the beginning of a beautiful friendship

[otselot]

1975 - paris, france

[ france. if there had ever been a more unsufferable country (or a worse language), Ocelot didn't want to know about it. even their seedier bars still had the unfortunate aura of pompousness about them.

(which, in his opinion, made it absolutely appropriate for the current task at hand)

this wasn't exactly his choice. zero had notified him (through a few different cutouts of course) that he was sending an associate of Snake's (John's) his way. and not just any associate, but one "Kazuhira Miller". the same man who'd been there right by John's side in the caribbean the whole step of the way. (and the one who had let this whole mess happen, Ocelot thinks. if he'd been there instead, things might've been different). in the brief time that he'd tried to keep tabs on msf, his sources had turned up a few select tidbits of information. like Ocelot, his parents had never married and were both dead. like Ocelot, he too had started out with a dream of defeating Snake, only to apparently have it crushed. unlike Ocelot, he was apparently an incorrigible womanizer.

funny that Zero... or his proxies, had chosen a seedy bar in Paris of all places for them to meet. it was almost as though he wanted to make the whole ordeal as painful as possible for him.

he's dressed relatively plainly in a tan suit, with a few added accessories. a western-style duster is draped over his shoulders, a red beret that helps hide his rapidly greying hair (he supposes that he has his father to thank for that), and his boots are still adorned with his unmistakable spurs. every other moment, he glances towards the door, not particularly trying to hide his intentions.

hopefully, the other man knew how to follow simple instructions. ]

Comments

[neverloseagain]

[he expected no. he really did. but the combination of the patronizing, downright condescending phrasing and that fucking smirk makes him want nothing more than to vault across the table and break Ocelot's nose right then and there. and that desire, too, is written all over his face. he doesn't bother to hide that, either. not that he probably could even if he tried, at least not completely. because Ocelot's right-- Kaz isn't an experienced intelligence agent.]

[in fact, Kaz isn't really an experienced anything so much as a pup that's spent its life chasing after the big dogs. his wealth of skills isn't gained from training or experience, it's from a flat-out refusal to admit than anyone could be better at him than anything. that kind of grit has gotten him far in life-- he's a smart guy, adapts quickly to new situations, and is incredibly good at teaching himself whatever he wants to know how to do, from field medicine to radio technology to intelligence work. and for the most part, he consistently outperforms even his trained peers, or else his confidence compensates and he's able to make it up as he goes and power through with bravado and bullshit. he's second-in-command for a reason.]

[but on the flip side, this makes him brazenly overconfident. he's overly ambitious and consistently overestimates what he's capable of. he fashions himself Snake's equal at damn near everything, even after losing to him time and time again. and he'd thought that despite a total lack of any kind of background in intelligence work, he could not only go toe-to-toe with Zero, he could do it without even Snake's help, because Snake would have told him it was a bad idea.]

[Kaz plays with fire, recklessly and often, and it finally burned him. but he doesn't see it that way, even now.]

[but he does, at least, do a credible enough impression of an experienced intelligence agent to not give in to his base desire to give this asshole a black eye. because bullshit or not, he's a punk at heart.]

Not good enough. Give me a city.

[and he doesn't even touch the issue of how the hell Snake could be safe when he wasn't with him. because obviously Kaz could protect him better than anyone else could with the sheer strength of his feelings and determination. obviously.]

[otselot]

[ since the beginning of this whole mess, Ocelot had found it incredibly difficult to enjoy anything. much like Miller, he too was full of rage at what happened. at having to once again play the part of Zero's lapdog. of the whole damn thing. for all that he liked to think he was one step ahead of everyone, he hadn't seen this whole thing coming either. he hadn't been there for John when he'd needed him most and now he was sitting in a bar with the guy who could've done something, and there was nothing either of them could do about it.

but even so, he was getting a cold sort of satisfaction from that look Miller was giving him. let him try to punch him out. if anything, he'd welcome the chance to show this guy a thing or two. to remind him that's his his fucking fault that John's in the state he's in (does he even know John's his name?).

unlike Miller, however, he lets none of that show, masking any disdain with carefully practiced arrogance. his smile widens, as if daring Miller to come right out and hit him.

(if John were here, he wouldn't be impressed. but whose damn fault was it that he wasn't here in the first place?) ]

You and I both know that our mutual contact [ because, as much as he's enjoying pissing off this guy, he does want it to be clear that Zero sure as hell isn't his friend either ] wouldn't like that. And I don't know about you, but I'm not going to try and fight a war on two fronts while he's asleep.

[ besides, who knew how many Cipher agents were listening to them right now? ]