Who: Party-goers When: May 17th Where: Mess Hall What: Bucky throws Kazuhira Miller a surprise birthday party, complete with a giant cake he can pop out of! WHATTA GUY! Warnings: Nothing for now
Anyone who's willing to spruce up the Mess Hall with Bucky is welcome! Streamers and banners need to be fastened, as well as any new space tech the old war vet is unfamiliar with.
Be productive, or counterproductive. Whatever your character wishes.
Whoever wanted to stop Miller from heading to the Mess Hall is going to have a time of it. He has the puppies with him at the moment- the only thing derailing him.
Way back when Miller was a kid, birthdays were a very American thing in Japan still. Not a lot of people engaged in Western style celebrations. But Miller? He wanted to be American so badly back then that he would do it himself. And birthdays stayed a thing with him; a day when it was okay to be selfish, to indulge yourself, do whatever you want. In a way, the years had only solidified the idea. Life could pick him apart, take his home, take his country. But it was one more year.
To be honest it wasn't quite a year now, because the days of arrival didn't line up just right. But he gave less than a care because after seeing Costa Rica again, he wanted that cake.
His first intention was to drop off the tub of puppies he spent most of the day lugging around. They were big enough now that he'd upgraded to a plastic laundry basket or else they'd manage their way out, but their ears were still small and they were still pretty bumbling. Within three weeks he'd be exhausted trying to keep up with them.
Mama was trotting after him, content in the knowledge her brood would be fine in it's idiotic mode of transportation.
"Hey, Miller," Deacon peeked curiously into the basket, because it was there and he was nosy by nature. "Yeah, I don't know about those clothes. I mean, I've heard that fur is in, but how are you going to get them to stay in place well enough to avoid wardrobe malfunctions?"
He stuck his hand in the basket to let the puppies touch their wet noses to his finger.
The small dogs fussed over getting to Deacons hand, a couple trying to chew on those offered fingers. Miller had already endured the horrors of tiny puppy teeth= they were still working on theirs.
"Cute huh? Gonna be good dogs when they grow up. Think about which one you'd want?"
"I dunno. Which one of them do you think looks the most like me? Dogs are supposed to take after their owners, right?"
Although Deacon's face will probably change a minimum of five times over the course of these dogs' lifespans. He rubs his knuckles over the fuzzy chest of the nearest pup.
Snake found himself heading towards the Mess Hall mostly because he was damn hungry but also because the walk would do him some good. He turned the corner and noticed Kaz carrying a plastic laundry basket and behind him was Mama. That got a smile out of the old soldier. DD was back at Snake's room resting after a training session in the rec room.
"Hey, Kaz. Doing your laundry?" Snake peeked further in and noticed the soft balls of puppy. They were growing at an alarming rate since Ahab had seen them last. A poor Kaz and Mama exhausted after going through the hard job of delivering bundles of tiny dog.
They still had tiny, rounded ears but had grown into some puppy soft husky fluff, eyes well open and their paws large. Kaz shifted the basket so Venom could get a better look.
"Good looking batch," he said proudly, as if he were as much responsible for this mess as Mama was. "They're gonna be good dogs one day. Hopefully lend a good hand around the ship. Or paw."
He seemed quietly proud of his supremely tacky joke.
Ahab couldn't fault that. They were a good looking batch and would one day grow up big and strong like their mother. Dogs were useful animals to have around as both a companion and a working animal.
"Yeah. DD will love making new friends with the pups when they're older." Snake didn't really know the exact breed of DD. An Afghan wolf hound? He was more of a wolf dog than anything else. Even Ocelot didn't know the exact breed. He was just big.
"The ship needs more dogs aboard. It's got us already. Time for some new blood, huh?" Ahab meant Diamond Dogs. Both him, Kaz and Ocelot were aboard and they were dogs or sorts, so why not? Dogs in space.
Those who decide to join Bucky to scare the shit out of Miller hide behind utilitarian tables and any corners available. Between some there's hushed talking to pass the time.
But when the birthday boy shows up in toe with his distractors, everyone will pop out shouting and wishing him a Happy Birthday! All except for Bucky. Where is that fella?
He'll show up! For now, find time to chat with Miller personally, stuff yourself silly with cake made by the ship's very own Napoleon Solo. Or, hell, get sloshed. We're all adults here! The time is yours to celebrate with.
