Here I was, trapped in what had to be one of the most absurd and humiliating experiences: a date with Shaggy Rogers. Using Mary Jane's body, of course. He seemed completely absorbed in telling me every detail of what he had learned at the lecture—a topic that hardly interested me, but which I pretended to listen to with interest. Every once in a while, he would throw me admiring glances or take my hand, forcing me to maintain a fake smile.
The worst thing was seeing how he and Scooby were devouring every dish they brought, as if in that they found some kind of peace. And yet, Shaggy couldn't help but be distracted every ten seconds to look at his prized Dane. Scooby-Doo. That dog that I had once considered a hero. The same one who, along with all of Mystery Inc., kicked me out of his truck and abandoned me in the middle of nowhere. If I hadn't found the cave where the Daemon Ritus was waiting for me, I would have lost everything.
Now, here they were both, completely oblivious to what was happening. As Shaggy continued talking, he even thought it was a good idea to kiss me. With each kiss, a part of me squirmed in disgust, so in those moments I would leave Mary Jane's body and return, just to avoid unnecessary contact and remember what I was really focused on: my plan. It was the only thing keeping me sane in this ridiculous situation.
When Shaggy finally got distracted by another dish, I took the opportunity to signal to the waiter. Everything was calculated. After a moment, the waiter came over and whispered to Shaggy.
—Call for Mr. Rogers.
Shaggy, confused, looked at me for a moment before saying:
—My friends call me Shaggy.