A small figure sat under the eaves of a brick building as rain pattered on the cobblestones. If you didn't look close enough you wouldn't even be able to distinguish the pitiful pile of rages from an abandoned sack of garbage. A miserable looking pack sat beside the figure in the gloomy November midmorning. One thing stuck out like a sore thumb on the grime covered face of the pauper; a pair of piercing blue eyes, the kind that seemed to see right through you, and look into your very soul.
"Face it, Al, this is a lost cause," a loud boy huffed to a large suit of armor that walked beside him. The small person found it odd that anyone would wear armor in this day and age…Then again, there were far stranger sights.
"Brother, we've only just started, we have all day," the armor echoed, the metallic ringing fading moments after the person inside was finished speaking.
"How can Mustang expect us to find anything? This girl, whoever she may be, is probably not here, maybe even dead for all we know," the short boy retorted, annoyance clearly written on his fac.
The pauper's expression and interest changed drastically in the few short seconds it took to register the boy's response to the armor. The large suit seemed to have noticed the small movement, and verified that the bundle of rags was alive.
"Brother, there's someone now, maybe they've seen the girl," the armor said, pointing out the pitiful lump on the sidewalk. Quick steps brought the suit of armor within a foot of the fragile looking human.
"Hello," the armor gave a cheerful greeting, completely disregarding the miserable setting. The small figure tilted their head, slightly, no more than a fraction, upwards to gaze at the suit of armor. The ice eyes drank in every infinitesimal detail. "Have you seen this girl? She's probably much older now," the armor posed the question, holding out a worn picture.
With trembling fingers the dirty person reached for the photograph. Pictured was a little girl, no more than five years old, in blue overalls. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled into two messy plaits on either side of her babyish face. The picture had a gray, soft edge, showing that someone had taken great care in tearing it in half some time ago.
Salty drops fell freely on the picture, and not from the downpour of rain around them. The beggar hastily wiped the tears away, revealing a pale blotch of flesh from under the grime, but not quick enough for it to escape the armor's keen scrutiny.
"Does that mean you've seen her before?" it was a he, the pauper guessed, asked, a hopeful tone in his voice. The delicate head nodded wordlessly. "See brother?" the armor said turning to the skeptical looking boy. "We've already found a lead." The armor turned its attention once more to the shabby bundle of filth. "Can you tell us where she is?" The head nodded once more. "That's great! Where?" For who knows how long the pauper remained quite still, not wishing to divulge the precious information.
Impatiently, the blonde boy rolled his eyes, "Forget it, Al. We can find someone else with information." He began to walk away, but looked back when he saw the armor wasn't following
"Brother," he pleaded, "we can't just leave them here; it has to be zero degrees out. They could catch cold and die."
"Al, this isn't like a lost kitten," the rude boy said, his eyes suddenly soft, "a person's a different matter."
"Please," the armor whispered, and the boy who seemed to be his brother had a look of deep contemplation. The look in eyes changed from agony at not letting his brother have what he wanted and the satisfaction at moving quickly on with his business.
After a time the boy let out a sigh, "Okay," he relented, "but one night, and one night only." He held up his index finger to add emphasis to his condition.
The armor seemed giddy as he led the dazed and confused down-and-out around by the hand. The next thing the sad pile of muck knew, they were sitting in a warm diner. Not that they were bound to complain, it had been months since they had been this cared for. The figure peeped wearily out of the bundle of rags that concealed them. The armor and the boy were arguing about what to order; the armor insisted that they get something for the pauper as well, but the boy retorted that he was already providing a place to sleep and that should be enough charity for one day.
The armor eventually won and soon than could be expected, a large stack of flapjacks was on the way. A merry looking, young waitress placed the plate on the table, keeping a safe distance from the filthy indigent as if they had a disease that was catching. The blue eyes looking down at the hot plate of food, and reached out a shaking hand.
