, glancing up at the clock above his door every five seconds to see if the time has changed. It’s 4:55 pm. The meeting is at five on the dot. His heart hammers in his chest with every tick of the second hand. Time is moving way too slow. Time is not moving slow enough. He can’t wait to get this over with. He’s afraid for it to start.
Minutes ooze by like honey straight out of the refrigerator. At some point he moves from tapping his fingers to looking through the large stack of neglected paperwork on the corner of his desk. He scans through page after page, eyes looking at but not truly reading a single word typed on the paper. The clock's ticking only serves to mock him, reminding him of how little time he has left to mentally prepare. How much time he has until the meeting is done.
He’s not even sure why he’s as nervous as he is. It’s not as if Grian’s plans were ever truly malicious in nature. They were usually pranks or general mischief - things that would result in maybe an explosion or two, at the worst. They were a pain to deal with, sure, and annoying, but they never did any genuine harm. So why did Scar have such a bad feeling about this?
The clock finally strikes five and he knows he’s holding his breath, waiting impatiently for Grian to knock on his door. Or burst in, as he’s so prone to do. The clock keeps ticking, seconds going past uninterrupted.
Wow, he’s really taking his ti-
Knock knock knock .
Oh, there he is. “Come in,” Scar calls, his voice even, his tone casual.
There’s a beat of silence, and for a moment Scar thinks he may have imagined the knocking. His nerves rise the longer the quiet stretches out. Then, suddenly, the door swings open, revealing… A mushroom?
No, not a mushroom. Grian dressed like a mushroom.
“Oh my God,” Scar wheezes out, all previous nerves gone as he doubles over with laughter. “Grian! What on Earth are you wearing?”
Grian steps into the office, giving Scar a better look at the outfit he was currently wearing. There’s a long red cloak tied around his shoulders, reaching just below his knees. Under the cloak is a puffy cream blouse with a red scarf tied around the midriff. The rest of the blouse is tucked into a flowy red and white spotted skirt that nearly scrapes the floor. There’s small mushrooms sprouting out in random areas all over the ensemble and Scar wonders if those were a fashion statement or simply growing there, undisturbed. The centerpiece of the entire thing is the hat. It’s modeled after a mushroom cap - red with white spots scattered throughout and a cream colored underside. It’s large and bulbous and causes Grian’s silhouette to mimic the very same fungus his outfit is inspired by.
He looks ridiculous. Not bad, Grian never looks bad, but it’s just so gaudy and over the top that it tramples over most of Scar’s elaborate get-ups he’s had over the years.
“This is my new look,” Grian states, unaffected by Scar's reaction. He does a little twirl to fully show everything off. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Wonderful is a word you could use.” Scar calms himself down, laughter turning to quiet giggles. He grins at the other, motioning to the chair in front of his desk, “Please, have a seat. I was told you have something you’d like to discuss?”
"That's correct," Grian replies, moving closer to the desk but not sitting in the leather chair. "We have a lot to talk about."
The anxiety from earlier decides to make a reappearance. Scar swallows thickly, looking Grian in the eyes with as much hospitality as he can muster, "And what is it we need to talk about, Grian?"
"That name, for starters." Grian gets closer still, placing his hands on the edge of the desk and leaning his weight onto them. He stares straight through the mayor. "It's dreadfully boring, don't you think? I like the name Mother Spore a lot better."
“You want to be called Mother Spore?” Scar questions, raising an eyebrow.
“But of course,” Grian- no, Mother Spore grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Now that Scar’s actually looking at his eyes, there’s something off about them. They appear hollow, empty, like there’s nothing but void behind them. “It just fits more. It feels… right .”
Scar chuckles nervously, trying to look everywhere but at the man in front of him as fear settles in his gut. “Right, right,” he fiddles with the chain on his monocle, focusing on keeping his breathing steady, “Note made. Moving on, what else is it we need to discuss?”
“You won’t win this,” Mother Spore announces, grin ever steady on his face. He moves one of his hands from its place on the desk to grab Scar’s chin, forcing eye contact. It’s suddenly harder to breathe. The air feels thicker, like he shouldn’t be inhaling. “You can try as hard as you can, but you won’t beat us. We were here first, and we’ll be here long after this silly war is done with.”
Who exactly the “we” Mother Spore’s referring to is, Scar’s not sure. The most obvious answer is the resistance itself, but from his tone of voice, it didn’t seem like that’s what he was talking about. It felt more like a royal “we.” Odd. Scar feels lightheaded.
“We’d love to see how you try to take us down, though,” Mother Spore continues, “It’s fun having someone so against us. We love seeing your futile efforts, it’s rather cute.”
Under any other circumstances the compliment would have made Scar blush, but now it filled him with dread. This isn’t Grian, not the one he’s used to, and Mother Spore doesn’t make him feel safe the way Grian does. Mother Spore doesn’t have the same warmth Grian does. Mother Spore isn’t Grian.
“I wouldn’t be so confident,” Scar argues, ignoring how his voice breaks. “The HEP is stronger than you think. We’re going to put a stop to your disgusting mycelium and there’s nothing you can do but watch.”
Mother Spore’s grin grows and he releases Scar’s chin, cackling. The air gets thinner again. “Oh, how wonderful,” he claps his hands together in glee, stepping back away from the desk. “Well, Mr. Mayor, I do look forward to seeing how this all plays out. Until next time. Bye bye now!”
Then Mother Spore turned, leaving the office the same way he came in. He closes the door behind him, leaving Scar alone once more.
He glances up at the clock. It reads 5:15 pm. Mother Spore was here for only fifteen minutes, yet it feels like a whole day has passed, like he should be in bed by now. He takes a deep breath for the first time since before the meeting.
It smells like fungus.