CATS
Big Boss had got them to entertain the children. It was hard enough to keep all the war orphans fed, let alone occupied enough to keep them out of trouble. They weren't well-raised brats enjoying themselves at summer camp; all had lost their homes, most had seen family members die or just plain didn't remember having any, many had been wounded, some had fought and killed. It took a lot to get them to stay calm - the hang-gliding practices helped. But he could only throw kids off buildings two at a time, and they needed some other way to keep busy and to learn something about the world.
Gray Fox had not welcomed the cats. He wasn't a pets kind of person. He couldn't even reliably attend to watering a houseplant, though he was rather better at looking after human beings. But the children loved them. They toyed with them, and learned about getting scratched; they watched them chase after rabbits in the jungle, and learned to mimic them, sneaking and slipping under brambles and briars, sometimes turning up for mealtimes with rats dangling proudly from their hands by knotted tails. Never too early to start hunting your own. Once, they saw a beloved tabby kitten carried off by a Zanzibar tawny owl, and so learned about loss all over again.
OCELOT IN A GROCERY STORE
Ocelot hadn't volunteered; it had been a process of elimination. Vamp wouldn't do - the meat counter always sent him a little strange and Dead Cell couldn't afford to have another killing spree to cover up. Shopping carts skittered away from Fortune if she came near them. Solidus was too publicly recognisable and if they'd sent Fatman their entire supply budget would have been spent on Reece's Pieces and chocolate ice cream. So it was up to Ocelot to complete the resupply mission. The orders were, however, mercifully clear - transcribed to a list that he held in his right hand (still less than half familiar, trusted as little as its previous owner should have trusted him.) He perused his objectives; raw meat, anti-baldness cream, Reece's Pieces - he jotted down a reminder to pick up a goddamn razor for Olga, to use on her throat if needs be. He bought up a few scratchcards for Fortune, knowing they would cover the costs of the mission and probably leave enough over to order pizza tonight as well.
FF/MGS CROSSOVER: PIRATES, NINJAS, CHOCOBOS.
Dio had noticed them as soon as they'd entered the Gold Saucer. He always kept an eye on strangers, but these two were stranger than most. They'd installed themselves in ringside seats in Chocobo Square; one young, blond and grim of face; the other much older, and watching the races intently out of one beady eye. He seemed to have a lot of money to bet, and to Dio's great annoyance, his winnings were mounting.
He didn't approach them - they were armed, not that there was a rule against that here, and he wasn't sure what to make of them. Sky pirates, maybe? In any case, he could listen to their conversation over the betting counter's security system. It was fascinating, to say the least.
"- we can get 7-2 on Teioh next round, it's not bad odds."
"You don't sound so sure."
"I think we've got enough GP for now, Boss. I want to stop by Battle Square."
"Restless, huh? It's not even real killing."
"There's prizes worth having. I want to capture that W-Summon materia for Zanzibarland."
"Huh - let's see if the Patriots have any deterrent against a W-Quadra-KOTR."
"Quite. You want to get going, or watch that one last race?"
"I've watched enough. I came here to find something out about chocobos, and no amount of successful bets is going to tell me."
"Which is?"
"...What do they taste like?"