Title: A Land of Lactose
Authored by: Silver-Winged Nightingale
Word count: 3,067
Summary: When Envy discovers Ed's aversion to milk, Ed goes through hell a second time. And Mustang just might be in on it too.
Beta: None
A/N: This is actually the first fic for FMA that I have! The 2nd one on this account! Before you judge, though, please read through and then decide.
It was so simple. How had he not noticed before? After endlessly searching, breaching, investigating, (fruitlessly more or less), the answer had popped up in front of him. As if a gift from heaven. Wait. Scratch that. As if a gift from hell.
The dark haired shapeshifter smirked in excitement as he observed his quarry from a close balcony in the guise of a runt of a child, juvenile hands clutching a slingshot that he used to torment the pigeons. The half-metal pipsqueak was, of all things, vulnerable to the simplest of objects.
At the moment, the vertically-challenged alchemist was death-glaring his adversary, (not the one watching him), mouth creased in a deep frown. "Evil bastard…" he mumbled, the rest of his words escaping Envy's hearing. The innocent bottle of milk glinted harmlessly in the midday sun, a smiling pixilation of a cartoon cow printed on its colorful label. Alphonse sighed.
"Brother, it's not that bad. Milk is really healthy and it's got calcium. It'll help you grow. Don't forget, you're eating for my body too!" the suit of armor absentmindedly prodded the bottle toward a fuming Edward.
At this point, neither brother noticed the middle-aged ginger haired man that had settled into a table behind them, a newspaper in his hands.
"Aaaaaaaaallllllllll," Ed drawled pleadingly, "I can just take supplements and stuff! What about those lactose intolerant people? They live fine without milk!"
"Nii-san!" Al shook his head in exasperation. Ed's doctor had prescribed a nice dosage of daily milk. "How about soymilk then?"
"…You want me to drink bean juice? Are you—," he was cut off as the pretty waitress placed a jade-tinted glass in front of him. "Thanks," the blonde said to her, tipping the cup to his mouth and downing it all in a swig.
"Ack! Kagckt. Tha—," Edward choked comically, hacking dribbles of liquid back into the glass. He scrubbed the front of his white-coated tongue on a napkin, eyes almost frenetic. Al stared. The other customers turned in their direction, heads moving in a slow and united tract. The light-haired boy frowned. "Whaddya lookin' at?"
He turned to the confused waitress who had a repulsed grimace plastered on her peach face. "Why'd you give me milk?" he demanded.
She frowned slightly. "Milk? Oh, I-I'm sorry sir, it's my first day and I've g-gotten really busy and confused, I mixed up your order…" she rambled on, a crimson blush worming itself onto her face.
When Edward saw that her intentions weren't ill, he offered her a slight smile. "It's okay. I was just about to leave." He refused the bill, (he hadn't gotten what he wanted), leaving a few cenz on the tabletop as a tip.
Neither brother noticed that the redheaded man in the seat behind them had silently vanished. Nor did they note that their server had dashed to the restroom, a hand pressed to her smirking mouth.
The state alchemist huffed as he stood, motioning for the suit of armor to follow. "C'mon Al. We should probably head over to the station or we'll miss our train. I'll get something to drink on the way there."
…
Luckily able to have disguised his laughter as stuttering previously, Envy leaned on the edge of the grayed porcelain sink, red with mirth.
When he'd finished having hysterics, Envy had assumed the form of a scrawny blonde teenager, nimbly climbing through a window in the bathroom. Once he was outside, he quickly scanned the area for humans, and seeing none, he shifted into a freckle-faced little boy, dressed in mud-stained clothing.
He ran after the odd duo, intent on causing more mischief.
…
Ed stomped up to the open bar table of the small café, asking for coffee, no milk or cream, a spoon of sugar. The portly man grumbled as he went to fetch their order, returning shortly after with a sealed soda cup and straw. "Here. A hundred cenz." He yawned obnoxiously, showing blackened teeth.
The boy huffed at his manners (or lack of), and tipped the amount onto the counter before taking a heavy sip through the straw. He gagged. Hurling into the nearest trash receptacle, Ed stormed up to the counter.
"What the hell? I asked for coffee, not milk!"
The man rubbed a worn hand against the stubble on his chin. "Eh? Coulda sworn ya said 'milk, no coffee or cream, a spoona salt.' Ya did."
The under-tall alchemist twitched. "Who in their right mind orders that?"
