"I'm tired, cranky, and hungry, and you pulled me away from both sleep and food. This had better be damn important," Snake growled, lighting up the cigarette that hung limply from his bottom lip. Otacon grimaced.

"I promise that your time won't be wasted, Snake. And could youŠnot smoke in here?"

Otacon's polite proposal was rejected with a glare from the older man. "Kiss my tight, toned ass."

"Otacon," Raiden interjected, taking a preventive measure against an argument between the hacker and mullet-sporting agent, "the last time you dragged us here for an 'important meeting', it was to make sure we both understood the fact that Legend of Dragoon sucked ass."

The hacker frowned slightly at this, wringing his hands together. Well he thought it'd been important...

"It's an actual mission this time, I guarantee you."

Snake snorted, tapping ash from his cigarette into an ashtray. "If this is anything less than another Patriot-like group forming and keeping a brand new Metal Gear in an old-ass castle in England, then I'm going to do two things, the first of which would include kicking your ass and sticking my cigarette in your eye. Then, I'm gonna watch crappy-ass karate movies."

Blinking, Hal nervously chuckled. "You're..er...not all that far off, Snake."

Snake's cigarette fell from his lips in a red haze as it hit the table. "You're fuckin' kidding."

Otacon reached into his back pocket, pulling out a crimped yellow document, and slid it across oak table. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the platinum haired agent groaned, leaning forward to scan the contents.

"Aunt June's Slammin' Jam Pancake Recipe?"

Otacon's cheeks flushed as he snatched the paper up, quickly shoving back into his pocket. Digging through his other pockets, he fished out the correct document, rereading it briefly before handing it over.

"I think you got the wrong paper again, jackass," Snake informed him dryly, jabbing his cigarette in Otacon's direction. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? This must be part of your Dungeons and Dragons shit club..."

"No, that's the right paper." Otacon told him quietly, brushing the cigarette ashes out of his lap.

Raiden snatched the paper out of Snake's hands and proceeded to peruse the letter's contents. "Snake's right," he replied after he finished reading the paper. "This has to be a D&D thing. Fork over the dice, Otacon; it's time to admit you have a problem."

Otacon's face tinged red. "I don't have a problem...and I know that paper's right."

"You'd better hope to hell that Ocelot didn't tip you off on this anonymously."

"Err...no, actually. A friend of mine from England passed on the information."

"And you actually believed a British guy?" Snake snorted again, lighting up another cigarette. "They put tacks in our tea or whatever the fuck that whole thing was about."

"Taxes on tea, Snake," Otacon chided, pushing his glasses up again. "And yes, I believed him after I did a little studying on magic--"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up here." Raiden raised an eyebrow in skepticism as he tossed the paper back to the nerd. "Magic isn't real."

"Maybe Hal's gotten addicted to some crazy shit," Snake said, flicking his cigarette at the ashtray.

"It's true, I swear it is. As crazy as this sounds, you have to believe me."

Raiden frowned. "If we were to say that we did believe you, what would we have to do?"

"Sources indicate that a Metal Gear is being stored inside the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in England. Your mission would be to sneak in and destroy it."

"I'm not going into some crackpot castle filled with psychos," Snake said, putting his cigarette out and crossing his arms indignantly. "I have better things to do with my time."

"You might get to kill people."

This made Snake's ears perk. "Really?"

"Absolutely."

"I'm in. Dumbass, you'd better be coming with." Snake made a rude gesture to Raiden, who sighed.

The blonde threw his hands up in defeat. "I haven't much of a choice, now do I? The last time I refused a job with you, you tried to blow me up with C4. I still can't get that burn out of my carpet."

"Damn straight, bitch. No pansy ass Hoover can save you now!"

