(no subject)

[warandpeace]

Who: Kazuhira Miller | Various
When: April
Where: Wherever labeled
What: General OTA starters for this month
Warnings: Will warn in the title portion of tags.


pax hamburgana.
[Miller comes into his diner almost every day. He's lucky to have workers, really, but he'd still come in alone and work his little heart out if he had to. He would sweep the floors, he would bus tables, he would cook food and do dishes, whatever is necessary to keep things running. The luck of "space age" technology (or rather, very average tech here) is that much of that can be automated as necessary. But the "human element" or the near equivalent when there's such a mix of people requires a face at a bar and at diner booths or a body by the heat of a stove, as far as he's concerned.]

[Today isn't a cooking day, it's a serving day, and he's up front finishing up a wipe down of the bar after a daily shift change rush. He guesses it's Region One's equivalent of the noon lunch around here. A bunch of people get a break at approximately the same time and they come in and get food and either they love it or hate it and he's the one that gets to hear about it]

[Sometimes during the lull and most of the busy work is done, Kaz'll spend those spare moments to practice playing his guitar at a booth, soft acoustic sounds from expert fingers filling the restaurant. Good enough that at one point he could have been a professional so long as he didn't sing as well. Now being original is a trial, songs being difficult to generate on his own. Instead he plucks through ones he made years ago or learned in Costa Rica.]

[Either way, he'll find his way to anyone that comes in to eat.]



EN-Line.
[The worst part of taking up a new project is finding all the paperwork he needs to fill out.]

[One is a broadcasting office. One for him to ask about taxation and licensing because he has no idea how that works here. But it means a lot of walking and a lot of being told to go to another place and a lot more walking. Not long enough to take public transportation, but enough that the runaround gets exasperating (and he's a man that enjoys this sort of thing normally).]

[By the time he gets on the EN-Line to make his way home he's in a seat attempting with all his might to not nod off. A wearying battle that he loses, eventually doing so. That blond head tipping forward some, eyes closed behind his aviators, Kaz starts muttering a little to himself.]

Do you know where Miller is?

[He wakes up with a start from the sound of his own voice and shakes his head. Well, that's fun. He'll just try to find someone to talk and keep himself awake so he doesn't end up falling asleep and riding this thing in a circle.]



band night at a bar.
[It's been a hell of week, and Kaz has not slowed down except to sleep and that sleep is the sort of "decent" sleep that's like a marathon in itself. Check time, confirm time setting, lay down face first without undressing, sprint snooze. This is the first time he's taken some time off just to relax, going to a bar to enjoy himself and listen to some music.]

[But perhaps he should not have.]

[Once the live band hours are over, he's piss drunk. Somewhere along the line Miller forgot he's no longer twenty-eight and the last time he got drunk without strange mantid interference was back on the last birthday he could remember, at a party that Big Boss had thrown for him when they were both aboard the Moira.]

[And that has him ranting at some poor unfortunate soul near him.]

Did you know John put me in a slingshot? He tricked me. [Kaz slurs with spite, making himself mad all over again.] I almost died for a man that put me in a slingshot. You know how far I went? I lost my clipboard.

And his box was too tiny. I had to make him make it bigger. He barely listened to me over his stupid small box, I don't know why I thought he'd listen to me over nukes.

[This all makes sense to him. Even that hiccup that follows that odd assortment of words that are supposed to be a true story. Accurate punctuation.]

Comments

band night at a bar.

[nyxus]

[Nyx is fairly certain his boss has no idea it's even him, and maybe it doesn't matter. He's highly entertained by seeing the older man utterly drunk and he's laughing at the ridiculous, mostly non-sensical stories being shared with him. The meeting was by chance, as Nyx doesn't even live in this Region, but it's not an unhappy chance.

Miller might be his boss, but Nyx genuinely likes him and is beginning to even respect him. Anyone willing to take on a huge rescue operation business on top of already running a busy diner, is impressive to him.

When Miller starts talking about a slingshot, Nyx can only laugh. He doesn't know what the hell he's talking about but the visual is hilarious anyway, especially combined with that practiced grumpy-face Miller's a pro at.]