"You. Ya just did."
"No I didn't! I want my money back!"
"No can do, kiddo. You drank it."
"You're getting senile, old man! I clearly asked for coffee! Now gimme my money back!"
"You'll hafta talk to the manager. I can't do that."
"Why you—," At this point, Al tapped his brother's shoulder. "Hey, Ed, we're going to be late for the train. Let's just go."
Ed smoldered. "Not until he refunds my money!"
However, when both brothers turned back to the counter, the fat man held out fifteen cenz in his clumsy paws. "Take it or leave it. Yer drivin' me crazy wid all that yellin'."
Edward raised an eyebrow. "Are you that forgetful? I paid a hundred. Not fifteen."
The cashier indicated the menu dangling above his head. In chalk was scrawled: Cawfee—15 c Milk—10 c
"An' ya know, you bought milk, so I'm refundin' ya five more cenz. We're closed now."
As Ed opened his mouth to protest, a corrugated steel blind slammed onto the counter from the ceiling. He had not gotten any money back.
"Why you foul, putrid, rotten bastard of a prehistoric relic—," he was promptly dragged away by an incensed Alphonse.
Behind the metal curtain, a certain sin was choking in mirth. Escaping through the back door, he allowed the crackling force inside him to push outward around his form. Shifting into a middle-aged blonde man with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, Envy slouched his shoulders and dropped his hands into the pockets of the overlarge jeans. Havoc was his to wreak.
…
Edward sighed as he settled into the train seat, holding the stub of his ticket. They had barely caught the train to Dublith. He leaned back into the cushions, an image of Winry, silken hair splaying in the wind, dancing in his head. On his cold, dead carcass which mechanical vultures picked scraps of meat from.
Recently he had chipped the cover of his automail arm into a slanted angle and then had a sharp jab administered to the exposed wires, severing two. His arm was still movable; it was just that his fine motor skills were now nonexistent.
The not-so-pleasant picture of the blonde mechanic was replaced by one in which her face was twisted into a smirking grimace, shadows obscuring her eyes and chainsaw replacing her wrench. He shuddered.
Al had propped open a travel guide and was scanning the section on pet shelters, contently oblivious to his brother's internal demons.
A middle-aged blonde man leisurely strolled down the aisle, stopping when he noted the empty seat next to the brothers.
"Hey. Can I sit here?"
Ed wordlessly scooted over while Al smiled as much as a steel helmet could. The man plopped down beside them, churning up a bit of dust.
Smirking at Ed's slight frown, he proceeded to extract a glass bottle of milk from his briefcase, uncapping it with a loud clack. Not drinking it, he placed the bottle on the space of the seat next to him, taking care to not lean the bottle toward himself.
He opened the briefcase further on his lap and brought out a straw, savagely stabbing the protective foil on the mouth of the bottle. To Ed's additional annoyance, he noisily slurped the beverage up, and then blew it back into the container accompanied by a stream of bubbles.
The alchemist's expression was the most accurate representation of eww that any illustrator dared hope to portray.
Al, to show his displeasure at his brother's behavior, gently lifted his foot to tap against his brother's automail one. Unfortunately, an armor suit's perception of force is open to interpretation, allowing a resonating clangk to sound ever-so-slightly.
The light-haired man raised an eyebrow.
"Oi, shorty." His voice was laced with a northern drawl. Why would a northerner be heading south? "What was that? Are you wearin' shin guards or summat? They sound pretty heavy, good protection."
After a strict line of "I'm NOT short!", Ed offered a non-committal shrug to the latter selection of the question.
"Mind if I have a look? I know many people who work with protective sportswear; I'm a marketer myself." The man bent over in his seat, milk tilted precariously over Ed's knee as he attempted to inspect the boy's leg through his pants.
Edward promptly withdrew his shin from the other blonde's hand, making certain to avoid the leaning milk's line of fire.
"I'd really rather not; it's not what you think, and can you please get your drink to not spill?"
"Oop." He didn't bother to right his grip on the bottle. "I'm thinking that your shin guard's metal; you're hiding something underneath it."
Ed's ochre eyes narrowed. "What? Why would you think that? I just don't wanna let you see. I don't even know you."
The man responded by lifting his eyebrows airily. "What harm in me seeing is there? I just want to see what brand you use. Could help my company improve our products. By the way, the name's James."