Liquid had been planning to spend more time at home, but he'd made a commitment to coming to Miller's party, and here he is. After all, at home they don't have birthday cake. Sure, they could get some, but it's not the same.
Not the same at all.
So here Liquid is, after all the surprises are over and done with, enjoying a piece of cake and celebrating the birthday of someone he'd impersonated after having him killed.
Yeah that whole thing about impersonating birthday boy after he murdered him. That was a thing.
Liquid being dead from FOXDIE was also supposed to be a thing, but this ship worked in funny ways. If nothing else, Liquid is a familiar face and one Raiden is trying to get more comfortable with the idea of seeing... for better or worse. He's not going to let that stop him from getting his own slice of cake.
Liquid's really got to wonder what his team would say if they saw him here like this, eating cake at the party for Miller of all people. Of course, whatever they'd say, he'd tell them to shut up, because if he wants cake he's going to get it.
He appreciated them, really. Honest.
He glances over at Raiden and shrugs, staying quiet as he finishes the bite of cake he'd started.
"Good question. I just found out it's his birthday rather recently. I'm sure we'll find out at some point." Okay, going to a party and not knowing how old the birthday boy is? Especially someone like him who's supposed to be rather knowledgeable. But hey, time things are different around here.
"Should have counted the candles on the cake," he jokes.
It was difficult to ignore the siren call of some normalcy wrapped up in a party once Raiden found out. Anything to try and forget about creepy space stations and rogue AI and talking monsters and the like. All the better if it was for someone as exhalted as Miller.
Plus, booze. Booze was great. Booze was never not great to have.
Still, he knew he was kind of the new kid around here and tries to be as casual as possible. He's trying way too hard to be casual to the point he probably stands out; hand on his hip while indulging in a bottle near a food table. The result is an unintended "I'm definitely a cool guy and am so cool" kind of pose.
Totally normal.
He'll probably have to be reminded to get into a hiding spot when the time comes.
But afterwards he'll go back to milling around, trying to not look like he's trying to fit in. Left to his own devices he's just going to keep drinking. And drinking. And drinking.
The thing is when you know as many stealth experts as Miller did, a surprise party takes on whole new meaning. Honestly he was more surprised that there wasn't soldiers jumping out of cabinets and dropping from the ceiling. He appreciated it though. He might have been something of a sourpuss in recent years (if sourpuss could also be defined as someone feeling as though their entire world fell apart and wanted to make everyone vaguely connected to that suffer), but he still wanted to find those old parts of him and hang onto them. Like the one that still loved birthdays and watching soldiers have a good time. Let them be real people rather than a medium from which a bullet reaches a target or a fist reaches a face.
When he finally saw Raiden, the exalted Hell Master was summoning some of that younger self and downing a beer in a way that was going to eventually end in some belch that a more articulate man would would be able to make into words. He'd just have to wait for it.
Fantastic first impression. Could be that it possibly would be, because tonight he was determined not to let himself fall into that pit that was too easy to find.
He turned toward the pale haired man mid-chug and realized that while he had seen him around, he didn't fully know him. He pulled the mug away from his face, turned his back as if that would make wiping his mouth on his sleeve more respectable in some way, and stepped over to offer a hand to shake. His left one, rather than the artificial, half transparent number holding the mug. "Here for the free cake?" he asked, not accusingly. He liked the company.
[Rinzler made it back to the ship just under twenty-four hours ago. About twenty hours ago, he learned what a birthday was—and promptly cross-checked the data in the archives to be sure of the procedure. He'd shown up a prompt 15 minutes before the appointed time, and if he wasn't much use with either decorations or shouting, he was gratified to see he'd assessed the process correctly: no actual ambush involved. Not that the enforcer couldn't have, but...
Once the mingling gets started, Rinzler mostly stays in the periphery. Neither cake nor liquid intoxicants is something he can partake in, and social procedures are something he'd rather side-eye from a distance. Still, there was one more activity referenced in the data he'd explored. When he finds Miller relatively unoccupied, the program will approach—if Miller doesn't gravitate towards the awkward rumbling in the corner of his own accord.
Rinzler's carrying a box.]
He loves his stealthy lurkers it's the best party.
[He's glad to see Rinzler. Despite the occasional thought he would be much happier away from some of the members of this crew, he really hated even the vaguest idea he would have been trapped their indefinitely. So when Rinzler approaches him, the relief is clear on his face.]
