mnt_mike: (Bernard)
Mike is in his element: Surrounded by happy family.
It doesn't matter that he's elbow-deep in dishwater with a stack of plates and flatware nearly taller than he is to his left, his family is here and safe and happy, and that's all that really matters.
mnt_mike: (Waitaminute)
It had been a good three days since Mike had raked Sallie with his Glare of Doom.
Three days where he trained harder than he had in a while.
Three days where he slept a little bit less than he'd been recently.
Three days where...well, where he baked three different batches of cookies, two pans of pecan delight brownies, and carrot cake just because.

But after three days Mike couldn't stand it any longer, not the silence, not the avoidance, and certainly not the existence of all these baked goods in his house.

So he just up and went to see her.

And he brought white chocolate macadamia nut cookies with him.
mnt_mike: (Sad pout)
They're going to be here any minute now.
She's going to be here any minute now.
And Mike? Has no idea what to do with he's pacing. And Stampy, for her part, is watching him pace from the comfort of a corner cushion of the couch.

Lunch is made. Drinks are chilling. Heck even Stampy's had a bath.
All there is to do now is wait...and hope.
mnt_mike: (Default)
Sleep is where Mike is a Viking.
It's where he's safe and sound and comfortable and warm.
He's nearly buried under a pile of pillows, his favorite way to sleep now that he's sleeping alone.
mnt_mike: (Weary)
She's going to kill him.
He's going to die, and it's going to be at her hand. Mike is sure of this.
As sure of this as he is of the fact that every muscle in his body is screaming.

"...i'm dying," he says to no one in particular as he lay across the living room floor of his flat.
mnt_mike: (Figure it out)
There have been some tangible changes to the Fray-Hamato in recent days, there is one thing you can count on: That Mike will be in the kitchen cooking.

Which he is.
The smell of garlic frying in olive oil permeates the house.
mnt_mike: (Staaaaare)
Mike stands in the doorway, completely dumbfounded.
This is his apartment, right?

If so...what...what's with all the boxes and the furniture and...why is there a glowing doorway over near the ficus?!
mnt_mike: (Yeeeeaaaah.)
For all intents and purposes Mike should be asleep right now. And while his mind would surely love the rest, his body has been doing nothing but for the better part of the last month.

The same cannot be said for his father, who is curled up into a rat-shaped ball on the easy chair to the side of Mike's infirmary bed.
mnt_mike: (Turtle woah!)
The Bar is down for maintence,'re not. And let's face it, neither are your pups. So where are they? What're they doing? Are they in the Lost and Found? If so...what's it like in there? Cramped? The White Room? Or is it the New Jersey Turnpike? You tell me. (email notifications are off, so seriously, go wild.) (Now with less inadvertent screening)
mnt_mike: (Seated)
It's been a mostly quiet night at the Designated Tortoise. There's been good food, better cider, and an overall feeling of contentment fills the room. Mike has to admit, if ever there was a perfect tavern for one to rest their travel-weary bones, it'd be this one. Raph has chosen well. He's spent the better part of the evening stretching his ninja muscles by being unobtrusive in the back corner in order to gather intel on the woman he hopes one day might be his sister-in-law. That is, provided he can some how fix the mess Raph has made of his own lovelife.

"idiot," he whispers under his breath as he sips at his cider.

Abigail seems to be maintaining well enough. Someone not looking for it would probably imagine she's just a little bit frazzled by the evening dinner rush, but Mike knows better. He's seen those tell-tale single-minded coping mechanisms before.

The last call bell sounds, and Mike steels himself for what is likely to be a pretty awkward conversation. One by one he watches the patrons leave, none of them even casting a glance to where he's currently seated. Eventually even Thomas heads to bed. Mike hates to see the guy leave, but oh how he loves to watch him go. But no, there will hopefully be enough time to oggle his would-be brother in law later...that is, provided Mike is successful at his task. He reaches under the table for his satchel and heads for the Bar.
mnt_mike: (Seated)

Lemme tell you a story...
mnt_mike: (Seated)
The first thing Mike is aware of as his mind slowly limps its way back towards consciousness, is how much that hurt. What caused it, and what it in turned caused, he's not so sure of just yet. But yeouch! Yeah, that smarted a bit more than it should have. Like...the ripping off of a band-aid, but bigger and more encompassing.

