Okay! So, I didn't totally rewrite everything, but I think I either deleted or changed everything that was a direct rip off of Pandoru. I haven't read their story (More Trouble Than You're Worth) for a very long time so if I failed in that endeavor please tell me and please be specific! If I don't know what's wrong I can't fix it.
For those of you coming into our little story late, sometime in 2014 it was brought to my attention that I was unconsciously copying the person who inspired me (see the above statement), and I've been trying to fix that since.
Feedback is welcome.
He was dead.
Or at least, he should have been, after being shot in chest by three separate men. Yet there he stood, your pain-in-the-ass, possessive, fur wearing boss. His sunglasses lay shattered on the ground, an effect of punch that had gotten him far back enough the guns could be used. And they were, two clips and shot gun emptied.
But he was still standing in front of you, on the other side of the bar you had taken to crouching behind while you searched the 'Board of Education'. Standing was not the right word. He had been knocked back, into a bar stool.
Dolcetto was in the other corner, sword unsheathed and teeth bared in animalistic snarl while Martel and Roa were nowhere to be seen, having gone out for food earlier, before the fight broke out in your Nest.
"What…the hell?" you gripped the wood tightly in one hand, previously broken beer bottle in the other. Greed slumped in the bar stool, some strange form of lightning dancing across his chest as he stared at the very stunned gunmen.
Realization that they had tried to kill your boss and were still threatening to kill you struck and you reacted, throwing the bottle with deadly accuracy and slicing open one man's shoulder with it. It sailed, turning in the air to take out the eye of the man standing behind him. You weren't really in the habit of trying to kill people, but you could maim them. Pretty well too.
One of the others turned to you, eyes wide with terror and confusion as he aimed at you with an empty gun. The paddle came down hard on his head, reinforced with metal to keep it from breaking on even the hardest of skulls. Case in point.
Thoughts of your employers miraculous survival fled when the third man grabbed your still out stretched arm and yanked, sending you flying from you previous position of safety and onto one of the table. You slid across it, glass breaking and cutting into your skin on the short trip across and down onto the floor. A chair shattered under your sudden weight and your head smacking sharply against the ground.
The world span before your eyes and you were dimly aware that your weapons were no longer in hand before you caught sight of Greed, blurry as he was to you no, in all his should-be-dead glory with a hand curled tightly around the man's throat, cutting off circulation. You had seen him angry before, and while that had been scary in the manner of I-might-loose-my-job, or he-actually-cares-that-I-don't-die-walking-home-now-I'm-guilty, you had never seen him like this.
He looked furious, ready to kill. And from the purple hue of the other man's face he just might.
You could hear the hiss of his words even as glass cracked under your battered, bruised, and bleeding form, weight shifting as you twisted to sit up and see what was going on. You couldn't make out what he was saying. Not quite.
The man who had thrown you was stuttering some nonsense, crazed, terrified, nothings as he shook in Greed's grasp. Somehow you managed to clear your throat, catching the violet eyes that were starting make a bit more sense.
"If you kill him," you croaked, wind still returning to your system, "then it would be more trouble than he's worth. Getting rid of the body, an' all." The man, if that is what he counted as, regarded you strangely as you tried to stand, only succeeding in bringing the table crashing down. You didn't land in any more glass though, which was something. Hooray for luck.
For whatever reason he listened, dropping the thug to the ground and letting him scramble away, hacking and trying to breath, desperately.
"Stay out of my bar," the emphasis he put on his possession made it sound like meant more than what his words gave way to.
The men that Dolcetto had dispatched, those that were not unconscious, were quick to follow his lead. Your boss approached and you resisted the urge to flinch back, forcing yourself to stay still. There was a reason, surely. And he had defended you. That had to count for something.
Besides, your family was full of soldiers and alchemists. Strange things and murderers followed you around like a shadow, and you hadn't always had a job like this. You weren't entirely free of sin.
You grunted, holding out a hand and smiling when he took it, hoisting you up.
You surprised yourself with how lightly you said, "I knew you were the devil."
Dolcetto, who had been watching you with some form of apprehension, broke into a grin at your response. From the look of your boss you knew it was the right one.
There were still questions though. Lots, and lots, of questions.
"So… Homunculi?" You were sitting on the couch in the room in the basement of the Devils Nest, Band-Aids and Vaseline keeping you from bleeding any further. Most of the wounds were shallow, so nothing major had been needed. No stitches, no doctors.
Your friends had a hatred for the hospital in the city. You would rather not make them go there.
Greed nodded, "That's right. And those four," he jerked his head to his other subordinates, "Are Chimera."
Now that was a word you recognized. You were no alchemist, but you had met them before, like Mrs. Curtis, and your cousin worked as one for the State. You had never heard of human chimera before, but just the same you nodded in understanding. There was a lot you didn't know, it turned out.
"How did that happen?" You asked.
Looks were exchanged and it was Martel that spoke.
"You've heard about soldiers that never came back from Ishval?" She waited until you nodded, "Well we were all soldiers there, and ended up injured somehow and when we went to get treated..." It wasn't a nice story. In fact if you thought too much about it you were sure you would want to go track down whoever had done it and tear them apart yourself.
So you listened to the watered down version of what you were positive was a very gruesome tale. Bido, who had always been fidgety and never really got to close to you, revealed that he could walk on walls and had a tail of all things. Dolcetto's pack mentality and strangely good judge of character, as well the impossible size of Roa were explained, as was Martel's odd flexibility.
In the end, you felt a little foolish for not noticing before. The signs were all there, you just failed to see any of them. Failed to put together the pieces.
You were content with how things were, a selfish act now that you thought about it. Content enough not to get to know the people who you worked with better.
The would change now.
A month since you had learned of their non-humanness and you were still working for Greed as if nothing had ever happened, though your attempts to kill him when he got too much on your nerves increased in ferocity as your fear of success vanished.
You grew closer to your fellows as well. You had known a lot about them go begin with, to be fair. You knew Bido was from a town called Samson, and that Dolcetto preferred rare meets. You knew Martel hated fruity drinks and that Roa liked his watermelon with salt on it. But now they were more open. There were no other big secrets keeping you apart.
With the growth in emotional bonds so too grew your comfort in physical contact with your friends. The Homunculus did nothing to object.
It was nice. You especially enjoyed getting closer to Bido, his skin was the strangest texture and you adored leaning on him, or petting his head.
And that was how you ended up like this after a long day and few more fights than usual to break up. You had collapsed on one of the love seats, Greed's favorites in fact, feet thrown over one arm and head resting on the cushion. He had walked over and, without any say on your part, lifted your head up and slid between you and the seat, allowing you to not move further with your skulk in his lap and his arms on either side of him, as if he had women on them, as per usual.
It was then that you noticed the tattoo on his hand. He had shown it to you before, the serpent eating its own tail, and it had been a source of fascination since. You reached up and took his hand.
"What are you doing?" he asked, watching you in a mix of curiosity and amusement as you began to trace the design.
"O serpent heart hid with a flowering face! Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave?" his eyebrows rose in question as you started quoting Shakespeare, "Beautiful tyrant, feind angelical, dove feather raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of devinest show, just opposite to what thou justly seemest. A dammed saint, an honourable villain!" you grinned up at him cheekily, "Fits you don't you think?"
"Beautiful Tyrant huh?" he teased, and you reached up to hit him in the head.
"Shut up Romeo."