Battered, not Broken
@crimsonclash [x]
It had been years since he’d been ambushed like this. There was no time for racism in Briggs - a blessing he had quietly held to his chest his entire tenure there. His Ishvalan heritage and sympathies were considered a mild secret, in comparison to the many others. Deserters, criminals, traitors, the walking dead - all of them had a story for how they got to Briggs; even the general was not exempt from it. There was a reason she was in charge of such a place after all.
Returning to Central wasn’t so much a choice as it was a matter of obedience and duty to his own intentions. A part of him wished to remain in the silent cold, but he knew nothing would change. The first law of Briggs was to survive - his goals were in place to make it so his people could be allowed to live. To do more than merely survive in an Amestrian dominated region. Aiding Mustang in the restoration of Ishval was the wisest way to achieve those ends.
He hadn’t come into this thinking it would be easy. e should have been more prepared, and was lucky his Briggs training kicked in before it became too difficult to get away from. It was just a moment - a second in which to breathe, a minute of rest before carrying on, making it back to Command to report in on the occurrence and receive medical attention.
Yet it seemed this night’s fight was not yet over, as a shadow cast itself over where he had tucked out of sight, blood still dripping from his lip and a cut under one eye where glass from his snow goggles had bit into his cheek after a well aimed punch had landed and shattered them, leaving his red eyes clear to glare at the one in front of him.
“You.” A bitter acknowledgement as he reached for his pistol. He hadn’t drawn on the civilians - but this man, at the slightest provocation, he would not hesitate to put down to the ground.
He was lost again- unsure if this city could be real or part of another nightmare. It looked like Central, but that was impossible- he’s remember getting here- and that aside it looked like a recovering war zone,and
He almost started to wonder if Ishval had cities like this that Amestris didn’t know about.
Night was coming on, and a storm as well, though, and in such unfamiliar territory it was best he simply hunker down for now. He’d found an alley- ha- him sleeping in an alley who would have thought it would come to this! He was supposed to have just a few more assignments before he went home, just eleven more assignments and the whole war would be over-- and yet here he was in this nightmare mirror of Central Command. He didn’t know what had gone wrong, and he assumed he’d suffered some sort of concussion, since he couldn’t remember getting here, or how he’d been injured, or lost his voice(he tried not to remember kind but frightened looking Isvalans tending to those injuries), but it had been long enough since he could remember alone that it either should have gone away or killed him... right?
As it was, there was a man already in the small alley corner he’d been scoping out- an Ishvalan man in an Amestrian uniform- Perhaps he took it from a dead soldier to avoid being shot? Solf wondered, knowing most of the Amestrian Isvalans had either deserted or ended their lives rather than annihilate their own- tragic, really, and stupid on the country’s part.
But that didn’t make sense- this man looked like he’d been beaten, and that certainly wouldn’t have happened if he’d been found out- at the very least he would have been beaten and then shot- no soldier in his right mind would leave an enemy alive like this. As it was, Solf had probably been labeled dead or deserted some time ago, so he had no reason to kill the man--
Oh. He was pointing his gun- Fool can’t even aim it properly- I wonder if he can even see straight- that is a lot of blood-
“I don’t... know you?” Solf wondered aloud- this wasn’t a face he knew- obviously not, it was a living Ishvalan- all the ones he remembered were dead. Oh but- it’s no surprise he knows my face, I imagine- I have killed many of his brothers- “I’m harmless, now,” he stated simply, shrugging and showing the man his damaged palms- showing his weakness, not even sure an Ishvalan would understand that his circles being damaged meant he couldn’t perform his alchemy. Maybe I can get him to tell me where we are... “I don’t have orders anymore, so will you let me help you? Those injuries look pretty bad.” But first I have to earn his trust.