" Heh. Stupid military's gonna get what's com-in to 'em, you bet, you bet. So easy to just take'm down, you know. Heh. Eheh. Heh. Stupid idiots."
A high, shrill, giggle could be heard, one that could hardly be expected of the heavy set man swinging back and forth in the spinning chair he sat in. Short cut, balding brown hair was propped almost awkwardly on the mans head, eyes awkwardly squinty as he slipped off of the chair, bare feet making unpleasant sounds as he padded across the blood covered ground, an undescernable expression on his face.
Reaching idly out to the side, he picked up an axe, balancing it one handedly before switching it to the other, finally dropping it on the ground, barely avoiding his own foot before reaching out again and this time grabbing a scalpel emblazed with the seal of the Public Hospital. Stumbling drunkenly through the blood scented air, he managed to make it through the hung corpses of pigs and cows to a seat where he'd left his last planned victem; only to find no one there.
Frantically, his eyes scanned his surroundings, a scowl twisting his lips as brief surprise managed to overtake his maniacal features, before a large grin spread itself on his lips. " Come out, come out, wherever you are, little child… You can't hide from Barrryyyyy."
He hummed, and heard a large clatter left to him. Walking slowly towards that spot, he felt a heavy force land itself in the middle of his white clothed back, and he turned around in shock, to meet the sight of the large chair crashing towards his head. Snatching the chair from the young boys hand, he smirked.
Then his sight went white, blank, then black, his knees collapsing under himself as he fell face first onto the ground, grunting once before falling silence.
" That's what you get for calling me LITTLE, bastard! Damn it, I HATE retards like you! What do I look, ten!?!?!"
An irritated voice snapped as one white gloved hand retrieved a thin, plastic rope from a black pouch, and hogtied the much larger figure with much difficulty, golden eyes narrowed with concentration as the last knot was tightly and definitely tied. Dragging the body up so that his back balanced the weight, his one good hand straining, Edward Elric, supposedly Alfons Heidrich, carried the man up the unstable cement stairs that lead up from the butchers level of the shop. Dumping Barry onto the rotting wood of the porch- obviously, this slaughter house hadn't gotten much business while it was up- The fourteen year old filched a cellphone out of his back pocket of his tight leather pants,
" Found and apprehended the Chopper. Come to 11 Heito street, Flame."
Twenty minutes later, police cars and sirens pulled up to the tended house, the S.C.A.M agenst carefully approaching the building- only to find both the haggard man tied up, looking as if they'd been beaten to half consciousness by the butt of a gun, and later on, a chair, and the child sitting on the porch swing boredly.
" You know, thanks to you, a sweep for fingerprints will be almost imposible," A dry voice informed him, and he glanced up to find himself staring into familier eyes.
" Aw, flame- you're just guilty 'cause you got all the credit for the work I did…"
the other crooned, flapping his hand idly in the air. He was quite happy now- he'd taken his revenge on the man that had taken his arm, so Equivelent exchange had been delt. There was a moment of silence, before the tall man adjusted his hair, then lent down slightly to whack the others head,
" Subordinance was allright when you were simply my apprentence… but, as an major of an station lower then me, it's out of line."
The man scolded, then received a flat stare,
" You know the only reason you're higher then me is 'cause you got wrinkles."
"You know the reason I have a station higher then you is because you lack class; skill; and conduct."
However, their banter was interrupted by an sharp 'ahem', and a man hooked with a few –many- cell phones stared blandly at them, then jerked his head towards a black police car, where the men were being loaded in. Taking the hint, the man leaned idly against the porch, and both stared at him, hard-
" Onto business- now, seeing as the reporters haven't caught wind of this yet, we have a space of time here. What's the status of the case- is this the actual one, or a phony?"
" This one's actual. Should've heard him singing- very off key. Seems that he was on the new drug that's been popping up- Ah. Speaking of the new drug mixture- I've got new leads on the man ingredients," Hunting in his pockets for the package, he finally produced it triumphantly, with an goading smirk,
" Now, since you're such a good herbalist, you should hurry on now with your plants, and leave Flame to annoy the Smoker about his missing date…"
Alfons twitched, staring blankly, That's funny. Usually they want an more detailed account… turning around, and beginning to head away-
" Where do you think you're going? You don't think you're going to get to miss out on all the excitement of reviewing, do you?"
To good to be true… he thought, slumping slightly.
