#liquid 01

She makes a game out of being, out of turning herself inside out and enjoying the world for what it is. Disguising is how she makes names for herself, and how she turns the world on its head. So, she settles for climbing up a tree and hanging from her knees.

Eventually, she realizes that watching miscellaneous people and changing her hair and eyes to match theirs is likely to draw attention. Like it is right now.

A glance was all he needed. 

Mantis loathed Hive City. He loathed its denizens. He loathed his newfound fragility. Most of all, he loathed being alive again. His mind was far too quiet these days without the dull hum of emotions and thoughts of passersby... without a certain psychic link he could always depend on. 

Yes, to be alive was to be completely and utterly alone. 

Mantis had been hunched over at a little secluded table outside and was internally soliloquizing these thoughts when it caught his eye. A small bowl of now-cold soup sat before him, food that he actually purchased rather than stole (though where he got the money in the first place was a different story). He leaned into the table, propping his chin up with his skeletal hands, and cast a quick, morose glance into the streets filled with The Hive’s hustle and bustle-- 

A flash of a familiar brown coat was all it took for Mantis to jump out of his seat and instantly encroach as fast as his weak physical stamina allowed, his untouched soup abandoned for the clean staff.

He was no stranger to the eccentricites of The Hive; he had come into contact with several Diamond Dogs ripped straight out of his childhood memories before, and every single time he wondered why Big Boss or Revolver Ocelot or Psycho Mantis got a second chance over... ... ... Mantis’ feet were moving faster than his brain, and, before he knew it, he caught up to the brown coat. Wheezing violently and with no regard for his own safety, Mantis snatched at the owner’s wrist, his gloved hand desperately clutching at the phantom he couldn’t let disappear again.

Well, this is just too many hamburgers.

It’s been a while since Kaz has had to buy food just for himself (he’s used to budgeting to feed a whole army), and belatedly, after flipping the forty-third or forty-fourth patty, he realizes that he couldn’t possibly eat all of this on his own.

And what better way to kick off his stay in a new complex than to get all the neighbors to like him?

So here he is, going door-to-door, knocking and offering free burgers to his fellow neighbors of the Golden Ward apartments. A few are takers; most aren’t hungry; some, appallingly, don’t seem to know what hamburgers are. He keeps going, though, and by the time he gets to apartment number 322, his stock is about done.

Dressed in his best apron, auspiciously emblazoned with the words ‘KISS THE COOK’, and holding in his hand a platter full of his buns, he gives the door a confident knock. After a brief moment’s wait it opens, revealing a blond, imposing man with sharp features and no shirt. Kaz immediately puts a grin on his face.

“Hey! I’m your neighbor, Kaz—I’m from 304. Thought I’d introduce myself and bear gifts at the same time.” He offers forth the platter, wiggling his eyebrows. “They’re good, I promise.”

When she catches a familiar sight out of the corner of her eye, Sniper Wolf is certain she’s made it all up. There are plenty of people who can cut a similar silhouette, be a general form in ones head. She’s convinced herself that the members of FOXHOUND have found faces in strangers. It’s not an impossible thing, but it is very much one of those things that can only be looked at once. 

So, Sniper Wolf pulls it together, and takes a second look. 

The familiar face leaves her struck dumb for a moment, pausing in her steps while the rest of the world continues past her. Turning silently on heel, she follows, coming to a distance that could be considered close between strangers.