Kerrigan stalked out of the dropship with haste, stripping part of her armor almost as soon as she touched the Hyperion's floors... )

[ NFB, NFI, OOC is good, some material shamelessly ripped from StarCraft: Liberty's Crusade, yahey. Preplayed with ever awesome [livejournal.com profile] on_her_korhal who is lying about my keyboard ]
When Roy had finally woken up again, it was well into the morning. His head was clear and headache free and he didn't feel like he was burning up. He'd done a quick scan of the clinic, reassuring him that everything was in order now before he checked himself out.

It had been tempting to go back to the station, check on things there but they had managed without him already and he felt gross and he'd be tied to the desk with paperwork for days. He'd never had to write a report on a quarantine. A quarantine with one death. It could have been worse, but right now that thought didn't occur to him. It was one too many, one they hadn't been able to stop. They, not him. After all their work, it had been the island that had held the quarantine.

Another weight settled on his shoulders, the muscles of his back already tense and aching. His apartment was quiet and empty when he pushed the door open, like it always was. He felt a strange need to pick up the telephone and call Hawkeye, just to reassure himself that she was alright. He managed to convince himself that was all there was behind it, but he never picked up the telephone.

He didn't just feel gross, he was gross and almost on autopilot did he start towards the bathroom. The first thing to come off was the eyepatch. He hated sleeping in it, hated wearing it too. Hated needing it. He just needed to hate something other than himself.

((Open for anyone with a need to check on a cranky, but clean Sheriff. One day he'll realise not everything is on his shoulders. One day. Maybe. In the very far future.))
Roy hadn't slept since he'd talked to Molly - he wasn't counting the unplanned nap he'd taken on Thursday before getting hug-attacked - and now that apparently he had the freedom to, he was too awake.

He found a quiet spot along the beach and sat down in the sand. Even the morning sun already felt warm on his dark blue uniform and he dug the heels of his boots into the sand. He remembered this kind of heat, but it wouldn't turn as blistering as it had in the Ishbalan desert. The beach was very different from any desert and the scent of the ocean was one he rather liked. It was nothing like Amestris and right now, it was good to be reminded of that.

If radio was right, then the students had dealt with the threat themselves. Roy grimaced. Somehow he kept failing to keep people safe and children, too young to have to deal with these kind of horrors, kept having to pay the price for it. It didn't help that as far as he knew, he might not have been able to stop this guy either. Not with just a gun and not even flame alchemy would have worked.

If alchemy worked here. Ed's theory about the flow of energy had made him wonder, but it felt strange that Alphonse wouldn't have told him. He slowly started drawing a simple array into the sand. It was meant to simply reshape the sand beneath into whatever sort of sculpture he could think of. Roy stared down at it. It was one of the simplest principles of alchemy: take the material and give it a new form. Deconstruct and rebuild, yet somehow he had managed to take these two base principles and make his whole life about the deconstruction.

His stomach roiled at the thought and he remembered too many faces, too much pain. His hand was shaky as he rested it in the sand, inches away from the transmutation circle before he erased it from the sand with one angry sweep.

((So I got wordy. Post is open, but he is in a mood.))

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Roy Mustang

April 2015

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