Ocelot was still looking down at his nicely fixed tunic.
"Thanks," he said, belatedly, looking up. "I appreciate that."
He gave the cosmonaut the finger-guns briefly, and a small, wry smirk before sighing and perching himself on the edge of the desk.
It was surreal, but he coulld only take it it in stride. There was no rhyme or reason to the Fury's space logic, so there was no point in reacting in a standard way.
"You know," he said, crisply, "Krauss does have some...pet projects. What might be better than physical harm...is psychological warfare, comrade. And," he added, ticking his finger, "you can still use your singular incinerary talents."
Ocelot crossed his arms and leaned back.
"Think of that big, lush greenhouse, comrade. All those imported tulips. From Antwerp, I think. And the Corpse Flower. That, comrade, is a particular favorite of our little Nazi lebkuchen. The flower actually smells like carrion. Do you know, it only blooms once every four years...and only one blossom." Ocelot smirked. "Do you know, he's waiting for it to bloom any day now. Rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Just...imagine the look on his blanched, patrician face if he were to walk in and find that precious, foul blossom reduced to cinders."
Ocelot's eyes narrowed.
"Also...You make an excellent point," he mused. "About Volgin, that is."
Volgin would not be pleased at the thought that the German was treating Groznyj Grad like his own personal domocile. His ego would not allow it. Volgin trully believed that nothing went on without his express permission.
Ocelot snorted softly.
It was that kind of unflappable hubris that allowed him to believe he could rule the world, and took everyone else so much aback that they pretty much let him.
It was kind of endearing, on some level.
"Let's find him, then, comrade. Let him deal with the Kraut...in his own special way. No need to waste my bullets or your accelerants."
He smiled, darkly, and opened his mouth to speak again, when he saw that...anomaly again.
Where the air rippled like heat.
But this was hardly a Saharan clime.
"Do you see that?" he demanded of the Fury. "Is that some kind of heat wave from your experiments? Or..."
Ocelot broke off, as the air shifted again, and moved forward toward the spot, narrowing his eyes.
no subject
"Thanks," he said, belatedly, looking up. "I appreciate that."
He gave the cosmonaut the finger-guns briefly, and a small, wry smirk before sighing and perching himself on the edge of the desk.
It was surreal, but he coulld only take it it in stride. There was no rhyme or reason to the Fury's space logic, so there was no point in reacting in a standard way.
"You know," he said, crisply, "Krauss does have some...pet projects. What might be better than physical harm...is psychological warfare, comrade. And," he added, ticking his finger, "you can still use your singular incinerary talents."
Ocelot crossed his arms and leaned back.
"Think of that big, lush greenhouse, comrade. All those imported tulips. From Antwerp, I think. And the Corpse Flower. That, comrade, is a particular favorite of our little Nazi lebkuchen. The flower actually smells like carrion. Do you know, it only blooms once every four years...and only one blossom." Ocelot smirked. "Do you know, he's waiting for it to bloom any day now. Rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Just...imagine the look on his blanched, patrician face if he were to walk in and find that precious, foul blossom reduced to cinders."
Ocelot's eyes narrowed.
"Also...You make an excellent point," he mused. "About Volgin, that is."
Volgin would not be pleased at the thought that the German was treating Groznyj Grad like his own personal domocile. His ego would not allow it. Volgin trully believed that nothing went on without his express permission.
Ocelot snorted softly.
It was that kind of unflappable hubris that allowed him to believe he could rule the world, and took everyone else so much aback that they pretty much let him.
It was kind of endearing, on some level.
"Let's find him, then, comrade. Let him deal with the Kraut...in his own special way. No need to waste my bullets or your accelerants."
He smiled, darkly, and opened his mouth to speak again, when he saw that...anomaly again.
Where the air rippled like heat.
But this was hardly a Saharan clime.
"Do you see that?" he demanded of the Fury. "Is that some kind of heat wave from your experiments? Or..."
Ocelot broke off, as the air shifted again, and moved forward toward the spot, narrowing his eyes.