Please Read First: Merry Almost-Christmas, dear reader! It's that time of year again, so I figured I'd celebrate with an FMAB Christmas parody. It's no masterpiece but I wanted to do it for a quick write and for funsies. FMAB and all of its characters belong to Hiromu Arakawa. The poems is my own play on Clement Clarke Moore's "The Night Before Christmas"; it's obvious if you're an English speaking North American, but I state this for any others who don't recognize it and to give the poet proper credit. If it starts a little slow for anyone's taste, I apologize. All of the really big shenanigans happen later once everyone is sauced and the homunculi enter the picture. This is just a build up chapter, but I promise there's still plenty of scathing sarcasm and hilarious situations to begin the story. Anyhow, before you start this story, I advise you look at my warning list.
WARNING: I have an extremely crass, inappropriate, and appalling sense of humor. If you are hypersensitive to harsh humor or are extremely PC, I do not advise this story for you. Think of modern British comedies, Trey Parker/ Matt Stone (South Park, Book of Mormon, etc.), and other comedies full of brash puns, and you will sum up my sense of humor. If you are below the age 16, please quit ignoring the M-rating and go read something age appropriate. I am an extremely big fan of FMAB/ FMA, and it's one of my favorite series, anime or television. However, I'm also a major fan of parodying shows, and I'm not about goofy, fluffy humor at all. Therefore, I say this the kindest way possible: I will bastardize this story, and it will be hilarious.
It was the night before Christmas, and all through Amestris
Not a creature was stirring, except party guests for this Christmas.
The Elric Brothers trudged onward through Central, the city.
Whilst the younger brother glowed, the oldest glowered in self pity.
Tonight was the night for Ole' Colonel's grand gathering,
A festival filled with debauchery, fueled by booze a-smathering.
Through snow and harsh winds, they arrived at tavern's door
One excited for a party, the other dreading what the night had in store.
"This is so stupid," mumbled Edward as he rapped on the door.
"Aw, c'mon Brother! It's Christmas Eve, the most magical time of year! There's snow on the ground, children laughing, people singing, a feeling of merriment for all to share! Don't tell me you're not in the mood for a good ole' fashion Christmas get-together."
"Al?" Edward asked, shivering in the frosty evening.
"Yes?"
"Shut the fuck up."
"Could you stop being a Scrooge for at least one day out of the year?!" Al threw his large metal hands into the air. "You're going to kill Christmas Eve for everyone."
"Scrooge? Please. Scrooge won't even begin to describe me after a night of dealing with Mustang and whatever craptastic festivities he has planned!"
"Can you at least try to put a smile on for the rest of us?"
"Wah wah wah wah wah. That's all I ever hear out of your mouth, Al!"
"I don't even have a mouth!"
"For good fucking measure. If I could use alchemy to shut your soul up_ however the fuck that'd work_ I'd be a real hero."
"Maybe we could consult the stack of alchemy books if you didn't need them as a stepladder for the sink!"
"I'd say low blow but you have to have testicles to get the joke!"
The large wooden door flew open before Al could reply. Both brothers could do nothing but gawk at the individual in the doorway, unable to process what they were looking at. Colonel Mustang stood before them, dressed in a hideous sweater depicting a burning yule log. He smirked at his subordinates, gesturing inside.
"... You were right. Fuck this," said Al.
"Won't you please come in, dear guests," he said, sarcasm dripping from his deep voice. Alphonse hesitated but entered the building but Edward just stood, giving Mustang a look of sheer mistrust. "What's up with you, Fullmetal? Not feeling the Christmas Spirit yet?"
"Oh, I'm feeling something. Not Christmas Spirit, but something," muttered Ed, acceding to the invitation and crossing through the door.
"Don't feel too bad. I'm bound to give everyone an awkward boner sooner or later," Mustang stated smoothly and winked.
"Yeeeep, we're done. We're done. Al, we're going home," Edward shot, striding out the open door and making pedophile accusations under his breath.
"Do you want your dismissal note tonight? If you wait until tomorrow morning, I could wrap it up and put it under the Christmas tree. No promises there won't be vomit stains on the note... or your tree."
"You can't fire me for not attending your stupid party! Furor wouldn't allow it!"
"A little liquor and a back rub will go a long ways, Fullmetal. Jot that one down for when you decide to pork Blondiebell."
"WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?!"
"Don't lie to me, Elric. Lube up that engine and I bet you could get it roaring. If you don't get around to it though, I am more than ready to play HANDYman..." Mustang gave a devilish smile.