"Well are you going to eat or not?" the boy said, impatience ringing in his voice more apparent than ever. Without another though, the once trembling hands began to ravenously put every bit of food that would permit itself to be eaten inside the hungry mouth. The vicious hunger that had once ripped painfully at the insides of the humble beggar was subdued now.
"Brother, I'm going to go back to the inn. You should go back out and see what you can find," the armor said to the boy. The blonde nodded in response, standing and placing a numbered bill on the table to cover the check.
The vagabond trailed silently behind the suit of pale green armor. The town hadn't seemed to have changed much in the last three years. The inn was small and merry as usual. The armor led the walking pile of cloth up a flight of stairs to the small room with a pair of beds, stacked on top of each other in the corner. The room smelled faintly of tobacco and stale hay.
The armor shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, trying to think of something to say. The dirty human gazed intently upwards, waiting. "Um, would you like to rest or take a shower?" he asked, fussing with something on a table now.
There was a small, distinct movement that could only be characterized as a nod. The ratty, shabby cloak dropped to the floor and revealed the bulky, oversized clothes that looked like they belonged on a stocky paperboy. A tattered hat covered the grimy head, almost obscuring the peculiar eyes. With graceful steps the poor mendicant disappeared out the door and walked to the public bathroom down the hall, locking the door.
As the young beggar turned on the hot water of the shower, she stripped out of the filthy rags revealing her pale dirty body. She let out a sigh as the water caressed her grimy skin. Her gaze stayed focused on her toes and the drain where the murky water disappeared. A welcome bar of soap glided over the ashen skin until the dirt that had once coated it was all but gone. The once straggly hair had become a soft blonde color.
The person who stepped out of the shower was completely different than the dirt caked vagrant who had entered. A robe hung on a bar next to the shower. She quickly wrapped herself in it, relishing in the soft feel of cotton on her damp skin. Looking at the rags on the floor, she rolled her eyes in disgust and without thinking, let them fall into the garbage with a swift flick of the wrist.
She straightened herself and inadvertently caught a glimpse of herself in the steamy mirror. She turned her gaze completely to the reflection in the mirror, not shying away from I as she normally would.
It was a shocking sight. She greedily drank in the details of her face, not recognizing the person who stared back at her. She had been so sure that she would see the scrappy child of thirteen instead of the young woman who stared bewildered back at her. Had she really changed so much? Her mind was combing over the events of her past, and abruptly the reflection repulsed her; it made her think of a wasted childhood, years of cold, starvation, and loneliness.
Without warning, shattered glass was everywhere. Blood flowed freely from the girl's ivory hand, dripping into the porcelain sink. She couldn't remember smashing the mirror. She couldn't remember the moment her control had completely eluded her, letting blind rage take its place. Somehow it didn't make the sting go away.
The blonde haired girl put the burning in her hand at the back of her mind as she slipped out the window. She found herself on a long, narrow balcony that wrapped around the backside of the inn and was suspended twenty feet in the air; an alleyway separated the balcony from the next building.
She silently glided down the iron terrace to the last room; the brother's room, and peered cautiously in through the window.
The blonde boy was at the door with an excited expression on his face. His lips were moving quickly as he talked to the suit of armor. The both bounded from the room, the armor leaving something on the desk before he rushed out the door. When she was sure the coast was clear the girl silently slipped herself into the inn's room, moving with the grace of a wraith.
She took a moment to glance around the room once more with revived eyes and took in her surroundings once more. The inn's warm suite was square, with two bunk beds, connected by a ladder that rose from the floor, in one corner. A round, worn table was squarely in the center of the floor, and sparse, inexpensive paintings adorned the walls. A single suitcase lay abandoned in another corner.
Something caught the girl's eye; she looked more closely at the neatly folded pile of clothes on the table. She strode forward taking the cloth in her hands, recognizing it as her clothing that had been in the sad bundle she had abandoned on the floor in her haste to make use of the indoor plumbing. A piece of twine held it all together with a small tag attached to the string.