Edward almost growled at the persistent man, whose milk, completely neglected, had deppressedly begun journeying down his knee in a Niagara Falls imitation. What was with the lactose torture today? Didn't the world understand that he didn't like milk? (Trust us, Ed, the world knows. It knows.)
"Oops. My milk seems to like you." Not bothering to help wipe Ed's stained clothing, James continued to pester Ed about his leg until Ed felt a twinge indicating his driving need to punch the annoying man's face in.
Fortunately, James suddenly decided to gain manners, recalling that it was his drink that had caused such an unsightly white splotch. Getting up to retrieve tissues, the blond man left the half-spilled milk wobbling dangerously on his vacated seat. Ed twitched.
. . .
Envy tried his best to muffle the loud cackles that threatened to spill from his mouth and betray his disposition as he walked to the bathroom, still in the guise of James. He failed miserably, gaining a perturbed look from an elderly man he passed.
He was still doing his assigned mission, right? Trail the humans, make sure they don't know too much, keep their direction from straying. There was no rule against agitating the shrimp.
Oh, how evil the sin incarnate could be.
As he passed the bathroom, he briefly considered actually going in and getting the promised napkins. Then he saw the queue. Deciding that Fullmetal runt torture was infinitely more promising, he subtly stepped beneath the shadow of a luggage rack, shifting into a meek looking waiter, freckled heavily.
Carefully slipping back into view, he swiped a semi-empty dessert cart from the front, noting with pleasure that the cooler contained several bottles of juice, water, coke and…milk.
. . .
Edward vaguely wondered what was taking James so long: the white stain in his pants had begun to seep through and he definitely did not want it to soak his automail. A glance toward the bathroom informed him that the pestering man might be awhile. The blonde huffed in impatience.
"Hey, Al."
"Mm?"
"What's up with that guy?"
"Who, James?"
"Yeah. Don't you think he's a little…" Ed swiveled a finger in loops at his temple.
"Eccentric? A bit, brother, but so are you."
"No, I mean crazy crazy. Like he wants to drown me in milk kind of crazy." The diminutive blond shuddered at the thought.
"Eh…I think you're being a little paranoid."
"No, Al. Can't you tell? His eyes practically sparkled when he spilled his milk all over me."
"Major Armstrong sparkles?"
"Don't even remind me. No one sparkles like that."
"I really think you're being too suspicious. He was just trying to get a look at your automail and accidentally dripped his drink."
"'Dripped?' 'Dripped'? He just about dumped the whole thing on me!"
"Calm down, Nii-san. How could James have known about your aversion to milk?"
"I don't know how he did it, but he did it. He knows. Trust me on this. I think we should get away."
"But all of the other seats are filled!"
"I meant away from this train."
"But—but the next train stop is who-knows-what in the middle of who-knows-where!"
"Otherwise known as Albetruss."
"We don't know the train schedule there, though!"
"Well anything goes to get away from this psycho!" Ed wildly flailed an arm, unexpectedly hitting a waiter in the chest.
"Oh, I'm sorry, sir."
"That's quite alright, little boy. Where's your mommy?"
All that tumbleweeded through Al's mind was Uh oh. He successfully captured Ed's arms and restrained him from decapitating the confused server.
"Erm…Sir?" he addressed the suit of armor, "would you like a drink? Or one for…" he seemed unsure of what to call the squirming and frenzied shrimp, "him?" To this, Ed managed to yell, "I'm NOT little!" in a near-deafening tone, causing many of the patrons to shy away.
Al nodded as warmly as a suit of armor could. "Oh, don't worry about him, my brother's just a little wound up. Could you get us two vanilla coffees?"
The weak-chinned waiter nodded (rather oddly considering his lack of jaw) and bent over to dig in his icebox awhile before he produced two burgundy colored cans, one boasting colorful labels claiming "Jawa Coffee" and the other bare.
He handed one to Al and one to Ed, cheerfully accepting the money and driving the cart back down the aisle.
If Al hadn't been so distracted with preventing his brother from massacring an innocent civilian, he might've noted that the waiter strangely pushed the cart back in the direction he had come from, neglecting the other half of the carriage and paying no heed to the "Excuse me"s of the train-goers who wished to purchase a beverage.
A little while later, James came wandering back distractedly, eyes glazed. Ed eyed him distrustfully, (nursing the coffee), while Al connected that the man's expression seemed to scream "I'm frolicking in a field of magical unicorns and rainbow bunnies: do not disturb".