Ah no, your clipboard? That's tragic, man.

[Nyx laughs again and takes a sip of his own beer. He's feeling a buzz but he's nowhere near as sloshed as the blond sitting next to him.]

What kind of box are we talking about here?

[warandpeace]

[At the time he had not been so practiced at the grumpy face, and his expression had been a startled one. At least he's aware it's Nyx, too. Only he doesn't really care if Nyx is genuinely interested in bizarre anger.]

It was a box, I mean a box. The thing that's cardboard and you put box things in. Except he would put himself in one. A lot of them do because soldiers can't see through boxes.

[Who is "them"? Snakes. Why does it matter if the soldiers can't see through them? Infiltration. Drunkenly giving up covert operation things, is Miller. Not especially important ones.]

I- [he points at himself] -wanted him to have a box that was big enough for two people. He wanted them to be small enough for one because otherwise people would notice it. But I did it, I went to R&D behind his back. I had his box made. And then he liked it. [All of this sounding so accusatory, the tone of a man that's still pissed because the fact he was right was never acknowledged.]

[nyxus]

He'd put himself in a box?

[Nyx quietly repeats this with some disbelief, trying to imagine a full grown man squeezing himself into a ball to fit inside a small box. It's so ludicrous he ends up laughing. The laugh is louder and longer than a sober one would be.

And then he gives a second round of laughter at the even more ludicrous mental image of two full grown men trying to hide in a little box. Nyx calms his laughter enough to take a swig of his beer. His expression over to his boss is one of incredulity, and amusement.]

Way to stick it to 'im, Miller. Sounds like he didn't know what he really needed in life: a box for two. You showed 'im!

[warandpeace]

They all put themselves in boxes. [He says it without laughing, because for as ridiculous as it sounds, he's being completely serious.]

[He's too drunk to realize how funny it actually is, down to the overly earnest look on his face.]

I got in that box with him. And it smelled like onions. Another time, he smelled bad.

But I was a good second in command. The box was stupid but you do stupid things for people you care about. [Even giant man-children. And just excuse him, he's gonna do another shot.]

[nyxus]

[This story keeps getting weirder and weirder, and all Nyx is doing is laughing. It feels as if he's been laughing for an hour straight and some sober part of his brain is glad that he's still managing to be a happy drunk after everything.

Or maybe it's the good company. Miller is funny when he's drunk, or seems funny when Nyx is drunk, either way!]

Sometimes you do stupid things for people you don't even care about. Sometimes, we're just stupid and do stupid things.

[Nyx motions with his bottle of beer towards his boss, leaning on the table closer to him]

Tell me another story, old man. About 'nother stupid thing you've done.

[Fodder for teasing a sober Miller about later, he thinks, with a smirk]

burgertime

[saveyourserpent]

[Liquid's job isn't so much the usual nine-to-five kind of thing, and usually he finds himself in various places for various reasons, so when it's time for lunch it's whatever time he decides for himself and if anyone doesn't like it, too bad.

This time, he remembers something about Miller running a restaurant, right? Although he can't remember whether he told him himself, or he just discovered it one day. Either way, he heads inside, looking around for a menu (and the man himself, of course) as he does.]

...Interesting.

Don't worry, he renamed the Chemical Burger. No one will ever know...

[warandpeace]

[Kaz hears the bell jangle lightly as Liquid comes in, cue him standing up to go put his guitar behind the bar. Might as well take an order.]

I see you decided to drop in. [He holds out a menu.] Do you remember when I made pancakes for your younger self aboard the Moira?

[Just a curiosity. He vaguely remembers being full of his own rogueish, bratty youth. Sort of resents it and misses it simultaneously.]

sneaky sneaky.

[saveyourserpent]

I figured I might as well eventually, hm? [He takes the menu, glancing down at it. Oh, there's options. He looks up.]

Bit hard to forget. I know I definitely didn't like showing that sort of thing, but I was excited. [But Nyoka ya Mpembe couldn't be excited about things like that around adults, no way.] None of that on this menu, hm?

