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☄ Training Simulation Room | To everyone he meets he stays a stranger
[The program Kaz has written up is just a plane room covered in mats. The program is meant for practice combat, and because the room likes to surprise people on occasion he set it to the easiest setting- if any generated opponents come in, they could be taken out with one punch. He needs to be able to practice on the real person and focus on them. Not randoms.]

[It's still true though, he needs practice getting back into shape, ready to face the unexpected even if he would prefer it be flesh and blood (or the closest things to). He knows how Big Boss fights firsthand. He's watched Ocelot and Ahab fight. He wanted a little something unpredictable. And, well, Harry had been squirreling that little part of himself away pretty well. He was a completely new element.]

[Admittedly he was also just flat out curious but that was beside the point.]

[He had his shoes off again, pacing the mat and rolling up the sleeves to his thermal undershirt. The overcoat, coat, and glasses were neatly folded and stacked and placed over by his programming console. Time to just pace and wait for "Galahad" to show up.]

Edited 2016-04-11 18:35 (UTC)

[ The request for a fight was rather welcome. Harry spars with Eggsy when they can find the privacy to do so, but they're starting to learn one another's moves to the point where it gets a bit frustrating. Sparring with Kazuhira at least promises something new. And even if he reveals his own hand, it isn't as if the man doesn't already know Harry's a spy.

When he arrives he's wearing his usual outfit and doesn't bother to remove anything, either. He's used to fighting while wearing a full suit, after all. There is a small bit of self-consciousness in his refusal to strip down further. He's not without his scars, especially after the church. He's not about to go showing those off if he can avoid it. ]

Quite the useful setting, I know several agencies that would kill for a facility like this.

[ He stretches while he talks, just enough to help limber up. ]

Are you ready, Kaz?

I've always been prone to enjoying the real outdoors. This is a pale comparison, but I can work with it.

[He makes sure his sleeves are rolled up to over the elbow (he's going to need them like that).] Big Boss and Ocelot lean towards CQC. Close Quarters Combat. A special combination of martial arts moves.

Sort of helps if you don't let them get in too close and get a hold on you, to say the least. [So he's going to be doing his level best to do both, just to let Harry know for practice sake. But he doesn't know what Harry does.]

I'm ready. [He takes a stance, real foot placed back behind him to brace him, fists raised, body loose.]

[ He files that away for future reference. Ideally he'd never reveal himself to either gentleman but just in case he'd know what to expect. ]

As am I. [ His own stance is innocuous enough. Straight posture, legs spread enough to give him stability and his arms tucked behind his back. He looks more like he's ready to greet someone, not start a fight.

In an ideal world he'd have his rainmaker for this, though he's confident he can handle pure hand to hand. But his style has always involved some sort of tool in his hands as he fights.

And without any warning, he shifts his weight and throws a punch at Kaz's ribs. ]

Edited 2016-04-21 20:26 (UTC)

[It's been a while, but not that long. When the hand comes for his gut Miller twists and grabs his wrist, snagging his elbow right after to straighten his arm and shove him downward.]

[He's a little clumsy with it though, because he's getting used to that arm. Because his balance is still precarious, too light on different parts of each side. The motion of turning himself to throw Harry's weight off balance isn't going like he planned.]

[Hell. He does need a lot more practice.]

☄ BAR

[Deacon has been enjoying the bar on this ship. (Maybe too much? He'd better keep an eye on that. Start cutting back. Tomorrow.) The liquor is miles better than anything he can get in the Commonwealth; it doesn't even compare.

He sits at a table in the darkest corner he can find and remembers his invitation to Miller earlier in the day, in the transporter, types a message on his MID]

At the bar. Drinks on me. Only not literally because that would be messy.

Edited (fail html and more html WHICH I THEN FAILED) 2016-04-19 04:58 (UTC)

Glad to know it's not one of your kinks like we were talking about. [This obviously bodes well for two people getting drunk. Classy conversation will be ready to ensue.]

[He's feeling a little better. A little. The conversation with Ocelot was a little distracting, and he doesn't know how he feels about that. But he's just happy to have his sunglasses back.]

[Really, they must look ridiculous sitting at a bar next to each other.]

Whiskey. [He requests of the bartender immediately.]

Nah, in me is better than on me. I'm still totally talking about the drinks, obviously. [The very classiest.]

