(To Abby-chwan: I took liberties with this, as you can see.)
"GIT BACK HERE, YOU CRIMINAL!" Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist, roars to no avail. "OR YOU'LL LEAVE ME NO CHOICE!"
The thug takes a backwards glance before deciding that Roy looks like a nincompoop with sparkling tie dyed gloves. He jogs away.
Roy growls and dramatically snaps his fingers, only to be knocked off his feet when a fabulicious stream of sparkles explodes and vibrates as it shimmies its way to the rapidly leaving thief.
It swoops and swirls in fantabulicious formation, catching up to the criminal. Then it swirls around him, completely obstructing him from Roy's line of sight. Then it disperses.
There is nothing left but a tiny, shimmering flower, that as Roy looks on in despair, blooms and implodes on itself in a mini burst of color. He had been told to bring the thug in alive.
But that is not the most urgent thing on the Flame Alchemist's mind.
"NOOOOOOOO!" He cries, ever-so-manly, falling to his knees. "NOW I LOOK SO GAAAAAAAY!"
Previously on Avatar.
"That'll teach him," Ed cackled, drying out the Colonel's gloves. "No one calls the Fullmetal Alchemist such a midget that he can't submerge himself in a cup of water without getting drowned!"
Al hovered somewhere in the corner as much as a giant, bulky suit of armor could hover. He didn't dare ask what his big brother was doing, though he did know that it had involved alchemy, Granny Pinako's underwear (ew), some Den dung, tie dying, a bottle of "Ye Olde Queer Men's Cologne," and a washing machine.
He watched in terror as Ed skipped out the door, humming a merry, if homicidal, tune.