Bonds and Ties and the Sound of Daybreak
AN: Written on a bus and a train. I want to explain my adoration for Van Hohenheim, but I am too tired to do so. Just read.
The emptiness had a sound- or rather, it had a lack of sound that seemed to make terrible noise, filling crooked spaces with something heavy and colorless and foggy. In the grey light of the morning, the small cloud of black spun and undulated within the confines of its flask. Feeling what humans called 'loneliness' was something shameful, but it felt it all the same in the countless hours of quiet between sunset and sunrise. Pathetic how its mind dwelled of human company and interaction. Pathetic how thoughts drifted further, to that scrawny slave boy that had given his blood. Pathetic how it yearned for the human's words and voice.
Pathetic how the slave was so easily drawn to its side. It was easy to call the boy out on his own ignorance- and even easier to get him all flustered about it. Maybe that was the reason why it had been so effortless to reel in the young slave. Homunculus grinned. Pride really was such a useful weakness. The lad was like clay in its hands, so eager to remedy his meager education. He was caught, unwittingly, in Homunculus's artful web of a plan. And no other person would give himself as fully for a cause.
That was what Homunculus liked about the slave. He threw himself into things whole-heartedly with tremendous effort. The dwarf in the flask may have even respected the young man for such principles, but it was very unlikely that it would stoop to applaud the acts of humans. So it remained mostly amused by the boy's antics that cluttered up the otherwise dead air of the alchemy lab.
While Homunculus had little need for ownership, 23, now named Van Hohenheim, was something- possibly the only thing- it felt possessive over. This fact made itself know when the old alchemist was around, commanding the boy to clean or smacking him over the head for mistakes. Something would twist within it, unidentifiable and raw. The whole feeling disgusted Homunculus. There was something too human about that emotion. Sometimes, the Dwarf in the flask would curse Van Hohenheim for his blood. Was it that the boy's benevolence was transferred to Homunculus? If that was the case, it wouldn't go so far as to discard the slave, but it would certainly wish for the blood of someone more ruthless and cruel. Hohenheim was the type to have mercy on insects, carrying them to the window, rather than smashing the creatures. Such a weak-hearted act. Homunculus would ridicule the boy for this as a flimsy cover for disgust.
Yes, Van Hohenheim may have been too human for the Dwarf's tastes, but at least the slave was intelligent. Despite his initial ignorance, Van's mind devoured information. It was as if the boy had been intellectually starved all his life and was now plunging into the feast of knowledge before him like the embodiment of avarice. The slave couldn't get enough. He was constantly sneaking into the laboratory at all hours with questions for Homunculus. One morning, after fervently asking about the mechanics of plumbing the night before, Hohenheim came in with a back-full of lashes.
" I got caught sneaking back." He told Homunculus with a stiff, but genuine smile.
"It was worth it, though! I was able to finally fix the pump in the slaves' quarters!"
The Dwarf in the Flask watched and the slave set about dusting the room, returning scrolls and books to their proper spaces. He read each spine aloud, stumbling over some. On others, he world squint for a moment before remembering the title from a prior struggle. Hohenheim was a terribly earnest human. He had this foolish grin the whole time.
All Homunculus could see, however was the blood seeping through Van's tunic. It was the liquid that had given it life, the spark of energy that animated its own form and thought. It seemed wasteful to let it drip away. Didn't humans die because of that?
"How many lashes did you get, Van?" Homunculus butted in between 'The Foundations of Metallurgy' and a pamphlet of etchings ominously titled 'The Truth'. The slave paused to think.
"I got one for every hour I was up past bedtime, so..." He looked skyward, raising fingers on each hand "six lashes? Yeah. That seems right."
Homunculus rolled its single, red eye. Only Van Hohenheim would need to know about pipes at three in the morning and get punished for being out late-only to think the whole ordeal was completely worth it. The boy was painfully idiotic at times. The Dwarf often wondered how it could care for something so human. Feeling affection for the boy was, for Homunculus, the equivalent to being fascinated by decay and rot. Certainly they were interesting things- and necessary things- but plenty of their most basic attributes were cringe-worthy.
In the end, no matter how much knowledge gained, no matter the number of pipes fixed or the shelves of titles read, the human was still a fool.
Other than gratitude, there was little to explain the attachment. Maybe, in some pitiful way, Van had a bizarre charm about his person. For once, Homunculus didn't know. It seemed everything else was easy to figure out, but understanding the Dwarf's own existence seemed just beyond the glass confines of its flask. The reasons for the somewhat revolting affection were to internal to decode. It would find out one day. It promised itself that it would.
But as the Van Hohenheim slid another book onto a shelf, lips forming the words "Illustrated Omnibus of Desert Plants", Homunculus cleared its thoughts of blood or attachments or idiots and reckoned that at least the silence was getting filled.
AN: That's all children. Writing from Homunculus's perspective was very strange, cynical and generally confusing. What a fascinating cloud of black. Review maybe? Maybe not?
Ah. It's alright. Just continue living.
-rudefool