[Deacon already has a glass of rum on the rocks in front of him. Ice: it's cool, both literally and figuratively and is another thing he didn't get to have in drinks much in the Commonwealth.]

Good choice. I mean, they're all good choices but--

[Not-irradiated booze is fantastic.]

Here's to not being awkwardly naked. [He raises his glass in a toast.]

Here's to sunglasses. [He taps glasses with him, before he takes a long, slow, albeit painful drink of something he should be drinking much faster.]

A lot of these stops turn out to be a hell of a ride, I guess.

[He gave Deacon a comradely pat on the shoulder.]

[The touch startles him, but he doesn't jump too badly. Having one glass of rum in him already probably helps.]

It's good to have missions to keep us on our toes. In this case, our bare, naked, shoeless toes, but....okay.

Still, I'm hoping that we stop at the planet of junk food and drive-ins next. Somewhere in the universe there's gotta be a planet of junk food and drive-ins.

The last base I was on? We found a recipe for a tortilla chip, and it was delicious. I love tortillas. My favorite food in the Americas. And, I have a mean recipe for a hamburger.

If we had the parts, I could make us some really great food. So far I've been able to scrounge up some near enough ingredients to make some cookies and some black bread. Just with a few modifiers.

Have to adapt, after all.

[He seems to be happy to be having this discussion about food. Immediately going off on some ramble rather than being overbearingly depressing.]

Oh man, I'd love to try a real hamburger. I'm guessing that brahmin meat probably just isn't the same. Or fresh baked cookies? I've never had fresh baked cookies.

[Deacon gets really excited about food. Food is fantastic.]

Okay, here's a plan: next time we're on a planet, I go scrounging for ingredients, then I hand them to you and you make some great food, and I eat the great food. Sound good?

We should. I can get behind that.

[Even if it puts more work on him, he does like to cook. Maybe he's a little odd that way. Making food to take care of himself and his more unfortunate family members at least trained him to do well at it.]

You should try dango and mochi too. Both of those.

Even in my time, many Americans haven't had them.

I haven't even heard of those. But I'd still try them. There isn't much I won't put in my mouth.

[He takes a swig of his drink.]

Edited (phone typo) 2016-04-20 19:49 (UTC)

[Miller is taking another swig of whiskey when he says that, and he stops and lets the shot burn down his throat. And just.... stares across the counter.]

[Then he looks at Deacon.]

[Doesn't say a word. He just waits for it. Because there are a million and one jokes running through his head, but it seems like he should give him a chance to retreat first.]

[Deacon pauses with his glass still at his lips as Kaz gives him a pointed, sunglass-hidden look.

He slowly lowers his glass.]

Maybe we should add that sentence to the unicorn box. [aka, the metaphorical box in which they locked away the "it'd be great to be a unicorn right now" comment and pretended it never happened.

But there's a faint hint of a smile on the edge of Deacon's lips. The comment was totally worth it just to see Miller biting back what's probably an amazing comeback.]

[He manages to get another smile with that, too.] Unicorn box, huh. Sure. I'll just remember that for the future.

[The whiskey helps. Takes the edge off that bad attitude, that recent demeanor. Hard to tell this man used to smile all the time. Now ones that sustain themselves for more than a few seconds feel like miracles.]

Yeah, no one will suspect that a thing called "the unicorn box" actually holds all my deepest, darkest shames. It's the perfect disguise.

[Because unicorn envy and accidentally saying he'll suck down anything are totally the things in this world he's most ashamed of. Really.]

Well lets hope that the unicorn on the network doesn't think we're saying anything rude about her.

[Otherwise he sort of likes having an inside joke. It's odd how the tiniest thing like a secret that isn't dangerous, or a joke that's all your own, can make you feel a little more human. All that time on motherbase, being surrounded by reminders of things that made him lonely or angry, he felt as though it was being sapped out of him.]

[Deacon snorts a laugh and polishes off his second glass of rum and calls for another. His cheeks are growing pleasantly warm from the alcohol.]

Yeah, impaled by a unicorn horn would be an embarrassing way to go.

We should be safe, though. I mean, she can't go near either one of us, right? Isn't that how it works?

If they follow the rules we think, then I should be poison to her. [He admits.]

I'm the child of a comfort woman. I came out of the womb lacking purity and virtue.

[But he doesn't sound particularly ashamed of his mother.]

