AND SO IT BEGINS. The spinning of an epic yarn which will explore the integrity, strengths and pitfalls of all of our beloved characters in an original storyline that I'm hoping will add a unique depth to the outstanding series. Fundamentally, this fan-fiction will expand upon the futures of a grand plethora of characters, from the manga and a few original creations as well. It will follow a complex plot structure that includes diverging and converging plot-lines that include a series of characters: for example relationship exploring plots, culture-exploring plots, action-expanding plots etc. There will be a central plot line that will prove to be the focus of this work- however it shall not be drummed from the start, instead will be directed into chapters at my liberty. The main point, I reiterate, is to explore characters and relationships in a psychoanalytic and sentimental introspective that really digs deep into their mental scarring and fallibility. The central plot is however still strident and will expand upon the nature of alchemy, the creation of Father and the Homunculi, the very races of the mentioned countries in the manga and a few other unmentionable new entries here and there that will expand upon the 'alchemical plight'.
Firstly I must mention, my writing style focusses on rich imagery and structural flow. There will be a usage of quite a bit of recurrent symbolism. plot devices and other such fun literature stuff to develop a solid contextual setting for the characters to play around it. One thing I do focus on is exhibiting the characters' thoughts- therefore I used the stream of consciousness technique to construct a more subjective context-dependent reality. I blend around both internal context and external context to create this sort of transpersonal exaggerated environment that at times is far too surreal to be considered...well...real.
Secondly, the structural layout of this work is a bit different. It's arranged into Chapter episodes compilations. Each episode is representative of a particular scene and the main point why it's labelled as such is because it, quite simply, allows me to play around with the atmosphere, tonality and literary techniques used in each episode. This fan-fiction is meant to establish a pseudo-reality, therefore dramatic aberrations in pace and completely deviating outlooks are a given- the labelling of episodes will allow easier transitions. Again, my despised literary style.
Note: The first chapter has not been completely edited, I say while I shudder at my laziness, so there could be a few errors here and there that I may have either not spotted or chose to ignore. This story also follows the end of the manga- situated right around the time after Edward 'proposes', for a lack of a better term, to Winry. Since we start off from that point, it only seems fitting to elaborate on the EdWin mush. Egad, I talk too much- enjoy the first chapter folks!
Chapter 1: Unbecoming
Episode-I
The scent of aged manuscript thickened the stillborn air, flourishing under the sombre ambience of the dimly lit labyrinth of halls, eliciting a curious sensation of arid warmth that no doubt proved most infuriating for those very few that inhabited a sanctuary of that which solely remained for keepsakes. It could not be classified as anything but a receptacle of past unforgotten memories, doomed to rot to undeath- for none wished to lay mind to substance that had long since lost essence to simply dwell in feeble existence. Only the accompaniment of a repetitious shuffle of footsteps added any dimensionality, proffered by a few aging souls who diligently sustained the unnerving stagnation of the place- their sounds so similar and timely that they dwindled into the deathly silence, so very quiet and yet profound in simultaneity.
There would be little to mention of this place, were it not for the youthful lad whose stature was shadowed by a pile of books that was on the teetering edge of collapse. Words of an unknown origin reflected in his eyes- gleaming off their lustrous golden hue; words so weighty… and yet unsubstantial- told by the likes of sophist men who gratuitously scribed their ignorance of matters for fear of public appraisal. Volumes of data scorched silvery scintillations into his irises, flecks of hollow metallic shavings casting blemishes onto the pools of molten gold. He grew irritated, flustered at the growing futility of his cause. Glistening beads of sweat trailed along the sharp angular contours of his countenance, shadowed by dampened platinum blonde bangs that rapidly ensued to be dull and ragged from the permeating lifelessness of the surroundings.
A growing tremble in his features…stemming discomfort to be emboldened into rage as his frustration took hold.
His fists rammed onto the shuddering table, the mound of books lackadaisically toppling to the floor in an unceremonious fashion. He was unmindful of the fact that he had cracked a deep fissure into the disquieting quietude. He was unmindful of the elder men staring disgruntledly at him for his belligerent behaviour, although they did at some entrenched level welcome the newfound dynamic in their feeble existences. He was unmindful of the detail that the very air within the room had alchemised into lurching butter- thick, saturated and incredibly hard to stomach. He only responded to his deepest set emotions, the boiling turmoil of fury and frustration at months of failing to divulge even a morsel of information true to his search.
