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For any good, solid scheme, a considerable amount of careful planning and perspicuity was to be expected, but that was particularly so for psychological games.
Despite being one of the more compelling parts of a scheme, psychological games could be challenging based on how dependent they were on first impressions, an irreversible but wholly necessary step to selling a non-stop, believable act; the difference between a scheme either working or not — but for Doom, she welcomed a challenge, especially one that could be so touch-and-go… Not that she would call her current assignment a challenge, really.
At the moment, her assignment only involved some low-level observation and research, but she did so assiduously: scoping out her target's bus route, scribbling down notes on where he was coming from, where he was going and for what on top of any other particulars that she could gather on him. Doom had even stooped to watching hours of convoluted, cheesy romantic comedies, all to create the consummate meet cute — a small but important step in a grander scheme. Whether or not her target would respond was up to dumb luck, but that was where things got interesting.
And now, after a week of preparation, it was time to make a move.
So, at approximately 3:32 p.m. on a Friday, Doom waits for her bus to arrive, and at 3:37 she boards.
For as not-crowded as the bus was, someone — through some ironic toss-up — just had to be seated nearest to her target.
Doom couldn't blame the boy, really, but she also couldn't help but be somewhat annoyed as she sat beside him; annoyed that, after all her planning, the only thing that separated her from her target was some half-pint and his guinea pig — a stupid, squeaky, distracting, delectable-looking…
"—Are you gonna eat that?"
Both she and her target, to her surprise, spoke at the same time before Doom could catch what she was saying.
For a moment, they stared at each other without a word and Doom has a passing thought on all the ways this interaction could spiral out because of her slip. This could either be a complete disaster or awkward or —
"Hey…"
"Um… Mix-up.." She laughs in response, shrugging.
"The name's Snake," he continues on, inching in somewhat close, close enough that when the bus suddenly brakes for its stop, the tip of her beak taps against his snout, producing an immediate, giggly 'whoops' from her and a low, drawn-out chuckle from him.
At that point, the boy squeezes to get from between them, leaving with his guinea pig in tow and allowing for Doom to scoot in closer to Snake. "I'm Susan."
"Susan," Snake repeats, "it's a pleasure to meet you."
"Oh, the pleasure's all mine," she says. "And I've gotta say, I never thought I'd meet someone out of the blue who fancies the taste of guinea pigs."
"They're top-shelf so far as rodents go! You'd be surprised how many people don't get that."
"I know! I mean, what else can you eat that's the literal embodiment of wholesomeness? Maybe apple pie covered in marshmallows and sprinkles, but that'd be a caloric nightmare."
He only laughs in agreement at that and Doom grins, pleased with herself. As far as she was concerned, her work here, for now, was done — a potential disaster had been avoided, her target suspected nothing of her and even seemed to be thoroughly charmed, so all there was to do now was to go report back to the girls.
"Well," Doom starts, standing to her feet once the bus stops again. "This is my stop. It's been-"
"Hold on, Susan," Snake says, interrupting her, "if you don't immediately have someplace to be right now, could I maybe, uh, treat you to coffee?"
That was unexpected — and that threw a wrench into her plans of breezily running into him a few more times and building rapport before she'd even entertain doing something as cutesy as going out for coffee together — but his proposal was, admittedly, sweet, and she is supposed to act the part of a moon-eyed and receptive love interest…
Whatever. She could roll with this for a bit longer, let this turn of events work to her advantage.
"Snake, I'd love that. I don't mind a detour." Doom says as fondly as she could, returning to her seat. "D'you have someplace in mind?"
"Uh-huh." He answers. "There's a nice place about two stops from here… I've never been but you'll probably dig it."
"Oh? So something new to both of us, how fun."
Conversation from there was sparse, but she could deal with some not-so-uncomfortable dead air. Besides, compared to the movies, romantic chemistry in real life thrives on this: the slow, silent and psychological — requiring restraint and tact and regular opportunities for both parties to sit with what they're feeling.
With that in mind, Doom glances over at Snake every so often, trying to parse what he could be feeling. From how he looked, even now, somewhat stunned and answered her as though his heart had momentarily leaped into his throat, he probably couldn't believe that she said yes, an amusing thought for her.
When the bus stops for a second time, Snake's tail uncoils from the grab pole and he gestures toward the open door. "After you." He says, having regained his sureness.
"Thank you," she coos back, leading them out after paying both their fares.
The cafe, aptly named 'Café Interlude', was only a short slither from the bus stop.
As Snake holds the door for her, Doom coos out another 'thank-you' as she passes him and she, upon entering, could not help but be somewhat impressed; she couldn't have thought up a more on-the-nose romantic space. Interlude's overly-intimate atmosphere, complete with low lighting, light music and tables that would only seat two, said enough about how it was meant for couples. To make things even better, they almost had the cafe to themselves as it was particularly empty for a Friday afternoon.
"You've got good taste, Snake." She says as they both approach the counter. Doom could tell that the two baristas (and anyone else who happened to notice them) were, needless to say, alarmed at the sight of a crow and a rather large, venomous snake inside the cafe but that didn't bother her; she had more or less learned to tune out other people's reactions to her. "We're gonna look at the menu for a moment." She nonchalantly informs the baristas.
