reckless_eagle: (It got worse)
[Guess who was in the kitchen.]

[There are a few smears of blood on the screen from Poland fumbling to turn the communicator on. He leans against the kitchen's doorframe, breath a little heavy, clutching at a point in his side that's leaking red at an alarming pace. Anybody who remembers the time Masky stabbed him in the throat probably isn't too worried for his life, but nonetheless, even he looks pretty upset. This has long since turned personal. Nai...]


Kurwa. Okay, you know what? Like, screw this waiting game! We've got to know who they are by now, right?! I know I know a couple... Let's just, like, go, for the love of Mary!

[He winces a little, glancing at the blood on his hand.]

...Elaine, babe, now would be a bitchin' time for all that backup we talked about.

[If anything's happened to her, Poland doesn't know what he'll do.]
reckless_eagle: (I'm not a part of your system)
[Coming out into the hallway, Poland catches sight of the messages his mirror has been leaving him. His eyes scan over them briefly, and then he calmly goes into his room again. A few moments later, he's back, with a quill and inkwell in hand. He goes to the mirror that's being written on at that moment, sets the ink and quill down next to it, straightens up...]

[And puts his fist into the mirror. He's a nation, it's not like his hand won't heal.]

[Leaning down, he picks up his writing supplies, and scrawls on one of the larger fragments of the mirror:

[Just because you're broken doesn't mean I ever will be. Get lost.]

[Point delivered. That said... Man, his hand is going to be regretting that.]
reckless_eagle: (That one stung)
[Loud, panicked whinnying is heard as the communicator turns on. At first, all that can be seen is a rough, earthen floor, but then slim, bloody fingers turn it over carefully.]

[Poland's a bit of a mess. There's dirt, gravel, and blood in his hair, and he's bleeding from his neck enough to make him pale and somewhat disoriented.]

Guys...? [He pauses. It's apparently pretty hard to talk with a neck wound.] ...Masked man. Like. Be careful.

[He trails off, staring into the middle distance for a few moments, evidently just spacing out.]

...Need help with the horses. They won't calm down.

[Miserably:] Liet's gonna worry.

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