Title: The day it rained
Rating: PG - 13
Characters: Barry the Chopper, his wife
Summary: Barry the Chopper muses about his life and his wife as it rains.
Spoilers/Warnings: Boderline crack, lunacy, silly... Barry the Chopper fic - so tis expected?
Disclaimer: If I lie, Barry will cry; I owns nothing.
A/N: This was written a while ago because I had been itching to write Barry!fic for fma_fic_contest prompt for 'Rain'. Unfortunately, Barry dear refused to fit in mere 500 words so... Posted here now because I think I've got the hang of this site (woot!).
It had rained that day too, he realized suddenly, looking up at the sky.
The old abandoned building he was hiding in was in terrible shape. In all honesty, it looked like concrete had just exploded from the ground, grown like weeds and decided mid way to meet and strangle each other.
It was perfect.
He just needed a little bit of shelter till the rain stopped.
It was rather annoying not knowing just how powerful or weak his blood seal and armour was. Would it wash off in the rain? Would he rust in the rain?
Questions, questions but he didn't have anyone to ask them too. He didn't have anyone to talk to either. He was tempted sorely to go meet his old friends from the time he was human but he didn't think they'd be too... pleased to see him.
So he sat hunkering in the corner, watching the rain drop through the gigantic hole in the roof and tried to remember that day, the day they met, the day it rained too.
She was beautiful. God had gifted her gorgeously long thick black hair that reached to the bottom of her back which she flaunted in rippling glossy waves. She possessed startling wide black eyes that were hypnotic, seductive... Mmhmm. Her smile! Angels would envy it! It was a smile that made Barry's poor heart go 'whump-a-thump' and threaten to stop working all together in rapturous blissful joy.
Barry loved her madly.
Unfortunately he didn't know her name or where she lived or what were her favourite colours or flowers or books or kinky habits or anything really a man who wanted to woo a woman was supposed to know.
All he knew was she liked pig.
Pork.
Ham.
Bacon.
Sausages.
Lots of it.
He always found himself hiding in the corner of the meat shop whenever she came in. It was safer, for the best, really – because he usually ended squeaking enthusiastically about the feeding and mating habits of pigs whenever she just happened to glance at him.
Barry was plenty weird; he didn't need her knowing it.
So he stayed in the corner, huddled and pretended he was tiny while his master would yabble on about lazy apprentices who did nothing and he would mumble some excuse and curl himself into an even tinier ball.
He sometimes would, from the corner of his eye, watch her carry the seemingly inhuman amount of meat in a basket and wondered how she ate that all and yet had a figure quite so curvy and seductive. He would then promptly blush and wish the floor would swallow him.
- - -
Barry's over the counter obsession-assumed-to-be love continued till one fine day.
That day it was raining.
It was pouring.
It was raining cats, dogs, monkeys, pigs, elephants!
The sky, it seemed, was quite determined to make up for any absence of rain it may have had over the centuries.
The result was of course, stranded mere mortals all over the place.
Shivering, soggy wet human beings all over the place, cowering wherever they could find shelter from the enthusiastic rain.
Barry grabbed his grandmother's big flowery umbrella and internally huffed at all those who had laughed at him, calling the umbrella absurd and silly. Well, were they laughing now? Oh nooo!
Under the protective shade, he chuckled happily and was on his way home when he spotted a sight he'd have given his right arm to have forever, clearly, etched in his brain.
Her!
She was soaking, dripping, wet, squirming under the tiny concrete edge-roof that jutted off a closed shop roof.
He gawked for several minutes, could not stop gawking.
She suddenly noticed him noticing her and he promptly hollered out "Did you know pigs don't have functional sweat glands?"
The floor refused to obey him and swallow him, neither did the earth, nor the sky open up and gank him to the eternal safety of heaven where one couldn't be embarrassed.
Time, however, conspired against him, froze and she stared at him.
She continued to stare at him, tried to walk slowly, however ended up scuttling hurriedly because of the alarmingly heavy rain, and stood before him, under his umbrella.
"They don't?" she asked, half-hollering too, because the rain, again, made things hard to hear.
"Yes" he yelled back.
"Barry, right?"
He nodded enthusiastically.
She smiled sweetly.
It was love.
- - - -
"It was insanity."
"What?"
"She was having a moment of insanity, Barry. No sane woman likes a man who talks about pigs."
"Oh."
He stared at his friend chewing food rather enthusiastically and wished he was at work where he could huddle into his corner.
- - -
He moped, dutifully and uninterruptedly for a long time because for some strange reason, she didn't come to buy meat any more.
It rained again.
He, inside the shop, stared out the window and moped some more.
She, magically appearing from nowhere, outside, waved to him.
He nearly fell off his chair in shock.
- - -
Barry walked her home under the umbrella again because it seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do.
"So you want to be a butcher?'
He blinked and nodded.
She waited.
He decided to elaborate, "I'm good at slicing."
"Ah."
"Pigs have a full set of 44 teeth!" he squeaked out.
"Really?" she squealed.
He stared at her. "You like pigs?"
"Yes!"
"…"
"Don't you?"
"Of course I… you're a little crazy," he declared feeling quite faint.
She beamed happily, it was love.
"I know." she chirped, "They say I'm quite a fool".
- - -
"You're a fool."
He ignored her.
"You're a lazy fool who doesn't do anything! Don't know why the hell I married you. Brainless – chicken headed bloody – idiot – the rain must have addled my brain. Always talking about chicken and meat and for Gods sake didn't I ask you to clean the room??"
Barry held the knife in his hand, loving the weight, the feel of it. She was talking, ranting, something but he was entranced – what a pretty knife, so pretty, so beautiful, it made his heart go 'whump-a-thump', he wondered –
"Hey"
"What?" she snapped.
"Did you know pigs may eat their own young if they become severely stressed?"
"What the –?"
He lifted the knife.
She screamed.
Blood and guts and pieces, and pieces and oh so much blood.
He laughed, laughed.
Barry sighed happily.
She had been so easy to slice, so soft, her curves… Afterwards he had stared at how neat and clean she looked in pieces, so quite, so beautiful, so petite… It had been love.
The rain pitter pattered, lessening in intensity and he remembered how afterwards he'd stood in the rain and danced, letting every drop hit him, washing the blood off the knife. Good times, those were.
Now, he couldn't feel anything.
Slightly annoying.
He had been Barry the butcher, then Barry the Chopper – the notorious murderer and now a haunted suited of armour – an improved, better Barry the Chopper!
And he was huddling away from the rain so as not to die.
Well, not die, really, he didn't have much of a body so death wasn't what he would call it, but it definitely meant not existing any more.
Barry had tried thinking about it, to bother his brain about his existence or not and what he was and all that but then he'd realized he didn't have a brain either and chuckled happily.
He made a funny, pity no one was there to share it with.
The rain had completely stopped, Barry stood up, spotted a blonde haired figure walking with large grocery bags stuffed in her arms.
He practised what he considered his most brilliant yet line out loud:
"I kill therefore I exist!"
A pigeon cooed somewhere in response.
Honestly, sometimes he missed having people around. Maybe he could keep a pet… ?
The woman wasn't far off yet. She looked – fun!
Barry chuckled happily and started to follow her stealthily, trying not to clang loudly.
It was time for him to go prove his existence!
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