"Ah, well, I have my moments… And I don't need to look actually, I'm a staunch black coffee drinker."
"How'd I know you'd say that?" She asks teasingly. "But I should probably take back some of what I said then, maybe you don't have taste."
"Pssh," Snake blows. "What's that got to do with taste? I drink to get wired, and you can't get wired on a frou-frou iced latte or whatever."
Doom only snorts at that, ignoring him as she sets her attention on the barista at the register. "He'll have your most stale black drip coffee and I'll have a frou-frou lavender iced latte."
"OK, that's gonna be- Jesus…" The barista balks as Snake coughs out his card onto the counter before he could even finish. He, warily, collects the saliva-covered plastic and holds it to the reader before returning it as fast as he could. "It'll be out to your table in a moment.."
"Thanks." Snake says without a drop of shame, accepting his card between his teeth. Now that was something that Doom could genuinely appreciate: a man who was comfortable with himself (and, surprisingly, thoughtful too) was always appealing and should help along the whole headache of her feigning interest.
"Just so you know," Doom starts, sauntering past Snake as he puts back his card, choosing their table — one that was close to the front window and, more importantly, far enough from anyone else in the cafe. "You didn't need to pay for me but I do appreciate it, that was very sweet of you."
"Again, I have my moments." He responds, sounding self-satisfied as he takes the chair across from her.
From there, another comfortable lull sets in again as she and Snake instead watch as the occasional passer-by ambles by the cafe from the window. That same lull only comes to an end when Snake asks, "D'ya enjoy people-watching?"
"It's become something of a hobby for me lately." She says coolly, not missing a beat. "I work from home so I don't exactly have a lot of reasons to leave my apartment, but when I do, I try to do some people-watching. I guess people are even more interesting when you can see them candid."
"See, I'd agree with you, but you're missing out on a whole world of unusual creatures if the scope of your people-watching is limited to, I don't know, college students and people who're leaving work… Besides, if you're looking for a reason to get out more and people-watch, bars and casinos are two of my favorite spots.."
"Woo," Doom sounds as she turns to Snake, smirking. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you're trying to set up an actual date."
"What can I say? I prefer to move fast." He says as he not-so-subtly ogles at her.
Before their chat could become any more charged, the barista returns, cutting in. He sets their cups on the table before speeding away without a word, seeming to not want to interrupt too much.
Doom starts to idly stir her latte with its straw, more preoccupied with what to say to that come-on (and with watching the excessive amount of sugar that Snake was dumping into his coffee) at the moment.
It was almost too good to be true, how things were going this smoothly this soon and Doom could not help but feel somewhat out of her depth because of it. The movies, her notes and even her own personal experiences hadn't exactly prepared her for interacting with someone so direct. She had, at the very least, expected to work to some degree for a date (and for the almost-immediate ardor that she got from the Bad Guys' supposed grouch, too), to have her assignment be more of a challenge, or interesting at least…
"Are you free tomorrow night?" Doom asks, leaning in some, "I'd love to see what makes casinos such a good spot for people-watching."
"As a matter of fact, I am." He says in no time at all. "Lucky you, you've got me all night."
"Lucky me," she sings before sipping on her latte. She could manage to shelve slow and psychological for fast and loose for now, see how far that would get her. Besides, she was sure that Kitty and Pigtail would appreciate her moving faster, leaving ample time for their scheme to play out.
"So how does eight o'clock sound? That'd give me enough time to get done up." Doom continues to coo, "I'll leave where we go up to you.. but don't take me to some dump."
"Eight's perfect, and I wouldn't dare." Snake reassures her, "I think I know someplace suited for a proper date at-" he stops himself as soon as a faint ring could be heard chiming out, any and all zeal draining from his face as he attempts to ignore it, instead opting to taste over his heap of sugar.
"Uh, Snake, I think your stomach's ringing." Doom says as she points a feather at him. "You can go ahead and answer, I don't mind."
He only gives her a resigned grin before coughing up his phone onto the table. Once he picks up, Snake answers with a short, humorless "hello" and follows that with an "I'm busy" and then a groan before he hangs up. "I have to go." Snake says, sounding somewhat annoyed.
"Aww, really? So soon?" She asks, playing up her dismay. "Well, could I give you my number so we can plan out our date some more?" And as Snake, predictably, gladly turns his phone over to her, Doom couldn't help but smile despite herself as she adds her contact in, punctuating 'Susan' with a black heart before she passes it back to him. "Text me soon, alright?" To that he, of course, eagerly assures her that he will.
And after a hurried sip of coffee, Snake downs his phone and sets for the door, stealing one last fond glance at her before slipping out of the cafe.
Doom had a feeling that this would be fun; maybe it wouldn't be the challenge she had hoped for but instead it could be one of those odd, once-in-a-career assignments that just move along without much push on her end — no need for playful hints or dogged, one-sided pursuing, just soft-soaping her way through a simple con on easy prey.
She might even be looking forward to that "date" tomorrow, too.