Rinzler. I'm glad you came.
[And he... brought a box?]
[There's something odd about that. He doesn't know why. A little ashamed for that, too, because it means that Miller didn't expect him to put forth the effort of getting him a gift. He holds his hands out to take it.]
You brought me something? [It doesn't matter. Even if it's a napkin or a lone shoe, Miller's the sort of ridiculously sentimental type that would keep it stashed away and protect it. He's lost so much, there's an aspect of his materialism that's quaint. It's something nice from a friend. It's nice that Rinzler even did it when his company would have been enough.]
[The duck of the helmet that answers that greeting is a little awkward, though not visibly distressed. Rinzler's still trying to parse the fact of his own retrieval, much less the investment of the users who'd contributed to it. Miller included. Still, existential shakeups can be put aside for the moment. In favor of... standing around at user social events he's not sure about participating in.
The question comes as a relief. Rinzler nods more readily, ticking rumble picking up a little as he offers the box out. The protocol he'd researched had insisted on some kind of covering, but the enforcer seems to have opted out of decoration. Not his function, in any sense of the phrase.
The box is made of cardboard and almost two feet in length, though not nearly so wide or tall. A faint rolling sound will come from it if tipped.]
[There's something charming about how utilitarian Rinzler is. But he doesn't mind- figures if wrapped it, Kaz never would have been able to get into it.]
[He tries to be ginger, worrying about breaking something, but the tipping sound surprises him. So he carefully opens the end and peers down into it, ready to tip the contents out into his hand.]
[A long, thin shaft can be seen. When Miller tips out the contents, he'll find a baton. The texture is smooth enough to be metallic, but doesn't quite feel the same. At a glance, it's almost a match to the weapons clipped at Rinzler's side, but silvery grey in color and about two-thirds the length.
Apparently he came up with a spare? Rinzler doesn't add any commentary yet, though if the tilt of his helmet is much sign, he definitely seems to be watching.]
You're drunk off your ass, aren't you? Stuffed to the gills from cake? It's alright. No one will judge you for your walk of shame back to your quarters or over to the bar for more.
Kaz, to his credit, didn't get too drunk. He just got drunk enough that he tried to sing. Which is unfortunate. Hell, it was his birthday. He could do whatever he wanted. And much to everyone's luck he kept his pants on.
A decade too late for him to indulge in those sorts of antics.
By the time he was ready to turn in he was tired as hell and ready to pass out face first in bed. Pretty sure he drank just enough to have a hangover later. The eternal punishment.
Not too long after Miller returns to his room, a knock comes at the door.
Snake hadn't attended the party, hadn't even know it was going on. He's been out of cryo for less than forty-eight hours, and he hasn't had that much time to catch up on all the various goings-on throughout the Moira.
Judging from the message from the captains, there's been more death and harm between crew members. And something to do with a portal into fake versions of their worlds, but he's pretty sure he doesn't want to get near it with a ten-foot pole.
Not sure when Miller will be out working and when he'll be in his room, Snake decides to drop by later in the evening, once he can be fairly sure that Miller will be back. He doesn't even have a gift with him, or a card, or anything -- but somehow he doesn't think Miller will care.
"Snake!" At least he didn't call him David this time. He was using a newly acquired umbrella to support some of his weight against his aching leg rather than a crutch. At least he could pretend to be a little distinguished with his new gift.
The problem is that when Miller opened the door and approached him, he was still tipsy. And he broke into a big smile the moment he saw him, easier and far less burdened than most of his expressions.
"You know, those eyes are prettier when there's two of them." And with that loosely gestured directly at Snake's face. "But I'm sure I could say the same about my hands."
With that umbrella hooked over his forearm he made jazz-hands at him, one the real one, one the fake one. Yes, this was the birthday boy that Snake had come to see.
Miller had never celebrated his birthday back at FOXHOUND, or if he had, Snake hadn't known about it. At a certain point in your life, it stops having any meaning. Another year older, another year of experience under your belt, another set of horrors to contend with.
So the fact that he had actually celebrated today left Snake completely bewildered. So did that smile. He stared, mute and taken aback, hardly registering Miller's words until a few moments after he'd said them.
The comment about his eyes was awkward, to say the least, and Snake looked away as he tried to figure out how to handle his Master being happy-drunk. He'd only ever seen him sad-drunk or angry-drunk.
