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metal gear: kazuhira miller

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Who: Kazuhira Miller | Harry Hart
When: at some after the explosion on the Wem-Run river and the match-making
Where: A restaurant in Avelle
What: A date, and also a pesty dude listening in to close by conversations
Warnings: Nothing much

It seemed like a nice place as far as alien restaurants went. Not that he had a lot to compare it to. No single fashion he could pin down in the clientele, so he didn't feel as though he stood out in his Diamond Dogs uniform. Though admittedly having to leave his overcoat at the door was a bit embarrassing. It was after he checked it that he realized the folded up and pinned sleeve of his uniform coat, neat as it was, was a little bit conspicuous.

He'd forgotten to warn Hart.

He tried to distract himself by listening to conversations near him, nursing a glass of water. There was only a little talk of the explosion, but nothing more than hushed gasps and words he couldn't quite make out. People sitting too far away, with backs turned and talking of the latest dramas and news and conversations always moved fast.

He did his best.

Miller pushed his glass away and drummed his fingers on the tablecloth quietly. Turned his head to glance at the crutch propped against the back of the chair. Maybe he should just cancel, talk to the guy on the ship. Maybe too formal a place to meet someone. He'd hoped to accomplish something, make a friend, get information.

Stupid. He wasn't as young as he used to be, and places like this were never his scene. Outside of business, anyway. Probably should get out of here. Let the guy know he was off the hook. Close to time, though.

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A date. At his age. It was almost enough to make him laugh, though Eggsy had certainly made sure he took it quite seriously. Harry couldn't even remember the last real date he had been on, not one that wasn't part of a mission for the Kingsman at any rate. It was a relief to be able to get off the ship in civilian clothes at the very least. While the uniforms were undoubtedly trim in their own way, Harry much preferred his suits.

On his way to the restaurant he overheard some snippets of conversation about the explosion, all discussed quietly with nervous glances as if they were worried about who might hear. He'd have to see if Eggsy would want to look into that with him later on.

Inside he was able to pick out his match rather easily thanks to the picture in the directory. While his coat was checked he took a moment to get a good look at Kazuhira Miller. The missing arm while a surprise wasn't off putting. Harry had done his time in the military before retiring to the private sector, had seen plenty of injuries. He didn't seem entirely at ease there though, going by his body language.

Without giving himself time to second guess, Harry walked over to the table with a polite smile firmly in place.

"Mr. Miller, I hope I'm not late." He wasn't. He'd made sure to arrive a few minutes early. He held out a hand to shake Kazuhira's, the proper one to avoid any awkwardness, before taking the seat across from him. "It's a lovely place you chose, I don't think I could have done better myself."

"No. You're fine." Oh sweet hell. He actually even looked like a tailor. Kazuhira smiled a little and shook the offered hand. He didn't mind when people offered the wrong one, at least. Always grabbed the back of it. But when they got it right (which was left, and in more macabre moments that was pretty funny to him) he appreciated it.

"I had a look at the menu. Figured out vaguely what the contents of the foreign foods were. If you look at something I can give you a rundown." The urge to stockpile information never let him down. Though presenting ones options with the efficiency of sending someone out on a field mission? Maybe not the best way to make a good impression.

Or maybe it was. He didn't know.

Miller couldn't help a sigh out his nose as he looked down at his own menu. "Sorry for making you go out of your way. Don't know that many people yet."

"There's certainly no need to apologize for anything..." He trailed off. "Please, forgive my manners. I forgot to ask what you preferred to be called." The matchmaking result had given him an impressively long name. Calling him Mr. Miller for the entire occasion would end up making him sound rather stiff.

"As for the subject of food..." The menu was interesting in its own way, filled with things that he'd never heard of before. The offer confirmed what Harry had thought about him being career military. That sort of research was impressive as well as rather telling.He closed the menu and set it down in front of him.

"If you're willing, I'd like to make a proposition. I'll put my culinary fate in your hands for dinner if you'll allow me to choose out a dessert."

He may not have dated in a hideously long time but hopefully this would be an acceptable sort of twist to the evening.

Good point, now that he thought of it. "Kaz. And I can call you Harry?"

But at the offer, his steep eyebrows shot up over his glasses. "You like to live dangerously." A quick laugh, more of an amused snort than anything else.

