Now Boarding…Heeeey That's a nice pair of pants…



"@#^%ing hell. @#^%ing car. @#^%ing guns. @#^%ing president."

Everyone quietly moved away from their combat leader as he continued to mutter obscenities to the world, and anyone in general. He was in a Bad mood. And when he was in a Bad mood, you added a capital B to it, and ran like hell. Or, in their case, leave him in the back seat of the car.

"I hate this, I hate this, I hate this."

"We know boss." Crimson Dingo, their communications expert intoned, as soothing as possible. He was kind of new, and Liquid was the only member of Foxhound that tolerated him and his habits. Probably because he was the same, but then who knew? Dingo liked his boss. He didn't confiscate his weed.

"I was asleep. I like sleeping." Liquid Snake whined.

"It's not my fault you have jet lag."

"Shut up Ocelot. I need something to keep me awake. @#^%, I'm tired. Where's my CD player? @#^% that, find me some of that energy drink…"

"Guarana?" Dingo caught his eye in the mirror.

"No, makes me too frisky. I don't want to get caught in one of the toilets with my pants down and an only just legal stewardess performing some indecent act on my body. Remember Madrid?"

"Wasn't your fault, mate. Coulda sworn she looked 24."

"Arrrggghhhhshit. Let's just get this over with. " The car pulled into the airport, and at 10 at night, it was still extremely active. The reason Liquid was grumbling was because he'd only just flown into Paris from Tasmania where he'd been overseeing the training of a bunch of new recruits. The three had rented out a few vids (Dingo demanded Bond, which explained the reason he appeared in Liquid's dream) and Liquid had finished reading that damn Beach book on the plane (It was that or one of those damned freaky incest books by Virginia Andrews.) He licked his lips, and glared out of the window at the Parisian skyline. He was hungry too. "Ok, let's go."

"I need coffee." Dingo said to no one in particular. "Since the plane leaves at 11, I say we hit the cafes, pick up some chicks, then follow the crew on."

"We're not making sure Air Force 1 is okay?" Ocelot asked.

"Nuh, don't think so. We're under cover. In other words, tent boy, keep it under control." Dingo gave his team leader a sly look.

"You're just pissed because you've never had a good sex dream before." Liquid retorted sleepily. "The best you can come up with is you and that Ripley woman from Aliens having sex on the bridge of said ship, and then she turns into an Alien."

Silence.

Ocelot quietly moved away from the blushing Dingo.

"Me? I had five women on a beach." Liquid replied, and entered the airport, making his way to the check out desk. "Wearing practically nothing. *I* was wearing practically nothing. Soon enough none of us would be wearing nothing. Then along comes that actor, and it's no sex for Sasha."

"Peirce Brosman in a sex dream is not good, mate. Neither is Leo @#^%ing Dicaprio. At least I'm normal." Dingo dropped his duffle bag, starling the ticket seller.

"If making love to a xenomorph is normal." Liquid sneered back. "I wish Naomi would stop tampering with me. I'm starting to think she's making mistakes on purpose. Am I supposed to be perpetually aroused?"

"Shut up, Boss." Dingo looked around. ""There's an official over there. Wanna say hi?"

Liquid groaned. "Yeah, sure. Provided there is no more mention of this, and we get an all expenses paid holiday. We're due for one, that's for sure."

"Ahh, you getting old boss?" Ocelot asked.

"No, it's the way the wildlife thinks my tent is a freakin' food hall."

*

The mission was fairly simple – the CIA had gotten a tip off that Air Force 1 was going to be taken over by terrorists and the president and just about everyone else would be held hostage until the demands were met. Obviously, Liquid reflected as he sat down, they should have checked everyone but that would have seemed to suspicious. All these talks with the president of France over this stupid nuclear bomb fiasco was getting people nervous. He snorted and tried to get comfortable, but there were too many officials around, and a gentle throb inside his head was a pointed reminder that 48 hours and only an hour of sleep were starting to launch their own attack on his poor defenceless brain.

The hulking form of the president sat down opposite him accompanied by one of the sweetest little treasures in a loose shirt and tight pants. Liquid sat up and blinked sleepily.

Crimson Dingo wandered over and gave a big cheesy grin to them both, and the president, THE president of the USA grinned back.

"James Bartlett? Richard Head? "

Whoops. Name tag Liquid. Better respond. "Call me Sasha." He gave Dingo the Look. Dingo's cheeks burned a little.

The old man raised an eyebrow. "Unusual name."

"Not really." Liquid yawned.

"I wasn't talking to you."

Liquid closed his eyes and shrank back in his mind, feeling a bit silly. 'We uh…we're both from the press. I dunno where the last member of our troop of fools is tho'." He continued, reverting to backstreets lingo.

"Saw him talking to the blond chap when we came on, y'know? Has a taste for the back door, gettit?"

The president laughed. "Or maybe it's just blonds in general. I hope he's of age, but never mind. The press, eh? We already have someone from the press here. Strange…"

Crimson Dingo was playing toesies with the president's daughter. Liquid frowned.

"M'm from the other one." Damn that woman looked fine. He elbowed Dingo's gut.

She gave him a shy little smile and flicked some dust off her shirt. Damn, damn, damn, she was flirting with the both of them! He crossed his legs and smiled in what he hoped was a gentlemanly smile. "I assure you that everything will be fine, if you know what I mean." He added in his normal tone, with a wink.

"Of course."

It clicked. Other press? Ah, that group of youths…oh dear god, they couldn't possibly be…? He sighed.

SOMEBODY had been paying too much attention to the movies.

"Oh shit." He muttered.



~ to be continued