The very same statements flashed across his eyes, each a paraphrase of the other, each hopelessly unoriginal and circular. He recalled the little he had learned on his travels through the Western countries…
"Alchemy. The primary science that had circulated from systematic observation of the material world. It holds great promise in its ability to manipulate the very atomic fabric of matter so that various forms could be transmuted out of another- involving steps of comprehension, decomposition and assembly. Its roots are said to be unclear, and are theorized to be stemmed from natural sources within the Earth. Ancient alchemists have believed that all forms of alchemy stem from an original alchemical art that has been lost from our understanding through the aeons of time. It is said that this ancient art comprised of every elemental principle that allowed for the reconstitution of matter forms by the utilization of energetic macrosystems. Indeed, it is believed that ancient alchemy could bypass the principles of equivalent exchange and natural providence. For the time being however, it is far beyond our own understanding as humans…"
That ungainly piece of knowledge had been restated unfailingly in alternate syntaxes in all literature that he had looked upon during his visit to the western countries. Initially, the idea of overstepping the very pedestal that alchemy stood upon had him ecstatic. It would have been a considerable breakthrough for every nation if they could master an art whose potential they had barely scratched upon. However after combing through hundreds of journals, scriptures and manuscripts- all circling around the very same mulberry bush- his excitement muddled to annoyance, then to fury as it quickly became apparent to him that the western alchemists had no idea what they were going on about. About halfway through his deciphering, it crossed upon him that he could have been chasing a very possible conspiratorial hoax. He chose to dismiss this highly realistic possibility, much to his scientific chagrin; which chose to differentiate itself from his present consciousness, preferring to mock him for slithering down the likes of impulsive sentimentality. He couldn't fathom what they were talking about, and he doubted that they could either. They talked of an original alchemical art; he reasoned the illogicality of an alchemical form that had escaped the eye of countless national scholars- surely a few would have taken notice and scribed a development so profound. His mind swept to other conclusions: They couldn't have been talking about Xerxesian alchemy- they surely had not advanced to such a stage that they could override the principle of Equivalent Exchange. Even if they had, his father would have surely said some mention of it. If not him, certainly Father would have shown an appearance of it.
He had had enough. No matter his prodigal ability of focus onto the most convoluted subject matter possible, it was he who would be the idiot if he chased after a lead so obviously fabricated and mended by the pitiful rants of tired old men who had written a paragraph's worth in a damning epic. He slammed his head onto the barely steadying table.
"Why did I ever come here?" he moaned self-loathingly, banging and clenching his fists synchronously for good measure. He sighed protractedly, the hot air gusting from his mouth bounding off the sandpaper-like surface to warm his already broiling visage. He tilted his head sideways, the seated old men had readily lost interest in him and had returned to their pedantry- mopping dust off covers and pages and breathing them in miserably.
He forced his thoughts to drift away; his vision gradually clouding as he silvered out the living unmemorable cemetery. His hands drooped to his sides, his right leafing through his greyed jacket to rummage through a few trinkets. He grimaced when two of his digits were immediately pricked by needle-like objects that hungrily drew blood, snapping him out of his daze. He grappled them cautiously in his palm and drew them out, greeted by the sight of two silver earrings bejewelled with sapphire stones.
He stared at them, "Even while you're not here you can still manage to bleed me dry, huh?" He chuckled at his wit, casting longing gazes at the lustrous blue sapphire stones that reminded him so much of her own pair. He twirled them playfully, recalling the time when he had gifted them to her as a bribe for the security of his own life. She had enacted a pretence of begrudging acceptance in response, although there was no doubt in either of their minds of how the gesture had truly affected her.
How long had it been since he had seen her? Been in her presence? Watched that saccharine smile dance across her face and shatter his defences?
Was it two months?
Three perhaps? Maybe longer.