" And there's the matter of your arm… we've heard about a woman who can help you with that problem…"
And his manner immediately brightened.
Light blue eyes narrowed with exhaustion as another yawn escaped the young boys lips, his flesh hand resting on the cool metal of his automail limb. Honestly, he knew that he'd have to take off his clothes to get measurements… but did everyone have to be in the same room?
" I need exact measurements, Alfons- for that you're going to have to stop twitching." One of the men informed the boy, who merely shrugged in response, an sign that his temper was wearing thin. Here he was, lying on the papery hospital bed, getting his measurements taken by a complete stranger, and they had the nerve to tell him he'd be out of commission for two days. Honestly, what did they THINK his reaction would be!?
" Yeesh, whoever did your automail leg was one crappy mechanic." The blond girl muttered, biting her thumbnail, " I'm going have to make a leg for you too," She quieted his protest that his leg was perfectly FINE, and nothing was wrong at ALL with a yank of her arm, and disconnected the leg from it's port- causing Alfons to have to mute a scream of pain. / Honestly, this women is CRAZY!/ He thought rashly, falling back against the bed with a grunt of pain. The only one not here was Mustang- /lucky bastard. I hope he can't get to sleep…/
" One more drink?" A young womans voice drawled, manicured nails tapping against the varnished wood as she waited to see if the costumer was still thirsty. Her answer was a taunting, " Hn," That one could take as either or- though the lady, if she could be called that, was used to costumers such as this, and rolled her eyes, deciding to take it as a no. Strolling towards the counter, she was soon lost in the crowd- Good Riddance. Hands clothed in fingerless gloves grasped the empty mug, eyes an dark shade of violet scanning the area with an absentminded curiousity- who's mulling was interrupted by a low chuckle,
" Why hello, there. What's a pretty lady like you doing in a place like this?" Turning so that his flat chest and well defined muscles were evident, he stood up, a flash of irritation evident in his eyes.
A pressed S.C.A.M uniform lay slung over a coat hanger, a few blouses and dark blue slacks hung on similar hangers, all offhandedly hung. The carpeting was dark mahagony, the walls a dark red, almost brown, blending in well with the cupboards and dressers. There was a finely carved wooden table in the middle of the dining room, the living room holding a simple tv-set, a VCR, a DVD machine. A few shelves full of books on Criminology, and maps of the city, a black leather armchair, and a matching couch. The kitchen had finely waxed wooden flooring, a pale peach paint on the ceiling and walls. In the bedroom, what with it's royal blue paint and navy blue carpeting, it was a complete contrast to the rest of the apartment. A desk in the corner, which had scattered on it many assignments, different pieces of paper work, pens, and pencils, and a shelve full of novels which happened to be enjoyed juring ones free time. The bed had black, satin sheets, and laying sprawled on it was a man of average height, with an better- then average build- to say the least- clothed only in a choice pair of plain boxers. The mans skin was a creamy, pale shade of peach, usually dark blue slanted eyes closed, hair a dark raven color.
Honestly, what with his pay, one would think that Roy Mustang would've gotten a better apartment.
Of course, that would have meant paperwork- tons of paperwork, mortage paperwork, bill paperwork, water paperwork- and if there was one thing he hated, it was paperwork. Right next to that was his second in commands gun. Ah, yes- he would love to destroy that gun, burn it to heck. And after that, was dogs. Of course, he didn't mind Black Hayate ALL that much, but… after a particularly mind scarring occurrence, dogs had a habit of frightening him- or just plain freaking him out.
He could go all day about his hates. And oddly enough, the military scored fourth in his hate, or at least tied in third- kind of funny, for a man who'd sworn his allegiance to serve the country with his life.
The shrill ring of his phone caused him to groan, waving his arm groggily in the air, in the way a little child might when trying to push away their mother when she's calling, ' time to wake up, honey!' However, three rings later, it was an irritated military man who answered the phone, eyes narrowed in the best attempt at anger his drowsy mind could gather.
" What is it?"
" A fight has broken out in The Hang, a bar two blocks away from where you live, Sir. You're the closest S.C.A.M member to the club, sir, other then Full Metal"
"… … And Full Metal is…?"
" On hospital bed, sir- getting surgery for his other missing limb."
A pause, before recollecting the past day- and an exasperated sigh followed.
" Fine."
Was there some rule out there about S.C.A.M officers never getting sleep?