"Hnn... happy birthday, Master. Looks like you enjoyed yourself."
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thisavrou_log2016-05-15 05:10 am
SET-UP
Be productive, or counterproductive. Whatever your character wishes.
Distraction
Way back when Miller was a kid, birthdays were a very American thing in Japan still. Not a lot of people engaged in Western style celebrations. But Miller? He wanted to be American so badly back then that he would do it himself. And birthdays stayed a thing with him; a day when it was okay to be selfish, to indulge yourself, do whatever you want. In a way, the years had only solidified the idea. Life could pick him apart, take his home, take his country. But it was one more year.
To be honest it wasn't quite a year now, because the days of arrival didn't line up just right. But he gave less than a care because after seeing Costa Rica again, he wanted that cake.
His first intention was to drop off the tub of puppies he spent most of the day lugging around. They were big enough now that he'd upgraded to a plastic laundry basket or else they'd manage their way out, but their ears were still small and they were still pretty bumbling. Within three weeks he'd be exhausted trying to keep up with them.
Mama was trotting after him, content in the knowledge her brood would be fine in it's idiotic mode of transportation.
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He stuck his hand in the basket to let the puppies touch their wet noses to his finger.
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The small dogs fussed over getting to Deacons hand, a couple trying to chew on those offered fingers. Miller had already endured the horrors of tiny puppy teeth= they were still working on theirs.
"Cute huh? Gonna be good dogs when they grow up. Think about which one you'd want?"
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Although Deacon's face will probably change a minimum of five times over the course of these dogs' lifespans. He rubs his knuckles over the fuzzy chest of the nearest pup.
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"What about this one?"
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"Hey, Kaz. Doing your laundry?" Snake peeked further in and noticed the soft balls of puppy. They were growing at an alarming rate since Ahab had seen them last. A poor Kaz and Mama exhausted after going through the hard job of delivering bundles of tiny dog.
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"Good looking batch," he said proudly, as if he were as much responsible for this mess as Mama was. "They're gonna be good dogs one day. Hopefully lend a good hand around the ship. Or paw."
He seemed quietly proud of his supremely tacky joke.
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"Yeah. DD will love making new friends with the pups when they're older." Snake didn't really know the exact breed of DD. An Afghan wolf hound? He was more of a wolf dog than anything else. Even Ocelot didn't know the exact breed. He was just big.
"The ship needs more dogs aboard. It's got us already. Time for some new blood, huh?" Ahab meant Diamond Dogs. Both him, Kaz and Ocelot were aboard and they were dogs or sorts, so why not? Dogs in space.
3, 2, 1... SURPRISE!
But when the birthday boy shows up in toe with his distractors, everyone will pop out shouting and wishing him a Happy Birthday! All except for Bucky. Where is that fella?
He'll show up! For now, find time to chat with Miller personally, stuff yourself silly with cake made by the ship's very own Napoleon Solo. Or, hell, get sloshed. We're all adults here! The time is yours to celebrate with.
CAKE.
Not the same at all.
So here Liquid is, after all the surprises are over and done with, enjoying a piece of cake and celebrating the birthday of someone he'd impersonated after having him killed.
So it goes.
snakecake
Liquid being dead from FOXDIE was also supposed to be a thing, but this ship worked in funny ways. If nothing else, Liquid is a familiar face and one Raiden is trying to get more comfortable with the idea of seeing... for better or worse. He's not going to let that stop him from getting his own slice of cake.
"Wonder how old he's turning."
snakes jump outta da cake
He appreciated them, really. Honest.
He glances over at Raiden and shrugs, staying quiet as he finishes the bite of cake he'd started.
"Good question. I just found out it's his birthday rather recently. I'm sure we'll find out at some point." Okay, going to a party and not knowing how old the birthday boy is? Especially someone like him who's supposed to be rather knowledgeable. But hey, time things are different around here.
"Should have counted the candles on the cake," he jokes.
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Plus, booze. Booze was great. Booze was never not great to have.
Still, he knew he was kind of the new kid around here and tries to be as casual as possible. He's trying way too hard to be casual to the point he probably stands out; hand on his hip while indulging in a bottle near a food table. The result is an unintended "I'm definitely a cool guy and am so cool" kind of pose.
Totally normal.
He'll probably have to be reminded to get into a hiding spot when the time comes.