Was it fair for him to make this trip and leave her be for such an elongated time? Was it fair for him to be neglected of her presence? More critically, was it fair to skip off on a journey to far off nations after he, for a matter-of-fact, had proposed to her?
His thoughts drifted as he recalled that day…
"Equivalent Exchange! I'll give you half of my life so you give me half of yours!" he frenetically yelled as his scarlet face became progressively more so.
She stared at him perplexedly, internal switchboards clocking off data signals as they struggled to piece in the undulating blonde man's dramatic nonsensical outburst. Her countenance registered no trace of shock, happiness, nor of scoff; merely one of utter bemusement as the emanated embarrassment from her childhood friend radiated through the cool summer breeze, targeting her, only to be ricocheted back to him by her polarized flabbergast.
When it hit her…
"Idiot…"
He smiled in reminiscence, playing back her explicit remonstration of what she considered to be the worst proposal ever proffered, with little restraint on the description of his idiocy in the matter. Although, he would always consider the highlight of the event the point at which she plainly stated that she would give him all of her life- no scratch that, 85%; as if the percentile mattered.
And how, you may ask, had he had taken care of a precarious situation that had warranted for delicacy? Why, he had sealed an outrageous commitment between two individuals within the domain of a reciprocal gesture of camaraderie and a verbal promise to kindle their relationship when he would return. Nothing marked or worthy of remembrance- but one that was apt enough to be able to rapidly disseminate into the void of attempts that had failed to be realized into concrete actions. After all, words only carried insofar as the wind allowed them to, such was the fallibility of the spoken word; to convey the deepest most reverent sentiments that a person could divulge, whilst being placed at the mercy of uncontrollable, inescapable media. Could the wind really have carried that the sentiments that he voiced that day? Had he made himself perfectly clear of his affections for her? Or had he confused her more so than he did himself?
What was this feeling that was crippling him? Making jelly of his insides; instilling a sensation of self-doubt that he had never before proven to be a sufferer of. Something that was drawing a dagger through his innards, turning them to mush- attesting to be only further painful when attempting to pull out.
Dread, was it?
Dread of something in particular, something so wholly irrational and emotional that its cancerous growth only strengthened the more sustenance he delivered upon it with his defeatist musings.
It was so very warm in here…
His head bent down, he did not notice a figure striding over to him- or the faint shadow of a flickered eyelid adsorbing the pitiful sight in front of it.
The figure stopped a few feet short of him, hovering decisively in the background. Her sultry voice rung out in a series of strident unmelodious tones, mandated by an alien accent that supressed her aitches and had perfectly rolled r's bouncing off her tongue.
"You're not from around 'ere, are you guvnor?" she uttered the question matter-of-factly.
Momentarily put at unease with such an uncharacteristic outburst, the young blonde pulled himself upright and narrowed his eyes at her- taking in the sight of the intruder with a greater than mild interest.
He noticed her to be not a whole let elder than he was- perhaps a couple of years more than his own age by his conjecture. She was as far off put from the natives as he was, with her dark caramelised skin and fissure-deep dark brown eyes. Her physique was one of a toned athlete's: muscular and lean with an upright posture that hinted tremendously at her physical strength and dexterity. As she sashayed across the floor and came to a halt in near distance of him, he observed that her mannerisms were akin with that of a feline- spirited, graceful and lithe- but swift to be lethal and surreptitious if a provocation was ever raised.
He snorted, "You're one to talk,"
"Aye, I guess we both stick out like a pair of sore thumbs, don't we?" she grinned mischievously, placing one hand on her hip and tilting forward to take a closer look at him- her fiery breath brushing against his face as her lungs expanded and contracted powerfully- calling attention to her heaving chest as it violently fought against the bare top that hugged her upper silhouette.
He found her to be a curious specimen; an unabashed brusque one who was unafraid to be blunt with the strangest of strangers. She was more animalistic than human, primal- sodden with dark exotic features and expressions that spelled intrigue to the most hardened of men. It was her eyes that caught him off-guard however. There was a certain manic within those unending brown abysses that seemed to drag on forever, extending an ensorcelling insanity that enthralled the observer to such a magnitude that he would find himself eager to be caught in the gravid storm that lay inherent to her depths; unmindful of the true calamity that the tempestuous whirls, revolving around the calmest point, posed.
