(A/N): Hello and welcome fellow Fullmetal fans! I enjoy what you readers are thinking so don't be feel bad if you have some advice for me! It's called criticism for a reason right? For those of you who think this fanfic might look familiar, you're probably correct; I erased the original because I didn't think it was good enough, and I published it when I was incredibly busy, which was probably bad to do in the first place.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist/Brotherhood or any of its charming characters.

CHAPTER ONE: A Token of Remembrance

∞ Genevieve ∞

Mop sloshing across weathered floorboards, Genevieve Greyson cringed at the smell of bleach and baby vomit. She had only been feeding the little thing for a minute before the girl decided to projectile barf all over the ground. She deemed this lovely experience enough proof to convince her never to have any children of her own. However, her displeasure was to be anticipated. What did you expect when you worked at an orphanage anyway? Don't get her wrong, Genevieve loved kids as much as the next girl, she just hated the cleaning aspect of her chores. Moreover, she was in desperate need of a hobby which didn't revolve around changing dirty diapers and singing nursery rhymes.

Genevieve herself was an orphan. She had never known what a true family was like even as she grew up in the 'Every Child Counts Orphanage'. Left with no blood siblings, her brothers and sisters consisted of shut-in children who came and went much like a breeze through their battered windowsills. Genevieve was supposedly dropped off on a corner, sleeping in a car seat and clutching a small leather journal. She could feel the weight of the small book in her back left pocket.

Now eighteen and unwanted, Genevieve's innocent dreams of finding a happy family had long but vanished. Resorting to work at the very place she loathed, Genevieve was forced to appear content with her rather bland, mop-washing life. In return, the 'Mothers' of the building let her crash in one of the abandoned rooms at the top floor. In spite of all of this, she wasn't completely alone. And no, she did not have imaginary friends; she wasn't that desperate. Genevieve shared her makeshift home with another orphan her age, Charlotte Loche.

Charlotte was Genevieve's best friend and confidant, roommate and sister. She was also left on her own; abandoned on the streets and probably as equally as ignored. Being the same age, the two had grown up and bonded much like family would have. They were inseparable save when doing chores.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Genevieve finished with cleaning the damp floors. Not wanting to smell like blown baby chunks for another second, she hurriedly picked up the yellow bucket and straightened. On her trek to clean not only herself but the bucket of sloshing gook, Genevieve all but had a heart attack at a looming figure in the middle of the corridor.

Mother Captor stood stiff and cordially in Genevieve's path, arms folded and foot tapping much like an anxious jack rabbit. The scrawny old woman took one look at the disheveled girl and sighed through her nose.

"Sorry Mother Captor, I didn't see you standing there." Genevieve greeted albeit wearily. Had she been watching her this whole time?

The woman raised a thin, grey eyebrow, icy eyes flicking over to where Genevieve had been just moments before. She was adorned in a dark cherry dress which touched brushed below her knees and black stockings. Delicate black heels held the crotchety old hag up, and fiery red rimmed glasses were perched at the very tip of her nose. Genevieve swore the only thing holding this woman together was her tight bun which sat at the top of her head.

Mother Captor tore her scrutinizing gaze from the shinning floor back to the girl. "Miss. Greyson, exactly how much bleach did you use?" Her aristocratic, English accent stabbed at Genevieve's temples. How was this old bat up and walking at six every morning? She had to be at least ninety yet she walked as if she were sixty.

Genevieve bit the inside of her bottom lip, "Uhm, you see Mother Captor, the baby barfed so I-"

"-And what did I say about mumbling Miss. Greyson, hm?" Captor rolled her pale brown eyes and clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Anyhow, the bleach is waking up the whole second floor. Because of your mess we need to start early, hurry yourself and wash up."

"Yes Mother." Genevieve responded with a clearer voice, "I understand, I'm sorry for the disruption."

"Very well, see to it that Charlotte relieves us of this rancid odor." Captor plugged her nose as if to prove a point and retreated from whence she came, heels clacking against worn wood.

Solemnly nodding, Genevieve excused herself from the retreating grouch. Making her way down the awakening hallway, she cursed her real mother for leaving her to a woman like that.

Finally throwing the remnants of the foul smelling bucket into a toilet, Genevieve inched out of the cramped stall. What she wouldn't give to be sleeping in her warm, comfy(ish) bed on a Saturday morning. Especially when it was the first week of summer vacation. It wasn't as if she'd just finished finals or anything. She and Charlotte didn't bother to apply to any colleges- where would they get the money? The orphanage paid for a tutor, Mrs. Flick, for the two and then sent them to the public library for finals.

