A Pen or a Sword?
By: Bar-Ohki
Disclaimer: I'm borrowing characters, ideas, and settings from Fullmetal Alchemist. They are not mine.
Claimer: I own Jaxith Howard Skibbereen and the rest of his family save his Great Uncle.
Summary: It dawns on Mustang that Edward is a catalyst for change. And now, like everything else, he's going to make use of this ability….
Rating: T for violence, swearing, homosexuality, and crude comments.
Warnings: One of the characters in this story is homosexual, there is not any yoai, nor shonen-ai.
Other Stuff: Random fact: Skibbereen is the name of a town on the Southern tip of Ireland. Couldn't tell you how it is supposed to be pronounced. This story is about family love, pride, and history. It is about expectations, both reasonable and unreasonable. And most importantly it is about discovering one's place and calling in the world. This tale will not focus on the characters I am borrowing from FMA, its more about a few of my OCs living in their world with the FMA crew. This story is animebaised. And now to the part y'all care about:
Chapter 1: A Present From Home
Sergeant J. W. Charles was not having a good day. He was a tall man, decently built, fairly strong. He was not overly handsome, but not ugly either. Average intelligence and polite, he thought life was going well and didn't care whether or not he got promoted or married. Charles had a buzzed head of brown hair and plain grey eyes. His face was clean-shaven and his skin was tan from all the hours he spend outside.
And why did he spend many hours outdoors? Why was he having a bad day? Very simple his job is to deliver important military packages, anywhere, anytime, snow or shine. Contrary to belief, it happened to be a bright spring day, not too warm or too cold. There was a light breeze and the smell of freshly made doughnuts in the air. The real reason today was not a good day to be Sergeant Charles was too particularly large boxes that weighed about 50 kg each (110 lbs). These boxes where to go up three flights of stairs as the elevators were currently out of order. The real problem for the Sergeant was that he had no one to help him with this task.
What the hell is so important in these damn boxes anyways!? He growled as he glared at them. The Sergeant really wanted to kick one of the boxes, but decided better as he would be in a lot more trouble if he broke something that wasn't himself. He glared at the labels on the boxes. 'To the office of Col. R. Mustang, 4th floor, left wing' they read.
"Whaccha doin' there mister?" The voice of a child rang in Sgt. Charles' ears. He looked up to see a young boy with long blond hair and golden eyes. He had tied his hair back in a braid, which contrasted his red coat nicely. The rest of the boy was clad in black. He stood joyfully on the heels of his boots with his hands in his pockets. The child was sincerely curious in the Sergeant's misery.
"I'm trying to figure out a way to not break myself." Sgt. Charles let out a long sigh. The boy looked at him, the statement having puzzled him. Sgt. Charles sat down on the grass beside the boxes and looked the kid over.
"What are you doing here at Central Headquarters for?" Sgt. Charles was greatly puzzled why a young boy would have any business at a military institution. "Are you looking for someone?"
"No." The boy answered quickly. "I'm here to put in my report." He sighed, then muttered something menacing under his breath.
"Report?" Sgt. Charles stared at the boy for a minute. Then an explanation dawned on him. "Oh you must be the Fullmetal Alchemist!"
"Yup!" The boy smiled brightly. "Major Edward Elric at your service, sir!"
He's certainly a cheerful fellow! The Sergeant observed. Hey, isn't he under Mustang's command?
"Say, aren't you under the command of Colonel Mustang?" Sgt. Charles asked. The alchemist scowled and began glaring at the ground.
"Yes." He hissed. Sgt. Charles grew a little nervous.
"Well-"
" 'Well' what?!" Edward snapped, looking grumpy.
"Could you help me?" Sgt. Charles asked in a meek voice. Edward suddenly stopped being angry and was again, curious.
"With what?"
"Moving these boxes. You see I have to deliver them to your commanding officer, but all the dogs around here are too lazy to help." Sgt. Charles explained with a sigh. Edward snorted.
"What a bunch of pricks!" He scoffed the other men lazing about. "Sure thing- uh…."
"Sergeant Charles." The sergeant injected. "And thank you so much Major Elric."
-four flights of stairs and two boxes later-
"I hope that bastard's going to be grateful for this!" Edward grunted as he held both boxes up with one arm and opened the door with the other. Sgt. Charles struggled to balance the other end of both boxes. With a satisfying click the door to Col. Mustang's office swung open and in walked the boxes and their carriers.
