#piecemover

[separatedway]

Leon and Hunnigan. We've been playing more TTRPG and Hunnigan's apparently a great marksman (she's crit almost every time she's fired her gun). @herewebingo @piecemover

[thisshallpass]

hunnigan we're locked out can you open this obscure door.

[harperhydra]

“Fuck- He’ll just call me a bitch and tell me to suck it up, too. Not worth it.”

She’s laughing despite the sour connotation.

[forgotten-retrouvaille]

//CLOSED STARTER ❯ WHEN SHIT HITS THE FAN

@piecemover

Jill hated paperwork . She really , really did , but this was the most that she was allowed to do while she was suspended from field activities following her return from Kijuju two years ago, and she'd recently taken up the head of the U.S Branch's foreign affairs . It was just her luck that things had all gone to shit with several outbreaks all around the globe - seemingly coordinated , and she'd been running on spite and on caffeine for the past two days helping to manage the B.S.A.A's forces in Edonia and in China .

To top it all off , one of her closest friends had a warrant out for his arrest after allegedly murdering the president , and so did his mission partner. Both of them had dropped off the radar entirely , and Jill had been working overtime in meetings and consultations to get this shit sorted , and it was about time she got answers .

Her steps were quiet but quick , purposeful strides making her way to Hunnigan's office deep in the D.S.O headquarters. She'd been there enough times that she wouldn't be stopped - not like anybody would stop her after hearing about how obstinate and stubborn she tended to be . A bag was slung over her shoulder , full of files , paperwork and several meeting transcripts for Hunnigan to deliberate over - the two had gotten into contact occasionally lately after she'd taken up her position and when she'd helped as field support.

Jill didn't bother knocking , she swung the wooden door open and strode into her office . Hunnigan looked like hell , and so did she really , but the other woman definitely had the worst of it . She let the door close behind her , placing the bag down in the one place where papers weren't scattered.

"Spill ."

[thisshallpass]

He hovers the envelope, the kind that they typically dole out office keys with at the end of the year, near her enough to her visual range to get her attention. It's pulled back like a hostage then, between his fingers.

"Before that- how'd your mom get my office number?"

She's a lovely person with absolutely no frame of reference for what information constituted as an in house call and not.

"By the way, the guys coming to fix your ac never showed up."

And finally, he hands it over.

"You wanna go to a concert next week?"

@piecemover

[separatedway]

The wind battered against the snow-capped mountainsides, bringing flurries of gray and white that cut across the spy's vision, obscuring any visible landmarks in the storm. Ada trudged through, bundled in a long coat, her eyes covered by polarized goggles, and the lower part of her face wrapped in a scarf. The folds of her ushanka hat were tied underneath her chin, and a gloved hand reached above her face, palm outward to shield her lenses from the snow as I.R.I.S scanned the bleak landscape for her point of entry.

The village had long been abandoned, the bones of the houses still stood, even though plenty of walls and windows had been stripped by years of heavy wind. Ada can only see the new cityline in the distance because of I.R.I.S's multispectral scanning.

It would be easier to penetrate Immol's borders by the outskirt sewers, old tunnels the new buildings were built on. The village cistern should connect to it.

The grate had already been eroded away by years of neglect and exposure. Ada climbed on top of the stone rim and braced her hookshot on the edge, digging her heels into the corroded metal. Jumping once, the metal creaked, and bent. Twice, it groaned and sank. A third jump, and the grate falls down with a clamor, Ada rappelling down the sides with the cable, retracting the hook when she's underground.

Instantly, the temperature around her is much warmer, and the absence of light make the goggles she wears more cumbersome than useful.

She strips off her goggles and face mask, activating the light on her ear piece to navigate the stony passage. Water trickles into the sluices, but the levels are much lower than any actively used sewer. Lucky her.

It's a few minutes navigating closer to the city, when she spots a beam of light from the surface.

And the sound of a phone ringing ahead.

She reaches behind her ear to turn off the light, walking quietly to see what had happened.

Someone fell, her first thought, looking up. Then, looking down-

Leon?

Crumpled against the tiles, bleeding, not moving-

She jumps down and takes off one of her gloves to touch his face. Still warm. She slides her fingers down the side of his neck and counts the seconds. One, two-

Still breathing. Still has a pulse.

She pulls his arms out in front of him and manueuvers him on his side, resting his head on one tucked arm, and laying him out in recovery position.

His body is dotted in bite marks. Not deep- he wasn't bleeding out too much.

He hit his head.

The phone rings again, and Ada pulls it out to look at the facetime request. Ingrid Hunnigan.

Ada answers.

"So, you're Hunnigan," she starts, "Leon's out cold, but stable. Is he outfitted with any first aid?"

@piecemover

[harperhydra]

“Ingrid can I change my callsign? Everyone keeps bullying me.”

[thisshallpass]

from @piecemover

While Leon rides away from the riot at the stadium, Hunnigan calls, the specific ringtone buzzing in his earpiece. When he picks up: "Leon? You're not at the riot are you? You were just tailgating today, right?"

He's still on the road, and probably would be for a while yet. The consequence of taking backroads in Maryland was a thirty minute tack on to commute time. What with the game letting out, and everyone fleeing the East Coast equivalent of a heart attack through the capillaries of the 695? He'd take the guaranteed commute time for a likewise guaranteed less traffic clog.

"Hunnigan? No. Not at the riot. Not now anyways. Why?"

In the back of his mind Leon S. Kennedy is willing it just to be a check in. Please don't say that zombies were in the crowd. Or something...