(A/N: This is just a quick little something I made for English class. It's post-series, and Ed's just off doing a random job for the military. I left Al out, because that requires too much explaining, and I had a 6-double-spaced-page limit.
The project was to do a variation of a story we'd read in class, so I did a continuation. The story I chose was 'Lather and Nothing Else', where a barber - who is in truth a revolutionist spy - shaves the Captain, whom they're rebelling against. The entire story is the barber deciding whether or not to kill the Captain, and, in the end, he doesn't. Then the Captain reveals that he knew all along that the barber was a revolutionist, and he wanted to see if he'd (the barber) would kill him. Then it ends. Now, if I'm good, you wouldn't have needed that, but just in case, I stuck it in. Enjoy!
Oh, and I own neither FMA nor 'Lather and Nothing Else'.)
To the Other Side of the Door
"…on the verge of escalating to a full-out civil war. Your mission is to stop it, by any means necessary." He read out loud. "Geez, they make it sound so easy." He sighed, folding the paper and shoving it into his pocket.
He leaned back, watching the scenery fly by and listening to the familiar sounds of the train as it struggled to make its way up a particularly steep hill. He liked trains. At least, they were preferable to cars or carriages.
"Captain Torres, huh…" He murmured softly to himself, one hand rising to play with the end of his golden braid, a nervous habit developed after years with the military. He frowned, his eyes narrowing. But whether against the fading light shining through the window, or something else, one couldn't tell…
He stood in his shop, serenely sharpening a razor, as any self-respecting barber would. If he were just to laze about, doing nothing, what would people think? No, no, he had to keep himself busy. Besides, it was a nice day, one of the ones you couldn't sit still on.
Then again, sitting still in this town would just make you an easy target…
He sighed, putting down the newly-sharpened razor to pick up the next. Amazing, how he'd stayed alive this long…
He shook his head. He mustn't think such things! This war would end, soon enough.
But, if he had chosen differently, would it have even started?
The door of his shop swung open, ringing the little bell hanging over it, startling the barber out of his reverie.
"Now, what might a young thing like you be doing here? You look hardly old enough to shave." The old man smiled. The boy was beautiful, with long golden hair pulled back into a braid and large eyes of the same color. He was dressed in simple clothing: black shoes, black pants, black shirt, and a red trench coat. He wore white gloves, too, which struck the barber as odd. He must be awfully hot in all those layers… Gods, the barber could swear he was being cooked alive, and he was just wearing simple breeches and a thin shirt! But the boy, if he was uncomfortable, made no sign of it.
The boy twitched, "I'm not a child, you know."
"Yes, perhaps not. But, what brings you here? This place isn't exactly safe these days."
"I'm with the military." He stated simply.
"Really?" The barber blinked. He was so young!
"Yup." The boy drew out a silver pocket watch, holding it up so the man could see.
"An alchemist!" The barber sputtered. This was very bad. If the military had sent in a state alchemist, they must want this over and done with. This was very, very bad.
"Yup." The boy said again, "Now, I'm looking for a Captain Torres. Know where I can find him?"
The barber gritted his teeth. This was very, very bad.
"Hey! I said do you know where I could find him?" The boy snapped, golden eyes flashing dangerously.
"Head down the street… at the end, head right… it's the 3rd on your right." The barber spouted, almost automatically. What was he saying? If this boy was from the military, he shouldn't be telling him where Torres was!
"Thanks." The boy nodded, his face blank. He picked up his suitcase, and walked out of the shop.
This was very, very bad.
"This is the place." The boy said, staring at the less-than-imposing building. "That is, if the barber gave me the right directions." He sighed. It was tough to be with the military.
He knocked.
No answer.
He frowned.
Someone was there, he could hear him.
Smell him, too, if the stench of wine and ale was any indication.
"Captain Torres!" He called, banging on the door. Again, no answer. "God damn it." He cursed softly, "Captain Torres!" He called again, a little more insistently.
"Whozar?" Came the slurred response as the door opened a crack, revealing a red-rimmed eye.
"Edward Elric, State Alchemist, Eastern Division." The boy replied, saluting smartly, "I'm here to help you with the rebellion, sir."