"This will take me a moment. Tell me about yourself and the ship while I decide."

As he stared at the menu, something struck him. That man who he used to be spoke up in his head, gave him a recommendation. It said something for his hard earned maturity that he hesitated in immediately going with the idea. Who knew how hard a time this guy had had recently.

"At least tell me how much you like a challenge." It was such a good idea (for those that had fun with bad ideas). Didn't want it to go to waste.

"I'm not sure how much there is to tell about myself," He said wryly.

Just that he was a secret agent for a private spy organization with no government oversight at all. That he had saved the civilized world from disaster so many times he could plaster every wall of his study with the boring headlines that came when the world never realized what he'd done.

"Back on Earth I own a tailor shop in London. It's called Kingsman." He smiled slightly. It wasn't a lie but without the complete picture it certainly sounded like a boring life. "Life on the ship has been much more interesting, I'm not entirely sure where to start."

The mention of a challenge was interesting. A little push to see how far he might be able to stretch the limits of his mild mannered cover.

"I like one well enough. As I said, I'm putting the choice in your hands. I'm sure I'll be able to handle whatever you decide to do."

He hmed at that, a noise of confirmation, before he lifted his hand to signal over the waiter.

"I would like to try the lightly fried coretail stems as a shared appetizer, the Nismuth salad for myself, the Rantaki barbecue wings for my friend, and noranberry wine to drink with water to tide us over." Common knowledge. It would take dexterity to not get barbecue sauce on one's self while dressed primly.

Miller wore the quaintest of little smiles as he turned in his menu, giving the waiter a gracious nod, and then leaned his chin on his one hand to hear more of what Harry had to say.

Do go on, was written all over his face. He was all ears.

Touché.

He had certainly walked right into that. Harry kept his expression mild even as he was already considering how he might counter that little jab with his choice in dessert. Kazuhira was certainly not going to let the evening get dull and he would have to give as well as he got.

If it was a challenge he wanted, he would get it. A gentleman never spilled food on his suit if he could help it.

"The last planet we visited was quite interesting, made entirely of glass. It was the oddest thing, if you looked at the surfaces in just the right light it would show you visions of the past. Or future, according to the natives." Caducus really had been quite lovely. "...Unfortunately, circumstances while we were there lead to the entire thing being destroyed." His voice was still mild, but held a more bitter tone then. He still made peace with Eggsy's death there. The young man was dear to him, he shouldn't have had to go through such a thing.

Immediately Kaz's face grew thoughtful, and he rubbed the scruff on his chin as he thought back to the gardens. Turning and catching a reflection of himself, wearing his old MSF uniform with the yellow ascot. He'd looked... he didn't know... healthier then. Not just in body, but in expression, in face. He'd had something to believe in.

"The statue in the gardens is from there..." mused aloud, but then the destroyed planet snapped up his attention.

"The entire planet? ...Hell of an exit." He frowned, obviously bothered despite the mildness of his own statement.

"Worry sometimes that'll happen to Earth. People trying to get past nuclear deterrence, make mutually assured destruction an even bigger risk. My mother lived through World War II. She was a girl then. That sort of destruction on the level of a whole planet..."

"It was quite the debacle," He agreed. "Some of our own people died in the chaos of it all, including a young man I know, Eggsy. Things the way they are, the captains were able to bring him back but it was... quite upsetting."

He took a sip of water, let it wash away the bitter taste in his mouth. He didn't want to get maudlin on a date, especially so soon into it.

"I always admired people who work to prevent that sort of wide scale destruction," He said. "When I was younger I wanted to be one of them. I was in the service for a time before I decided it wasn't for me. I got a job offer that I felt suited me better." None of it was technically a lie. He did get a job offer, just not to be a tailor.

"May I ask where you served? I don't think I've seen a uniform quite like yours before."

His eyes narrowed, thinning as he considered. The offer of a new job after considering that sort of work made becoming a tailor seem pretty mundane.

"I was told they could bring people back from the dead." And there was so many people he'd want, so many he'd lost and kept feeling guilty for. He wanted to make up for it, wanted them back. "Can't wrap my head around it, but I'm glad you got him back." Whoever this Eggsy person was.

