Hughes tries not to chalk everything up to fate, because that sort of thing is made exclusively by yourself — but even he has to admit, this seems like something out there in time and space wasn't quite done with him, was it? Granted, he could do without the blue goop and the general panic and the — everything else. But this isn't the worst thing ever. It beats a lot of moments in Hughes' life, dying included.
Crap. Crap, crap, crap.
He tries not to think about that too much, because it's torturous and doesn't do him any good; if he thinks about dying, he thinks about home, and if he thinks about home, he thinks about the little girl waiting for him — asking where he is in the morning, when she's getting ready for the day and needs papa to put her hair up — and he just could not go down that path right now. It's easier to focus on how utterly screwed over Amestris and the surrounding nations are than his family, easier to think about how he had the information there at the tips of his fingers and the carpet got yanked right out from under him, just when it was the most crucial moment to get Roy on the damn phone (and wouldn't you know it, he's got a scar on his chest as proof of his smart stupidity).
There's gotta be a way to get in contact with them, right? This place is supposed to be a technological wonder (and boy, is it). Surely there's some way of... he's not sure, shooting a freaky phone line down? How fun would that be, contacting Roy-ol'-buddy-ol'-pal from a space ship that takes in the dead. How would you even begin that conversation? 'Hey, Roy, I'm super dead — sorry about that! How's my girls? Sorry for turning into a crime scene. How's the team? By the way, there's a giant transmutation circle you should probably look into.' Yeah, that's not gonna fly very well. Ugh.
Maybe he can at least put some faith in Roy's smarts. Maybe he'll figure out just what Hughes couldn't get to him in time. Maybe his death'll at least be a clue in and of itself that something horribly, horribly wrong is going down. He could only hope. Sighing in defeat, he pops open the locker (wow, this technology is insane) and thinks about how much he wants to see his family's faces right now — which is pretty funny, because it just so happens his locker is full of pictures. They fall over like a jenga tower, covering Hughes and creating a rather impressive mountain all around him.
"Holy — " he starts, eyes big as he adjusts his glasses. "Well, the mysterious space gods sure know the way to my heart." He looks over his shoulder, calling out, "Anybody know where to find some boxes around here?!"
He's gonna need a lot of 'em.
[POD ROOMS // SHOWERS // WHEREVER]
Later on, he's got everything under control and he's mostly just hovering around the lockers and pod rooms to take inventory of who he's dealing with around here. He's being a total bro about it, though — you need some pills to help with the nausea and stomach problems? He's got you some, right here man. Might as well make himself useful while trying to get some information out of anyone around.
Maes Hughes | Fullmetal Alchemist | ota
Hughes tries not to chalk everything up to fate, because that sort of thing is made exclusively by yourself — but even he has to admit, this seems like something out there in time and space wasn't quite done with him, was it? Granted, he could do without the blue goop and the general panic and the — everything else. But this isn't the worst thing ever. It beats a lot of moments in Hughes' life, dying included.
Crap. Crap, crap, crap.
He tries not to think about that too much, because it's torturous and doesn't do him any good; if he thinks about dying, he thinks about home, and if he thinks about home, he thinks about the little girl waiting for him — asking where he is in the morning, when she's getting ready for the day and needs papa to put her hair up — and he just could not go down that path right now. It's easier to focus on how utterly screwed over Amestris and the surrounding nations are than his family, easier to think about how he had the information there at the tips of his fingers and the carpet got yanked right out from under him, just when it was the most crucial moment to get Roy on the damn phone (and wouldn't you know it, he's got a scar on his chest as proof of his smart stupidity).
There's gotta be a way to get in contact with them, right? This place is supposed to be a technological wonder (and boy, is it). Surely there's some way of... he's not sure, shooting a freaky phone line down? How fun would that be, contacting Roy-ol'-buddy-ol'-pal from a space ship that takes in the dead. How would you even begin that conversation? 'Hey, Roy, I'm super dead — sorry about that! How's my girls? Sorry for turning into a crime scene. How's the team? By the way, there's a giant transmutation circle you should probably look into.' Yeah, that's not gonna fly very well. Ugh.
Maybe he can at least put some faith in Roy's smarts. Maybe he'll figure out just what Hughes couldn't get to him in time. Maybe his death'll at least be a clue in and of itself that something horribly, horribly wrong is going down. He could only hope. Sighing in defeat, he pops open the locker (wow, this technology is insane) and thinks about how much he wants to see his family's faces right now — which is pretty funny, because it just so happens his locker is full of pictures. They fall over like a jenga tower, covering Hughes and creating a rather impressive mountain all around him.
"Holy — " he starts, eyes big as he adjusts his glasses. "Well, the mysterious space gods sure know the way to my heart." He looks over his shoulder, calling out, "Anybody know where to find some boxes around here?!"
He's gonna need a lot of 'em.
[POD ROOMS // SHOWERS // WHEREVER]
Later on, he's got everything under control and he's mostly just hovering around the lockers and pod rooms to take inventory of who he's dealing with around here. He's being a total bro about it, though — you need some pills to help with the nausea and stomach problems? He's got you some, right here man. Might as well make himself useful while trying to get some information out of anyone around.