"Rebellion? This stopped being a rebellion a long time ago." The man spat, "Elric, eh?" The eye – that was basically all Edward could see – raised an eyebrow, "And a state alchemist, no less." He sighed, and closed the door. Edward heard various clicks, and the door opened again, this time all the way.
Captain Torres was a big man, (then again, anyone was big to Edward. He was short for his age, loathe as he is to admit it) but was visibly past his prime. He was graying in places, balding in others, and completely bald in others. It was clear from the bags under his eyes he hadn't gotten any sleep, either because of or in spite of all the alcohol he'd obviously drunk within the last recent period.
"I don't need any help from a squirt like you." He scowled, his drunken slur becoming more pronounced.
Squirt? Edward thought, considering, for a moment, throttling this man, but deciding against it. He was bigger than that now. "I'm afraid it's not your decision anymore, sir."
"Not my decision!" The man blustered, drawing himself up to his full height, "Why, I've been here for-"
"Don't care." Edward gritted his teeth, "In case you didn't know, sir, a state alchemist is equivalent to a Major. In other words, I outrank you."
"And I'm older than you." The man sneered, but he still stepped aside so Edward could enter.
The place was as filthy as its owner, with various liquor bottles scattered around and a smell that reminded Edward vaguely of old milk.
"How the mighty have fallen." He smirked, "I hadn't heard that you'd become a chronic alcoholic."
"You got a family, boy?" Torres asked, ignoring the jibe.
"Just a little brother." Edward shrugged, "Why?"
"Go back to him." He replied, pouring another drink, "Don't stay here, in this hellhole. This place… it's a twenty-four hour massacre."
"Torres." Edward laughed, "I've been with the military since I was twelve. I've seen massacres; I've seen battlefields. This town isn't one."
"Ah, yes, Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist. How could I forget?" He snorted, gulping down the whiskey and pouring another, "Want some?"
"Nah. I'm still underage." Edward shrugged, adding with a smirk, "Ask me next year."
Suddenly, Torres began to laugh. Loud, boisterous, half-drunken laughter. "I can't believe this! I can't believe this!" He snarled, "The military sent me a boy who isn't even old enough to drink! This is hilarious!" He laughed again, "This is freaking hilarious!" He practically screamed, throwing the whiskey bottle onto the floor.
"You shouldn't drink, you know." Edward said calmly, raising a golden eyebrow at the broken shards of glass, "It makes you do stupid things."
"You say that after doing – and seeing – all the things I have." Torres snorted.
"Listen here, old man-" Edward began, but, as usual in his line of work, was cut off by the sound of gunfire outside the house.
"The natives are acting up again." Torres sneered, downing the last of the whiskey and slamming the glass on the table, "Shall we go and see what you're made of, Fullmetal?" Without waiting for an answer, he walked out.
"'Oh, don't worry Ed, this is an easy mission. No trouble at all for someone like you.'" Edward mimicked. "Gods, Colonel, once I get my hands on you…" He muttered, grabbing his suitcase and following the older man outside.
"Alright, you buggers!" The captain yelled, firing off his gun to gain attention, "I want you offa my property in 10 seconds, or I'll skewer the lot of you!"
"Who are you talking to?" Edward asked, joining the captain on the porch.
"They're just hiding, is all." The captain shrugged, "10!"
"Torres! How dare you!" Someone called.
"Sending for a State Alchemist? That's low, even for you!" Yelled someone else.
"9!" Torres called, ignoring the jibes the men yelled, safe within their hidey-holes.
"Just…just surrender, Torres. We've got you surrounded. Your alchemist can't save you now." Called another voice, softer this time.
Edward raised an eyebrow, "The barber? Talk about a plot twist."
The barber was shaking. Terribly. He'd never held a gun before, much less pointed one at anyone, even in the midst of all the fighting that went on. He was just an informant, and a good one, regardless of the fact that Torres had known for years he was a revolutionist.
But he couldn't let everything the rebellion had worked for go to waste because of some kid.
This time… he had no choice.
"How do YOU know a barber? You can't even shave!" Torres snarled.