He sat down on his seat rather roughly, forgetting that the half-empty bottle of lactose still rested on said cushion. He thrust a handful of tissues in Ed's vicinity.
The blond, having thoroughly overlooked the purpose of which James had embarked on a mission, blinked in surprise before muttering thanks and retrieving a napkin. Scratch that. Tried to retrieve. James's grip was like cast iron: the shorter boy only succeeded in getting several scraps of tissue.
"James, could you give me the napkins?"
"James", unfortunately, had failed to remember his name.
"James, can I have the napkins?"
"…"
"JAMES." He tapped his shoulder.
"Wha—? Huh? Sure." With that said, the shredded white tissues flurried to the floor.
Seeing that Ed was about to decapitate the man, Al hurriedly picked up the napkins and began blotching at Ed's pants. The elder brother grudgingly followed his advice.
…………………………….
Ed rinsed his mouth out with hand soap—abnormal, yes, but anything worked to rid his oral cavity of that taste.
Stupid coffee had been milk. Some dumb brat had swapped the labels.
…………………………….
Distractedly, the suit of armor fiddled with the unmarked can of beverage in his hands. James looked up over the pet shelter brochure he had snatched from said armor, absentmindedly observing it.
"Hey. Are ya gonna drink that?"
"No. Do you want it?"
"Sure. How much?"
"You can have it." The bare aluminum can endured a brief flight in the air, landing in the outstretched hand of James.
Just then, the Fullmetal Alchemist himself glumly wove down the aisle, face contorted into a visage unconvinced and paranoid.
What a damnable day it had been. At the crack of dawn, he's roused by the lousy Mustang, (who probably went to bed late early night to get up at such an unscrupulous hour to annoy Ed), who wanted Ed to catch the earliest train, go to Central, and report to him. Then the stupid hotel people kick him out for "disconcerting the welfare of the guests". Then the stupid waitress gives him milk. Then the idiotic, deaf old man gives him milk. Then James spills milk on him. Then the server gives him milk.
Would there be no end?
.
He didn't think so either.
Drenched in Sparkling Milk Tea, Edward didn't even bother getting up or complaining, blanking staring out the window, doing nothing to stop the spray of beverage gunning out of the unmarked can in James's hands, as the thing allegedly "out of control" had chosen him as its target.
When Central City was finally attained, the elder Elric bolted out of the train windows, nearly towing his younger sibling by the horsehair plume behind him.
Al waved to James and apologized to all the random, petrified pedestrians Ed had nearly run over.
Finally, after barreling his way through dozens of people, Ed stood edgily in the Colonel's office, switching apprehensively from foot to foot at his demands.
Mustang leisurely, indulgently, craftily wafted the spiraling aroma of his chocolate chip mocha coffee, (as the label advertised), inhaling considerably and exhaling forcefully enough to drive the three little pigs from their homes, before he set the mug down after taking a tentative sip at the flavorful drink and turned to his subordinate.
Ed convulsed for the millionth time that day. His throat still grunted at the sickly tang of milk that had recently graced it that, despite his near swallowing of hand soap, clung thickly to the walls of his esophagus. He wanted nothing more than to snatch that pretty little Styrofoam cup from his better's hands, but his common sense firmly dug its heals into the ground and refused to be budged.
"So. Fullmetal. I trust you had a pleasant day?"
Screw common sense.
And so Ed seized the chalice of heaven off Mustang's desk, as rapidly as he could without spill, and basically dumped the draft down his gullet.
And then he ran to the nearest washroom, because the Flame Alchemist was being stupid and maniacal and diabolical, and had been drinking hot milk.
Right outside the colonel's office, Envy crowed in silent tremors, in tune with Mustang's chuckles. As if sensing his presence, Roy glanced out the window and grinned evilly, knowingly, and mutually.
-------Fin-------
A/N: So…what did you think? This was my first fanfiction for FMA, even though it was written a while back because I couldn't find the time or plot bunnies. The ending sucks, I know, but this thing is already too old. Several months, in fact. It was making my flash drive moldy.
The concept is unoriginal, there's no plot, but blegh.
Reviews will be squealed at, pointed at, snuggled, framed, and huggled.
Ahem. Anyway, please drop a poor, starving, deprived author some reviews and make her day. Please? Thanks for reading!