This plan was a year in the making. Now, all the pieces were falling perfectly into place. With the possession and translation of the Necronomicon, as well as the Eldritch totem acquired deep in the Forbidden Forest, Mikhainon and Basil were well-equipped to go into the belly of the beast.
Mikhainon hadn't informed Basil of where they were going and why, but from past experiences, he knew Basil would hop on any of his invitations immediately. Basil may have recovered his memories, but he still knew that whatever Mikhainon planned for him, it would be an exciting and worthwhile endeavor. He never planned on disappointing him on that area any time soon.
With a rented and recently acquired dimensional hopping car, Mikhainon packed their bags and prepared for their road trip. He looked like a suitable tourist, wearing shades, a polo shirt and khaki pants. He diluted the red of his hair into a more typical brownish-orange, and his cat eyes were traded for clear green eyes.
When he and Basil met up in the afternoon, Mikhainon drove them to the Manta Carlos countryside. The space warped around them and transported them to a long stretch of open road surrounded by miles and miles of desert. A green sign at the side of road read "Innsmouth, 600 Miles Ahead." They arrived around afternoon, the sunset splashing their surroundings with brilliant oranges and golds.
Mikhainon drove ahead, gaining a bit of mileage at that long stretch before he found a rest stop. It was getting dark then. He parked their car at a rundown rest stop and filled up the gas, as well as packed some extra just in case. The whole desert gas station aesthetic was intense. Dilapidated roof, dusty glass door, and a sign that looked like it was made in the fifties. The sign said 'Open', so Mikhainon tapped the door and headed inside. "Hello? I'm here to pay for gas."
"Oh!" a voice from the back room said. A rather hefty man scrambled out of the backroom and towards the counter, wearing a floral shirt and slippers. Mikhainon couldn't help but notice the bandages around his neck. "Sorry, sir, we don't get much visitors in these here parts. We only got Innsmouth further down the road."
"That's alright, friend," he said, heavy on the Brooklyn accent. "Me and my bud are headed there anyways. Got some family there. They said Innsmouth's nice this time of the year."
The man made a face, incredulous. "You said... you got family in Innsmouth?"
"Yep."
"Nobody's got family in Innsmouth."
"I do."
"Right... How long you staying?"
"Oh." Mikhainon hummed, furrowing his eyebrows. "A couple days? Week, maybe? Takes like a day or two to get there, yeah?"
The man nodded.
"Hey, can I get a room for the night, chief?" With that, the man slid him the keys. Mikhainon went over to the fridge and put a bottle of rum on the counter, then picked up a pack of cigarettes from the counter and placed one between his teeth. He pulled out a roll of bills from his pocket, then slid them over to the man to pay for the gas, room, cigarettes, and whatever souvenirs Basil wanted to shove in the counter.
"Stop by the diner in the morn, sir. My wife makes the best scrambled eggs."
"Noted." Mikhainon took the keys and whistled, beckoning for Basil to follow him. "Come along, Basil. Let's get some shuteye and head out early tomorrow."
Mikhainon picked up his bag, leaving Basil to pick up his own, and went inside their motel room. Not fancy, but not terrible either. There was a bed, a TV and air conditioning. He set his shades down on the bedside table and rested on the bed. He poured some rum for himself, after which, urged Basil to come join in.
Oh, Basil thought he could ask him questions, how cute. Mikhainon placed a hand on his hip and took his time sipping the rum from his glass, more interested in leering at his bed partner than any attempt to educate him. He leaned forward and kissed him open-mouthed, then pulled away with a gummy worm in his mouth.