"I'll have you know I can, I just choose to do it myself, and he gave me directions." Edward explained.
"You IDIOT!" Torres cried, "He's a part of the rebellion!"
"Really?" Edward blinked, "Well, it's not as though it makes any difference-"
"You've gone too far now, Torres!" Cried a voice, "This time you both die!"
There was a faint whistling sound, and the house behind them exploded into flames.
"Holy shi-" Torres grunted, hitting the ground hard from his mad dive to escape the explosion.
"Bad guys and their bad aim." Edward smiled to himself, landing lightly beside the captain. With a practiced movement, he opened his suitcase, bending down to examine the contents. "You'd think they'd practice at some time or another." He reached in, pulling out several chunks of various metals and other things Torres didn't recognize. "But no, they'll just try shooting. It's bound to be easier than it looks." He grinned, seemingly satisfied with his pile.
"Die, you military dogs!" Another revolutionist cried. Then, the gunfire began.
Edward sighed. "They never learn." He clapped his hands, slammed his palm onto the ground, and before Torres knew it, earthen barriers had risen in front of the pair, blocking the bullets with ease. "Now then," Edward grinned at the Captain, "Shall we show them what a dog of the military really looks like?"
He clapped his hands again, this time placing both hands gently against his pile of various minerals. A golden light erupted from the pile, and small sparks of blue lightning flashed. The metal began to warp, changing shape, growing limbs, getting bigger…
It barked.
"Good boy!" Edward grinned, patting the mechanical dog on the head.
"How'd you… don't alchemists need some kind of magic circle to do alchemy?" Torres sputtered.
"Alchemy is the science where one understands the flow and structure of matter, and re-shapes it. In order to do that, you need a transmutation circle. It's pretty much an equation, of sorts. Ordinary alchemists, anyways. But I," Edward grinned, "Am no ordinary alchemist."
He turned his attention to the 'dog' – Torres wasn't quite sure what to call it, since it was unlike anything he'd ever seen – who'd been waiting patiently this entire time, just wagging its tail, and stated, "Fetch."
The dog immediately launched itself over the barrier Edward had created earlier, loping easily through the barrage of bullets to where the revolutionists hid. Torres heard various screams, but Edward just smiled reassuringly at the older man, "Don't worry. He won't –"
Ka-chak.
"Please. Call off your demon. I don't want to kill anyone." Edward easily recognized the voice of the barber.
"Well." Edward smiled, softly folding his hands, "Neither do I." He ran his left hand over his right forearm.
His white glove was suddenly shredded, as though by some invisible force. Metal shined, a blade appearing, as though part of the teen's arm. Correction, it was.
"Automail." Torres whispered. The mechanical limbs attached when someone lost a limb. Or when someone lost a limb to have mechanical limbs attached. Many military men who had lost limbs in various battles actually had them replaced with weapons- guns, blades, everything imaginable. They were men to be feared.
With a quick flick of the newly-created arm blade, the Fullmetal Alchemist sliced the shaft of the gun neatly off. And the barber officially was staring death in the face. Or arm, depending on your point of view.
The barber swallowed, and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He'd lived longer than he should have, anyways.
"Heh." Edward smirked, standing, "I won't kill you. Equivalent exchange and all that good stuff."
"You… won't kill me?" The barber gasped, letting out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.
"Nah. The basis of alchemy is equivalent exchange: People must present something of equivalent value in order to gain something. I believe that it doesn't just apply to alchemy; It applies to the entire world. You gave me directions – I won't kill you. Besides, I'm famous because I'm nice." He grinned.
The barber smiled, and fell to the ground.
Edward's smile vanished as he felt the warm, sticky liquid gently smear its way down his cheek.
"You killed him? Why!" He demanded.
"You really are just a child." Torres shook his head sadly, replacing his gun into its customary holster, and walked away, leaving the teen to kneel in the lifeblood of the kindly old man, mourning the loss of life. Amazing, since he'd seen so much death already.
(A/N: Well, what did you think? I'm okay with it, even though I hate the ending with a passion.
I got 100 percent on it though, so it can't be all bad.
Anyways, review!)