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Who: Falcon, Goroh
What: Talking and arguing and flashbacking and other such wondrous things.
When: Let's saaaay Wednesday, December 9th. Then various points in the past.
Where: Teacher's dorms.
Rating: PG-13.

Falcon was not entirely sure how he was supposed to act when it came to his arch rival any more. He'd spent so many years hating every fiber of Goroh's being--for compromising his ideals, throwing away his talent, for not understanding why Falcon had to do what he did.

And then he'd come to the school, just to piss him off. It was surprisingly effective but...surprising in other ways too. After so long feuding and generally behaving like ten-year-olds, Falcon found that they could almost...coexist. It was strange an uncomfortable and he wasn't sure if he liked it or not. A decade of bad blood just didn't disappear overnight. Or over months of nights. Perhaps the fact that now they had a common enemy (sort of) was making it all more bearable.

Or not. Samus had taken him completely by surprise when she mentioned Mission 206. Falcon was baffled. No one should have ever heard about Mission 206, and he certainly didn't want his girlfriend laughing about the mishap. There could only be one culprit. Coexistence would have to wait.

And Falcon was standing outside his door, knocking away, visibly infuriated. "Hey, Goroh."

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Unfortunately for a visibly infuriated individual, a much less infuriated Goroh was busy preparing the late night night's green tea. As such, he didn't quite care how the other man felt.

"What the hell do you want," he barked from across the room, still in the tea sitting possition. The sound of the tiny waterfalls around him was calming. His room was arranged to look like his home, oddly enough. Had Falcon seen it during both their times here? He couldn't recall a time when he had. Even Ionia had visited him before, a lot time ago.

Goroh had a feeling Falcon would not only try to enter, but he'd break those Shoji Screens. They'd been getting a lot less torned action, without Dai around.

"The door's not locked if you're going to try to break it."

Edited 2009-12-10 10:39 (UTC)

Oh. So it was.

Falcon tentatively opened it, and made his way inside. It suddenly dawned on him that he'd never actually seen Goroh's living arrangements. Once he was in the thick of it, however, he realized he should have expected such decor. Shoji screens always made him nervous. He knew he had a tendency to be a bull in a china shop, and he couldn't help to feel like any misplaced motion would punch a hole in the delicate screens.

He at least knew to take his shoes off. He didn't really want to, but he'd been conditioned to, more or less. ~~Goroh's dad would do that to you.~~

After very nearly tripping over his sneakers, Falcon was situated enough to start revealing his reason for being there in the first place. "Did you really have to tell her about that?"

You'd think out of the two of them, Falcon would be the one to be the most nimble. He looked pretty pissed off too.

Too bad Goroh was going to be jerk about it.

"Tell who what?"

He rolled his eyes. Falcon didn't want to be more specific, but apparently he'd have to be, maybe because Goroh actually didn't know what he was talking about, but more than likely because Goroh wanted to be a jerk.

"I was talking to her about a race and I mentioned Octoman. She made a quip about Claire. And my question is...out of all the embarrassing stories you could have told, why'd you have to pick that one?"

Goroh almost burst out laughing, but it came out as a controlled cough. Oh. Good one Samus.

"Oh. That. At least she didn't make a quip when you were eating sushi." He calmed down. "Spur of the moment thing. I didn't plan for her to be stuck trying to chase butterflies away from her ship either."

He did turn serious for a minute.

"It's not like you didn't tell Lisa about embarrassing stories we'd done during the weekends when she went to her family trips."

"Oh, yes." He groaned rather sarcastically. "I'm so thankful."

Truthfully, he probably wouldn't have cared if they'd been eating sushi or not. Some things should just never be spoken of. Ever. Especially not by arch rivals to girlfriends. That was just low. He'd had to invent a whole cover story on the spot! Told her that Goroh was lying and made the whole thing up and that the real thing was much cooler and not embarrassing in the least.

That didn't change the fact that it was absolutely humiliating. "Can I at least know what spurred you to tell her in the first place?"

And Samus probably hadn't believed a word anyway. Not after Goroh's masterful storytelling.

"She asked how we met each other and mentioned you had told her we had cut off your mullet." Goroh shrugged again, but he, he was pouring Falcon a cup of tea. It was very nice tea too. "It got into talks about things we regretted doing while drunk."

And Falcon was certain Samus hasn't believed a word of it. It was enough to make him extra-grumbly for an awful long time.

"Hm." He said, sitting down, trying to think of what to say and staring at the cup of tea put in front of him. What was even going on anymore? Falcon stared at the hot beverage as if it was poison. Or had laxatives in it. Though he was confident that Goroh didn't really want to kill him, the latter was entirely possible and not beyond his rival at all. Buuut...

