[text] // [night] // 1 // and then we carried on
[It is dark when Hawkeye opens her eyes. At first she thinks she's still in the evac tent--her throat, sore from sleep and injury she supposes, refuses to make a sound. The bandages wrapped tight there against her wound don't keep her from chancing it and turning her head with tired eyes, the view of the smoking remains of Central Command through the tent flaps greeting her. It is foggy and dim, and very quiet.
She hardly needs the warning at her bedside to affirm what she instinctively feels. Groggily, belatedly, she realizes something was very wrong.
Her Portal, small, compact, and practical, is a bit different from what she was used to, but simple enough to figure out. There is a job to be done, and she doesn't have the luxury of confusion at the moment. Risk or no, she needed to know who her allies were.]
This is First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, whereabouts currently unknown. Central personnel, please report. Eastern, Northern commands, please report.
[Her jacket is still covered with blood and dirt, but Hawkeye shrugs it on, quickly zipping it shut. Her shirt had been cut away for treatment, and there were some things beyond skin that would need to stay hidden.
She runs the scenario quickly; it was possible that she had passed out from blood loss for painkillers. The last she remembered was Rebecca, leaning over her hospital bed. "Won," she had said, and had asked about the Colonel. Hawkeye closes her eyes against the memory. A long struggle was over, but a new one had taken its place. Few would follow a blind leader. So close to the end of line, only to have their goal cheated away from them--
She takes a deep breath, and lets it go slowly, tapping out a final missive.]
Lieutenant Catalina...anyone. I am searching for the whereabouts and condition of Colonel Roy Mustang. Please relay all information on the subject to me through the appropriate channel.
[Blind or not, there was work to be done. He would find a way; they always did. First things first: find him.]
She hardly needs the warning at her bedside to affirm what she instinctively feels. Groggily, belatedly, she realizes something was very wrong.
Her Portal, small, compact, and practical, is a bit different from what she was used to, but simple enough to figure out. There is a job to be done, and she doesn't have the luxury of confusion at the moment. Risk or no, she needed to know who her allies were.]
This is First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, whereabouts currently unknown. Central personnel, please report. Eastern, Northern commands, please report.
[Her jacket is still covered with blood and dirt, but Hawkeye shrugs it on, quickly zipping it shut. Her shirt had been cut away for treatment, and there were some things beyond skin that would need to stay hidden.
She runs the scenario quickly; it was possible that she had passed out from blood loss for painkillers. The last she remembered was Rebecca, leaning over her hospital bed. "Won," she had said, and had asked about the Colonel. Hawkeye closes her eyes against the memory. A long struggle was over, but a new one had taken its place. Few would follow a blind leader. So close to the end of line, only to have their goal cheated away from them--
She takes a deep breath, and lets it go slowly, tapping out a final missive.]
Lieutenant Catalina...anyone. I am searching for the whereabouts and condition of Colonel Roy Mustang. Please relay all information on the subject to me through the appropriate channel.
[Blind or not, there was work to be done. He would find a way; they always did. First things first: find him.]