"First the JSDF. Then a few militia groups throughout central America, places without formal military that needed the civil reinforcement. Then MSF, an organization I worked with someone to get established. This is Diamond Dogs, the one we built after MSF was lost. Tactical espionage. Basically complicated mercenary work, but... I was hoping it would be something more than that."

Probably shouldn't make himself sad again. The uniform was still a mark of pride. He just pushed his water glass aside for a refill. "So, you tailor for anyone important?"

Quite the fascinating resume for him, then. It was a pity he didn't plan to share his own past accomplishments. Kazuhira didn't strike him as a soldier of fortune, not after the tidbits he'd offered about his mother and the fear for the nuclear state of the world. A man of principles, or at least one with ideals.

But he intended to stay as nondescript as possible which meant he couldn't be sharing any war stories.

"Oh, I've met a variety of interesting people in my line of work. Kingsman had a legacy long before I was apprenticed there so they have a reputation that draws in that sort of clientele. Various politicians, the Prime Minister. I've even been given the privileged enough to provide suits for those given an audience with the queen."

Good lord, that was boring even by his own standards. "I like the less important clients rather more, though. Rich men tend to take a good suit for granted, I've noticed. They care less because they can easily buy another. I much prefer it when I can watch a man see himself for the first time wearing a suit he knows what made just for him. They stand taller, like it's armor." He smiled. "It must sound terribly sentimental, but it's rewarding enough."

He would certainly compare himself to that closer than anything else. An idealist, yes. But even those with ideals had to finance those ideals somehow. He had come to better consider the corruption of power, though, the perils of pursuing those ideals. He still love the thoughts, but no longer wanted exactly what he wanted before.

But unfortunately Harry was on a date with a guy that was no longer sure what he wanted, except to give the guy across him barbecue wings and see how he faired.

He did listen with interest to the clientelle, and again hmed at that sentimental thought at the end. "Maybe that's the point of the uniform more than who it's for." It was something he worked for. Something he'd managed to build. "The samurai had a form of indirect meditation, ikebana. Where they would arrange flowers for balance, color, the concentration it takes to display flowers that have been picked and have them reflect what's seen in nature, but also knowing those flowers would wilt and die. To be satisfied that for at least that one moment, what they've put together is a work of art, that their hands could calmly arrange something so fragile in a way that bent but didn't break.

"I would think making something to fit someone would have to be a little like that. You know the person inside wouldn't always be what you've patterned the suit for, but you do your best for that moment." Sometimes it was in Kazuhira, much to everyone's misfortune, to wax poetic about nothing at all. He did wonder though if Harry tailored his own suits. What the changes he had to make to the next one meant to him.

"That's a lovely way to put it. I've never completely subscribed to the idea that clothes make the man. They simply provide an armor to get them through situations that require it." It was a sad fact of the world that some of the worst men wore suits to do their dirty business. Harry much appreciated the honesty of clothes meant for work but also knew the necessity of disguising oneself as a snob when the necessary.

Unfortunately they still lived in a society where books were often judged by their covers. He'd been guilty of it himself more than once.

"I do find that I prefer kintsugi as an art form, personally. The idea that one might take something damaged and rather than hide it, use the damage to make the object more beautiful by highlighting its damage." It was a surprise for a first date to take such a philosophical turn, Harry didn't mind though. "What you choose to highlight is quite often more important than what you choose to cover up in my experience."

In that moment he was painfully aware of the fact that he was broken. A lot more than his missing leg, missing arm. So much more that he couldn't see was gone. Pieces needed to still be there to fix, didn't they? Maybe the best you could hope to do was make a mosaic out of the shards left of him.

He had some hope after having met the man he would help make. Hard to imagine he'd ever reach that.

"They take a lot of patience, too. ...And gold. Gold was in short supply after the War." It dated him, having been born in fairly close proximity to World War II. And it removed his own mind from the thoughts.

At that point they brought the wine and the wine glasses. Appetizers would probably be soon to come. Didn't want to get drunk, but a little to drink wouldn't hurt. He risked being bad company, part of why he'd been so nervous.

