A Small Collection….
Disclaimer: I don't own Full Metal Alchemist. If I did, well, I'd be one helluva happy lady right now with a certain swoon-enticing Sin at my side.
Hehehehe, my most precious Greed, that feels so……hehe, ahem, never mind. My poor amine drugged mind is going through withdrawal again.
Date: 11/22/05, 11/29/05
Summary: Greed's perspective on a particular scent.
A/N: I only find it right that authors get their fair recognition in my work, cause, let's face it, we all get a little inspired after reading something.
-To Domenic, in Mr Fuzzy Jacket, thanks for the inspiration on drabbles. Never thought I would/could do a random collection of scenes without some sort of actual storyline behind it.
-Psychodog- for insight into background of both anime/manga. I like your portray of Greed. (Calls Dante "The Bitch." That always cracks me up. XD)
-And any others who I cannot recall just yet. Some real good works out there! Keep it up, even if I don't get to review you right away!
On A Last Note: Can expect more random stuff. I'll try my whack at requests (please inspire me, I hate Writer's Block! Eek!). Also, this piece was inspired by…Shards, by gelfling. Some hot stuff in "Product Warranty." I always enjoyed using lines that described the smells of leather, liquor, cigarette smoke, etc…b/c most of it was involved in my original works. Feeling the urge to rant about it, I put the topic up for debate, FMA style.
Though I know there's some heartless bastards out there, please go easy on the flames. I know, my philosophy is to learn from your mistakes, but I'm very proud and egotistical, so criticism is hard to swallow. Please forgive my sheltered life if something is out of place.
Something Smells Like…
"Oh, GOD." Martel muttered loudly, turning away towards the door as if she were about to make an exit for no apparent reason. Roah and Dorchet looked up from their card game at the bar counter, interested in their comrade's actions. Greed remained undisturbed from his skin flick magazine, turning each page slowly with a longing look.
"What is it?" asked Dorchet, not having the slightest clue what her gripe would be today.
"Something stinks," she began in a blunt, mater-of-fact tone, eyes sweeping around the room in search of a source, "REALLY bad."
Dorchet looked to Roah, who only gave a slight shrug of his large shoulders, not caring if anything actually did smell out of place. Hey, it was a low run-of-the–mill pub anyways. Martel slowly walked about the perimeter of the bar, starting near the 2 chimera first before continuing her patrol. After making a round halfway around the room, Dorchet decided to set the card game aside and help Martel out with her investigation.
"Well, um, so…what's it smell like?"
"Gross. Something really, really disgusting."
"That doesn't help."
"It's like…something between, liquor, testosterone and estrogen. And…"
That's when it struck her.
"Yeah…?" Dorchet urged her on.
"……Leather."
All three simultaneously looked over at Greed who, in turn, just happened to gaze up at the same time to meet the accusing expressions presented by his chimeras. He let the book fall down a little ways, as if to say, 'you've got to be kidding me,' and stared blankly back at the trio, mouth twitching as he awaited an inspection.
Martel crossed her arms over her chest and slowly approached the homunculus, and once positioned above him, took the slightest whiff before nearly gagging and shielding her nose with her hand. Greed appeared unamused, and after a moment of tolerating her dramatics, fluffed his magazine back into its reading position.
"You finished?" he drawled nonchalantly, licking a fingertip and turning to the next page.
"Greed, you reek."
"And what of it?"
"It's gross."
"Mm-hmm…?"
"It's very disgusting."
"Ya-huh."
"And,"
"So…?"
"Ugh! Men." Martel groaned, throwing up her hands in hopelessness and stalked back to the front door of the Devil's Nest.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on there-" Greed spoke up, sitting up in his sofa seat, long legs retracting back onto the floor from the surface of the low-rise coffee table. When the female chimera turned on heel, she didn't look too pleased, muscled arms crossed and face painted in a powerful frown.
"What, Greed?" she almost snarled, but restrained enough frustration as not to evoke the potential temper of the homunculi. No one had actually seen Greed lose his temper yet, but no one ever doubted that he had one, and one that was immeasurably nasty. It was better to live in fear than to face the unexpected and unknown at times.
"It's not…that bad," he started, gruff voice inflected slightly in questionable curiosity, stating while simultaneously -but not inquiring directly- asking for an opinion.
"You smell like SEX!"
"Really?" he said, elated by such a simple reasonable answer that it came off as sarcastic to the ever-moody Martel.
"So THAT's what it is…" An index finger and thumb curved around his chin while the rest curled on the top underside of his thick throat, rubbing back and forth. He suddenly stopped, releasing his dirty magazine and raising his right arm, pulling his fuzzy jacket aside and first, smelled the fluffy and leather fabric before under his own arm, then, as if unsatisfied, did likewise to the other. Now fully content by his own inspection and critique of himself, Greed shrugged his shoulders and raised both palms upward.
"I dunno what you're babbling on about."
"ARRRRRGGGG!"
Utterly aggravated by the incompetency of the company she kept (and perhaps by their lack of manners at times), the Snake Chimera walked, er, rather stormed out of the tavern, securely slamming the door behind her. The three men looked to one another, the homunculi again lifting his heavy slouched shoulders to a lazy shrug while Dorchet and Roah decided to resume their game at the bar.
