The Long-Nosed Spy Who Loved me

The Beratie

Good, but not worthy of a star.

That was how Sanji would describe the food so lovingly placed before him. It wasn't anything too impressive to look at, no fancy swivels of sauce, no decorative parsley for contrast... but it was good. The sausage, that is. Slightly reddish in colouration with a surprisingly spicy twist, filled with seasonings most likely lent from the countries down south.

This restaurant, the Beratie, was not the kind of restaurant Sanji would have personally considered worthy of having a Michelin critic visit, but he hadn't been the one to choose it. The only person who had gotten inside East Berlin to take a look at the restaurants without being riddled with holes by MGB operatives was Sanji's fellow critic Gin, and he did have a rather... homely taste in food and restaurants.

Then again, all food critics had their personal tastes, making that a particularly easy crime to forgi-,

"Ding ding"

Sanji was briefly brought out of his musings by the jingle of the doorbell. Another customer? In this famine-ravaged hellhole of a city? Indeed, a group of people entered, clad in too-big clothing that hid meagre bones and little flesh. The shifty group of people cautiously stepped through the diner, eventually taking their seat in a stall. One of them carried a rather suspicious-looking briefcase, but...

It's not like Sanji was here to people-watch. So, instead, he turned back to his food, namely the home-made sausage, the creamed potatoes and-,

"Ding ding ding"

Yet another one? Oh, well, it still wasn't any of his business. Sanji didn't even bother to glance up at whoever had entered, and just turned back to his food. But he couldn't focus on the myriad of tastes lingering on his tongue. No, he just couldn't help but listen for the steps of whomever had entered.

The steps he couldn't hear.

There was no sound to be heard, a pure absence of footsteps that confused Sanji to such an extent that the mashed potatoes could just as well have been pulp.

Maybe somebody had left the restaurant? That might have been a good explanation, had Sanji not been alone until just a minute ago when the shifty party had entered. Someone had entered, and he couldn't hear them.

Well, even so, it didn't matter to him, so-,

"Ah, are you the accomplice?" Sanji jerked his head up and looked around, only to notice a man sitting right in front of him. Confident. His tan face was shaped into a friendly, open smile, framed by black locks and a chestnut flat cap. Sanji suspiciously eyed the man, recognizing how casually he was dressed. Suspenders and a tie but no jacket to finish it made it look somewhat incomplete, childish, even.

Sanji met his gaze. Dark, calm eyes. The abyssal sea. Murky, cloudy, unclear. Twinklings of... something. Looking right at him, evaluating his every move, his hitching breath, the tremble in his hand...

"-I-... Pardon-?" Sanji stuttered, clasping his fork a little tighter to keep his trembling under control. He'd just been a bit shocked that the man appeared so quickly, that's all!

The man frowns, scratches his cheek and finally shrugs. "Dude, no need to keep up some persona. There's nobody listening, see?" saying so, the man gestured toward the mostly empty restaurant. Sanji turned back to him, and couldn't help but let his brows furrow.

What the hell was he saying? Was he on something? Yeah, alright, let's ignore him. He had a mission of his own, after all, and that was to ensure that this restaurant truly wasn't worthy of a star.