In a neat handwriting, the tag held words that could have easily come from the mouth of the occupant of that large suit of armor.
"I thought you might like some clean clothes."
She took another look at the clothes and realized with slightly watered eyes that not only were the former rags clean, but they were also mended of the many rips and tears that had previously been there. It was a matter of minutes before she was changed from the robe.
The girl sat herself on the bed, gently laying her body down, piece by aching piece. She curled into a balled covering herself completely with a quilt. Even though the straw from the bed was itchy, and the air under the quilt was stuffy and musty, sleep could not have come more easily to the young girl.
Edward Elric raced down the small town streets, every so often checking that his younger brother, Alphonse, was following, even though the close sound of the metallic clanking of armor's feet on the cobblestones was enough assurance of that.
"C'mon, Al, it's not too much farther," he shouted over his shoulder.
A woman bent over a table at a small restaurant to pick up a stack of dishes. She paused as Edward bounded in, slightly out of breath. The small bell above the door dinged once when Edward entered, then again when Alphonse joined him.
"So you're back, eh?" she said with a chuckle, sitting down at the table. "If I'd known that girl was going to be such a celebrity, I'd have watched her more closely."
"Al, she says she knows the girl in the picture," Edward filled his brother in, turning to him quickly as he explained.
"That's great, brother," the armor exclaimed.
"Well, don't be too excited, knew is much more appropriate." When Edward and Alphonse continued to stare intently at her, she sighed. "Yes, where to begin," the robust woman trailed off, wiping the sweat from her brow. "That picture you have isn't new if you didn't already know. I won't promise you'll find her, but I can tell you what I remember about her." She took a deep breath, sighing once more as she aimlessly dragged a wet rag across the surface of the already spotless table.
"I remember from the time she could run she was always flitting about town, getting into some kind of mischief or other. She and her friend, a boy some years older than her were always in trouble of some sort. I remember giving them a few scoldings of my own." She smiled, as if remembering a pleasant memory. "But what else can you expect from children with no parents to teach them different?"
"No parents?" Al said in a small voice, and the middle aged woman nodded.
"They were a pair of the handful of orphans the Chase Orphanage too care of. It shut down a few years back when the state just couldn't manage to fund it anymore; I think it's a right shame." She shook her head. "All those children who couldn't get adopted in time were just thrown out on the street with nothing but the clothes on their backs."
"That's horrible," Al said, and Edward looked at his brother, trying to comfort him with his gaze.
"Yes, I felt so bad for all those young ones who had to live outside when I was in the warmth. I gave as many of them as I could a home for the night, but I can barely afford to keep myself off the streets let alone keep a whole orphanage fed and cared for. Anyways, the girl's friend, that boy I told you about, he'd already been gone about seven years at the time. I haven't seen the around since the orphanage shut down. I'd bet my bottom dollar she went looking for him; you should have seen them together, practically inseparable, like brother and sister. She just wasn't the same child after he left."
"So do you have any clue where she might have gone to look?" Edward implored the woman for information.
She pressed a finger to her chin, "Well, I'm not quite sure; I think the boy went off when the recruiters came into town and took every able bodied man and boy back during the war. He never came back." The woman's mouth was set in a grim line, and it was apparent that she didn't know anymore.
"Thank you for your time," Edward said, standing up, his brother following in suit.
The walk back to the inn was spent in silence, until Edward broke it with a sigh. "Brother, what do we do now?" Alphonse asked, timidly.
"I don't know, Al. Our only lead told us that the person we're searching for hasn't been here in years. I think it's safe to say the only thing we can do is head back to Central," Ed replied, hands in pockets and gaze directed at the wet ground ahead of him.
"But, Ed, what about the beggar?" his little brother queried, "They seemed to recognize the person in the picture. Maybe if we were a little nicer, they'd trust us and tell us what they know."