Well, Goroh was drinking some too. Maybe. He would wait for his rival to take a sip first. Just in case.

"If she wanted to know that, she could have come to me." Now he was finding himself a little angrier with Samus. He'd told her what had gone on, why'd she feel the need to ask Goroh? "...What else did you tell her?"

~~Goroh had built up years of laxative tolerance just for this occasion.~~

"Just that, and the time we found out you were allergic to bees." He shrugged again. "Little things like allergies and phobias she might want to know about."

Was that a douchy smile? Yeah, it was. "Besides, you have to admit the image of all three of us on that mechanical unicorn was pretty hilarious."

~~Damn you.~~

Falcon tried very hard not to laugh. Very hard. Unfortunately, a snort escaped him before he remembered that no it was not hilarious. And also Samus should have totally asked him about it that was so not fair. Granted, it was probably easier to get the embarrassing information out of Goroh. He needed to nip this in the bud.

Yeah I guess it was pretty hilari-- "No. No it was not hilarious, I almost died."

He has seen that snort Falcon. He had seen it and knew that a small part of you had found that funny and he had raised an eyebrow at you, .

Trying to save your face wasn't helping the situation. In fact it reminded Gooh of something that had happened a long time ago.

"That wasn't the time we almost died because of doing stupid things while getting intoxicated."

It was a dark and stormy night.

And what did Internova do on dark and stormy nights that just so happened between missions? They drank themselves silly, of course. They couldn't help it. It was the only way they knew how to entertain themselves, really, especially on dark and stormy nights, and especially when the weapons labs were closed.

So on this dark and stormy night, the so-called angels of death were chilling out in one of the training rooms. There was a good deal of booze procured on the faroff planet of the their last mission, and Falcon in particular was alternating between kicking the crap out of a punching bag and taking generous sips from the closest bottle.

"Goroh, this tastes like gasoline."

Didn't stop him from drinking it, of course.

"I think Daracorians USE it as space fuel," he snapped back, his hand holding some sort of wine bottle. He hadn't even bothered to get a glass, he was just directly drinking from the bottle itself, as he used his free hand to carve a piece of wood with his sword.

For some reason he was always much better at this when he was near drunk.

"Hey see Antonio?"

He was probably off somewhere, as usual. Maybe taming those unicorns, or something.

Falcon snorted and took another swig before launching a new volley of blows at the training dummy. Punch, punch. kick. "Probably." He mumbled. Awesome. Drinkin' rocket fuel. Just an average dark and stormy night, really.

Where was Antonio anyway? "No. Haven't seen him." Another sip, another flurry of punches and kicks. He rammed the bag with his shoulder. "Probably messing around with those robot unicorns again." Heh. Robot unicorns. "Where's Lisa?"

Suddenly Goroh slapped his head with such force you'd think he had gone and broken it.

"Oh yeah. I think both of them are at a family reunion or something. Fuck. That means we only have each other for company tonight."

He drank a bit more of the bottle, before chugging it at the prospect.

The younger man looked vaguely offended. "Thanks." He said sarcastically, before following suit and taking a generous swig from his own bottle. "Nice to know the thought of just me for company is soooooooo terrible."

Falcon pouted and sulked for a moment before seemingly forgetting what he was pouting and sulking about, going right back to kicking the punching back. He pensively examined the bottle he was holding and turned to Goroh, a lopsided grin on his face.

"I bet I can breathe fire."

Edited 2010-02-01 05:26 (UTC)

Goroh might have been drinking, but he was certainly no fool.

"I bet that would set the training room on fire." He grinned. "Maybe we should do this somewhere safer. Like outside in the storm, or the men's showers. How about Tanaka's office?"

Yeap, he was starting to get drunk alright.

Edited 2010-02-01 09:22 (UTC)

Falcon, however, tended to be a fool. Especially when booze was involved.

He was already a little tipsy, which obviously meant they were all doomed. "Nnoo. I bet it's locked." Besides, Falcon was certainly confident in his combusting abilities. He could set his limbs on fire, who was to say he couldn't breathe it too? He totally could. So what if he'd never tried it before? "I can do it, see?"

Before Goroh could protest, Falcon took a huge sip, spitting it right back out with his flaming hand in front of the spray. Okay, so it wasn't really breathing fire, but it was probably the best he could do. The blazing cloud mushroomed spectacularly and was probably just a little too close to Goroh for comfort.

Holy freaking crap what the hell had that, he could almost feel his MANLY eyebrows burning. A quick hand check told him no. Phew.

"You idiot!" he spoke up. "You're going to set off all the goddamn fire sprinklers."

