The Great Excitebike Migration: As Narrated by Sir David Attenborough

[gunplay]

Who: Ocelot and ANYONE
What: EXCITEBIKES
Where: Campus hallways.
When: Dec. 20
Warnings: Motocross violence..? And swearing.

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[Seeking warmer dirt tracks free of ice to do sick tricks on, the annual Excitebike migration cuts a detour through the vast open hallways of the campus this year. The herd of tiny blocky motocross racers travels in close groups so as to avoid both predators and being lapped by the leader. Once they're on the move, there is very little that can stop them until they reach a finish line.]

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[Naturally, Ocelot is out on patrol, spinning his guns, when he hears the buzzing of many tiny engines. But it is too late-- there is nowhere to run.]

[He barely has time to scream before they hit him. And when they're gone around the corner and the dust settles, Ocelot is left sprawled on the ground, his Spetsnaz uniform covered in little tire tracks. Déjà vu.]

...Son of a bitch...

Comments

[shirtphobia]

A stampede of what, might I ask?

[A smirk twisted his lips as he watched the young man move. How in the world he achieved this fate was unthinkable. He circled him slowly, cautiously.]

I wasn't aware Hot Wheels were so truly dangerous.

[gunplay]

[He reaches the gun, and considers shooting it once just to make the man jump. Being mocked is a serious offense.]

[Climbing to his feet on determination alone, he stands straight and flicks a finger-gun at Liquid while beginning to twirl the revolver with his other hand, resuming the signature image of Ocelot... although laced with tread marks.]

Nobody around here knows who they're dealing with. I'll-- ughh...

[And then the image is broken. He swoons without warning, losing his balance to fall back down onto his face.]

[shirtphobia]

. . .

[No. It can't be.

There's absolutely no way it can be. Not even in the slightest. Not a chance.

. . .

Welp. He'll just be dragging Ocelot along the floor by his ankle back to his room. At least if he's unconscious, he won't remember the direction. And this is a good chance to figure out what the hell is going on.

When Ocelot awakens, it will likely be to seeing Liquid absently twirl his beret on his finger while watching him. His guns are on the table.]

Alright, who are you, and how do you know Ocelot?

[gunplay]

[First things first. He surveys the room with a sweep of his gaze, checks his hips to see if his guns are REALLY confiscated, looks over Liquid, and then checks his holsters again because goddamnit.]

[...But wait. Is he in.... Liquid's bed? Well...]

Mmm.

[Excuse him for a moment as he stretches comfortably, rubbing his cheek against the sheets, before pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the mattress.]

So you've heard of me, then. I'm Ocelot.

[He gives a sweeping gesture with both hands.]

[shirtphobia]

You're-?

[That's ridiculous. What sort of mad God could have conceived of this idea? The crazy old gunslinger creeper, now as a crazy young gunslinger creeper. Sigh. This is nonsense.]

I've done more than heard of you, that much is certain.

...and stop nuzzling my bed.

[gunplay]

More than? Really? You've got me curious.

[While he talks, he examines his uniform, futilely attempting to brush out some of the dirt and wrinkles.]

[shirtphobia]

Oh, I don't know. Perhaps I shouldn't spoil the surprise.

[Sigh.]

You're going to get my bed covered in filth. It might be easier to brush it down if you take it off.

[gunplay]

You make it sound like we're close.

[He smirks while he complies, patiently undoing straps and buttons before tugging off his scarf, jacket, and gloves. He has a simple navy and white striped undershirt. Being less formal isn't as bad as being covered in ruined and dirty clothes.]

My guns? [He tilts his head in the direction of the table.] Planning on giving those back?

[shirtphobia]

[He tosses the beret at him in response to the first part, scoffing.]

Don't get your hopes up. You're part of my unit. That's all.

[Picking up the revolvers, he studies one of them absently for a moment before offering them both to him.]

[gunplay]

[He catches the beret, beating it against his thigh once to clean it, and puts it on, then holsters one of the guns. The other stays on his finger, twirling lazily.]

Sounds like fun. I think I can see why.

[shirtphobia]

I'm almost afraid to ask.

[He vaults up from his chair in one fluid movement.]

But I will anyway. What do you mean?

[gunplay]

Hmm. Just something about you.

[PLAYING COY YEP. Something indeed.]

[He stands as well, though more like a normal person and not like Liquid's springy gymnastics.]

But that remains to be seen for sure. It seems you already know what I'm made of, but I still need to check you out. How about I take you up on that invitation?

[shirtphobia]

Heh.

[Before answering, he grabs Ocelot's discarded jacket, hanging it up on a hook on the wall so it'll be easier to dust off.]

Fine then. I'm sure it'll be an interesting experience.

...

Oh, and don't worry about your weapons. I can handle a few bullets if it comes to that.