"Thought you'd never say hello," she said,
Who:youendthewar and pretty much open to anyone.
When: Sometime conveniently vaguely in the vicinity of the next several days. Take your pick.
Where: Merlotte's
Summary: Snake is out. In public. Being social. Yes, I'm shocked too. He's meeting a otaku_mk_ii steel_goddess for drinks, but wide open to anyone else who would want to tag in to bug him, I totally don't post enough.
Warnings: Drinking? Talk of Metal Gear physiology? Not anticipating anything too drastic.
Much like ventilation shafts or cardboard boxes, out-of-the-way corners in dim places were a Snake's natural habitat. Maybe that's why he'd been making a habit of spending a few hours at Merlotte's every once and a while. Since having Otacon back in the city, Snake had been spending a lot less time alone. But old habits die hard. He had a couple familiar vices that he'd long indulged in varying amounts. Solitude. Cigarettes. And alcohol. Never claimed to handle all his problems gracefully. He hadn't really taken up drinking again in years; not anywhere near the extent that he had in the days following Zanzibar Land. Wouldn't allow himself to. But he'd been feeling restless lately and more often than not found himself out to rectify his state of “needs a drink” when the mood hit him. With all the people and the music, Merlotte's was a bit more active of a place than someone might expect of him. But one could also disappear far more easily in a crowd.
He'd been thinking a lot, recently, of his origins. And his future. Of course, death was no stranger to him. He'd known for a long time that any mission could be his last, and that FOXDIE could kick in at any time and kill him outright anyway. But if Liquid was telling the truth, he now knew he had been created to run his life out quickly. Five years, at the most. As much as he refused to let his genes dictate his life, as determined as he was to defy it, he wasn't reckless enough to ignore the warning entirely. Problem was, he wasn't sure what there was to be done about it.
He exhaled slowly and shook his head, as if to snap himself out of it. Last thing he needed was to get maudlin. After a moment of reflection, he left a couple short messages over the NV before abandoning his corner briefly to approach the low buzz of activity at the bar.
When: Sometime conveniently vaguely in the vicinity of the next several days. Take your pick.
Where: Merlotte's
Summary: Snake is out. In public. Being social. Yes, I'm shocked too. He's meeting a otaku_mk_ii steel_goddess for drinks, but wide open to anyone else who would want to tag in to bug him, I totally don't post enough.
Warnings: Drinking? Talk of Metal Gear physiology? Not anticipating anything too drastic.
Much like ventilation shafts or cardboard boxes, out-of-the-way corners in dim places were a Snake's natural habitat. Maybe that's why he'd been making a habit of spending a few hours at Merlotte's every once and a while. Since having Otacon back in the city, Snake had been spending a lot less time alone. But old habits die hard. He had a couple familiar vices that he'd long indulged in varying amounts. Solitude. Cigarettes. And alcohol. Never claimed to handle all his problems gracefully. He hadn't really taken up drinking again in years; not anywhere near the extent that he had in the days following Zanzibar Land. Wouldn't allow himself to. But he'd been feeling restless lately and more often than not found himself out to rectify his state of “needs a drink” when the mood hit him. With all the people and the music, Merlotte's was a bit more active of a place than someone might expect of him. But one could also disappear far more easily in a crowd.
He'd been thinking a lot, recently, of his origins. And his future. Of course, death was no stranger to him. He'd known for a long time that any mission could be his last, and that FOXDIE could kick in at any time and kill him outright anyway. But if Liquid was telling the truth, he now knew he had been created to run his life out quickly. Five years, at the most. As much as he refused to let his genes dictate his life, as determined as he was to defy it, he wasn't reckless enough to ignore the warning entirely. Problem was, he wasn't sure what there was to be done about it.
He exhaled slowly and shook his head, as if to snap himself out of it. Last thing he needed was to get maudlin. After a moment of reflection, he left a couple short messages over the NV before abandoning his corner briefly to approach the low buzz of activity at the bar.