Edward scoffed as he thought about the filthy person they had taken in for the night. "Al, they probably only said that to get a free meal. Don't be so naïve."
"Brother," Alphonse whined, "it's at least worth a shot, and it's better than going back empty handed."
"Fine," Edward rolled his eyes. He didn't see why his little brother was so attached to the homeless vagabond, but if he had learned anything about taking care of him it was that it was better to just humor him when he got like this.
The girl stirred under the covers, unaware of the time. She uncovered herself and looked out the window. I was already dark outside. There was a soft snoring from above her, and the top bunk sagged down slightly in the middle. As her eyes adjusted to the dark she noticed the suit of armor dormant in the corner, and wondered if the occupant had abandoned it for the night.
Now was the perfect time to escape. As she put her foot through the window, a wave of guilt washed over her. She had received a great show of kindness today, and hadn't even said thank you. With a sigh she brought herself back into the room. Her eyes roved around until they found a pencil and paper. She quickly scrawled a not explaining why she was leaving and how grateful she was to the two for giving her a place to temporarily recuperate. She set the letter down on the table and escaped out the window.
As she gracefully leapt from the balcony to the dark alley below she did not expect the rough tenor voice that threatened her as she landed, demanding she hand over her valuables. She turned and took in the trio of men, not much older than her by the looks of it, each with various weapons in hand. The front man, who she assumed had made the command, brandished a lead pipe. A slightly distant street lamp shed light on her face and they squinted at her face.
Suddenly the front man looked as if something very important had dawned on him, and with his next few words the girl had the same sense of recognition. "Look, it's the little freak all grown up."
"Yeah, freak," the other two guffawed
Her feet seemed to be glued to the ground as she looked fearfully at her childhood tormentors. The advanced on her, demented grins on their faces. Her body was rigid with fear and her eyes darted around. The closest escape was behind her and she snapped herself out of her stupor. She took off like lighting and ran to the dead end of the alley, only twenty feet away from the slowly progressing danger.
Her hands searched the brick wall looking for some purchase so that maybe she might be able to scale the wall. She was afraid that if she turned, she would forget everything and give up completely. She could barely hear the soft footsteps above her pounding heart. Her mind raced through what would happen if she screamed. She doubted anyone would come to her rescue.
And then a pair of large hands roughly turned her, pinning her against the brick. She couldn't seem to remember how to struggle as she stared mesmerized into the evil glint of the man's eyes. "Now, we're going to have a little bit of fun, and if all the little freaks know what's good for them, they won't put up a fight."
The man's lips crushed against hers in that moment, and as the bitter taste of alcohol flooded her mouth a thought went through her in head in a split second; if she was going to die, she refused to die like this. She bit down as hard as she could on the man's tongue and he recoiled sharply. With an angry growl he slapped her and threw her to the ground. He spat blood onto the ground.
The girl suddenly felt a horrible, indescribable wave of pain center itself on her left side. She tried to push herself up, but the lead pipe smacked itself forcefully onto her back, forcing her down to the ground once more, ripping fresh knives of pain through her. Kicks were aimed at her from every direction, and it was all she could do to cover her face. A warm sticky substance blurred her vision, and as she blinked through it, she realized it was her own blood. She had never been very devout, but at the moment she was praying that God would let it end soon.
Just when she had accepted that she was going to die there, someone shouted at her attackers, and momentarily diverted their attention. That was all she needed. As if a veil had been lifted from her spirit, she altogether remembered what was in her pocket, and what she would have done to anyone else who might have tried this.
"So you defend freaks, huh?" she picked out, a wave of adrenaline rushing through her broken body. "Would you like to die too?"
She found what she had been looking for, and with a wild rage she stood on bruised legs, slipping the ratty glove on. "I am not a FREAK!" she shouted, her voice hoarse from disuse, as she slammed her uncovered hand down onto the red circle on top of the glove.