She continued grinning at him, enjoying the quiet game of staring back and forth.
"You don't look like the type to shuffle through all this drivel. Definitely not the type," she snickered coyly as she fixed a contrast between the golden eyed blond haired youth in front of her and the greyed out dowdy old men who sat cowered from the glare of the sun.
"Got a death wish guvnor?"
"Hmm?" he replied bemusedly, unsure of how to handle the sharp-tongued eccentric wildling that appeared to be determined not to leave him be. He couldn't quite mask out the true expression behind her leering smirk, only that it seemed to not be unkind, if a tad jeering at his own expense.
She dropped her gaze from him to the mound of fallen books that lay plopped sporadically across the table. She drummed her fingers lightly, crooking over to take quick scans of the titles and prefaces of the tattered collections that looked greatly more despoiled in their current condition than in their previous- if such a state was even possible.
"You're an alchemist," she stated suddenly- watching the lad with a newfound interest.
"Was," he commented without further elaboration. He twiddled the thumbs of his flesh right and left hands- sighing with an awry sound that was all too familiar of self-pity.
"Even better," she purred, more to herself than to him in particular. She grabbed a chair across from him and twirled it around adroitly in nimble cat-like motions. She sat herself down and laid her head on her forearms, bangs of chestnut brown hair trailing down her temple.
"If you're looking for secret alchemical trades within these rolls of waffle, I'm afraid you're either incredibly short-sighted or just plain over-optimistic," she stated bluntly, shaking her tresses off her temple whilst fixating her piercing gaze onto him. "Well come on then. Which one are you?" she barked jeeringly.
Her coarse voice caught him off-guard again and he scowled at her. "Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot. It's not like I can go back empty-handed after all this effort struggling with this garbage," he growled testily as he motioned to the junk pile.
"So you're a journeyman then," she smiled, not at all placed at unease by his irate behaviour. "From where do you 'ail from then, fair traveller?"
"Amestris," he replied nonchalantly. He prepared to unseat himself, deciding to mosey over from this female before she really started to foul his mood.
She slammed her palm down on his wrist- holding him in place- much to his chagrin. Her skin was especially warm though coarse with a few scars and callouses here and there.
"No way!" she exclaimed excitedly. "An Amestrian alchemist," saying it in such a manner as if they were considered to be a glaring rarity. She bent even closer to him, "You wouldn't happen to be the Fullmetal Alchemist Edward Elric?"
She didn't let up the opportunity to even answer, leading the conversation through her own dominion. "But you are," she beamed gleefully.
She pounced upwards swifter than the eye could discern and dusted herself off with deliberate deft motions. The dangerous twinkle of mania in her eyes brightened greater which couldn't help but unnerve Edward as the abysses became startlingly deep and hollow.
"Well this changes things doesn't it? Your trip might have not been a complete waste of time, Fullmetal Alchemist," she grinned, an untold secret dancing across her eyes.
He was unsure of how to respond, taken back at the rapidity of the shift of events that spotlighted on this one very mysterious and bizarre woman who, by his guess, would appear more at home to be with a pack of primeval chimera. It wasn't that she was the only white tiger in the cage, she was the whole damn zoo- but he thought it a testament to her queer eccentricities that she was bound to hold information that would prove crucial to his cause even if she was one of the strangest bag of tricks that he had ever set his sight upon. He wasn't a man that believed in faith, divine intervention or any other misnomer of deity-bound influence. Likewise he wasn't a man who suffered from self-doubt, thereby yielding him the ability to place trust in his intuition and admire the gripping power of circumstance on effecting an outcome whenever it had arisen.
He sighed begrudgingly, "I hope I'm not going to regret this,"
She flashed him a playful smile, "Oh I can't guarantee that what you're about to see is what you seek. But as far regret comes in, I have no doubt that my little bauble right here will have you peaked for a couple of raring weeks,"
She clapped her hands together and twirled on her toes to turn a full semicircle. She walked off a bit- back facing him- and clicked her tongue, "Come on then. No time's as good as the present," she stated cheerily.