[warandpeace]

Sadly, no. I figured I'd keep it sorta simple. Maybe sometime I'll offer some breakfast things.

[He likes hearing that, though. That there was something that the kid had been excited for, when back on motherbase all he cared about was escape.]

[To this day he wonders if he could have made things different if he'd gotten more involved himself.]

I'm sure there's something there, though.

en-line.

[demonwinged]

[This is novel, this machine. It reminds him of the Tram between Stormwind and Ironforge in the Eastern Kingdoms. Not that he's ever ridden the Tram himself but he's heard of it, and it's a testament to the ingenuity of dwarves of course. So far as Illidan is aware there are no dwarves here and this is far different technology from the Tram but he can't help making the connection to something somewhat more familiar.

He's certainly never traveled between worlds on a machine before. Usually it's portals, or teleportation, thanks to the far more efficient means of magic available. Yes this is very novel, and not very enjoyable. The seats aren't designed for someone so large as himself and especially not with thick wings.

Illidan is patient however, despite what those on his home world may think of him. You don't withstand ten-thousand years of imprisonment and not learn some patience. Besides, he is still learning this TAB device and the hours spent on the EN-line are a good time to play with it. When he pulls it out, it quietly recites off the main menu options for him to choose from verbally. It's lucky for him, he thinks, that it has functionality for the blind.

When the male voice comes from nearby, Illidan's head comes up to look at him, wondering if his TAB had awoken him. He'd been aware of the slumber and of what he assumed was a human male, though he isn't certain. The question has a frown forming easily on his face.]

What is Miller? [Illidan's voice, low and melodic and with the edge of anger to it which he hardly ever can shake free from, asks in the direction of the man.]

Re: en-line.

[warandpeace]

Hmm?

[Miller asks, before he has to follow the line of the man's body up to his head.]

[Time to play the game of Demon or alien or what world someone is from.]

Oh, I'm Miller. Did I say something in my sleep? [There's a grimace that says he knows he does things like that sometimes.]

[demonwinged]

[Miller. Illidan closes his eyes behind his blindfold a moment before opening them again, the glowing green magic in his sockets obvious behind the thin cloth. He's trying to get a sense of the man but it seems there is little to no magic within him, which means Illidan is clueless as to how he looks or carries himself.]

You asked for yourself.

[Illidan lowers his chin and tucks the TAB away in the belt of his pants.]

I believe I woke you. [He's nonplussed to admit although no apology comes with the admission.]

[warandpeace]

Oh...

[He budges up his sunglasses long enough to rub his eye with the heel of his hand, rubbing the sleep out of his eye.] My father's named Miller. It was probably him.

[It's almost quaint that he's stopped dreaming about the destruction of the base, of the horrors of Afghanistan. He goes back to dreaming about his childhood.]

Sorry. I woke myself I think.

[Though he has to admit- he did not expect to wake to such a large man.]

{ band night }

[frostedplum]

Some might say that Mei looks out of place at a bar. She's got the whole "sweet and innocent" look to her, and it's not even an act. But seeing how she lives and works on Chioni, she tends to feel isolated, and coming over to the planet with more people keeps her social instead of always talking to herself or her tiny weather drone. Thankfully, she's left Snowball back in her apartment. No need to look crazy while out trying to get some social interaction, right?

Mei shows up here on her own instead of meeting up with people she knows, and so she stands beside others listening with interest to all the bands play and discussing the music with her fellow bar patrons. But after the last band takes a bow, Mei sits alone at a table for two with a drink in front of her, swirling the contents with the little plastic stirrer. When someone is suddenly talking to her (or is it at her?), she straightens in her chair, nudging her glasses further up the bridge of her nose.

"Oh, uh, hello," she begins, not sure what he's saying, or what it has to do with her. "Are you perhaps confusing me with someone else? Someone you know?" Maybe he thinks he's speaking to someone who kind of looks like her? A drunk man in a dimly lit bar might only see black frames and dark hair.

[warandpeace]

She did look a little young for it. Either it was her actual age or she was one of those girls with the sort of bright eyes and rounded cheeks but it gave her that touch of youth that probably meant whatever the drinking age her was, she was susceptible to ID checks.

