Buried up to the neck and suffocating.

[everyonecried]

Characters: Maes Hughes and Roy Mustang.
Location: Training grounds.
Rating: PG? PG-13? You know what, no. Everything's going to be happy. Smack a G on this thing.
Time: August 27th, morning.
Description: A dead man and his old friend Hughes meet again. Not under the planned circumstances.

Comments

[thewarisover]

To say that he hadn't slept well would be putting it lightly - he had, in fact, spent hours tossing and turning and staring up at the ceiling, listening to the quiet breathing of his partner on the other side, trying to remember not to think and failing at it. He might've gotten an hour, at best, maybe two, but that was all

[everyonecried]

Smell, sight, connection and those dragged feet stilled for a single step, neutral expression dropping into a frown as he took in the scene for that second.

Physical things-- he'd prided himself on being able to notice those really well (though his pride had recently taken a bad blow), but it didn't take an investigations officer to notice how bad of a state the colonel was in. It almost made Hughes want to loiter a bit, wait until a few more people were around; but maybe that'd be worse, if Mustang lost his cool and therefore dignity in one go before the people he was trying to make friends with. And the other had been trying to get along-- and that was a real positive note, one that Hughes would make sure to remember, especially with the way the man was taking a drag on that cigarette like his life depended on it

...I just realized that Hughes is only going to see the eyepatch now. o_o

[thewarisover]

And he heard the approach, of course, figured out who it was without having to turn around. He could pick out the sound of those footsteps anywhere, regardless of the time, or the place--

Or the fact that you buried him.

His fingers shook. He dispelled it by bringing that cigarette back up to his lips. As such, he was just steady enough to turn around, and meet with Maes Hughes' gaze.

It did very little for his nerves, though, because no one - no one - was supposed to see a dead man walking, talking and breathing, especially if said man lost his life because of you

... Yep. ... )X

[everyonecried]

No, Hughes wouldn't round around and stand in the sight line-- he pulled up where he was, to the side and back (pushing from behind, right), using the excuse of surveying the field to give a few seconds to the silence (not, he told himself, because he had to hash and rehash exactly what he could say). It couldn't be able the training they were going to spend a morning doing, or the fact this had been something of a mistake- recoverable, at least- in the first place. No, something more stable.

It was the strap that caught his eye, and after a replay of Roy turning toward him, the actual patch.

Widening of his own eyes, before furrowing down in confusion and discouragement. Leveling off into a neutral mask of sorts, though it couldn't be said he was smiling-- no. There was a definite frown on his face, and a light one in his voice.

What happened to you, Roy?"You're not looking too well." A statement of fact, nothing more, nothing else. Saying anything beyond would bring the fact that it was probably his fault too clear into the

I-it just might be! (And look: new thread. I am OCD and TLDR! ;;)

[thewarisover]

And he was talking as well, before he could fully realize what he was doing. Maes Hughes had been one of the few people he ever really let himself be open with.

"It thought it did, for a bit."

For those six months, he hadn't felt more alive in spite of the fact that his body was nearly broken beyond repair. It had still been possible to justify the fact that Hughes was gone, had died for a proper cause. There had still been a military force - a dream - to walk back to, once he was able.

"I knew it wasn't going to be as simple as taking Bradley down. I knew, but... I guess I hadn't expected his influence to run so deep, even after his death

TWO THINGS THAT ARE GLORIOUS /hoards them.

[everyonecried]

Hughes, for his part, stayed silent as this was listed off. Time-- they might have had a bit of it here, but time never truly cared about people or the world, so it could be gone before they knew it. He did know about the 'system,' though, could imagine the power-hungry and influence-ridden lechers that permeated the upper ranks: people Roy would have had to deal with, alone, without any amount of time on his side.

It'd been why he'd agreed to make sure to clean things up from below, rather than above. Having to deal with the upper brass and lower unrest, after an assassination of the Fuhrer...... Who might not have been a homunculus, in their world, but had still been incredibly powerful. You didn't become Fuhrer without being powerful

I think I'll have to make an interesting post later. o.o And I need to poke you again! T_T

[thewarisover]

"I don't know."

Those were three words that Roy had always hated. It was initially because he was loathe to admit to any uncertainty (a matter of pride? Sometimes, for the sake of keeping up appearances), but now it was because he simply didn't know, and that was more terrifying than he'd ever be prepared to admit. It was one of the principle reasons why he read through practically everything on the network, took every opportunity to be visible and out there, and asked all of those questions to whoever the hell might have an answer.

The truth of the matter was that he was perfectly all right with not returning home - he firmly believed that his Amestris didn't need him anymore. What he wasn't all right with was the fact that the rest still had things to do and battles to end. If fighting witches in Death City meant getting them back faster, then he was willing to risk his neck and maybe his sanity attempting to end the war

I need to poke you back! Today was... completely shot. :/;; I'm sorry. Once more.

[everyonecried]

"Yet." Not a mumble, but not a sigh or direct word - an off-hand one, so was his conviction that the man would make it (despite the increasing evidence toward otherwise). Hughes found he had an odd impulse to sit, though the dew-covered grass really wasn't anything to go falling back on right before a training.

"You can't think about it too long."

Another absently voiced bit, but that sort of comment-- that sort wasn't off-handed at all, and Roy had to of remembered that, even after... a year.

A full year.

Forget the dew. He was taking a full seat next to the (obviously tired, obviously worn, hopefully not defeated) man, legs crossing.

Hughes, you're eternally difficult to tag. T_T

[thewarisover]

"I'll think it through a little more, and tell you what I come up with. If the group isn't necessary, there are always other things to do."

It was a while, though, before he could bring himself to reply to that last one, though. A measured amount of silence, spent glancing down at the man beside him. Someone who was supposed to be gone.

"...It sure has."

Roy. Right back. ;A;

[everyonecried]

He felt the gaze, but he didn't acknowledge or look over to it - sometimes, things like that were just better off left to themselves. Sometimes. That, and he had to give a small hum, noise of acknowledgment, to the 'other things to be done.'

A silence.

And then he scoffed, leaned far back on one hand, the other rubbing across his face. "Geez. I want to say it's... funny, but--" Hah. Definitely not.

Aw, man. He shouldn't have been bringing this up. Well...

Well.

[thewarisover]

"But it isn't."

Soft and quiet, attempting to reveal nothing. He could get better at this with time. If he HAD time, anyhow.

[everyonecried]

"Not at all. Not. At. All."

Still had to laugh, though, didn't they? Eh, well; his shoulders weren't shaking. Sitting still in the continually quiet morning, that was all. He'd keep on smiling, nonetheless.

And after a moment, spread the fingers enough to look over at Roy.

"Hey, you're going to want to watch that cigarette."