So I'm guessing a comfort woman isn't just someone who gives really awesome hugs.

[This isn't a term that he's heard or read before, although he can work it out from the context.]

But, hey, it's okay. I'm probably unicorn poison, too. If an army of invading unicorns attacks, we can totally run to the front lines and ward them off. And then people will call us heroes, the saviors of the people from the vicious unicorn invasion.

Prostitute. [He shrugs.] And business owner. Once she got some money, she opened her own shop. She did what she needed not only to survive, but to succeed.

[He's very proud of his mother, even if it had been obvious that a child had been a little much for her. Especially as she grew more ill.]

I would expect your world would have some mean fucking unicorns. No doubt about it. We could save the planet.

Sounds like she did pretty well for herself. I imagine that raising a kid alone is super hard.

[When Deacon thinks back on his own mother, trying to take care of tiny Deacon all on her own, he feels guilty for the hell he put her through.]

The unicorns from my world would probably have, like, three heads and six-inch fangs and spit radioactive poison and have a ravenous hunger for flesh. They'd be fucking terrible unicorns, and the people who went out and shot the unicorns in the face would be doing the world a favor.

[His gestures as he speaks are getting looser and larger. He taps two fingers emphatically on the table as he describes the hypothetical unicorns. Pause. Grab his glass to finish off another drink. Set it down. He doesn't order another right away.]

I should tell you that you're special, because, you see, tonight is the last night I'm going to drink for a while. So this is, like, the last dance and it's yours. Only instead of dancing it's booze. Dancing would be such a bad idea right now. I'd get totally wasted as a final hurrah before going dry, but I can't right here because this place is too exposed and, like, anyone could walk in and blow my head off so I need to be able to keep my aim straight. And one of my roommates is a psycho-robot who might slit my throat one day, so that's so not a safe place to pass out. But, yeah, this is the last time for a while.

[Ramble complete, he nudges his glass with one finger and watches it slide, leaving a wet streak of condensation where it passes.]

Which psycho robot?

[Because he knows a few, and he realizes, upon saying that, it feels commonplace and that shouldn't feel commonplace at all.]

Hey, if you ever decide to take it easy, Nomo deck rooms have couches. [Which means that he has one.]

God, I know, we have so many psycho robots around that it's hard to keep them all straight sometimes.

My psycho robot--android really--is a guy named Prometheus. He has blue hair and a triangle on his forehead and an ax-murderer smile. You can't miss him.

Are you offering me your couch?

When you're worried about the ax-murderer robot, then I'm pretty sure my roommates would understand, yeah.

[Seems like a simple enough offer. People looked out for each other, right?] Is this your first stint in a structured crew?

Oh yeah. I usually go solo. I mean, I check in with my HQ every few weeks, but HQ isn't exactly structured either. And staying in close quarters with someone for too long, it makes me kinda twitchy.

So...roommates...it's sure a thing. An awful, paranoia-inducing thing. Sometimes I want to go to the garden and just sleep in a tree or something.

Wouldn't want you rooming with someone that would encourage that bad opinion of your kind. [Indicating he still believed Deacon there.]

I tell you what, you try to do that, I'll sing you a lullaby.

[No one wants Miller to sing them a lullaby. Run.]

The bitch of it is, I want to help Prometheus. I mean, he hasn't killed me yet, so we're doing okay so far, right? I just don't ever want to be asleep in his presence, or in a place where he could feasibly sneak up on me.

[He grins at the idea of Kaz singing a lullaby.]

Is it the one that involves, like, babies falling out of trees and breaking their skulls open? Because that is a fucked up thing to sing to kids, even by post-apocalyptic standards.

They're all in Japanese. I don't really know any English ones, I'll be honest. They're called "cradle songs", though I think my favorite is about a young woman who is sold into work as a nanny for a rich family. She just complains about the baby camera.

You know, in that way you would complain in a sweet voice to someone who didn't understand you, when it was your only way to vent.

I'm not drunk enough to sing it yet. [He goes for another whisky.]

In that case, you totally need to drink more. And then sing it to me. I'll make baby noises if it helps set the mood. Or pretend to be a baby camera, either way. I bet I could do a great impression of a baby camera.

I think you'll have surpassed any redeemable level of drunk if you reach the point of making baby noises.

[Just what he needs, Ocelot coming in on him singing terribly to some older man literally acting like an infant.]

