(Typical disclaimer here. I do not own Metal Gear Solid or any affiliated
characters, nor am I making profit off of this sad excuse for fiction of
the fan variety. There's some errors here and there, fellow MGS fans,
please disregard those.as well as the existence of MGS2. Assume this is
before that, or something. I know it seems all happy-dappy in the
beginning. It'll get depressing, I'll see to it.)
Be It Ever So Humble, There's No Place Like Home
Shadow Moses, a name that would live in infamy among the military brass. Solid Snake, a man who was officially dead. Meryl Silverburg, the woman who died alongside him when their jeep had careened off a glacier and into sub-zero waters below. Or so the official report dictated, that is.
"Dammit Dave, we have glasses for this sort of thing! That's the third time this week, and it's getting gross!" A feminine but certainly angered shout made its way down the tiny hall, into the living room, past the TV, and right to the sofa where 'David Smithson' was taking a brief catnap. Even the most battle-hardened soldiers can't manage to sleep through a woman scorned, the man once known as Solid Snake being no exception. "For chrissakes, not again." His gravelly voice more or less mumbled as the man sat upright. This was quelled instantly by a rather heavy sort of presence immediately felt on the man's chest, forcing a gutteral "Oof!" from Dave's lungs.
Blinking only to find that a large, grayish-white sort of dog had found its way onto his chest and was now sitting upright, the man only grimaced and placed a palm over his eyes. "Dammit Fubar, not now. Down, mutt." Ears drooping upon recognizing the familiar command, delivered in the voice molded by countless cigarettes, the half-wolf promptly removed itself and headed elsewhere. The dog, affectionately named by the resident couple for his behavioral pattern, seemed to have a knack on sneaking up and pouncing upon the man who bested countless perils.
Meryl meanwhile, simply stared at the crusted-over brown stains on the opening of the near-full milk carton she held in her hands. "And you've been eating my chocolates, too. Ech. Now I'm gonna have to toss this out." Her field of vision found its way over to the man in the doorway, her unofficial husband and lover, currently clad in a dirty white undershirt and boxers that could double for shorts and rather desperately needed a vigorous washing. Blinking, both tired and undaunted, the figure simply fumbled around for the light switch, and with a simple flick of his wrist, illuminated the small kitchen.
"Meryl." His tired and certainly gruff voice began, "It's six in the fucking morning. Not seven, not eight, but six. I think this crisis can wait just a little longer, maybe three or four hours? I'm sure NORAD can wait for your report on the situation . . ." Performing a lazy about-face movement and minutely flailing his arms to keep decent balance while doing so, he was about to make a beeline for the warm couch when an icy voice kept him frozen to his spot.
"No Dave, you're going to come over here. Right now." Unyielding to her partner's apparent grogginess, the young woman dressed in a plain white cotton robe and undergarments merely tapped her slippered left foot on the floor. There was a wry sort of smile spreading across attractive features, the sort that made the man once called Snake fear for his life.
With a twitch, our hero reluctantly obliged the command and turned right back around again. He fumbled his way over the dog's food bowl, around a table, over a chair or two, and eventually stopped when he felt his chest had run into the slender woman's outstretched left palm. Looking up, he found only a chart of nutrition facts and something about 2% fat, both printed on white cardboard, shoved in his face. "See this? This is what I don't quite understand. You can sneak around like a ghost, kill a man in seconds with your bare hands, stash a body where it'll never be found . . . " Several more examples where stated whilst Snake played the connect-the- dots game placed on the carton for youngsters in his head. Meanwhile, the woman went on. ". . . And yet you can't seem to disguise the lovely renovation to our foodstuffs you felt the need to make."
Several seconds later, noticing the blank gaze of the guy she lived with, Meryl nearly went into a frenzy. "David, are you listening to a word I'm saying?!" She fiercely shouted, having no fear of waking the others who lived in the apartment complex. Snake simply blinked once more, rubbed his eyes, and half-yawned. "A dancing cow." He stated plainly. "WHAT?!" Was the response that drilled itself into his eardrums. The man slowly lifted his right and, and tapped a finger on the connect-the-dots game, "That. It's a dancing cow. I figured it out all by myself, no pencil or anything." He smiled weakly, mocking pride.
Now it took Meryl atleast a few seconds to comprehend all this, the best thing she could come up with as means of a response was a girlish giggle. Granted, the entire idea of this early-bird meeting was to chastise her impromptu husband about the important use using that miraculous thing they called a 'glass', but for a trained killer he had a very pleasant side.if one lived long enough to see it. She looked up at him, clear brown eyes making no effort to hide emotion. "Dave, seriously, this is getting . . ." She began, mood having changed for the better judging by vocal tone. "Mmm?" He mumbled incoherently, probably trying to say something, the act of doing so made more difficult by the fact that he was guzzling low fat milk directly from the carton. He had deftly snatched the thing while she was laughing, and promptly decided to satisfy his thirst at the risk of his own life.
What followed that was a hug, which turned into a tackle, which led to the couch, which led to whoever's reading this to use their own damn imagination because I ain't writing it.
And so it was a pleasant day. Just like the one before it, and the one before that, and the weeks spent together before that. Colonel Roy Campbell had, in the interest of his niece and his best friend, given them the alias last name Smithson, as well as an upstate New York apartment in a nice part of town. Ever since shadow Moses they had lived there in peace and tranquil joy, going on six weeks now.