"Nicholas-fucking-Flamel, Colonel. She's sixteen!"
"Say, what IS the legal age of consent in this country, anyway? We're kinda old-world, so I'd say if the red river can run, I'm good to boat those currents. Or wait... do we even have an age of consent?" Mustang pondered, scratching his chin. "Questions, questions."
With a heavy sigh and a face palm, Edward interjected, "Look, I'll stay on two conditions: One, I'm still employed by The State tomorrow morning, and two, YOU DO NOT RAMROD MY CHILDHOOD FRIEND. Ok?"
"We're gold on the first one but I can't make any promises on numero dos. When I'm liquored up, El Diablo Calor does what El Diablo Calor wants."
"Fine, fine... wait, you call yourself El Diablo Color?"
"I'd like to think of it as an extension of myself_"
"For God's sake Colonel, the last conversation I'd like to have is about what you call your dong."
Edward glanced around to distract himself from the taste of vomit in his mouth. He recognized the building as Madam Christmas's tavern; how ironic. The place was covered with decorations, as if Christmas had caught Salmonella and excreted its content everywhere. Presents were nestled under a tree decorated with empty alcohol bottles, "bar maids" went to and fro in skimpy red outfits, and a stocking for each soldier from Mustang's squadron was hung over a roaring fireplace.
Edward's eyes turned to the fully stocked bar on the other end of the room. Note to self: Change into something flame-proof once Mustang starts drinking.
"Now what?" Ed grumbled.
"For starters, take your coat off. If you don't, in ten minutes time, you'll feel like a middle-aged woman in menopause."
Edward shed his coat and hung it on a rack by the door, revealing a lumpy red sweater that bore the same insignia as his jacket.
"Where'd you get that gold nugget from?" Mustang sneered.
"Oh, well_" Al started, but Edward cut him off.
"GRAN! Gran made it as a joke one year, so I figured this was the perfect occasion for it."
"I'm touched," muttered the older man, ignoring the boy's nervous neck-rubbing.
"So where the hell is everyone any_" Suddenly, the door flew open, nailing Edward directly in the face. Fuery, Breda, Falman, and Havoc burst through the opening, all breathing heavily from exertion.
"I won!" Falman cried.
"No way, old man. It was totally me!" Breda puffed out his chest and point a thumb at himself.
"What do you think?!" Fuery exclaimed at their superior.
"I think," Mustang mumbled, scratching under his chin, "that Havoc's cigarette tip crossed through before anyone , so he wins. For a change, it looks as if smoking can win you something besides lung cancer."
"Fuck yah!" Havoc pumped his fist and eyed the servers. "Anyone want to celebrate with me?"
The blonde tomcat winked, and the women giggled, whispering to each other. The three other soldiers glowered, their expression etched with envy. Rolling his eyes, Mustang barked, "For fuck's sake, everyone go to the bar. Ladies, serve these assholes some consolation shots. Oh, and stay away from Havoc. He's ridden more horses than The State Calvary."
"C'mon! You're killing my game, Colonel! Who else is to going to go merry-making withme? Riza?" Cigarette clamped between his teeth, Havoc clutched his sides and bellowed with laughter. The rest of the room, including Mustang, joined the hysterical fit until a voice interrupted their guffaws.
"Would that be my Christmas present, Havoc?" The entire room fell dead silent as Riza strode through with a package tucked under her arm. She raised an eyebrow at Havoc, her expression uncertain and unreadable. Nobody even dared to snicker at her ridiculous get-up, a sweater covered in stuck-on candy canes, jingle bells, and package ribbons. Riza swaggered up to Havoc, only several inches from his face, and plucked the cigarette out of his mouth.
"Uhh..." was the only words Havoc could manage, sweat pouring down his face.
"Because if I let you stuff my stocking, all I'll get this year is chlamydia." She fell into a fit of laughter and popped the cigarette back into the man's mouth. The rest of the room burst into raucous bellows once more; except Havoc, who merely stared at Riza as if she had castrated him.
"I'll be damned! Cracking jokes, and you're not even drunk yet, Lieutenant!" Mustang cried, slapping her on the back. "Let's fix that. Ladies, a shot for Lieutenant Hawkeye here!"
As the others gathered at the bar, Mustang walked back and closed the door. Much to his surprise, Edward stood behind it, nose spurting blood and eye twitching. "Oh shit! You ok, Fullmetal?"