He tries to move, and groans. Moving hurts. Groaning hurts. Even hearing his own groaning hurts.

A heart beat later and the battle honed reflex portions of his mind sputter to life.
What happened? Where were you last? What's the last thing you remember?

He remembers blue.

Then black.

But before then, before the black, and the blue light, there was....

"Mel?" his voice cracks in a weird way which results in a peal of coughing.
mnt_mike: (Plotting)
Jack may think he's being all slick with his hasty retreat from the Baseball Bash, but what he doesn't realize is that he's being watched.

And watched closely.

One might even say stalked, if it were actually possible for a retired ninja in a bright orange Hawaiian print shirt to stalk someone.
Then again, if any retired ninja could do it, that retired ninja'd be Mike.
mnt_mike: (Afterglow)
Before Mike retreated to his favorite "basking" spot out by the Lake, he left a note for Sallie with Bar.


Pop outside when you get this. There's a break in the rain that's just too good to pass up.

- Mike

Included with the note is a crudely drawn map to the aforementioned basking spot.
mnt_mike: (DORK)
Mike is so excited for this moment that he's damn near vibrating.
"Let me know if the blindfold is too tight," he says knotting an opaque silk scarf over Mel's eyes.

A few days ago he'd pretty much forbidden Mel from entering what was soon to be their suite.
mnt_mike: (Less than pleased)
Heavy is the head that's linked to Bar, especially when that head is convinced that it contains a virus that could wipe out the human race as we know it.
There's too much static in Mike's head right now for home renovation, not to mention the fact that Mel could come in at any moment...and this is one trouble he can't confide in her. Much as he loves her, sometimes it's hard to keep Mel separate from The Slayer and the Security Officer. And right now, he just needs a friend. A friend that won't judge or jump to conclusions or -- and this is his biggest fear -- react before he's made his decision.

That's when he remembers the garage, and the project going on in its depths. Mike clears his mind of thoughts, which is probably a dead give away that something's wrong.

"MapleBaby? Where's Cap'n Tightpants at?"

He's in the garage.

"Excellent. If anyone needs me, give me a hollar. But, you know...keep mum on Mal's project."

Not a problem.

Mike pulls his not often used steel-toed boots from the box currently inhabiting his closet, and begins to dress himself in a manner befitting large scale mechanical refurbishment. This means he's wearing his Ghostbusters jump suit, complete with his full name written on the name patch. A few moments later and he's clomping his way through the bar and down the elevator to the garage in search of Malcolm Reynolds.
mnt_mike: (Plotting)
There's still an open Happy Hour shift for Sunday, January 25th.
Drop me a line here if you want it!
mnt_mike: (Default)
"StarMarket Customer Service, please hold."
mnt_mike: (Ooooooooooooo Human)
Christmas means many things to many people. For Mike it means food, family, and being as warm as humanly possible. So if you're looking for an explanation as to why Suite 134 is currently 85 degrees and smelling strongly of anisette, there's a your answer. As for why Mike is wearing cargo shorts, a Christmas Themed Hawaiian shirt, and headphones while tending to a rather sizable pile of cookie dough? Well...he is Mike after all.

"Later on if you wanna
We can dress like Madonna
Put on some eyeshade
And have a parade
Walkin'round in Women's Underwear
mnt_mike: (Incredulous Human)
Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around every once in a while you could ... end up waist deep in the Caribbean outlet portion of the Lake holding a platter assortment of cookies.

Mike's eyes narrow.
Someone just brushed him off.
Someone did not respect his authority.
Someone has just forced him into wearing soggy socks!

"Of course you realize this means war."

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