"It always seemed like delicate work when I was able to see pieces on display." He held his tongue about the shortage of goods. To say he'd never suffered such difficulties would have made him an insensitive prick at best. He knew his privilege, did his best to dismantle it when he could. He'd rather not be an ass on this outing, no matter how it turned out.

The wine arriving was a much needed break, one that allowed a change in the tone of the conversation to something hopefully lighter.

"How have you been liking your first alien planet? Even with its oddities it's been a nice change from everything that happened last month."

Edited 2016-01-14 05:40 (UTC)

"Well... to be perfectly honest, I expected something more alien. This seems like a technologically advanced Madrid. Or Venice. Somewhere in between."

He raised the glass of wine, as if to make his point, put it closer to his face. And he blinked hard at what smelled very much like sickly sweet lychee. Okay. Wasn't expecting that. Maybe he should have.

People seemed pretty guarded her, as well, as they often were in Venice. Watched what they said.

"Sounds like you've had a rough time of it." Maybe he should have picked an easier food.... No. He absolutely picked the right food. "Losing a friend. Feeling constant danger. Having to watch behind your back. Even for people that go through it all the time, it's never been easy. Must be pretty hard for a gentleman tailor to adjust to.

"Maybe I'm being presumptuous... Kind of hope I'm not. Shouldn't be something anyone has to regularly go through."

It was almost enough to make him laugh. Not because of the sympathy, which seemed quite genuine, but because he couldn't admit anything truthful without breaking some part of the cover he'd built to protect Eggsy. Playing the kindly older man meant if something were to happen he could act quickly without anyone realizing. It was a pity, really. Telling the truth for once might have been pleasant.

"I won't lie, it's been difficult. I've been retired from the service for so long I'd almost forgotten what it felt like."

He took a moment to smell the wine, noting its sweet scent before taking a sip. It wasn't much like wine from earth at all, especially in the subtler notes that followed in wake of the sweetness. It was an interesting experience, and probably the least danger to his suit.

"Sometimes it helps to pretend I'm a character from one of the old Bond movies," He said. "Even if it isn't true it helps to imagine I might be the sort of man who could cope with all that madness without hoping it's all an elaborate mental breakdown."

Big Boss never liked it when he was compared to Bond. Miller always thought it was pretty funny. But it was accurate. Bond was a gentleman, Snake... was not. "I think any man who is responsible for the lives of others is capable of mental breakdown. It's easier when they don't have to see their faces.

"I just don't think people would buy movie tickets to that."

He suddenly brightened a little as he remembered something. A dour subject, but a tidbit of history. "You know, Che Guevara, one of the most celebrated soldiers of the 20th century, visited a nuclear survivors hospital in Japan and was overcome with emotion." And he said it as if was something he'd found truly admirable. That sort of empathy in a warrior spirit.

"It certainly shows that any soul might be moved by the atrocities committed during wartime, especially from the view of someone who might one day see themselves on the frontlines when a war where such final weapons might be implemented." The occasions when Kingsman had an opportunity to prevent such things were especially memorable to Harry. There were several newspapers hanging on the walls of his office with bearing benign headlines after he and one of his fellow agents had retrieved nuclear weapon components.

It was interesting to see how Miller's face lit up mentioning it. Clearly a subject of interest to him.

"I only wonder what the man would think if he knew that his image has been capitalized on to make a profit. I don't know how many young people I've seen in London alone wearing t-shirts with his face on it." As well as other slightly more dubious clothing items.

"They do what?" And at that, he seemed affronted. "I wonder how many of them actually know what he represented."

But Miller was from 84, he realized, and for lack of an ability to twiddle his thumbs he ended up playing with his fork with that lone hand. "Probably not." He thinks of Eli. Those soldier children. Those from the civilized world didn't understand that sort of life, how it was the only life someone could come to know. But somehow buying a T-shirt would show they understood, right?

"When I was in Central America, he was a topic of conversation. I knew a lot of freedom fighters who used his tactics as a basis for their own strategies. They were some of my best students." But he didn't quite look like a hardened drill instructor then, still a little bashful and distracted until they came with their food.

"Have you ever been there? Well... after 84, anyway? Afghanistan? How is that doing?"

