[closed] long live the king (no dead dads though promise)

[ontheline]

CHARACTERS: Roy Mustang and Maes Hughes wander the jungle during stampedes. Whelp.
LOCATION: In the skirting jungles, in the path of said destruction on the 19th.
WARNINGS: N/A
SUMMARY: Hughes needs to keep his mouth shut sometimes.


[Living is a weird thing when you're technically dead. He has a schedule, a typical way of going from day to day, but it's also really damn weird when you know you're in your own personal 'afterlife'. Anyway, those are deep thoughts he can focus on when he's alone at night trying to close his eyes and sleep. Whatever. Bigger things to think about. Like how he can drag Roy out around the jungles for scouting, collecting, and whatever else happens to be out there. Truth be told, the combination of those newly found crypts and a sneakingly suspicious shrinking supply pile makes Hughes fear that maybe there's more going on than expected.

He's thinking maybe he should bring up this concerning observations to Roy, since he could use an extra pair of eyes. It'd be nice to figure out if they were alone on the planet and it was all in his head, buuuut... well, if they're not alone... yikes, right? Right. Time to drag Roy off to be a mountain man.

He's sorry but he's also not.

Instead he struts through the heavy greenery, chopping at the plantlife with a machete made out of ship scrap. He's always been way better with blades than guns, and it's paying off for him in a place like this. Though fortunately, he's never had a reason to use his throwing knives on people in particular. Small mercies.]

How's it going back there, Colonel Jungle Explorer?

Missing city life?

Comments

[weaponsgrade]

[Before Roy can even think about being relieved that it's almost over, the branch breaks. It's not like he can just let go, either, because Maes did the Good Thing by grabbing hold of his arm... and not really letting go when the branch goes.

That's great. Roy isn't entirely sure what hits where first -- he's pretty sure there's a shoulder or an elbow to the side of his head somewhere along the way -- but his hands are stinging pretty badly after contact with the ground. Or Maes. Or whatever. There was contact, it was unyielding, and ow.

... This jungle is going to be the death of him.

He rolls off to the side, idly rubbing one palm with the thumb of his other hand, and keeps a careful eye in the direction the herd came from. Just in case.]

Always knew you were gonna bring me down with you.

[Okay, so it's a bad joke and there's a certain breathless, distracted quality in his voice that speaks to, well, distraction, but hey. He's durable too.

Sorry about the probable elbow-in-gut, though.]

[ontheline]

[He retaliates by shoving Roy over with his foot.

Shut your face.

As he flips over with a groan, he hesitates — and then reaches toward.]

Huh...

Don't suppose this could be why we almost got ourselves stampeded on?

[When he flips over to sit up, he holds out a rather large and bloodied spearhead.]

[weaponsgrade]

[Roy manages to sit up without using his hands (much.) He pulls his knees up, rests his wrists on them, and turns his attention to the jungle around them. Something had caused that stampede and Roy isn't certain that whatever it is isn't nearby.

He looks at what Maes is holding and just... just blinks at it for a second.]

I'd run from that, too.

[ontheline]

[Hughes drops his head back with a hearty sigh.]

We're not alone, then.

Thought so.

[Well.

Fuck.]