A Complicated Business

[Sans]

"How may I help you fine gentlemen on this wonderful evening?" said the waiter, notepad in hand and quill pressed against the paper, prepared to write down their orders.

Marlin flinched, looking up to the man. Like all the others, he had a wide, clown-like grin. What set his face apart from some of the others, however, was the rolled-up piece of papyrus in his lips, the end smoking a silver ash. He reached down towards his breast pocket and pulled out a metallic lighter; he lit up the cigar, moaning.

"Umm..." Dustin said, scanning his menu for a few moments before saying, "just... three glasses of wine, please. For all of us."

"Extra sugar?"

"...Sure..."

The waiter jotted down their orders. As he walked away, the trio could hear him hum a short little ditty to himself, like an early bird tweeting to an approaching sunrise.

The writer looked towards the two Avengers, his heart pounding with every second that passed. They said nothing, but as their eyes met, he knew that they were doubtful. That they did not trust him. Why wouldn't they? They had been led onto an island with no information as to what was going on, met a nervous old man who hadn't even been kind enough to provide them his correct name, and to top it all off, the island was foggy, rainy, and filled with the happiest, most peaceful people in the Omniverse. He knew that was why they were suspicious. After years of seeing the same old faces, feeling the same emotions, of enjoying the same job countless times, seeing normalcy was far too easy to spot.

But he had to tell them, and fast. He glanced around, observing the faces of the other patrons. Big, toothy grins; teeth white and gold and sometimes rotten; faces looking almost like masks to hide the truth. Their eyes, wide as can be, held brightness, yet they never blinked, never removed their gaze from another when they spoke. But their eyes were also glassy, as if they were just two squishy balls inside a hollow sphere meant to resemble a skull. A pale imitation of a man, of a woman, of a child. Of a human.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. That they reveal a man's darkest secrets, reveal his truest thoughts, and his realest emotions. But these eyes, the ones he had looked into for years. They were empty; they held nothing. He didn't even know if any of them were truly thinking throughout their everyday life, or even cared.

He was not going to take a chance, though.

Leaning forward, he whispered towards the duo.

"Listen, I understand you have your doubts, but you have to believe me when I say that I had no other option in the matter. I couldn't afford getting caught. But we need your help. Everyone here needs your help."

He raised his hand, trying his best to remain discreet as he pointed it towards various people in the building.

"Look around. Their faces... don't you see what I see? I can't trust my better judgement. I have to know. Is it all natural?"