[ti]private[/ti]Confounding Convection

Atsushi was starting to understand why the last guy in this costume had something of a mental breakdown—

“I QUIT!” One of the big legendary bird mascots screeched into view, bouncing into the Sheraton Parking Lot and being tailed by a harangued employee with a UNOVRCon shirt and lanyard.

“NO! I QUIT, YOU HEAR ME?!” Moltres cried, ripping off its own head to reveal some dude who resembled a half-melted popsicle. “Fifteen years I’ve been doing this, and this event takes the fucking cake! Those kids are RUTHLESS! I didn’t sign on to die!”

The large foam head was thrown, clocking the employee. The rest of the costume was abandoned as the man climbed into his car and drove out.

Atsushi, still sitting in his own car, was silent. His eyes slid over to the disposed costume, thinking about that head of white hair he’d seen at the hotel entrance, his hands tight around the wheel.

10 minutes couldn’t hurt, could it?

It was now far more than 10 minutes. He had not seen nor heard any sign of Ren, and could not walk a yard without someone snapping his photo or tackling him. Damn this huggable costume!

It was only when he found some time to himself that he remembered he had a phone. The only upside to this humiliating costume was the sheer space inside it; he pulled in his arms and patted down his pockets, pulling out his phone—

—and promptly dropped it as a man in a moustache suddenly manifested and began interviewing him.

“Shi—uh, I mean—I…” he squinted through the mesh. Was this guy dressed as the instructor from the flight camp? Another employee, or one of those goddamn cosplayers? “The… the power of friendship!” He’d been doing the Mickey Mouse Moltres voice around so many kids and guests that it was beginning to crack. “I manage by the powerrr of friendshiiip.” He flapped his big wings, wishing fervently for the meddlesome old man to either turn blind or keel over so he can grab his phone from the bottom of his bird foot.

Okay so, he may not know enough about Moltres to play a convincing character, but to be fair, it worked on a lot of people! Children, mostly, but most folks who weren’t raid participants or UNOVR aficionados were quite content to buy the Mickey Moltres spiel.

This was unfortunately not one of those cases.

The stranger — fuck, what was the name of this NPC again, Cyrus? Cybil? Sigma? — simply snapped his journal shut and shoved his face into Moltres’ beak, practically smacking into the flimsy mesh protecting Atsushi’s dignity.

Which still shouldn’t matter, he could still play it off, but then—

“Kazzie?”

Atsushi’s stomach dropped. He was known as Kazuki only to Ren, who had come up with it to rib him, and to the people in the game, where he used it as an alias.

This bastard recognized him. Could see him, despite the costume, the ridiculous voice — all of it. As if he could see right through.

There’s a zip before he pulled away the mesh. His hands shot out, grabbing the stranger by the collar of his stupid steampunk science jacket, yanking him until he’s forced to meet furious green eyes.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded. “Are you working for someone? Who sent you?!”

Meanwhile, a kid with a lollipop stopped nearby, blinking at the sight of the Moltres mascot. There was a man in its beak, only the lower half of his body visible. The kid tugged her mother’s hand. “Mommy, Moltres is eating Cygnus.”

“Yes, yes, darling, let mommy finish this call first—”

This guy was weird. Cosplayers, as Kazuki was quickly coming to learn, were damn strange, and his revelations would only continue to stack upon each other as the stranger pulled out the journal, revealing a phone cut into the pages.

“What,” he said, “the fuck.”

On one hand, he knew people liked to embellish how they looked in the game — it was stranger for you not to — but it still didn’t undercut the impact of learning his fellow serial Duraludon killer was actually a full grown man and not a six-eared, five-tailed fox lady.

Actually, thinking about it now— this might be kinder to his psyche.

He still had his jaw on the floor when Foxy pulled out of the beak, frozen as he watched him do a near-perfect imitation of UNOVR’s notorious senior scientist. Ren had taught him a term for these types of people — the definition had apparently been ‘the epitome of cringe’ — but for the life of him, Atsushi could not recall.

The prescription was then shoved into Moltres’ mouth. It stuck to Atsushi’s cheek. He peeled it off and blinked at the number.

“That’s one way to get someone’s digits,” he mumbled, pulling up his phone.

After spending a concerning amount of time just standing there with its mouth open, Moltres shook back to life. “Oho! Why would I need a pharmacist when you’re right here?” the high-pitched voice hissed. And then, lower, so as not to be heard by anyone else: “Help. Me.”

But his eyes caught something in the crowd. A familiar shirt and lanyard. Squinting eyes scraping the crowd, only to land on him.

“Shit.” Chicken wings flapped as he pivoted, putting the Mickey voice back on. “Gotta go! Getting— uh, pills! Moltres needs lozenges! Bye!”

He skedaddled like a baby penguin pursued by a giant petrel.