A damn shame that was all going to change very soon.
Be It Ever So Humble, There's No Place Like Home
Shadow Moses, a name that would live in infamy among the military brass. Solid Snake, a man who was officially dead. Meryl Silverburg, the woman who died alongside him when their jeep had careened off a glacier and into sub-zero waters below. Or so the official report dictated, that is.
"Dammit Dave, we have glasses for this sort of thing! That's the third time this week, and it's getting gross!" A feminine but certainly angered shout made its way down the tiny hall, into the living room, past the TV, and right to the sofa where 'David Smithson' was taking a brief catnap. Even the most battle-hardened soldiers can't manage to sleep through a woman scorned, the man once known as Solid Snake being no exception. "For chrissakes, not again." His gravelly voice more or less mumbled as the man sat upright. This was quelled instantly by a rather heavy sort of presence immediately felt on the man's chest, forcing a gutteral "Oof!" from Dave's lungs.
Blinking only to find that a large, grayish-white sort of dog had found its way onto his chest and was now sitting upright, the man only grimaced and placed a palm over his eyes. "Dammit Fubar, not now. Down, mutt." Ears drooping upon recognizing the familiar command, delivered in the voice molded by countless cigarettes, the half-wolf promptly removed itself and headed elsewhere. The dog, affectionately named by the resident couple for his behavioral pattern, seemed to have a knack on sneaking up and pouncing upon the man who bested countless perils.
Meryl meanwhile, simply stared at the crusted-over brown stains on the opening of the near-full milk carton she held in her hands. "And you've been eating my chocolates, too. Ech. Now I'm gonna have to toss this out." Her field of vision found its way over to the man in the doorway, her unofficial husband and lover, currently clad in a dirty white undershirt and boxers that could double for shorts and rather desperately needed a vigorous washing. Blinking, both tired and undaunted, the figure simply fumbled around for the light switch, and with a simple flick of his wrist, illuminated the small kitchen.
"Meryl." His tired and certainly gruff voice began, "It's six in the fucking morning. Not seven, not eight, but six. I think this crisis can wait just a little longer, maybe three or four hours? I'm sure NORAD can wait for your report on the situation . . ." Performing a lazy about-face movement and minutely flailing his arms to keep decent balance while doing so, he was about to make a beeline for the warm couch when an icy voice kept him frozen to his spot.
"No Dave, you're going to come over here. Right now." Unyielding to her partner's apparent grogginess, the young woman dressed in a plain white cotton robe and undergarments merely tapped her slippered left foot on the floor. There was a wry sort of smile spreading across attractive features, the sort that made the man once called Snake fear for his life.
With a twitch, our hero reluctantly obliged the command and turned right back around again. He fumbled his way over the dog's food bowl, around a table, over a chair or two, and eventually stopped when he felt his chest had run into the slender woman's outstretched left palm. Looking up, he found only a chart of nutrition facts and something about 2% fat, both printed on white cardboard, shoved in his face. "See this? This is what I don't quite understand. You can sneak around like a ghost, kill a man in seconds with your bare hands, stash a body where it'll never be found . . . " Several more examples where stated whilst Snake played the connect-the- dots game placed on the carton for youngsters in his head. Meanwhile, the woman went on. ". . . And yet you can't seem to disguise the lovely renovation to our foodstuffs you felt the need to make."
Several seconds later, noticing the blank gaze of the guy she lived with, Meryl nearly went into a frenzy. "David, are you listening to a word I'm saying?!" She fiercely shouted, having no fear of waking the others who lived in the apartment complex. Snake simply blinked once more, rubbed his eyes, and half-yawned. "A dancing cow." He stated plainly. "WHAT?!" Was the response that drilled itself into his eardrums. The man slowly lifted his right and, and tapped a finger on the connect-the-dots game, "That. It's a dancing cow. I figured it out all by myself, no pencil or anything." He smiled weakly, mocking pride.
Now it took Meryl atleast a few seconds to comprehend all this, the best thing she could come up with as means of a response was a girlish giggle. Granted, the entire idea of this early-bird meeting was to chastise her impromptu husband about the important use using that miraculous thing they called a 'glass', but for a trained killer he had a very pleasant side.if one lived long enough to see it. She looked up at him, clear brown eyes making no effort to hide emotion. "Dave, seriously, this is getting . . ." She began, mood having changed for the better judging by vocal tone. "Mmm?" He mumbled incoherently, probably trying to say something, the act of doing so made more difficult by the fact that he was guzzling low fat milk directly from the carton. He had deftly snatched the thing while she was laughing, and promptly decided to satisfy his thirst at the risk of his own life.
What followed that was a hug, which turned into a tackle, which led to the couch, which led to whoever's reading this to use their own damn imagination because I ain't writing it.
And so it was a pleasant day. Just like the one before it, and the one before that, and the weeks spent together before that. Colonel Roy Campbell had, in the interest of his niece and his best friend, given them the alias last name Smithson, as well as an upstate New York apartment in a nice part of town. Ever since shadow Moses they had lived there in peace and tranquil joy, going on six weeks now.
A damn shame that was all going to change very soon.