A/N:
This is a pre-2009 anime fic, based off a hypothetical situation of the birth of the homunculi and written for the seven_sins challenge on lj. The manga might disagree with this, but to be honest I'm only familiar as far as the anime goes, so that's the information I've centered this around.
This is a completed fic, and will be updated every Saturday. I was actually supposed to out the first "chapter" up yesterday, but I forgot.
So enjoy, and tell me what you think.
The Dwarf Inside the Flask
Homunculus 1: Pride
1.
Pride unfurled the whip, lashing the tongue and clipping wings feathered and large. Pride brought pain to golden eyes, making one bleed red and the other liquid clear and bitter, leaving salty treks down the face that left a scar long after water itself had evaporated. Pride caused the skin to break and then mend with imperfection, pink and wrinkled and stretched and on occasion blackened around the edges. And pride caused it all to be borne without an outward cry of pain, even when the heart housed agony and bitterness and thoughts of the unfairness of it all.
Pride was such a pointless thing, unnecessary in the perfect world. Its world.
The slave dragged his protested body over the tiled floor, a soundless groan escaping his lips. His destination lay beyond: his small refuge from the Emperor and others who milled about with higher heads and broader shoulders. Some had their togas trailing behind them, enjoying the cleanliness other aching hands had provided for them.
He passed a peer still cleaning his portion, hand blurring from the repetitive haste. The rest of them had completed their allotted areas, and it was a small relief, watching the crack of a whip on the other's back: a mark of tardiness and unsatisfaction. Not a sound escaped the other; he simply gritted his teeth and continued his work. It wasn't for fear of punishment; the men who stood tall and cloaked with gold took great pleasure in dealing pain.
And, just as predicted, another lash came down upon his back, staining the dirtied white toga with a line of vibrant red.
The slave kept his gait even, although instinct told him to hasten and retreat to his next task. Already, his back stung with the echo of a lash that had landed…was it that morning? Or maybe yesterday? Or a day he couldn't even place in his life.
2.
It took the child; the dead fetus from his mother's bath of blood. It was human foolishness that provided it such a convenient vessel. Thinking blood was the key to immortality, that it was the key to immortality.
Oh, he could do it. The foolish humans were beneath his power. But that immortality would not be for them. Instead, it would be them that would provide that length, that power.
And its children, not human but above them, with its power…and soon, its blood as well.
Blood that humans would provide.
But until then, he bid the slave to open the bottle. Just a bit, for a little while. And in return he gave a little more. Not a name: he had already given that in exchange for trust. A little power would be a fair exchange: knowledge.
Humans only became more foolish with knowledge and power. And that would in turn empower him.
'The child lives! The child lives!'
The cry went through the room, before fading and spreading like a rippling wave, latching on to bustling hands and hurrying feet that scurried about the palace, bringing the colour of the blinding sun to the room with the Emperor and his escort wrapped in gold. No slaves were present; the company was unworthy of them, but they scurried about in the halls and floors beyond, their workloads suddenly overflowing.
In the basket, the babe shifted before snuggling into the covers once more. A little spout of black hair shone in the light from the high sun before vanishing under the blanket and being replaced by a pale white hand instead.
And inside its flask, the Homunculus's small balled form twisted into a grinning mouth.
One little display would keep them happy. And nudge things along the path to its end…and theirs.