Greed picked up his publication again, staring at it uninterested before throwing it down again into his lap.
"How can you 'smell' like sex? I mean really, let's think about it, sex is a verb, not an item or thing. It's an action –an I'd know it is, I've whored around enough to redefine it."
Dorchet looked back at him and gave an appeasing nod of acknowledgement to his rant, but in the, 'I'm not going to get involved' manner. Greed continued onward despite his lack of interested audience.
"Sex is not a flower, you just can't smell it. I mean you can do it, like sleep, but it has no fragrance. Doesn't matter how many people I screw daily. Sure, I could smell like their cologne, or perfume, or even mine, it doesn't matter what, but you can't have a definite scent. It's different each time."
"An' since its different each time, there can't be one smell of sex. It's like the saying, 'you smell like the wind'. No one can smell like, 'the wind'. There's too many different factors to add into the equation to make it equal one word, one smell, or whatever. And we all know that quote-on-quote equivalent exchange crap. So don't ever tell me that I smell like sex."
Dorchet and Roah were completely ignoring Greed now, both a little pissed off that their game kept getting interrupted throughout the day by menial shit. One more schpeal like that and they'd move elsewhere. Feeling like a weight had been lifted from his chest by his little rant, Greed fell back into his indentioned seat in the couch, the groove having become his personal space. Having waited a moment he had decided was long enough for any sort of additional remarks to be made, he thus dubbed himself the victor of the declaration made against him, and happily took up his picture porn and flipped to the next page, smirking in dirty delight.
At last, there was peace in the pub.
Until…
…there's ALAWYS and "until" with this crowd…
Until, that is, when Roah placidly looked at his cards and pulled one from the center stack, shuffling it accordingly in before adding in his own thoughts.
"What she meant was; you smell like another person's pheromones and sweat. Their perfume too, but mostly that particular scent that, no matter how much you scrub and wash, never comes out, or off. That, is the smell of sex, Greed."
It was there that philosophies collided like two freight trains head on. Greed shot a spiteful, even nauseated scowl in his direction, muscles tense anticipating to make it a physical matter. He didn't appreciate it when people insulted his intelligence, even if they may have/had done it unintentionally or out of jest.
"I didn't ask for commentary from the peanut gallery."
It was Roah's turn to shake his head in mystification and sigh, seeing clearly now why Martel had made the point to leave rather than argue. It just wasn't worth it, especially when Greed shot one of those 'don't press me' looks. Looks to kill for because they were suave and sexy. Looks that would kill you if you ventured to close. The slight show of sharp teeth did little to convince anyone otherwise with their primal symbolism still looming in the background.
An unsettled silence smothered the room, Greed brooding over his book while Dorchet and Roah engaged their game of Go-Fish. Just if things couldn't get any worse…
The Crimson Alchemist, Kimbley made his entrance, nonchalant with his coat thrown casually over one shoulder, strolling about with arrogant smugness as if he owned the place. Though oblivious to what the happenings were inside the walls of the Devil's Nest, the insane convict could still feel the unnatural high tensions of the room. Looking from the homunculus to the 2 remaining chimera, he didn't quite know what to make of the situation, and decided if anything, to ask the talkative Dorchet what had occurred during his absence.
"Hey," he began softly, gesturing to Dorchet who swiveled halfway around in his stool to face Kimbley. "What's going on?"
Dorchet discreetly nodded in an unhappy Greed's direction, the homunculus glaring at the dog to shut up, then scowling at Kimbley before returning his surly amethyst eyes to his reading material.
"Oh I get it, you guys are fighting. Welp, don't mind me." He said a little too cheerfully. If anything, he figured he could lighten Greed's mood with a little sick, sadistic humor as usual. And if not, talking about gorgeous women usually enticed a smile or two out of him. So it wasn't hard to imagine the Crimson Alchemist taking a close seat to his recent companion, budding up as he carefully looked over the buff shoulder and fuzzy collar to steal a preview look at the latest edition.
Greed's eyes shifted slightly from the material to steal a glace at the gold eyed man, then uncaringly fell back onto the colorful pages of a voluptuous young brunette. He had a feeling he could trust Kimbley to be on his side, even if he hadn't been present for the conversation. A small smirk crossed his frowned lips as he fancied the idea.
Suddenly he jumped back a little, as if he had just remembered an earned he had forgotten to do. Despite how Greed had the urge to turn over to the next page, he paused, wondering if Kimbley was too, struck funny by the particular location of the piecing on the lower region of the girl. A fleeting moment passed before Kimbley vocalized his response to the unexplained jolt, and when he did, he did it with innocent diction.
"Something smells like sex."
Well? Was it horrible? Ultimate, uber suckage? (silently pleading it's not) I hope people caught on to Greed's lingering anger about Roah's interpretation of Martel's earlier statement, and how Kimbley just reopened some recent wounds of words. Maybe goad him into another rant XD!
I want to thank my comrade back at the home front for spending a half hour on the phone with me, coming up with the script.
Read and Review! I demand you! As your future world Over/War Lord, I command you to! (Laughs maniacally, until rolling on the floor in pain).
Next Up! "The Philosophy of The Pimp"
