Chapter Text
The Crossroads Café had hosted plenty of bizarre evenings, but even by its standards, tonight felt... strange. Ramsay stood behind the counter, arms crossed, glaring at the rows of paired tables that had appeared in the middle of the room. The flickering candles, soft lighting, and faint strains of violins seemed engineered for romance, and yet Ramsay knew better.
“This is going to end in disaster,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Speed dating. What a bloody stupid idea.”
“You lack vision,” Princess Carolyn replied, striding past with a clipboard in hand. She surveyed the setup with sharp eyes, her tail flicking behind her. “This is an opportunity for connection, Ramsay. People finding people. Sparks flying. It’s a win-win.”
“It’s a bloody nightmare,” Ramsay shot back. “Give it five minutes before someone flips a table.”
Princess Carolyn rolled her eyes and marched off just as the first guests began to filter in.
Neville Longbottom entered first, fumbling with his tie and looking as though he’d been dragged there against his will. Princess Carolyn immediately herded him to the first table, where Daisy was already lounging, her arms crossed and her green eyes flicking over Neville with a mix of amusement and skepticism.
“So,” Daisy began, leaning back in her chair, “you’re nervous. That’s your thing?”
Neville flushed. “I—I guess? No! I mean, I like plants.”
Daisy tilted her head. “Plants. That’s... something. I smash things with shells. That’s more exciting.”
“Oh,” Neville said weakly. “I suppose it is…”
From behind the counter, Ramsay snorted. “He’s going to get eaten alive.”
At the next table, Natasha Romanoff sat across from Luigi, who fidgeted nervously with his green cap. “So, uh… you’re a spy?” Luigi stammered, his voice cracking. “That’s-a very exciting!”
Natasha arched a brow, her arms crossed. “It has its moments. And you? Plumber, right?”
“Y-yes!” Luigi exclaimed, straightening slightly. “I fix-a pipes, unclog toilets, and fight-a monsters!”
Natasha’s lips twitched as if considering a smile, but her expression remained cool. “Monsters,” she repeated. “That’s... cute.”
As Luigi babbled on about his adventures, Ramsay shook his head. “This is like watching a mouse try to befriend a bloody hawk.”
At another table, Link sat in stoic silence as Luna Lovegood smiled at him, her dreamy expression making her look as though she belonged in a painting. “You’re very quiet,” Luna observed, tilting her head. “I like that. Silence is very underrated.”
Link nodded, his blue eyes calm and steady.
“I bet you have lots of stories,” Luna continued. “Adventures, battles, heartbreaks. I’d love to hear them sometime.”
Link offered her a faint smile but said nothing. Ramsay, watching from a distance, muttered, “At least someone knows how to shut up.”
Across the room, Zell Dincht was mid-rant, his energetic gestures threatening to knock over the candle on his table. “So there I was,” Zell said, his grin wide, “surrounded by three guys twice my size, and bam! One uppercut, and they’re out cold!”
Wednesday Addams, sitting across from him, blinked slowly. “Your hobby is violence,” she stated.
“Totally!” Zell replied. “You ever fight anyone?”
“No,” Wednesday replied. “But I spend a lot of time contemplating mortality.”
Zell faltered. “Uh… is that fun?”
“It’s enlightening,” Wednesday said, her tone flat. “Nothing really matters in the end.”
Ramsay barked a laugh. “That girl’s got more guts than most of them in here.”
Bucky Barnes, sitting stiffly at his table, frowned as Princess Carolyn tapped her pen against her clipboard. “You’re brooding,” she noted, scribbling something. “That’s fine. A little brooding is marketable.”
“Marketable?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Sure. But you’re going to need to open up if you want anyone to stick around,” Carolyn replied. “What’s your deal? Trauma? Redemption arc? Come on, give me something.”
Bucky’s lips twitched. “Do you always psychoanalyze people in under two minutes?”
“Only when I’m working on a deadline,” Carolyn said with a smirk.
Nearby, Obi-Wan Kenobi sat with Daniel Jackson, who was mid-lecture about ancient Egyptian symbology. “Language isn’t just communication,” Daniel explained, gesturing animatedly. “It’s a reflection of identity, of how civilizations—”
“Fascinating,” Obi-Wan interjected with a gentle smile. “But you seem to be carrying more than just linguistic knowledge.”
Daniel blinked. “What do you mean?”
“There’s a weight in your words,” Obi-Wan said, his voice calm but knowing. “Like someone who’s seen too much.”
Daniel hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I guess you could say that.”
Ramsay, eavesdropping, muttered, “Bloody philosophers. This is a dating event, not group therapy.”
Moist von Lipwig, meanwhile, was weaving an elaborate tale for Eddie Diaz, who leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Firefighting is dangerous work,” Moist said, tapping the table for emphasis. “You must need... protection. Insurance, perhaps? Lucky for you, I’m offering a very special deal—”
“You’re selling me insurance?” Eddie interrupted, raising an eyebrow.
“Not just any insurance,” Moist replied smoothly. “Premium multiversal coverage. Dragons, demons, electrical fires—everything.”
Eddie smirked. “You’re either very creative or a really bad con artist.”
Moist grinned. “Why can’t it be both?”
By the final round, the Café had descended into chaos. Zell challenged Luigi to an arm-wrestling match, which ended with Luigi accidentally flipping the table. Natasha and Wednesday were locked in a silent staring contest that seemed more like a battle of wills. Lando Calrissian had somehow managed to charm Daisy into listening to his stories, though her unimpressed expression suggested she wasn’t buying a word of it. Princess Carolyn had moved on to critiquing Quistis’s “branding,” while Leon Kennedy and Claire Redfield exchanged quiet banter about who’d survive the next apocalypse.
Ramsay finally slammed a pot onto the counter, silencing the room. “Enough! Out, the lot of you! This isn’t a bloody circus!”
The daters began to file out, some laughing, others avoiding eye contact. Neville tripped over the threshold, caught by Luna, who assured him it was a sign of good fortune. Link gave a polite nod to Daisy, who muttered something about needing a real challenge. Wednesday paused at the door, glancing back at Ramsay.
“This was tolerable,” she said.
“Don’t flatter me,” Ramsay replied.
As the last flicker of candlelight dimmed and the Café settled into its usual semi-chaotic calm, Ramsay sighed, shaking his head. “Never again,” he muttered.
But deep down, he knew better.