But afterwards he'll go back to milling around, trying to not look like he's trying to fit in. Left to his own devices he's just going to keep drinking. And drinking. And drinking.
Gonna aim for after the surprise happens.
When he finally saw Raiden, the exalted Hell Master was summoning some of that younger self and downing a beer in a way that was going to eventually end in some belch that a more articulate man would would be able to make into words. He'd just have to wait for it.
Fantastic first impression. Could be that it possibly would be, because tonight he was determined not to let himself fall into that pit that was too easy to find.
He turned toward the pale haired man mid-chug and realized that while he had seen him around, he didn't fully know him. He pulled the mug away from his face, turned his back as if that would make wiping his mouth on his sleeve more respectable in some way, and stepped over to offer a hand to shake. His left one, rather than the artificial, half transparent number holding the mug. "Here for the free cake?" he asked, not accusingly. He liked the company.
corner lurking party is best party?
Once the mingling gets started, Rinzler mostly stays in the periphery. Neither cake nor liquid intoxicants is something he can partake in, and social procedures are something he'd rather side-eye from a distance. Still, there was one more activity referenced in the data he'd explored. When he finds Miller relatively unoccupied, the program will approach—if Miller doesn't gravitate towards the awkward rumbling in the corner of his own accord.
Rinzler's carrying a box.]
He loves his stealthy lurkers it's the best party.
Rinzler. I'm glad you came.
[And he... brought a box?]
[There's something odd about that. He doesn't know why. A little ashamed for that, too, because it means that Miller didn't expect him to put forth the effort of getting him a gift. He holds his hands out to take it.]
You brought me something? [It doesn't matter. Even if it's a napkin or a lone shoe, Miller's the sort of ridiculously sentimental type that would keep it stashed away and protect it. He's lost so much, there's an aspect of his materialism that's quaint. It's something nice from a friend. It's nice that Rinzler even did it when his company would have been enough.]
He does have a collection...
The question comes as a relief. Rinzler nods more readily, ticking rumble picking up a little as he offers the box out. The protocol he'd researched had insisted on some kind of covering, but the enforcer seems to have opted out of decoration. Not his function, in any sense of the phrase.
The box is made of cardboard and almost two feet in length, though not nearly so wide or tall. A faint rolling sound will come from it if tipped.]
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[He tries to be ginger, worrying about breaking something, but the tipping sound surprises him. So he carefully opens the end and peers down into it, ready to tip the contents out into his hand.]
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Apparently he came up with a spare? Rinzler doesn't add any commentary yet, though if the tilt of his helmet is much sign, he definitely seems to be watching.]
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AFTERMATH
Re: AFTERMATH
A decade too late for him to indulge in those sorts of antics.
By the time he was ready to turn in he was tired as hell and ready to pass out face first in bed. Pretty sure he drank just enough to have a hangover later. The eternal punishment.
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Snake hadn't attended the party, hadn't even know it was going on. He's been out of cryo for less than forty-eight hours, and he hasn't had that much time to catch up on all the various goings-on throughout the Moira.
Judging from the message from the captains, there's been more death and harm between crew members. And something to do with a portal into fake versions of their worlds, but he's pretty sure he doesn't want to get near it with a ten-foot pole.
Not sure when Miller will be out working and when he'll be in his room, Snake decides to drop by later in the evening, once he can be fairly sure that Miller will be back. He doesn't even have a gift with him, or a card, or anything -- but somehow he doesn't think Miller will care.
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The problem is that when Miller opened the door and approached him, he was still tipsy. And he broke into a big smile the moment he saw him, easier and far less burdened than most of his expressions.
"You know, those eyes are prettier when there's two of them." And with that loosely gestured directly at Snake's face. "But I'm sure I could say the same about my hands."
With that umbrella hooked over his forearm he made jazz-hands at him, one the real one, one the fake one. Yes, this was the birthday boy that Snake had come to see.
omfg dreamwidth no
So the fact that he had actually celebrated today left Snake completely bewildered. So did that smile. He stared, mute and taken aback, hardly registering Miller's words until a few moments after he'd said them.
The comment about his eyes was awkward, to say the least, and Snake looked away as he tried to figure out how to handle his Master being happy-drunk. He'd only ever seen him sad-drunk or angry-drunk.
"Hnn... happy birthday, Master. Looks like you enjoyed yourself."
I saw that. I laugh at you.
shhhhh
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