She wondered thoughtfully if Charlotte was almost done fixing their television as she began to wash her hands. They had stolen a broken T.V. one of the Mothers had brought outside to their garbage the night before. Charlotte had dragged the chunk of 'garbage' on one of the kids' red wagons while Genevieve held the back door open to the kitchen after lights out. At least they had some entertainment now.

Glancing up to the mirror Genevieve hesitated before turning the faucet off. She wasn't disgusted with the girl staring back at her, only slightly disappointed. Her golden locks rested un-brushed at her chest, grassy green orbs muddled with sleeplessness and depression.

A light giggle snapped Genevieve back into reality and the blonde sighed gently. Pulling herself away from the sink, she quickly dried her hands and made her way from the bathroom. Placing the bucket into a closet, Genevieve padded over and up the elongated stairwell. The stairs curled up to the fifth floor, each one creaking tiredly with age. Reaching the fifth, empty floor, Genevieve stretched her back with a winced eye, groaning as she worked a kink out.

Green eyes adjusted to the dusty light that filled her narrow path to the end of the hall. Socked feet brushed against an old rug she'd grabbed from a thrift store around the corner until they halted in front of their bedroom. Genevieve was lucky she'd dodged any and all children on her way up, and she outstretched an arm to knock on the door.

"Come in."

Genevieve blinked, her knuckles had yet to touch the chipped wood and Charlotte already knew she was there. The other's muffled chirp rose a curiosity in Genevieve and she opened the door, eyebrows furrowing. She was graced with the other's hunched back.

"Uh, Char?" Shutting the door, Genevieve tilted her head. Charlotte was crouching in front of their television which now sat atop a stray chair. She had an antenna in either hand and a small screwdriver placed between her lips. The other girl stiffened.

"Hold on…" Charlotte's left hand moved an inch to the right and a blurry picture of a shark popped up. "Ha! Shark week!" The screwdriver clattered to the ground, already forgotten as her petite friend reveled in her accomplishment.

"No way," Genevieve's eyes widened slightly at the floating beast. "How long were you working on that?"

"Ever since you so kindly woke me up." Char commented teasingly before glancing over her shoulder with a knowing smile.

"Ah." Genevieve felt a slight pang of guilt and rubbed the back of her neck. "Sorry, I had feeding duty this morning."

"How'd it go?" The other turned back to her treasure and ever so gently turned the volume dial up.

Genevieve shrugged disarmingly, "It was alright, one of the new babies barfed." Charlotte snorted in amusement and she narrowed an eye. "And you have to take care of the smell."

This got the other blonde's attention and she groaned, "Fine." Pulling her hair into a loose ponytail, Genevieve crossed over to her dresser and pursed her lips. It wasn't that hot yet…the blonde pulled open a few drawers and eventually picked out a plain army-green t-shirt. She was already in a comfy pair of jeans she'd slipped into when the baby woke her up. Not bothered with changing in front of Charlotte, she peeled her pajama flannel off and pulled the new shirt over her head.

"Eve, you dropped your book." Charlotte's voice called from behind her and Genevieve's heart skipped a beat. Green eyes found themselves on a small leather book and a small picture that had slid out from its depths. Genevieve crouched and picked up the small picture of what she could only describe as her parents. They were a handsome couple; Charlotte said that she looked mostly like her mother. The petite woman, even though the photograph was black and white, had fair hair and matching light eyes. Their clothes were old, and the fact that her parents wore vintage outfits was confusing. Her father had gentle eyes and a nice smile.

"Thanks." Genevieve's voice was quieter than she had wanted and she sat on the ground after her feet began to tingle from her current position.

"Did you…Did you figure out what those symbols mean yet?' Genevieve looked up to find Charlotte sitting across from her on the ground. Sighing, she bit the inside of her cheek before nodding her head. The other's blue eyes brightened and she scooted forward encouragingly.

Opening the first page of the coarse notebook, Genevieve pointed to a complicated circle. "I went to Mrs. Flick and she said it's something called alchemy."

I hope you like the intro to the story. This chapter was meant for introducing my main characters Charlotte and Genevieve. I promise things will begin to pick up pace by the next chapter. Updates will be every Thursday. Chapters flip flop between characters.