"Hey chief- what's with the boxes?" A blond man asked, managing to hold his cigarette in his mouth while talking and gapping at the size of the boxes.
"Woah! Ed do you need a hand!?" At his words another man in the room jumped to his feet. He was a large man, with red hair and brown eyes.(1)
"Yes please!" Called Sgt. Charles from the hall.
"Havoc help Breda with whatever is going on over there!" Shouted a commanding male voice from the private office in the back of the room. "That's an order!" It added before Havoc could protest. Immediately the smoking man snuffed his cigarette and rushed to help Breda, Edward, and Sgt. Charles carry in the boxes.
"Uhh…" Havoc began, "where do these go?" Suddenly all four people stopped and stood around looking dumb.
"I thought you would know?" Sgt. Charles put forth hopefully.
"Where's it say they go?" Edward called from the side of the boxes, being too short to see the top.
"Aww, lit-" Breda began to tease.
"You realize the chief can just drop these on your foot?" Havoc injected to avoid disaster. He wouldn't put it past the irritable alchemist to drop the boxes on Breda's feet and manage to break everything inside them.
"Well! What's it say!?" Ed growled, growing impatient.
" 'To the office of Col. R. Mustang, 4th floor, left wing'." Sgt. Charles read aloud.
"Hey Colonel!" Havoc called, startling the Sergeant. "Open your door will ya!?" There was a grunt and the far office door opened. A handsome man stood in the door way, with piercing onyx eyes and a mat of jet black hair. He took in the sight of two huge boxes being held up by four men.
"How the hell did you manage to get those up the stairs?" He asked, awed.
"With sheer strength!" Edward chipped, looking smug. The Colonel felt a twang of pity in his heart for whoever helped the boy haul those boxes up the stairs.
"Just set them by the wall in my office." The Colonel said quickly, getting himself out of the way. Soon the boxes were laid down and Sgt. Charles let out a sigh of relief.
"Please sign here for these Colonel Mustang sir." Sgt. Charles produced a small clipboard with a few forms on it. Mustang glanced over it and signed.
"Sergeant, where are these from? I was not expecting any packages." Mustang inquired.
"Western Headquarters." Sgt. Charles answered quickly. Mustang's eyes grew wide as dinner plates.
"Oh." Mustang stared at the boxes nervously while his subordinates crowded around anxiously awaiting their opening. "Thank you Sergeant, you may leave."
With his dismissal, Sgt. Charles saluted and made haste in his exit.
"What's so special about Western Headquarters?" Edward asked, not quiet understanding why the boxes had become an object of worry.
"My family's from the West…." Mustang remarked meekly. Everyone went quiet.
"You mean hick-ville?" Breda daringly whispered.
"…Yes…." Mustang shuddered as he tried to suppress some unwanted memories.
"Do you think its another dead possum?" Havoc asked. All eyes turned on him, horrified.
"…." Mustang made no move to respond.
"What's this about a 'dead possum'?" A female voice inquired from the hall. A woman walked in while she re-clipped her hair into a tight bun. She had amber eyes and looked most serious. Two men followed her in, each carrying a stack of paperwork. One was extremely tall and thin, with grey hair and eyes that seemed to be permanently shut. The other man was shorter, with spiky black hair, block glasses and kind grey eyes.
"Lieutenant I thought we were not to recount the 'Dead Possum Incident' ever, especially if Edward's around…."(2) The man with the glasses reminded the woman quietly.
"Sir?" The woman saluted her Colonel, a little confused.
"I have reason to believe that my Mummy has sent me 'presents' again." Mustang informed the woman.
" 'Again?' " Edward was curious and confused. What could have happened? He asked himself.
"Why do you believe that sir?" The grey haired man asked.
"My birthday was last week." Mustang explained quickly. "Fuery! Falman! Put those papers down!"
"Sir!" They chorused and dashed about the office setting down papers where they needed to go. The brunt of them wound up on Mustang's desk.
"Hawkeye, find me a boxer cutter." Mustang addressed the woman. She walked over and pulled one out of her back pocket.
"Sir!" She saluted him after the object left her hand. Mustang bent over the boxes and started sweating profusely. He looked like he was about to disarm a dangerous explosive.
