Poetry
author's note: hello! It's been a really long time since I've posted anything, and I'm sorry! I promise, I'm not dead. College is just eating my life, and I have no time and usually become too tired to write anything...I love naps. and alcohol. Captain Morgan and I sailed through many a-seas of Creativity to present to you this treasure below. ahem.
now, if the following seem a little OOC, I apologize. It's been a while since I've seen FMA (though I was pretty hardcore into the 1st anime series, back in the day, so I remember most of the details, I hope), so it's likely I don't remember everything as it was. But also, I'd like to take the time to say that I was/am a Royai fan, and to write something decidedly un-Royai, or at least, very VERY one-sided Royai is kind of out of my really bad experience with my ex...so I took it out on poor Riza. She's a tough gal, she can handle it. ALSO, this is in a very different style than what I usually do (sentence fic!) which I tried last semester in college in a creative writing class and found a lot of fun. So I'm trying it out here. Let me know what you think.
in the meantime...I must find a new series to be inspired by! or an old one to be re-inspired by...suggestions?
reviews are a girl's best friend.
Love,
Ridell
religion.
Riza has never been religious, but when the news of Roy's engagement to a nameless woman in Central filters to her ears, she can't help but pray to God that this (filthy, whore-ish, loathsome!) woman suddenly drops dead. She twists the wedding invitation between her hands, tears them, the card-stock paper thin ribbons of baby blue against the pile of paperwork.
revelations.
Sitting across the bar from a very drunk and very exuberant Roy Mustang, Riza thinks. Riza thinks about tattoos, thinks about the heat of his flame alchemy, thinks about the heat of his hands burning a lovely trail down her skin, thinks about onyx eyes and promises made in the dark, thinks about how he is sitting an arm's length away, thinks about the woman draped across his shoulders that is not her.
perfume.
After a night's worth of toasts that would condemn even the most seasoned alcoholic's liver to Hell, Riza brings the latest copy of the newspaper and hot coffee in Styrofoam cups to Roy's apartment, because that is what he prefers when he's hungover. His apartment door is unlocked (oh, she would give him Hell for this, to be sure), and there is a faint, sweet odor in the air that is foreign to her sensitive nose. Setting down her gifts on the kitchen counter, Riza cautiously pads across the wooden floorboards to his bedroom, the source of the smell. The image of tangled, naked limbs and the stink of cheap women's perfume holds her heart for a beat before ripping it out clean.
subordinate.
"Lieutenant," Colonel Mustang says as he walks into the office, an hour late, "I need you to stay a little longer today. We have a lot of paperwork to get through."
Riza smells the sickly sweet smell of perfume lingering on him, and sees the tiniest, tiniest smudge of red lipstick on the corner of his white collar, and squashes the violent, swirling hurt that threatens her composure. She reaches for the coffee mug instead of his neck. "Yes, sir."
soft.
Despite her constant handling of handguns, Riza's hands are soft and forgiving as they run gently down the tired cheeks of Colonel Mustang, sleeping on a stack of paperwork. And, despite the dark circles under her own eyes, she pours herself another cup of coffee and steadily the paper tower on his desk begin to dwindle.
beautiful.
He tells her she is beautiful. Bleary-eyed and unshaven, he peers at her from the top of his "World's Best Boss" mug as she neatly organizes the last of his damnable papers into manila files. Her stomach does a somersault, because she is not "responsible", not "dependable", but beautiful.
equivalent exchange.
She knows there is no such thing as Equivalent Exchange, because some things (some people) don't live by the rules of the book. People are not as simple as a bullet to paper targets, or of chemistry equations, and Alchemists are exponentially more complicated than People. Riza understands, and reluctantly accepts, that sometimes, People like her are left waiting for something that will never come.
discipline.
When the pastor asks if there are any objections, it takes all of Riza's military bearing to arrange her face into a look of complete calm. She sits on her hands, trembling and white, and tastes the metallic salt of blood on her tongue.
desire.
Moments like these are few and far between, but when she finds herself crushed up against him inch-for-inch in a dark, narrow alleyway during a stealth mission, she can't help the wild heat that rushes through her body, or the thousand butterflies in her stomach, or the breath that isn't in her lungs. She brushes her fingertips against his familiar lips, and from the look in his eyes, she knows that for now, he feels the same.
rain.
It is raining in Central, but she's okay with that, because the rain cleanses away the mucky streets and cuts through the smog, washing the city anew.
heal.
When Roy has a fight with his wife, he invariably shows up on Riza's doorstep. He is never polite, sometimes in tears, and always drunk. She never turns him away, sometimes lets him sleep on the couch, and always closes the wounds in his heart.
poetry.
Edward mentions something about Colonel Mustang's wife expecting. She has never been particularly fond of poetry (so many words, and yet not enough for them), but when Roy, oblivious, holds her hand and tells her not to cry, Riza thinks that maybe it's enough.
politics.
"So, what is it like?" the new receptionist asks slyly, drumming her pastel-pink nails on the desktop. "Watching the Colonel parade around with his pregnant wife when last year everyone thought she would be you?"
patience.
When it comes to patience, Riza has ages of it. A veritable lioness, she will wait until the perfect moment for the kill. She exhales and the seconds tick by before she fires five solid shots into the target at the end of the range. Five shots, five bull's eyes. Good things, she firmly believes, comes to those who wait.
holiday.
She sits alone by the fireplace in her home, toasting marshmallows and drinking peppermint schnapps, because it is Christmastime and everyone has gone home to their families, and what is left of her family is enjoying time with his new family. She watches silently as the Mustang family Christmas card slowly turn to ash.
liar.
"I missed you," he says simply, reaching out to touch her face from across her couch.
hope.
She is caught between what is possible and what is real, building and breaking her all at once.
pretend.
"Just pretend," he whispers as he kisses her with an urgency that sends electricity through her veins. Pretend he wasn't a married man, pretend she was his wife, pretend that this never happened, as they clung desperately to each other and surrendered to ecstasy. Hope burns a bright and poisonous hole through her heart.
alone.
Riza wakes to the sunlight filtering through the blinds, and to an empty, cold bedside. The only thing to remind her that this was real, that this was possible, is a single, lonely sock.
unrequited.
She clings to hope like a dying man clings to his God, because it is the only thing that makes sense anymore. So she turns away when Roy shows the workplace pictures of his son, turns away when he tells them all that "yes, she's having another! A baby girl", turns away when he smells like perfume and sex. Even if she loses a little bit of herself each time, and even if her hope crumbles a little more with each passing day, or even if she hurts too much, it must be better than nothing.
end.
Author's Note x2: so, I've decided that I like sentence fics very much. REVIEW my dears, and let me know what you think about it! :)
Meanwhile, I'm going to play some Assassin's Creed. yes pl0x