Oh crap Goroh was swearing, that always meant he was either very pissed off, or just drunk enough not to notice what he was doing. He did pause after the fact that he wasn't burned.

"You should try that next time we're assigned to fight an Ice Dragon."

Edited 2010-02-15 10:29 (UTC)

Oh right. The fire sprinklers.

Falcon idly (and drunkenly) watched the smoke billow and plume towards the ceiling. How neat. He bet he could do it again. Maybe actually breathe the fire this time.

He would have to practice. And he knew, that despite Goroh's grumbling, his fellow cop thought it was badass and that they were totally going to try it on their next mission, ice dragon or not.

"Where." Falcon said, taking another generous sip. "Are we going to find an ice dragon?"

"An ice planet probably," he replied, not really caring. "I just haven't fought dragons for a while. Did I tell you my dad used to force me to train with them? Because he did."

On cue, he took out his swords, but was a wee bit too drunk to notice he had brought out his pistols instead. It took him a few seconds to realize what he had done, as he swung them around in traditional sword-fighting poses.

"Well, looks like you're not the only idiot tonight." He let out a loud drunken-fueled laughter.

Edited 2010-02-15 10:38 (UTC)

Oh. Right. An ice planet would make sense.

"We should go there sometime." Falcon slurred, wondering when the bottle got so empty. His gaze turned to Goroh, who was doing something rather silly with guns. It was like he was trying to use them as swords. How ridiculous. He couldn't help but laugh.

But then the laughter stopped abruptly as an idea entered his hazy mind. "Wait, wait. Do that again."

"What? Why..." eh what the hell, he was half drunk and didn't have much of anything else to do but either get more drunk or this. Taking his pistols in his hands again, he closed his eyes and began to do the five duel sword steps, just as his father had taught him. Designed to stop blows from all sides from an army of attackers, it used fluid movements with abrupt foot changes. Even in his state, he was able to do them perfectly.

You know, it almost felt natural, with the shooting weapons...

"Shiiiiiiiiit." It was a mixture of surprise, excitement and like they'd just discovered a stash of porn for the first time. "We need to go to the shooting range. Right now."

Edited 2010-02-21 01:16 (UTC)

Oh man oh man oh man they'd had an idea they'd had a great idea and now they were going to drunkenly capitalize on this great idea and who knew what kind of wonderful things could come of this. Only the most wonderful of wonderful things, obviously.

And soon they were rushing off to the shooting range, guns in hand, not quite sure where this was going, but sure it was going to be something awesome.

Once they were there, Falcon took his pistol and tried to imitate one of Goroh's sword forms, albeit very poorly. "See. We use the guns. Like swords. You teach me your moves and then BAM. New bitching combat style."

It was still a dark and stormy night. But now the two men stood apart from each other as the rain continued to pour, half wet, half drunk (or nearly completely)

"You want me to...show you my moves?" The idea seemed incredulous. Falcon wasn't exactly the shining example of grace on two feet But the booze clouded his judgment, and before he knew it, Goroh was back into position one, holding both of the guns as the water trickled down his face.

"Two feet spread apart. No, not like that. Like that. Yeah. Move your hands in tandem to your left. Imagining three guys arriving with swords attacking you, you have to block them. Do the same to your right." He finished with both guns facing each other. "Hold that pose when you're done."

"Yes." Falcon slurred matter-of-factly. "Show me your moves."

And before he knew it, Falcon was holding his own pistols and trying very hard to emulate these sword positions. They were deceptively simple. Goroh always made it look so easy, but then again, Goroh had probably been training with swords since he could hold one. There was a certain posture and form to sharpshooting, which Falcon was very good at, but this was a whole different animal.

Having a few drinks in him was certainly not making anything easier. He tried his best to settle into the position to Goroh's specifications. "There."

"The hell was that," was Goroh's completely cheerful reply at the other man's stances. wow, he'd even managed to say hell, goddamn his team was starting to rub off him. Next you'd think he'd go out and actually swear. "The way you were moving, you'd think you were drunk...oh wait. Don't answer that." Testing it out got the better of him, however, and before he knew it, he tried it again near the target lines. He turned the whole lights and bells on, with the targets appearing in the nearby bushes.

"Watch this." Careful, fluid movements, (or at least as graceful as one could be, when one had had too much to drink) as the evil paperboard villains popped up in the rain (they were going to get into so much shit about this tomorrow, he knew it), he simply used the guns to shot them as fast as possible.

Merely a few minutes later and what usually took a good ten minute run had been reduced to four. And most of them where headshots. And even more incredibly, he was half-drunk.

"...I can only imagine how this would be if I was sober."

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Flashback times activated? You get to make up something 8Ub

AND MAKE UP SOMETHING I WILL

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