"What happened with the possum?" Edward asked suddenly, making Mustang flinch and stab the cardboard with his box cutter. He pulled his hand away, as if it were on fire then poked the box timidly with his foot.
"His mother sent him a dead possum as a 'housewarming gift' when she heard that he had been promoted to Lieutenant Colonel. He's never lived it down." Hawkeye explained quickly.
"Oh." Edward said simply. "Do you want me to open it?" Edward gave his Colonel a flat look. "Because you're over-reacting."
"Actually, he's being rather controlled this time…." Fuery observed. Edward stared at him stunned.
Sh-riiiip! Mustang cut the box open. He then grabbed the lid and yanked it open with a lot of force and a loud grunt. Everyone was a little startled by the sudden change of behavior. Mustang quickly lifted an envelope off the top of the contents and left his subordinates to look. Havoc reached inside and pulled out a few round tins. They were remarkably heavy, he opened one.
"Fruitcake?" Havoc raised an eyebrow. Hawkeye reached inside and pulled out a several armfuls of small rectangular boxes. She examined the outsides quickly.
"Shot gun ammunition?" She raised an eyebrow as well. "Sir, do you even own a shot gun?"
"My boomstick?" Roy asked from his letter. There was an awkward pause. "It's under my desk."
Fuery nervously retrieved the shot gun from under the desk. It was a double barrel shot gun and looked well cared for. Hawkeye set the ammunition down and took the gun and began to examine it. Breda took his turn and reached down and pulled up a baby blue knit sweater. It read 'Mummy's boy' on the front in red letters. Edward had to choke down a laugh.
"Sir, is she going to expect you to wear this around here?" Breda paled at the thought.
"Every time it snows." Mustang grinned when his subordinates stared in horror. "Under my jacket of course." He added quickly and returned to his letter.
Falman stuck his hand in and pulled out a book titled 'A Brief History of the National Alchemists'.(3) He opened the cover to see a little note. 'With love, your sissy Jane.' the note said. Falman shrugged, having found his gift the least strange. Fuery groped around trying to find something, quickly discovering that the first box was empty.
"Sir, can I open your other box?" Fuery asked.
"Eh? Sure." With that Fuey quickly cut into the box. He was about to open it when Havoc started talking again.
"Holy shit! These things are all full of fruitcake!" Havoc was stunned. "Heavy little bastards too!"
"WHO YOU CALLING SO TINY HE'D GET LOST IN ONE OF THOSE TINS!?" Edward bellowed as he quickly grabbed Havoc up by his collar. It was then everyone realized Edward's brother, Alphonse, was nowhere to be seen. And of course not present to prevent his brother from roughing up someone for saying anything that might hint at his height.
"The tin?" Havoc supplied hopefully.
"Oh." Edward dropped the man and became distracted with Fuery's opening of the next box. He looked at the Master Segreant expectantly. Fuery quickly opened the box.
"Steel toed boots…." Fuery held up the pair of heavy duty work boots. "And two books on how to take care of them!?" He pulled out as he said this. He quickly regretted having done that as the books were heavy. Edward took his turn and pulled up what appeared to be a giant candy. He unwrapped it and condoms fell out onto the floor. Mustang had chosen at this moment to look up.
The door opened.
"Fullmetal!" The Fuhrer gasped from the entryway. He was an elderly tanned man, with an eye patch and slicked back hair. "Are you planning on having a sex party!?"
Edward blushed, threw the package up in the air as if it was an explosive and quickly backed away from it. This of course sent the remaining condoms raining on everyone else.
"No sir, he just thinks they are confetti." Mustang retorted sarcastically. "They're mine sir."
"Mustang, I know that you're a bit of a playboy, but isn't this a little much?" The Fuhrer asked.
"Those are from my father." Mustang explained. "He sent them to me for my birthday as a bit of a joke. 'I dun want no grandchil'en you hear boy!?' It says so right here." He handed the Fuhrer his letter.
"Oh that's right your family is from the West." The Fuhrer blushed in embarassement for forgetting. "Well, just don't use them all in one place Colonel. I will return when your office is less," he paused trying to find the right word, "horny."
Fuery let out a breath of relief when the Fuhrer left.
"You realize that was the Fuhrer just now sir?" Falman asked his Colonel.