He watched after her as she strutted across the damp oak floorboard- hips swaying slightly- albeit without conscious motive. He reckoned it to be just another one of her quirks. He stood himself up to full height, watching her turn around and hiss at him to get moving.
"I know I'm going to regret this…"
Episode-II
They walked together in silence for the time being as flickering candlelight above illuminated the wearisome halls with ill-concerted effort- casting gloomy shadows on the pair below as they marched deeper into the bowels of the antediluvian gluttonous colossus who had lost much of his insatiability in deference to his own recognition of the futility of his existence. His thirst no longer extant and his insatiability downed to a mirthless ennui, he was resigned to forego the fruits of his existence to only bear watch to see whether he would stand the test of time.
The chandeliers overhead, once so ornate and encrusted with golden leaves, had been diminished to pale silvered imitations of their past selves- stained with globules of aged grey candlewax that further despoiled the once held illusion of grandeur. The point to be stated- the illusion of grandeur- was critical for one fundamental cue; it wasn't that the site was straying from the truth- it was rather the opposite. Flakes of passable gold only held esteem for as long as their façade offered before being grazed upon by the true aweing apotheosis of the Sun. The incursion of the wrath of ages soon followed when an entity dared to presume that it was consubstantial with it, a fate which this profane dwelling would prolong to suffer for the continuum of its existence.
She sneaked a glance at her steadfast companion as he trotted along stonily- eyes directly forward and focussed with a linear perspective that resolved at the end of this one penultimate journey towards unknown parts.
Or so he thought.
She noted his physical appearance: his slightly tall muscular build accompanied by an upright ramrod bearing that spelled out much of his arrogance; his strong well-toned appendages, the flesh ones anyway, showcased the noticeable flexes and bulges of his muscles as his gait transpired smoothly across the creaking floorboard- each step accentuating their mechanical movements. She was surprised of the stark efficiency with which his metallic limb caught up to the flesh one. She made a mental note to check up Amestrian automail in the future.
Tired of the listless silence between the two of them- she spoke up rather loudly, "I must say Edward. You are not as short as they make you out in the tales,"
She could see that this singular statement had conceived a crack in his dense armour as he froze in place and whipped his head around with supersonic speed. The irk in his expression and the twitch in his eyebrow was oh so amusing to her and she had to stifle a grin as his face flushed scarlet, his pupils dilated, and the molten gold of his eyes effervesced.
"Who the hell are you calling short, woman," he bellowed vexingly. His thunderous voice echoed across the dwelling- making itself clear to plausibly everyone within a kilometre radius of the place.
"No one in particular," she responded back with a trace of satirical cheek. "I was just making the point across that I did not think of you as short as…"
Her words were cut short as his mien contorted to a snarl and his voice boomed once again, ever more loudly.
"I AM NOT SHORT!"
His yell might have well resounded through the entire continent for its ear-piercing amplitude that would have surely deafened her had she not clapped two hands tightly over her poor anguished ears.
'Temper tantrum,' she thought to herself. 'So the stories of his Napoleon complex were right. I best not instigate him any further if I want to keep my hearing past twenty-two,'
She warily surveyed him as he gradually mellowed down over time- looking somewhat apologetic for his disgraceful manner.
"Done?" she asked coolly.
His eyes caught hers- scorching her with the intense flames laying within the own depths of his molten irises.
He grumbled, ignoring her and returning to the steady pace of his brisk walk- for all appearances detached from the world.
'I'll remember not to push your buttons next time,' "Immature brat," she muttered.
"What was that?" he catechised testily, on the verge of suffering a relapse.
She flushed, "Nothing, nothing," and quickened her pace to meet his- walking in silence, if only for a moment.
"So what secrets are hidden in this tome of yours?" he queried calmly.
She smiled, "Ones that could redefine the science of alchemy completely,"
He grew cross with her non-answer, "Such as?" he gritted his teeth.
