Abel Nightroad and the Wicked Wrath of Bradley

Chapter One: Fourteen Lumps of Sugar

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or Trinity Blood. This story is a collab between me and MuddyWolf or as he's known on Deviantart, SnoringOldMan. This chapter is entirely his work and the next one will be my doing ;) In this chapter, Abel Nightroad meets a friendly Tea Room owner with an eye patch named Bradley :) Little does Abel realize that he is in for a world of trouble.

This is set post cannon for Trinity Blood, and Abel's brother is dead. As for Fullmetal Alchemist, it's rather AU but i'll explain in later chapters.

A haze permeated the skies above the looming domes of imperial splendor, casting the dusk's shadows over the flooded arteries of the capital city. The priest—just another Terran weaving—no, stumbling through the throng of Terran and Methusaleh alike. And yet, no matter how many times he visited this place as ambassador from the Vatican, the AX operative still gaped in awe at the brilliance of the heart of the New Human Empire: the humblest of the edifices in Byzantium made his poor Rome look quite provincial—oh—not that there was anything wrong with the provinces—anywhere where he could lay his head, anywhere there was food, he was infinitely grateful for and heaped a thousand benisons—upon his kindly benefactors.

Like an adrift barque—or maybe a canoe would better describe him- he let himself get tossed by the waves of commoners and nobles, men and woman in coarse linens and fine silks, who were giving the reeling, unsteady cleric dirty looks as he bumped into one, wailed a heartfelt apology, only to bump into someone else, making an utter fool of himself as usual.
The looming rooftops rotated carousel-like as the hazy dusk sky fell out of focus, the outlines of the crowds and their indignant voices grew dim—he felt the ground drop rapidly out from underneath his shoes, and he crashed in a heap on the stone street, his heavy black cleric's cloak flopping over his head.

Unable to walk anymore, his empty stomach whimpering pitifully for just one morsel of food, Abel lay there, prostrate, as Terrans and Methusaleh stepped around or over, occasionally on him, muttering imprecations against the "vagrants and hangers-on".
Turn the other cheek, turn the other cheek. The half-starved priest didn't have the strength to defend his reputation, anyways.

"Oh..this is it…I'm going to starve to death….and yet..I couldn't think of a more beautiful place in which to perish…"

"Father!"

"Ah…? Is that you..Sister Noelle?"

Abel felt a tugging at his cloak, a determined straining from earthly arms that were pulling him up—
"Nnghh…so…heavy..!" Abel raised his shivering, lead-feeling head from the ground to see the blurred outline of a little girl pulling up on his garments—a little girl garbed in red and green—Abel burst out, his red-rimmed eyes widening.

"What are you doing out here..?..! Shouldn't you be at the imperial pal—"

"You look really hungry!" the girl noted cheerfully, still trying to get the priest back on his feet. "There's a tea room right over there!" she pointed down the street not three doors away, at a sign reading,

Bradley's Tea Room

"..There is…?" The prospect of food imbued Abel with superhuman strength, and he and his roaring stomach peeled themselves off of the stones, reeling backwards for a final time before finally regaining his footing. Before he could heap gratitude upon the girl, she had sprinted off down the street, giggling.

Abel stumbled rapidly towards the tea room, using the last bits of his bodily strength to pull himself across the threshold into the brightly-lit tea room. Jaw slack, the priest shuffled across the red carpet and collapsed in front of the counter, an audible squeak as he plopped his chin onto the polished wood.

"Tea with..thirteen lumps of sugar, if you could..please…" came the feeble whimper. He entwined the coins for payment in between his gloved fingers and, arm quavering, he lifted one, two, three, four dinars and tapped them across the table with his finger. "Four dinars…I am eternally cursed with four dinars…."

"Why, that's not a problem in the slightest," Another man, in his forties, set a piping cup of milk tea in front of the starving customer, complete with saucer and spoon. Leaning forward, the kindly gentleman spooned the amount of sugar cubes the poor customer had asked for.

"B-but sir, I only have four dinars."

"You're in luck." The man genially tapped on the board listing the prices-sure enough, milk tea…four dinars.
Abel didn't bother to ask why the tea was so inexpensive—he guzzled the wonderful hot, sugar-infused drink as if his life depended on it—and knowing the itinerant priest, he probably hadn't eaten for days.

"Oh…mm…your kindness knows no bounds, sir…! Thank you, thank you, thank you..!" the priest, his face bright and glowing, radiating a sunburst of joy, nodded with enthusiastic sincerity, his long, silver hair bouncing as giddily as he was nodding—and shaking his hand, to boot, so filled he was with gratitude.

Now that the priest could see straight and the tea was happily bubbling in his stomach, through his seemingly closed eyelids he could get a better glimpse of his savior—black-haired, a little swarthy—wearing a full, thick, but well-maintained mustache. It didn't matter if the gentleman was Methusalan or Terran—especially in this peaceful world where the Contra Mundi had been defeated and Terrans and Methusaleh alike were living in peace, not only in the New Human Empire, but in Vatican territory as well.

But while bowing and nodding and shaking the man's hand and thanking him a thousand-fold, Abel couldn't help but notice the most peculiar clothes that the gentleman was wearing—the eyepatch covering his left eye was nothing extraordinary, but—a tunic of animal hides and furs, and a dyed cloak made of some kind of material that he, the itinerant priest who had seen all kinds of people form many places wearing many kinds of clothing, had never seen before. Abel was struck with so much curiosity that he sneaked an impolite glance behind the counter to see the unusual gentleman's hide boots…the attire of the warriors of ancient Germanicus…

"Please, forgive me for staring, good sir..!" Abel remembered himself and apologized profusely, bowing low over the counter. The strangely-attired man laid firm, age-creased hands in a soothing way on Abel's shoulders.

"There's no need for the formalities. I'm here to serve you, " the middle-aged gentleman conveyed to the priest, before disappearing into the back room, and before long, set down another cup and saucer next to the empty, "Since you like your tea with extra sugar—" he spooned fourteen lumps of sugar into the tea, smiling graciously.

"B-but—Sir—I-I mean-" Abel glanced backwards at the sign at the door. "-Mr. Bradley, I have no money left..!"
"That's not a problem at all. Consider it on me," Abel's benevolent host bowed shoulder-level with elegance, the fabric of his scarlet cloak rustling. His face filling with even more enthusiasm, the bespectacled priest joyfully accepted the second, free tea and downed it while his host took Abel's cleaned-out dishes and headed back into the kitchen.

I'd just like to point out that this is a very dark story featuring death, cannibalism and much worse. Those with a weak constitution should turn back now. Those who love that kind of stuff please keep reading :D

Remember to read and review, because I love all you guys :)