1 DISCLAIMER: I don't own Snake, Otacon, Raiden, Rose, or my own car.
Konami owns them, the bank owns the car. On with the show!
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2
"Why can't we ever have the game at my place?" Snake, already embedded in the armchair Otacon generally reserved for communing with his game console, was feeling out-of-place. For one, Otacon had vacuumed.
"Because I'm allergic to smoke. You know that." Otacon emerged from the apartment's dainty kitchenette, bowl of his famous spinach dip in hand. "And that's entirely apart from the fact that you live in a cardboard box."
Snake glared straight ahead. He did not live in a cardboard box. He didn't. Sure, there were a few lying around his place, but it wasn't like they got underfoot or anything. They just made him feel…safe. Stewing, he leaned forward to poach some dip—but paused. There were no chips. No chips at all.
"Raiden's on chip detail this week," Otacon supplied helpfully. "Rose is bringing one of those seven-layer things."
Snake spat, heartily irritated. Otacon gave him a black look. "See what happens when you start letting women show up? First you have to start cleaning, for chrissake," Snake said, waving a callussed hand to indicate the ambient tidiness, "and then they start expecting you to eat vegetables. Before you know it you've got a can of Autumn Spice aerosol in the bathroom and Anne Geddes magnets on the fridge."
"Anne Geddes?" asked Otacon, ducking back into said fridge. There was a magnetic poetry set on it, and a recipe for pad thai. He emerged with a Corona.
"You know, babies dressed up like cabbages and ladybugs. She did this calendar called Down In The Garden, you ought—"
There was a knock on the door. Otacon waited patiently. He was used to this. If he didn't give the kid a chance to show off occasionally, he was impossible to deal with. The door, and its double bolts and chain lock, rattled gently. There was a brief, muffled conversation.
Another minute and a half passed in silence—mostly silence, anyway, apart from the grisly sound of Snake chewing his nails and a female voice humming on the other side of the door. In due course, Otacon spotted the tell-tale set of hands working their way the bottom edge of his balcony. He opened the sliding glass door. Wouldn't do to have the kid trip and impale himself.
"Chips?" asked Snake, testily.
"Wait a second," replied the balcony.
In a flash of blue, black, and white, a truly improbable back-handspring of sorts launched Raiden up and over the railing of the balcony into a stable crouch. The whole procedure was a vision of grace and lithe muscle, much unlike the first time he'd tried to pull the same stunt and ended up with a foot in Otacon's jade plant.
"Chips?" repeated Snake, unimpressed. He'd seen it before.
"Keep your pants on," snapped Raiden, smoothing his shirt down. "C'mon in, Rose." He slid the last bolt and opened the door. Rose ducked in, her pale cheeks flushed pink with pride. Snake stifled a groan. She had a bag of chips, yes—and a ranchero dip. He hated ranchero dip.
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Thanks for reading my first fanfic, and stay posted for further chapters when the boys (and girl) actually get around to playing poker! See if Snake can suggest a game of strip blackjack without getting M9-ed!
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2
"Why can't we ever have the game at my place?" Snake, already embedded in the armchair Otacon generally reserved for communing with his game console, was feeling out-of-place. For one, Otacon had vacuumed.
"Because I'm allergic to smoke. You know that." Otacon emerged from the apartment's dainty kitchenette, bowl of his famous spinach dip in hand. "And that's entirely apart from the fact that you live in a cardboard box."
Snake glared straight ahead. He did not live in a cardboard box. He didn't. Sure, there were a few lying around his place, but it wasn't like they got underfoot or anything. They just made him feel…safe. Stewing, he leaned forward to poach some dip—but paused. There were no chips. No chips at all.
"Raiden's on chip detail this week," Otacon supplied helpfully. "Rose is bringing one of those seven-layer things."
Snake spat, heartily irritated. Otacon gave him a black look. "See what happens when you start letting women show up? First you have to start cleaning, for chrissake," Snake said, waving a callussed hand to indicate the ambient tidiness, "and then they start expecting you to eat vegetables. Before you know it you've got a can of Autumn Spice aerosol in the bathroom and Anne Geddes magnets on the fridge."
"Anne Geddes?" asked Otacon, ducking back into said fridge. There was a magnetic poetry set on it, and a recipe for pad thai. He emerged with a Corona.
"You know, babies dressed up like cabbages and ladybugs. She did this calendar called Down In The Garden, you ought—"
There was a knock on the door. Otacon waited patiently. He was used to this. If he didn't give the kid a chance to show off occasionally, he was impossible to deal with. The door, and its double bolts and chain lock, rattled gently. There was a brief, muffled conversation.
Another minute and a half passed in silence—mostly silence, anyway, apart from the grisly sound of Snake chewing his nails and a female voice humming on the other side of the door. In due course, Otacon spotted the tell-tale set of hands working their way the bottom edge of his balcony. He opened the sliding glass door. Wouldn't do to have the kid trip and impale himself.
"Chips?" asked Snake, testily.
"Wait a second," replied the balcony.
In a flash of blue, black, and white, a truly improbable back-handspring of sorts launched Raiden up and over the railing of the balcony into a stable crouch. The whole procedure was a vision of grace and lithe muscle, much unlike the first time he'd tried to pull the same stunt and ended up with a foot in Otacon's jade plant.
"Chips?" repeated Snake, unimpressed. He'd seen it before.
"Keep your pants on," snapped Raiden, smoothing his shirt down. "C'mon in, Rose." He slid the last bolt and opened the door. Rose ducked in, her pale cheeks flushed pink with pride. Snake stifled a groan. She had a bag of chips, yes—and a ranchero dip. He hated ranchero dip.
***************
Thanks for reading my first fanfic, and stay posted for further chapters when the boys (and girl) actually get around to playing poker! See if Snake can suggest a game of strip blackjack without getting M9-ed!