Lt.Col. David Harrison (dd_harrison) wrote in diamonddogs, @ 2010-09-02 04:46:00 |
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Entry tags: | harrison |
Who: Harrison, open as practical
What: Lt.Col. Harrison REALLY needs to get somebody off his damn back
When: Shortly after Dr. Ferguson's return from his injuries
Where: In his office
Status: Can be complete, but feel free to prove me wrong. :D
Harrison had all but given up even trying to be polite to Mrs. McCloy. Did the harridan not think that, had her pain in the arse of a son been found, she'd have found out about it by now? Fuck, had that glorious event occurred, Harrison would have arranged a sodding parade to get the little shit back home to his adoring matriarch just so he could get her to Shut. The Fuck. Up.
If only he could change his phone - or at least have her calls barred. Neither was possible, however.
Still, what he COULD do now, since McCloy had been gone for months with no suspected sightings of him for some considerable time, was finally tell the bitch that, as far as the Military was concerned, he was dead, having succumbed to his injuries at the time his workshop/home was attacked. No doubt he was removed by The Dead and held for information which, of course (since he couldn't give her TOTAL bad news) he hadn't given. This stress, along with the injuries he'd sustained in the explosion and the treatment he'd received at the hands of his captors, clearly proved too great for him to handle.
That'd do it. Of course, once he'd got the bitch off his back (and phone), then the search would still continue for him. After all, he could be being held somewhere. The total lack of evidence for his fate following the explosion troubled Harrison. Something should have been found, either near his wheelchair or his bed. Then again, his wheelchair should've been next to his bed. Whatever.
Somehow he'd find him. That much he promised himself. However, in the meantime he settled down and drew out official, black-bordered letterhead. He could have it typed, of course, but it would be a nice touch (well, it'd give him a sense of accomplishment), to write the letter of condolence by hand.
He drew his pen with a flourish, looked down at the sheet in front of him, and began.
"Dear Mr. and Mrs. McCloy,
It is with great sadness that I have to advise you..."