She laughed at his ire, "I'm sorry if I'm, to keep it short, running around the bush- but you have to understand that much of your nation's understanding of alchemy is limited to a grand oversimplification of a process that is inherently more complex and multifaceted than it seems,"
Her condescending textbook answer rang through his ears- but elaborated nothing further than depositions analogous to apocryphal postulations. He thought that she sounded much too similar like one of those damned books- voicing rants burgeoned by the ramblings of old men talking of unfound virtual enigmas. It was a practise that he was all too aware of now; it was ubiquitous among people who were either ignorant or fearful of the truth. They bequeathed a word for it, sophistry: Employing fallacious arguments to benefit one's plausibility of a premise- a specious premise ordained by a specious argument. Used by those as a resort when either ignominy or awe: awe in that of the archaic sense, was a prognosticative factor. He wondered which category she belonged to.
Now that he had thought of it, her entire process seemed all the well too rehearsed- as if she were following a script leading towards a contrived despicable outcome. He best keep wary of her, unknowing of what her true agenda was in the matter of things.
"An example would be in your description of the alchemical process of transmutation," she interjected abruptly. "You describe the process as beginning with the understanding of a substance's inherent composition, then the destruction of that substance's material bonds, and lastly the reconstruction of that very same substance into an allotropic form of its original constituents. However, you miss one critical step that predates even the comprehension of the matter's molecular nature. That is key towards unlocking the original secrets of alchemy, and bypassing the Principle of Equivalence Exchange and the Principle of Natural Providence,"
He was hit with a drift of unease, shaken by the woman's sudden dramatic shift in temperament. Why did she sound so perfunctory all of a sudden? There was no trace of that original pronounced accent that had proven so agitating for him. It was as if her entire character had been pushed to the side-track for another to place itself in the pilot's seat. Her mentality had been substituted with this taciturn pedantic scientist-guise that was as far removed from her previous playful persona as a wrench and a torque wrench were two unique contraptions. He shuddered at this comparison, he was starting to think along the same lines as her.
She reeked of uncertainty and inconsistency and it only urged a feeling of utter eeriness. He thought the feeling evoked similar to the sensation when one dips their ankle into illusive shallow water, only to have it submerged to the calf with a depth that was concealed with a subtle trick of the light- passing surprise; but a frightful unease for as slight as a sliver of a moment. He thought of the queer eccentricity of observation, of how fruitless and superficial physicality was. There was always something much greater eclipsed within the depths; always granting that renowned dread of the unknown that was alien to solely those who had passed through the dusk's veil.
He mused over her declaration. If what she stated was accurate, it could spell abundant potential for the advancement of the alchemical process. He rationalized that if alchemists had conveniently skipped past the very foundation towards activation the transmutation process, surely paying heed and suiting it to their needs would allow the development of parallel practises of alchemy to be consequent. The incorporation of the compendium of these practises could lead to the conception of an archetypal alchemic form. The implications were dazzling, yet surreal. Surely affairs could not be sorted this feasibly, there was a hidden intangible thread entangled somewhere in that mass of fabric- perhaps it was known to her but she chose to stay her tongue for reasons concealed to him. Moreover, he couldn't help but feel that something was awry with this woman's intentions. There was definitely an off-key characteristic about her.
"Say lady. Where did you say you were from?" Edward asked with a pretence of minimal interest.
She frowned, "I didn't. But I hail from Britagnia,"
His suspicion was now definitely aroused. He scoffed at the notion that she was Britagnese. He had perused the geography of the far western nation of Britagnia- in preparations for his travel- and knew for a fact that she shared no common features with its natives; they were a people who shared a common consistency of a strikingly white complexion and chiselled somewhat aristocratic features. Apart from that frustrating accent- which had shiftily enough faded as of now- the woman was more dissimilar to a Britagnese than he himself was.
He glanced once more at his female companion as she glided across the flooring, noting the smooth shade of brown that draped her body. Her visage showed more curved, rounder features than the strikingly sharp, angular ones characteristic to the Britagnese folk. Her eyes were lofty, large… a little too feline; that unnerved him.
She turned around to face him and grinned- that wide coy smirk splayed on her face- making an abrupt reappearance with little consciousness of the lapse of its non-existence.
"You're well too awfully interested in alchemy, aren't you guvnor?" He shuddered at the return of that exasperating manner of speech- honestly, who the hell can talk to these people besides their own?