"I was in that area before I left the military," It was somewhat true, though Harry had spent much more time in the middle east after he'd joined the Kingsman. There was always some sort of plot to knock down before it got too out of hand. "There's still war happening there, unfortunately. Quite a bit tied to terrorism and just spiraling out from there as they find more reasons to put off pulling out.

I can barely keep up with reasons of the week, personally," He said. "I've been somewhat soured on the entire area after..." He paused and then decided to finish the story. "After a young man I was training ended up paying for one of my mistakes." Eggsy's father, a weight he carried even 17 years later.

"But that was in '97. Quite a long time ago by my measure even if it hasn't happened for you, yet."

"Unfortunate. I was hoping peace would be relatively restored to the region after the Russians withdrew."

Well, some things never changed.

His expression turned sympathetic at the admission, though. "Yeah. Sometimes mistakes take a long time to get over." His own? He didn't think he would ever manage it. But Snake- David, he guessed, that Snake gave him hope.

But it reminded him. Training. If his time in the military was short, he must have made it pretty far to train people. Or else that was some intense tailoring Hart engaged in. "Most of the ones I made had pretty faces." It wasn't a lie, but phrased in such a way to lighten the mood.

Hell, when was he ever good at lightening the mood anymore? Still trying his best.

He knew that Harry likely let Kaz escort him back home out of some sort of sympathy, but he'd take it. Whatever he could hold onto, anyway. Avelle seemed safe enough anyway. More than some other places he'd been. Sure, that itself would be dangerous but...

Ah, well.

He stopped and waited when Harry reached his door, looking around awkwardly.

He was no good at this, not really. Not when sometimes he still wished for those words that never happened. Sorry I kept you waiting. A fantasy replayed for nine years in his head. Like some damn fairy tale where he'd built a castle for his prince and was waiting to be swept away. He wasted a lot of time. All of it, waiting to make up for a mistake that he had already been rejected for. He wasn't very good with normal people anymore. But at least Harry had listened to him. It had been a long time since he had a good long conversation that wasn't entirely about work.

"Wait..." He realized that he needed something. To still prove to himself that he could. Especially after such a long time. But he had to ask first. "Okay if I end the date properly?"

The walk back to the flat had been pleasantly quiet. Harry wasn't sure he'd ever had a date with such a variety to the conversation. He'd had to come up with a few details on the fly but overall he had found it all rather enjoyable, especially for what was a corporately sanctioned blind date.

Though when the silence shifted to something a bit more awkward, Harry was tempted to offer a short good night just to give Miller the escape he seemed to want. Except then Miller went and surprised him once again. He couldn't help the slight smile at the question.

"As this was quite the proper date I don't see any issue with ending it on the right note."

"I'm a little out of practice." That was kind of nice. He didn't see smiles like that often for him anymore. Worth it, just for that.

He didn't feel as smooth as he did in his youth, though, having to take a large step with the crutch to situate himself in front of Harry and rest it against the wall, but after that he was ready. He removed his own glasses, hooked them into his collar (because there was nothing quite as awkward as the sound and feel of glasses tapping when someone was close).

Kaz rested his hand at the side of his head, thumb brushing over the curve of Harry's ear as he leaned in. It really had been a while. He was pretty sure he could feel his face warm as their lips brushed. A contact he let linger.

"I'll try not to hold it against you."

Though honestly the last time he'd had a real date that wasn't just a cover for a mission was quite far away for him as well. The care Kaz put into getting ready for the kiss was endearing, something he hadn't gotten in a very long time.

Not one to play the dead fish Harry leaned into the kiss, just enough to show he hadn't agreed simply out of obligation. There was no leaning back to think of England in this particular moment.

It had been a very long time, and he couldn't tell if he was too brief or too long just because he was distracted, but at some point of uncertainty he finally pulled away.

"Thanks for being a gentleman." Though, treating him kindly was good enough. Any sort of attention used to do. With Big Boss, he'd never been particularly easy with him (and Kaz hadn't complained to be honest, he'd very much enjoyed that). The phantom Snake had kind hands though. Maybe that made him rethink.

Anyway, it had felt nice, and he smoothed his hand down Harry's lapel before taking his crutch, replacing his glasses, and turning away. "Have a good night," he said as he started on his way. Probably should take advantage of that free apartment himself. Going all the way back to the ship seemed like a chore.

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