Blue sparks began to shoot out of her fingertips, followed by strong bolts of electricity which flew out hitting the men who had attacked her. They crumpled onto the ground, completely unconscious. Her vision blurred further and she fell forward only to be caught by strong arms.
The blonde boy who she assumed hated her held her in his arms, as his brother fretted at his side. It seemed only moments later that she was back in the warm inn room, a wet cloth dabbing away the blood. She wasn't sure how long she drifted in and out of consciousness before she could finally keep a hold on the room around her. She opened her eyes as her cuts began to really sting and looked at the suit of armor.
"What's going on?" she asked, restraining the loud hiss of pain as she breathed. Her side felt like it was on fire, and breathing was like stabbing a rusty knife in her ribs. Her voice was slightly disoriented, and she couldn't help but wince as the armor wiped away the blood on her throbbing body. It was like she was one big bruise.
"I could ask you the same question," the blonde haired boy said, eyeing her suspiciously from a chair. "Why were those men attacking you?"
The girl took a deep breath, trying her best to ignore the searing pain," It's a long story." She was trying to conserve her breath so she wouldn't have to breath as often and endure the knife every time.
"Bore me," was the blonde boy's indifferent response. "And while you're at it, maybe you can tell me about this picture." He held up a photo; it was the complete photograph, both half of the picture that he and his brother carried. "I found it in your pocket. So, when exactly were you planning on telling us that you were the person in the picture; long enough to get a couple more free meals?"
"Give that back," the girl screamed, for the moment forgetting about her injuries as she lunged for the photograph. She instantly regretted the action as black spots dotted her vision, almost forcing her back to a near comatose state. She bit her lip, forcing back a scream. Blood slowly specked her lip as she broke through the sensitive skin.
"Brother, stop it!" the armor said, abruptly. "Don't be so, so…inhuman!" The girl fell back onto the bed, and the blonde boy's face was filled with deep hurt at the statement about his humanity.
He glared at the girl with rage alight in his eyes. "We're heading back to Central tomorrow, and you're coming with us," he said, his voice barely kept level, before storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The tone he had used suggested that she had no choice in the matter; that if she were to refuse the blonde boy would hog tie her and stuff her in a trunk if it came down to it. She didn't doubt it.
The armor continued to clean and bandage her little by little. "I'm sorry for my brother, he's just a little on edge," the armor said softly after a while. "I'm Alphonse, by the way, Alphonse Elric. My brother's name is Edward."
"I'm Ron, just Ron," the blonde haired girl replied. She watched as he examined her hand, and as he deftly picked the glass shards out one by one, wiping blood not nearly as fresh as the rest. Alphonse didn't ask what happened, even though it was plainly obvious that it had not been inflicted when she had been attacked, and for that she was deeply grateful.
When everything was bandaged neatly, Alphonse sighed, "Well, Ron, you've got three broken ribs, I don't know exactly how bad they are, so you'll want to be careful until they heal; you don't want to puncture a lung," so that's what the painful breathing was about. "But other than that it's just bruises and cuts; nothing that won't heal with time."
"Well then, I suppose I should thank you; you've saved me more than once today, and if it weren't for you and your brother I might not be here right now," Ron replied looking at the floor.
"No need to thank us, it's what we do; helping people that is," Al said. Ron smiled a little bit, and it felt strange on her lips, coupled with the crippling pain that was sending still fresh waves of pain circuiting through her body.
"Well thank you all the same," she yawned, wincing as her ribs ached horribly. "I can't believe I'm still tired." She said it in a way that seemed like she was scolding herself.
"You should sleep, we can talk in the morning," Al said, standing up and walking to the corner.
"Aren't you…tired?" Ron asked, puzzled.
"No, I don't need that much sleep," he replied quickly, and she raised an eyebrow, reveling in the wonder that this action didn't hurt her.
"Okay," she said, and with great care laid herself down. It wasn't hard to finally surrender herself to the black for the second time and she sunk into a dreamless slumber.