Miller had long passed his ID check age. He actually wasn't entirely glad of that. It reminded him of his lost years.

But not at the moment. He looked over at her, realized that he'd seen her out of the corner of his eye and assumed she was someone else, and squinted hard behind his aviators as he tried to remember if he even remembered meeting her before. He doesn't think so. "Sorry. I didn't mean to bother you." He huffed a breath that he hoped wasn't too laced with whiskey. "Nice glasses, though. They go well with your face. Other people couldn't make that look that professional and fashishable- fashionable at the same time."

There was only perfect words. No one heard any differently.

[frostedplum]

She just has one of those youthful faces, full of brightness and hope. Or something meaningful and sentimental like that. But she's well past the drinking age of any human civilization. At least she's going to age well?

"Do they?" she asks, nudging up the corner of her frames again with a knuckle. By now it's an unconscious tic she has, always feeling her glasses aren't high enough on her face. Maybe it's because she has a tiny nose. "Thank you. I've never really been fashionable before." Her job tends to dictate what she wears, since she has to dress for the climate she's taking readings on.

"Do you need to sit down?" she adds, pointing to the chair across from her at the circular top table. If he's slurring his words, perhaps he's not entirely steady on his feet.

[warandpeace]

He could't do the brightness and hope thing anymore. He used to. But at least he was pretty satisfied that he pulled of the "young for his age" too. Though her? She was going to kill it when she was forty.

Normally he'd wince at the adjustment of her glasses, but considering her hand went for her temple rather than Emmerich's choice of the bridge of his nose, it just increased the previous impression. That was a little nose though, though.

"I should probably sit down, yeah." He found said place and sat with a weight he didn't realize he'd grown tired of keeping upright. One of those ridiculous dull thuds that had something in common with a potato sack. "I could be out of date. Doesn't matter. Some stuff sticks around. Like that 1960's researcher sort." He hoped that made sense. It probably didn't matter if it didn't. "But you probably didn't come in for a clothing evaluation from a drunk man. How did you enjoy the music?"

band night at a bar

[liberaltus]

[Dorian doesn't consider himself a poor, unfortunate soul, in fact this if the very thing he's wanted for Kazuhira since he's met him, to do something for himself now and again. To relax...and to be perfectly okay with it.

Well, if the words pouring out of the man's mouth in no recognizable order was anything at all to go by, then strides were being made. Whether or not Kazuhira felt the same way in the morning? Well, that would be an entirely different story.

As for Dorian being present? Well, it was coincidental and a happy one at that, perhaps the maker was smiling on him after all and maybe he deserved this rare opportunity, something that would probably never be witnessed again and so he might as well enjoy.

He and Kazuhira have shared wine together, nothing quite so hard as what they are drinking now, not that it diminishes the horror that is a wine hangover...but Kazuhira hadn't been drunk that time. Dorian had been, and he'd been emotional, but still functional, this conversation seemed to be getting away from his companion and it was...something of a delight.]

A slingshot? You must have been absolutely terrified...if it was to scale anyway. [He's angry abut these events...well now...a first. Alcohol can be quite the catalyst.]

Are we discussing a person or a pet? [Because a box for a person...well there was a story in that wasn't there?]

[warandpeace]

I was confused. I was there, and then I was going.

[He turns to Dorian and puts a hand on his shoulder, leaning closer conspiratorially.]

The like boxes. They like to smoke. And they like boxes. Usually not at the same time thank god. Every Snake- [He cuts a line through the air with his hand] -all Snakes.

I don't like boxes. [That he says with some finality, and starts to reach for the bottle that's become well-loved between them.] I'm not embarrassing myself, am I? [He's depending on Dorian to keep him from embarrassing himself. This is a herculean effort to undertake.]

[Though he hadn't minded looking out for Dorian. He hadn't minded listening, he hadn't minded the drinking. He doesn't know that he actually helped- he's not one for the most positive moods. He knows that he hindered as much as he helped. But he does worry for Dorian when he's sober.]

