it's the perfect storm in a tea cup
Who: Liquid Snake, Hal Emmerich and Heather Mason
Where: Violet City
When: Immediately after everyone gets released from Sprout Tower
Summary: Heather and Liquid are totally up to something, guys
Rating: Let's just say PG-13 for this one
( but you must drink it down )
Where: Violet City
When: Immediately after everyone gets released from Sprout Tower
Summary: Heather and Liquid are totally up to something, guys
Rating: Let's just say PG-13 for this one
( but you must drink it down )
It had been a long time-- a darn long time-- since she'd stooped to this kind of behavior. She'd grown out of it, for the most part. Learned the hard way that wasting your life on that crap wasn't worth it. But hey. They were stuck in a world that none of them had signed up to be in, with no way back, AND she'd just been stuck in a crowded building for a whole week. As immature as most of her knew it was, deep down she was sort of itching for a chance to stick it to the man. Even if it just meant being a dumb teenager again and partaking in the time-honored practice of underage drinking.
There was more to it than that, of course.
She'd made a promise-- a couple of promises, actually. The most important one being to a certain bespectacled nerd. She'd seen firsthand what Liquid would try to do if he was just left to his own devices, and now that he was no longer trapped in a teetering tower full of monks, new distractions were needed.
And hey-- if she had to be one of the ones saddled with the responsibility* of keeping a slightly-deranged soldier too busy to remember his brother, why not kill two birds with one stone and make it a party? Liquid could stand to lighten up, anyhow.
So she grinned at the soldier.
"Mission accomplished?"
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He had a garbage bag filled with moonshine of a questionable alcohol content. It probably wouldn't make either of them go blind.
Probably.
At least getting completely and utterly falling-over drunk would keep Liquid from running off down the not epically flooded road to go try to murder his brother. It would give him a headache of god-birthing proportions the next day, but people would still be living.
"You don't happen to have a bottle or something on you, do you?"
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She pulled a couple of empty plastic bottles out of her bag and held them up with an overly bright expression.
Heather wasn't quite planning on getting totally smashed, but we all know plans tend to go awry when alcohol is involved. She did, however, give the garbage bag a dubious look. Heather was only educated in the Ways of Booze in the manner of fake ID's and which parties to go to if you wanted to piss your parent off as much as humanly possible.
She didn't know how to make moonshine. Or what it tasted like. This would be both an educational experience and a test of toughness.
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"That will do."
He detached the garbage bag, took one of the bottles and started filling it up with amber colored liquid. It looked quite a lot like whiskey, which would probably be because it was made from corn mash as well.
Liquid knocked back a swig of it and grimaced.
"That's got a bit of a kick to it."
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"So you seriously made that yourself?" she asked, passing the second bottle over to him so that he could fill that up as well. "Man. The ol' crowd of losers I used to hang out with would be totally jealous. Usually we just bought whatever cheap kiddie-liquor we could get our hands on." Of course, she said 'we', but it had pretty much been 'they'. As unadmirable as it was, her old friends had more or less been tools of her rebellion. She'd thought she was soooo cool.
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"Of course I made it. I learned when I was in Iraq. It's a dry country in more ways than one, but some of the boys had a good touch for making decent rotgut."
His wasn't quite as good as some, but it was passable.
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She took the bottle back once it had been filled up and held it up to the light, squinting against the amber reflections it cast on her face. It looked pretty but she wasn't entirely sure it would taste pretty.
"Let's give it a try then."
She took a tentative drink.
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He knocked back another swig when she drank; it burned a little on the way down his throat, but left a nice, warm feeling in the center of his chest afterward.
"It's not the worst I've ever had."
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To her booze-deprived tastebuds, the stuff packed way more than just a punch. It stung her nostrils and made her eyes water. But she was a sport, and she also had a reputation to maintain. Swallowing hard, she let out a raspy "Gghhhhaaah! You weren't kidding around."
She lowered the bottle briefly and swiped at her mouth with the back of one hand. Chugging-material, this stuff wasn't.
"I can see why American beer'd seem like sour water to you."
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And because Liquid always had to be a manly man, he tilted his head back and chugged half the bottle like it was water. Did anyone mention yet that it takes a full bottle of vodka to get this man drunk? Yet another of the little quirks of his genetics-- he had a liver of steel.
"American beer is just piss, that's all."
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"Shut up, I can handle it."
... Buuut she'd be filing that suggestion away for consideration. She kind of wanted to keep an eye on Liquid after all, and it wouldn't do to overdo things and wind up with a lampshade on her head and Liquid running off to drunkenly challenge Snake.
"Well, if you're used to this stuff, pretty sure anything with an alcohol content less than 'holy shit my eyes are on fire' would come off as piss. SO."
She stood up and held her bottle aloft.
"Here we are in the afternoon, with a substance of great power. In front of a building of bald guys who'll probably come out and start doing kung fu or something if they spot us. Where should we go?"
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He considered, for a moment or two, that question, and the fact that they were in possession of a substance of great power.
"...Mordor?"
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"... Mordor? What, to party with the orcs? No way. Orcs are lame, they don't know how to party."
She hoisted her bag up onto her shoulder again. For once, it was owl-free-- she kind of wanted her Pokemon to stay 'indoors' for this. Because the last thing anyone needed was Cujo knocking someone drunk over and making them hit their head on something. Or one of them getting into the booze by accident. Heather might have been being an irresponsible teen here, but she didn't want to add animal negligence to her list of charges.
"C'mon, let's go somewhere shady."
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"Tch, I'd bet the Dark Lord could throw a hell of a party."
A drunken Liquid being introduced to the Owlbag might have resulted in a sudden loss of Owlbag. Because he'd be throwing it somewhere far away, possibly while screaming like a little girl.
"What, it's a little too warm out for you?" Said the underdressed man who was used to the Iraqi desert.
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Heather had grown quite attached to her Owlbag and as much as she would love to see Liquid huck something like a football while crying like a baby, she had made the wise decision of keeping Claudy in the Pokeball for the moment.
Adjusting the strap on the (owlless) bag, Heather looked over her shoulder at Liquid.
".... Nnnno, I just figured... we should find shade, since we're doing something that could get us in trouble, and that's pretty..." Wait for it... "... Shady."
YEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!
Welcome to the first of the terrible puns that Heather inherited from her father.
You may now cringe.
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