"Brother!" Al loped over to join the older Elric and Colonel Mustang.
Finally, after a minute or two, Edward slowly turned his head to Al. "It'd be fun, my brother said. You'll have the time of your life, he said. NOTHING TOTALLY UNPLEASANT OR FUCKED WILL HAPPEN AT A MUSTANG-PARTY, HE SAID!"
"Don't be so sour, Elric. C'mon, let's get you some ice; we can make you a compress and something on the rocks."
"OHHHHHHHHH No. Absolutely, positively not! I'd rather transmute myself a red hot poker iron and sodomize myself with it than get drunk at this party! It sounds much better than waking up stark naked and tied to Major Armstrong's bed, gagged with mistletoe and a big red bow tied to my ball sack!"
"Jeez, Fullmetal. Why must you assume I'm always out to set you up for pain and suffering?" Mustang chuckled as he grabbed some ice and a rag at the bar.
"Let's see." Edward put his fingers up and began to count. "There was that time at the summer barbecue with the firecracker and my crotch, the time you sent me a stripper-gram for my birthday while I was staying at Granny Pinako's house, that time you gave me sex education lesson when I was twelve and told me I had to transmute boners away, that time you snuck a pack of condoms with a winky-face note into my birthday present for Winry, that time you_"
"WHOA WHOA WHOA! I get it! I've played my share of pranks, but you make me out to be some major asshole!"
"A Colonel Asshole, to be more precise," muttered Edward, walking to the bar to retrieve the cloth full of ice.
"Hmmmmmm?"
"NOTHING!" Edward yelled, grabbing the cold bundle from the dark-haired man's hand and pressing it to his nose.
"You really shouldn't take these things so personally," chided Al. "Learn to laugh with them, and they won't want to prank you anymore.
"You really shouldn't take these things so personally," Edward mimicked back. He glared at the wall, stewing as he cooled the injury.
"Merry Christmas Eve, you sons of bitches!" The next guest to enter the tavern was Maes Hughes, followed by his wife, who gave him a disapproving swat.
"Language, Maes!"
"Oh, sorry! You sons of guns..." he said softly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Maes! Good to see you and the missus!" Mustang greeted them and lead the couple to the bar. "Ladies, drinks for the boring married people!"
"Boring indeed. We can't drink too much or be gone very long. We left Elicia with a babysitter; some nice retired fellow from the military," replied Gracia.
"Shoot! You could have brought her along and let the girls watch her!" The Colonel gestured to the scantily clad barmaids.
Both Hughes stared at him for a minute, silence overtaking the trio. Finally, Maes replied, "Roy... those are prostitutes."
"Yah?"
"They have paid sex for a living."
"I know."
"They're all drunk or doped up on something 80% of the time."
"Mhmm."
"Roy?"
"Yes Hughes, my ole' pal?"
"Don't ever reproduce."
Before the conversation could be continued, a jolt of cold air distracted them as more party-goers arrived.
"I hope we're not too late everyone! It's quite the train ride from Resembool but we made it," cried a familiar voice. Edward froze, the ice-filled rag still pressed to his nose. Could it be? How?! Mustang wouldn't have... would he? That bastard! There's no way...
Edward turned around to see Winry and Pinako wiping their feet off at the door, both clad in ugly sweaters and towing presents like the other invitees. He was in too much of a state of shock to notice a fresh gush of blood slide past the rag and down his face.
Glancing at Edward's sweater and then back at the blonde girl, Al mumbled, "I... I think I'm going to go get some fresh air."
"BUT_ BUT YOU DON'T EVEN BREATH!" Edward tried to argue. However, Alphonse was already up and on his way to the door.
"Yesssss. Tits..." Roy whispered as he sat down at the bar.
As Al approached the door, his brother watched Winry give him a hug and an excited greeting. However, the suit of armor was out the door the moment she let go, leaving his brother to a fresh-brewing disaster. Winry turned and spotted Ed, her face lighting up immediately. She raced over and swooped her childhood friend up in a hug before Edward had time to hide the front of his sweater. "MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE, ED! I know it's not exactly your favorite day of the year but I'm still happy to_ hey... why is your nose bleeding?"
"Uhhh?" Edward touched his face and gazed at the fresh traces of blood on his fingers.
"BONER NOSEBLEED!" Mustang shouted into his hands like a mega-phone. "ELRIC'S GOT A BONER NOSEBLEED!"