[Only not right now. He's possessed with the self-righteous anger of a man who hated a box that smelled like onions.]

[liberaltus]

I suspect you were a bit dizzy as well, maybe a little sick?

[Details, copious details. Dorian needs them, when will he ever get another chance like this again?

Ah...well, he's even more intrigued when Kazuhira leans into him, close enough that Dorian can smell whatever clean scents cling to the man in conjunction with alcohol. He's a bit touchy himself so he's not about to pull away.]

I imagine if they smoked in the boxed they would either root themselves out or set the box on fire. Snakes can be very sensitive to that sort of thing you know. [Kazuhira is not his to question why, so Dorian is simply going to go along with it, not at all certain what this conversation is about.]

Did the boxes do something to you? Did they hurt my dear Kazuhira? They ought to be punished. [For his part, Dorian nurses his own drink smiling fondly behind the glass.]

I would never let you embarrass yourself. [Not on a grand scale, anyway. If he got up on the table and started singing tavern songs, Dorian would certainly put a stop to him, but between the two of them? There was nothing to be embarrassed about.

Dorian was enjoying himself, but he did have to wonder what brought this on, it would be nice if Kazuhira were out drinking for leisure and for fun after all.] In fact, I think it's fantastic you are taking the time to relax, we can spend the entire night talking about boxes...and snakes in boxes...and smoking snakes in boxes...and the various positions a snake can fit into a box.

[He's adding content now, let's just encourage this, shall we?]

[warandpeace]

I didn't intend to just talk about Snake. I wanted to talk about my clipboard.

[The earnestness with which he says this is truly to be boggled at. But again he makes a motion through the air with that sadly missed right hand.] No more Snakes. No more boxes. Ah....

[Then you could see him searching the air for another topic of conversation. One that didn't lead to some sort of tragedy. It felt as if they all did and it was sort of like trying to pick apples and find which ones weren't somehow infested.]

Okay, okay. [He says as if he finally, finally found something.] There was a pig. And I tried to steal it so it wouldn't be eaten.

Also.

I have a question for you. How long does it take for you to get dressed every morning? [Because if that adventure aboard the asteroid was any indicator...]

Baaaar

[justice_from_above]

[It had been an interesting text from Miller, certainly, but one that she felt needed checking up on. There were so many typos and something about music and she'd finally gotten it out of him that he was at a bar and there was music.]

[So, here she is; dressed simply but not exactly gussied up for a night at the bar, since she doesn't expect on stayig long. Blouse, jeans, sensible shoes. She steps in, looks around, and finds him deep in conversation with someone who's obviously not hanging on his every word. She walks up and gives the other person an appreciative wave, sort of saying 'I got this' in the same motion.]

Miller, hey. You having too much fun without me?

[She flags the bartender down and orders a couple waters.]

[warandpeace]

I'm having too much fun in general... [He says knowingly as he watches the person depart, before downing the last of his shots and leaning heavily there.]

Why are you out here? This doesn't seem like your type of place.

[Everything is carefully pronounced, like he's concentrating the slightest bit. And, after all, he'd just texted her. He didn't expect her to show up. He'd just wanted to talk about music.]

I used to do a lot of recording, a long time ago. No one wanted me to sing, but I was good on a guitar.

[justice_from_above]

[Oh, he must be sauced. She chuckles and picks at a bar napkin before answering,] No, not usually, but a friend wanted me to come out so; here I am.

[She's fully expecting to have to carry him home at some point, but she's fine with hanging out for the moment. The Bartender drops of their waters, and she takes hers and very subtly not nudges the other one in his direction.]

Oh really? What kind of songs did you like to play?

[warandpeace]

[Oh he is. Though he seems pleasantly so, despite his previous ranting (that came from a thoroughly bitter heart, even if the subject matter was silly.]

[He stares at the water first, not understanding that it's for him despite it having made its way in front of him.]

I wrote some. And I played a lot of Spanish music. I had an acoustic Spanish guitar I bought in Central America. It randomly showed up on the ship, back on the Moira.

[Then a look of drunken confusion passes over his face.]