The hacker rose, leaning dramatically over the table, the dimly lit kitchen lights reflecting off his wireframe glasses. "Now, it's very vital that you fit in, otherwise they might catch wind of our intentions. I have gotten you positions as the heads of two classes; Snake, you will be filling in as the Defense against the Dark Arts teacher. And Raiden, you as the Care of Magical Creatures instructor. Neither job involves much hands-on with magic, but it will still be wise if you research it--...."

Otacon trailed off, staring at disbelief at the two agents, who were busy arguing over how to properly remove burns from carpets.

"Just call fuckin' Stanley Steamer, Rai," Snake gruffly told him, lighting up his third cigarette in 15 minutes.

"They clean up spilled wine and muddy footprints, Snake, not explosions."

Greatly annoyed, Otacon slammed his fist against the table, finally drawing attention to himself. Fuming or not, it was hard taking a skinny, 135 pound man dressed in a Garfield, "I Hate Mornings." t-shirt seriously.

"What? You're still here?"

"I was busy trying to explain important details about the mission, and you two were talking about carpets!"

"I'm going to have a dinner party!" Raiden snapped defensively.

The hacker removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose wearily. "No one ever listens to me."

"That's not true."

"Oh, you're one to talk." Otacon sneered at the blond mercenary. Raiden glared, sending him a challenging look. "Tell me, Raiden: after I informed you about the grotesque gameplay of Legend of Dragoon, what was the first thing you did?"

He winced, hesitating, then sheepishly replied, "Went out and bought it..."

Snake rolled his eyes. "You're like a goddamn puppy, Raiden. Someone tells you not to do something, and you go and do it anyway. You need to be smacked with a newspaper."
Otacon opened his mouth to agree, but received a pre-emptive "fuck you" from the mullet sporting agent.

"Maybe you need to be smacked, Snake."

Snake slid out of his chair, mahogany eyes burning. "No one touches me. Especially the ass. There is a protective ass bubble surrounding me. Stay out of my bubble."

"Nobody's going to touch your ass, Snake," Otacon said, sighing audibly in his hands.

"Good."

"Anyway, what I was attempting to say is that you should probably study magic a little bit to stay in-character."

"When do we have to leave?"

"Ah...about a week. We have to go to King's Cross station in London--"

Snake's eyes widened. "No time for magic! Must beat traffic! Come on, pansy ass!" He grabbed Raiden by his shirt collar and dragged him to the door.

"Snake, what the hell are you doing?!" Raiden yelled, trying to squirm out of Snake's grip.

"We've only got a week to prepare. Who knows how the hell crowded that station'll be with all those freaks and hippies and weirdoes?!"

"For the love of Christ, Snake, we're going to England, not to downtown NYC circa 1970!" With a final tug, Raiden wrenched free, ripping his shirt to shreds at the same time. "Damn polyester," he mumbled indignantly.

"The flight to England is leaving tomorrow. You can pick up the necessary books and items from Diagon Alley, and have the remainder of the week to study."

"Fly? Fuck flying, we'll drive!" Again Snake stormed towards the door, and lacking a shirt collar for him to grasp, he opted for grabbing a handful of Raiden's hair instead.

"You can't drive to England, it's overseas!" Raiden yelped quickly, writhing painfully.

"Last time I took a plane, they lost my luggage, I got sick from the food, and that butch looking woman who sat next to me kept asking me to join the Mile High Club! She winked at me, man! She winked!"

Otacon buried his face in his hands, letting out a slightly muffled scream of aggravation. "Would you prefer it if we took one of the personal jets?" He gestured with his hands, and spoke each word slowly, making it obvious that his patience was hastily diminishing.

Snake raised an eyebrow. "Jacuzzi? Buffet?"

"Fine, fine."

"Alright. Tomorrow, then. Come on, bitch, let's pack." He finally released Raiden's blond locks, who clapped a hand to his agitated scalp. "What's up with your hair? It's like, all soft and shit."

"I use Pantene Pro V. It keeps my hair voluminous and shiny."

"Like you weren't girly enough already."

"Shut up."