"Quit your shit, Colonel!" Yelled Edward, trying to staunch the trailing red fluid.
"Very funny_" Winry paused, her eyes glued to Ed's sweater. With quivering lips she asked, "Colonel?"
"Yes, Ms. Rockbell?"
"When you called on the telephone, you did say this was an UGLY SWEATER party, correct?"
"Yep. Sure did," replied Mustang. He proceeded to attack a mixed whiskey drink, pretending not to listen as the girl turned her attention to the younger alchemist.
"Ed... if this is an ugly sweater party, why are you wearing the sweater I made you for Christmas this year?"
Winry stared at Edward with doeful eyes, tears beginning to brim at their outer creases. Meanwhile, the words caught Mustang mid-drink, causing him to choke on the booze and spew it everywhere.
Pounding his chest and coughing, Colonel interjected, "Holy shit! Wheeeeeeeeeew. Didn't see that coming."
"Well, uh, Winry. I, uhhhhh..." Edward searched for an excuse, panic filling his chest. "Everything else I have with me is dirty, and this was the only thing I had left that was clean!"
He combed the back of his golden braid, hoping she would buy his lie.
"Ed, I packed your suitcase two days ago, and it had a weeks worth of clothes."
"Oh well... fuck." The two sat for a second in awkward silence before Winry turned to walk away, fuming with every step. "Winry, wait!"
"Fuck off, Ed! You know, you're such a dick sometimes," yelled Winry as she galloped off to the bathroom.
"Oooo, shots fired, eh Fullmetal? I thought you said Gran made it as a joke?" Mustang inquired, swallowing what remained of his drink.
Granny Pinako, who had just grabbed herself some bourbon at the bar, turned to Edward. "Me?! Make a sweater?! Ha! You're a pretty piss-poor liar, Edward Elric. Looks like you're going to have to learn that the hard way."
"I didn't know your girlfriend could knit," said Mustang, downing another alcoholic beverage.
"HOLY SHIT, SHE'S NOT MY GIRLFRIEND!"
"Whoa, calm down. Have a drink or something!"
"YOU SEE! THIS IS WHY I LIE TO YOU GUYS ABOUT THINGS LIKE THIS! CAN I RECEIVE SOMETHING FROM A GIRL AND NOT BE ACCUSED OF BEING IN A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP WITH HER?!" Ed flailed his arms, and blood began to spurt heavily from his nose.
"Oh. I just thought you lied because we'd all think you were a giant asshole for wearing your girlfriend's homemade present to an ugly sweater party," said Mustang nonchalantly.
Edward stared at the wall, anger mounting behind his increasing nosebleed. After five minutes, he finally pounded his fist on the bar and cried, "ALCHEMY-ON-A- DICK, FUCK IT! I'LL TAKE A WHOLE BOTTLE OF VODKA! IF I GET A MIXER, I'M GOING TO GIVE SOMEONE AN ENEMA WITH IT!"
If he was going to tolerate everyone and get through this night, he was going to need to be partially incapacitated.
"Firs', I thought we could play dress-up, an' maybwe do pwetty princess makeovers an' braid our hair an'..." Elicia babbled on, but her babysitter was lost to his own thoughts.
My God, what did I get myself into? It's been twenty minutes and I'd rather drink my own aneurysm than continue on with this. When does she ever shut the fuck up and breath? Next time I think out a vengeance plan, I should just roast someone or make them eat their Grandma's ashes or something. If we'd used this tactic back in Ishval, even I would have opposed it.
"Mr. Kimbwee, are you listening'?" Elicia growled, putting her hands on her hips. Kimblee looked down at the girl, trying to fight back a venomous glare.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, his voice laden with false honey. "What do YOU want Me to DO?"
"Maybwe, we coul' watch Fwozen with our DVD pwayer!" The little girl dragged him to the living room. She grabbed a silver disk sitting on one of the lamp stands and popped it into a strange, flat machine. Suddenly, an image popped onto the machine and began to move. Elicia then grabbed Kimblee's hand and pulled him to the couch, bobbing with anticipation.
What the actual fuck? Does this even exist in our universe? This must be the work of another crappy fan fiction writer. Wait... oh fuck. I'm breaking fourth wall again. Play it cool, Kimblee. Don't let them know you know they're watching. Ok, just sit down and watch whatever the fuck this little girl is showing you, and everything will be alright. Everything will be alright...
Kimblee knew this was going to be a very long night.