[159 / 22 / 85]
Quoted By: >>5240899
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?searchall=beyond+that+blue+horizon
>‘Like I’m being microwaved and freeze-dried at the same time.’
You follow it up with a quick introduction of yourself. Secretary Case nods, appearing to take your dry preliminary response in good humour, even if he didn’t so much as throw a small twitch to indicate his tolerance for your reach in platitudes. Tague, however, <span class="mu-b">appears to take your quip with a sigh of disapproval, shaking his head in response to the words you’d chosen for the Secretary’s query</span>.
‘From what we’ve seen from the reports, I consider us fortunate that you’re in a good enough state to tell me that at all. The last two weeks haven’t been exactly <span class="mu-i">uplifting</span>. You waking up has been the best news we’ve had since the asset checklist came back with a serviceable horizon.’
You tilt your head, slightly overwhelmed. Considering a response to Secretary Case, you find your train of thought interrupted by the heavy stomping of feet against concrete, leaning slightly to your left to get a good bead on the source of the noise. At the end of the hall, you make out a plethora of bodies, shoulder-to-shoulder and wall to wall. Specifically, you manage to eye-ball a group that appeared to be headed by an angularly-faced, grey-haired glasses-sporting woman possessing hawk-like eyes and clad in what could be nothing else but a formal uniform belonging to the Eagle Union’s military, the rank indicators pushing beyond what little knowledge you have of your home nation’s hierarchy … but enough to understand that this was no old lady that could be trifled with. Her strides are hurried, urgent, uncaring for the stumbling of a bald, large-nosed male with fat, flounder-like cheeks and two chins that could at times, communicated the illusion of three as he bounced in his messy tie, pants and lab coat, clumsily trudging along like some overgrown whale, his belt buckled but not strapped and his shoes, you realize, had been the source for most of the stomping.
The tags, however, at least indicated that he was someone important enough to be here … <span class="mu-i">whoever</span> he was. The both of them are flanked in the most obvious of security details: berets, sidearms, straps …
‘Secretary Case,’ the woman starts coolly, squaring her shoulders but otherwise throwing up a textbook salute for the Secretary to receive. Case returns the gesture in kind, right as she steps forward, her gaze moving up and down, adjusting her glasses with every movement of her irises. You find yourself stiffening, wondering if—
‘<span class="mu-i">You’re alive!</span>’
You stagger slightly from the sheer force that hits your torso, wincing in pain as you—
‘Abigail?’
You find yourself looking into Abigail’s blue—
‘<span class="mu-i">YEOW!</span>’
Her fist’s point of contact is slightly below your navel.
‘You idiot! Why didn’t you tell us?!’
Her grip was quite—
<span class="mu-r">HESITANT. JEALOUS.</span>
>‘Like I’m being microwaved and freeze-dried at the same time.’
You follow it up with a quick introduction of yourself. Secretary Case nods, appearing to take your dry preliminary response in good humour, even if he didn’t so much as throw a small twitch to indicate his tolerance for your reach in platitudes. Tague, however, <span class="mu-b">appears to take your quip with a sigh of disapproval, shaking his head in response to the words you’d chosen for the Secretary’s query</span>.
‘From what we’ve seen from the reports, I consider us fortunate that you’re in a good enough state to tell me that at all. The last two weeks haven’t been exactly <span class="mu-i">uplifting</span>. You waking up has been the best news we’ve had since the asset checklist came back with a serviceable horizon.’
You tilt your head, slightly overwhelmed. Considering a response to Secretary Case, you find your train of thought interrupted by the heavy stomping of feet against concrete, leaning slightly to your left to get a good bead on the source of the noise. At the end of the hall, you make out a plethora of bodies, shoulder-to-shoulder and wall to wall. Specifically, you manage to eye-ball a group that appeared to be headed by an angularly-faced, grey-haired glasses-sporting woman possessing hawk-like eyes and clad in what could be nothing else but a formal uniform belonging to the Eagle Union’s military, the rank indicators pushing beyond what little knowledge you have of your home nation’s hierarchy … but enough to understand that this was no old lady that could be trifled with. Her strides are hurried, urgent, uncaring for the stumbling of a bald, large-nosed male with fat, flounder-like cheeks and two chins that could at times, communicated the illusion of three as he bounced in his messy tie, pants and lab coat, clumsily trudging along like some overgrown whale, his belt buckled but not strapped and his shoes, you realize, had been the source for most of the stomping.
The tags, however, at least indicated that he was someone important enough to be here … <span class="mu-i">whoever</span> he was. The both of them are flanked in the most obvious of security details: berets, sidearms, straps …
‘Secretary Case,’ the woman starts coolly, squaring her shoulders but otherwise throwing up a textbook salute for the Secretary to receive. Case returns the gesture in kind, right as she steps forward, her gaze moving up and down, adjusting her glasses with every movement of her irises. You find yourself stiffening, wondering if—
‘<span class="mu-i">You’re alive!</span>’
You stagger slightly from the sheer force that hits your torso, wincing in pain as you—
‘Abigail?’
You find yourself looking into Abigail’s blue—
‘<span class="mu-i">YEOW!</span>’
Her fist’s point of contact is slightly below your navel.
‘You idiot! Why didn’t you tell us?!’
Her grip was quite—
<span class="mu-r">HESITANT. JEALOUS.</span>