"Yes." Mustang grunted. "Fullmetal pick up these condoms please, I intend to donate them to the hospital later." Edward, still red with embarrassment began to pick up the condoms.
"So what are these 'condoms' for?" Edward asked. Mustang sighed and grabbed two from the top of his head and pocketed them.
"I'll show you later." He assured the boy. "Anyways, my family sent me these birthday presents."(4)
"Birthday?" Breda was confused. "Oh wait! That's right your birthday was last week!"
"How old are you now?" Edward asked as he came back with most of the condoms. Hawkeye sighed, knowing they'd still be finding condoms around the office for the next month. And knowing the luck of this group, at the most inopportune times.
"I just turned 30." Mustang casually remarked.
"Wow, now you're really old." Edward noted. Mustang jumped up, grabbed his shot gun, took a proper firing stance and pointed the barrels at Ed's head.
"Who you callin' old, son!?" Mustang bellowed, a western drawl taking over his voice.(5)
"The Fuhrer?" Edward squeaked, more afraid of Mustang's behavior rather than the fact he had a shot gun to his head.
"Damn straight and don't you dare forget that son!" Mustang gave Hawkeye back the rife and sat back down as if nothing happened. He paused and smacked his head and sighed loudly.
"Master Sergeant, please put that thing back where you found it before I shoot something…." Fuery enthusiastically rushed over and complied.
"Sir, permission to speak freely?" Havoc asked.
"Granted."
"Is that the reason why they don't authorize you to carry a gun?"
"Yes." Mustang glanced over his letter again. "I have a phone call to make. Get out." He stood up and glared at his subordinates. They rushed out of the room. Mustang sighed and sat down at his desk and dialed his mother's number.
"Mummy?" He asked.
"Roy? That you son?" A kind sounded, western accented voiced asked.
"Hello Mummy. What's this you wrote here about Victoria's grandson?" He asked seriously.
"I don't know what it is with that boy's mother! She hasn't made much of a man of her son!" Mustang's mother snapped and ranted.
"Mummy, why don't you send him here?" Roy asked her. "I can make a man of him, I'm sure." Or I can figure out what his problem is and save him from y'all crazy folk over there. He added mentally.
"…." She took a breath. "One moment."
Mustang sighed and waited two minutes. He heard the phone get picked up. A timid, younger voice spoke over the line.
"G-great Uncle R-roy?" The boy stuttered.
"Yes Jaxith?" Roy asked softly.
"I-is it-t tr-rue? Do-do I r-really get to see you?" Slowly Jaxith gained some more confidence.
"Yes, you're going to be staying with me." Roy explained, sounding kind and caring. "You're mummy is going to enroll you at school here. Don't worry, Central has the finest academies."
"Will I get to see the Fullmetal Alchemist?" Jaxith sounded excited. To him Fullmetal was a bedtime story hero, while Roy was a real true hero.
"Yes, he's one of my subordinates. I'm sure he'd love to meet you." Mustang assured him as he eyed the golden eyed boy in the other room.
"Will I get to draw pictures?" Jaxith inquired seriously.
"You could study art if you wanted." Roy was confused by the question. He recalled that his great-nephew had been interested in the fine arts the last time he saw him.
"I'll see you at the train station then!" Jaxith cried with glee.
"Of course!"
1- Is that the correct color of Breda's eyes?
2- Roy's Mummy had sent him a dead possum as a congratulations-on-becoming-a-colonel gift. Of course Mustang had made the mistake of opening the box in the cafeteria for all of Eastern Headquarters to see. Soon there as a small panic and riot due to the presence of the dead road kill.
3-A Brief History of the National Alchemists is about State Alchemists and their history in national politics, war, and scientific advancement. It also has little biographies of each State Alchemist up to date and their specific achievements. Because of when this book was published, the only thing written in Edward's entry was that he was 12 years old and passed.
4- Roy, being the smart man he is, has realized that Edward needs some basic sex education. Unless you want me to, I will not cover that awkward moment in this story.
5- The western part of the country is like the southern part of the United States. There is a unique accent and culture associated with that part of the country.
For the record, I have family down south and they are all intelligent hicks. Like one moment they are talking physics with you then they turn around and grab a shot gun and shoot some possum across the street. Go figure. And everywhere you go there are hicks to be found. Trust me. Anyways, tell me what you think and review.