Nah, noises are nothing. If I strip off all my clothes and sit in my whitey tighties and pretend that they're diapers, then I'm irredeemably drunk.

By the way, let's not do that. Don't let me do that.

I have a tranquilizer gun. [He lifts his shot towards Deacon, generally gesturing at him.] I absolutely am not afraid to use it.

[But for once, Kaz looks like he's having a good time. Which happens next to almost never.]

You're a pal. It takes a real friend to shoot a buddy with a tranq to save them from humiliation, instead of just pointing and laughing and possibly taking pictures for future blackmail.

[He leans on his elbows on the table. Deacon feels relaxed, almost safe right now, the paranoia only a soft hum in the back of his mind, easily ignored. It's nice.]

I didn't say I wouldn't take pictures. I said I would do it before you ended up in your underwear.

Believe me, I've done worse, when I was younger. Used to be a guy ready for a fun time. All the time, really. [And there he goes, right back to his whiskey because he needs it. But it's starting to reach his head.]

[Deacon looks over Kaz with an assessing gaze, slightly muzzy from the drinks.]

Yeah. Yeah, I could see you being Mr. Fun. Do you miss it?

Yeah, I miss it.

Don't have it in me anymore, but I miss it. I am... a terrible singer. I'm awful. But I didn't care then.

I would happily sing at the top of my voice. But now... I don't know. Not really shame. Just don't have it in me to sing anymore. [Because that sort of singing, singing for the joy of it, takes a lot of effort.]

Maybe it'll come back someday. Like, sure it'll never be total rainbows and sunshine and glitter again, 'cause you can't ever totally go back, but maybe you'll get to reclaim at least some of it. Because it's not fucking fair if they took away forever not just your home, your comrades, your friends but your...you as well.

Or you can do like me and just fake it so hard that you fool everyone, including yourself, into thinking that you aren't fucked up.

[Maybe he needs another drink after all.]

I faked enough in my life. Might as well be honest about being a terrible person.

[He says it like he believes it, but he's accepted it and knows that he is. He sacrificed all of his idealism for revenge.]

But if you're faking it at least still be on my side.

[He's drunk enough that he won't clearly resemble saying this later.]

See, you're not a terrible person. You're just a guy who did stuff, tried to do the right thing, and sometimes made mistakes. That's not terrible, that's just, like, human. You're a human person.

But I am on your side. Even faking shit, I'm still totally on your side...or side, front, back, anywhere you want me.

[Once the words fall out of his mouth they do not sound like what he meant to convey. The first two times that happened it was semi-controlled: let the brain-to-mouth filter open up and spill out something outrageous to lighten the mood. He may not have known what he was going to say until he heard the words, but he knew he was letting it happen. But this time, that really did just fall out with a thud, like opening an overfilled cabinet. He must be more drunk than he realizes.]

Uh, that last part? Unicorn box.

[Miller turns on his stool, leans on the bar, and gives Deacon the smarmiest look that he can dredge up from the pits of his youth.] With all the things you're putting in the unicorn box you're making it sound like I would have a pretty good time going home with you.

[He mostly wants to see how Deacon will react to that, more than anything.]

[The fresh drink he'd ordered came and he's holding it and thank God he wasn't drinking from it yet because he sputters a surprised laugh.]

Twenty...ish years ago we could have had an awesome time. Not to blow my own...whatever...but I was good.

These days, though, seriously out of practice. I'm sure it's just like riding a bike. Don't do it for a long time and when you try to pick it up again you're fucking terrible and after you're done all your muscles hurt in peculiar places.

[He thumps Deacon's shoulder clumsily.] Don't worry. Even if you could get on the bike I think we are getting to the point we couldn't ride it at all. We'd get pulled over.

[He rocks loosely from the friendly push to his shoulder]

Yeah, right now I don't think I'd be up for riding anything tonight, even if I could anymore. I'd probably fall off or something.

I'm gonna take you up on that couch offer, though, if your roommates don't mind.

I'm sure. Yeah.

And hell. I trust you in my bed if worse comes to worse. Figure you're not the frisky type.

[And there's a special ways that drunk guys can fall asleep in uncomfortable positions and not even be aware of each other.]

If it comes to that, just don't drool on my shirt. It's totally vintage. [aka "two hundred year old, threadbare trash"]