[CLOSED/COMPLETED]
It made sense-- albeit, a twisted and mildly grotesque sense-- that Roy Mustang would have been released from the hospital the night the church had been blown up. Adjusting the buttons on the cuffs of his shirt, and feeling more like himself in the starched white than he ever could in the pale blue gown he'd had on for weeks, he was exiting his private room when the first of the victims was rolled in at the far end of the hallway, the smell of the rubble and explosive residue filling the corridor almost immediately.
Several things happened all at once then: the nurses and orderlies that had been standing about with nothing to do, were suddenly a flurry of motion at the corners of his peripheral vision. Mustang, not being one for idle gawking, was spurred into their action and his coat over his arm, he approached the attending doctor dark eyes narrowing into an expression of apathy as his tone leveled into a flatness all that knew him would understand was his 'business' mode:
"What's happened."
The question held no lilt at the end, no note of true confusion. Roy watched as the first victim-- a young woman he knew by face, name and a few brief conversations, the head librarian at the library located near the slums-- was moved behind a blue curtain, her shuddering and crying voice sending chills down his spine.
He knew that that voice, musical and always kind, was never meant to sound the way it did then.
She was dressed in simple garb that was singed and still smoldering, and Mustang's eyes only flickered when he noticed the scarf, a mantilla, across her head. When the doctor's hurried words came moments later, it only confirmed the sinking suspicion that coiled in the man's gut.
"Some madman's bombed the church!"
Watching the doctor move away and follow the woman, Roy moved back into his room, depositing his jacket and undoing the buttons he had just finished adjusting. Rolling his sleeves up past his elbows, he knew it was going to be a long night.
Several things happened all at once then: the nurses and orderlies that had been standing about with nothing to do, were suddenly a flurry of motion at the corners of his peripheral vision. Mustang, not being one for idle gawking, was spurred into their action and his coat over his arm, he approached the attending doctor dark eyes narrowing into an expression of apathy as his tone leveled into a flatness all that knew him would understand was his 'business' mode:
"What's happened."
The question held no lilt at the end, no note of true confusion. Roy watched as the first victim-- a young woman he knew by face, name and a few brief conversations, the head librarian at the library located near the slums-- was moved behind a blue curtain, her shuddering and crying voice sending chills down his spine.
He knew that that voice, musical and always kind, was never meant to sound the way it did then.
She was dressed in simple garb that was singed and still smoldering, and Mustang's eyes only flickered when he noticed the scarf, a mantilla, across her head. When the doctor's hurried words came moments later, it only confirmed the sinking suspicion that coiled in the man's gut.
"Some madman's bombed the church!"
Watching the doctor move away and follow the woman, Roy moved back into his room, depositing his jacket and undoing the buttons he had just finished adjusting. Rolling his sleeves up past his elbows, he knew it was going to be a long night.