"If you're that intrigued…the two of us can always mosey over to my place where we can discuss in length all sorts of alchemical… matter," she suggested coquettishly.
He didn't even get a chance to consider her enticing suggestion, for the faint ghosting pain of a wrench laying its mark upon his forehead had already inundated its thoughts- leaving her remark to trail out the other ear.
He shuddered visibly- causing a frown to appear on the woman who obviously had never been faced with such an outright flat rejection. Her reasoning could only lead to a singular track. 'Perhaps the lad doesn't swing the right way,' she thought amusedly.
"Nice of you to offer, but I'd like my head to be screwed on the right way when I go back," was all he blurted out in retort- the echoes of previous thuds all too memorable.
She squealed, "What's this? You 'ave a lady friend back 'ome, Eddie," No doubt this had peaked her interest like delectable bait does to a fish's. Hooked on and unwilling to relent- the outlandish woman strode sideways closer to Edward- not making a smidgeon of an effort to mask her interest.
"She sounds like the jealous type, this lady of yours," she grinned, thoroughly enjoying an additional opportunity to get a dig in her stoic shallow companion.
He snorted, "She's no lady," His face darkened as swift recollections of himself cowering before her came to light in a blurring daze of Technicolor art frames. Overhead, a defective chandelier acted as a strobe, flashing transient impulses of light that cast fantastic flickering sensations that reflected in his dimmed golden eyes with an accelerating frequency.
He grumbled ominously, "She's a goddamn machine freak, an automail otaku with a ridiculous temper, a dangerous wrench and a deadly throwing arm..."
"And you love her," she interpolated, her expression changing suddenly- accomplishing in abruptly cutting him off in mid-sentence.
His feet stooped to a stop, his tirade at an end. The flickering lights in his eyes mellowed then stayed, reverting to brandish their customary spheres of molten gold.
His expression softened. "And I love her," he agreed with a gentle smile.
With the impudent turbulence in his orbs tapered, he gave off an appearance of serene compassion- albeit still with a tepid blaze sauntering in his midst. She thought she found it far too easy to appreciate how a woman could sheathe her defences from him once the hard-headed brash guise had retreated enough to unveil an innate prominently fiercer humanity that could strike a chord within the most obstinate of battle-hardened veterans. It honed onto her that it was precisely this characteristic that had bestowed him with the mantle of the Fullmetal Alchemist, she thought- well aware of the corniness of her reverie.
"So what's the story behind you two," she asked sweetly. "Providing you tell me 'er name first,"
He was a trifle annoyed with her cheeky inquisitiveness, but chose to answer since his mood had lightened and the woman didn't seem as agitating as before.
"Winry. Winry Rockbell," he replied after a moment's hesitation- her name momentarily triggering a lapse of a ghost of her scent in the immediate surroundings. "We kind of grew up together,"
She squealed, he still could not begin to get accustomed to that shrill screech, "How utterly sweet. The pair of you were childhood sweethearts," she paused- envisaging such a lavish pail of saccharinity that just about stemmed the mother lode of clichés. "Sounds just about the plot of a daily paperback novel," she cooed not unkindly.
He snorted disdainfully, marking his affirmation with her comment rather transparent.
He felt like he was in a talking mood- so he continued, "Things didn't turn out like a storybook though. We happened to lose both our parents and wound up under the same roof as the same family," he uttered bitterly.
"Not so sweet," she replied sympathetically. "Although with a touch of incest. Makes it a tad zesty don't you think?"
He ignored her, quickening his pace and finding much interest in an off-kilter wooden bookcase that looked a bit alienated from the rest.
She sighed, "So how far 'ave you gotten along with 'er?"
His pace slackened, momentarily befuddled with the abstruse query. When he glanced back at her, noting her larky grin- his confusion mingled with a slight uneasiness.
"I'm asking you of far along the ropes you've climbed with this sweetheart of yours. Surely you've spent up a storm over the creases with this girl?"
Noting his expression only further burgeoning into utter flabbergast, she laughed mirthfully- taking great delight in the woeful innocence of her inexperienced comrade.
She guffawed unrestrainedly- stomach retching in indulging aches as he struggled to prevent her lunch from topping up- unmindful of Edward's kindled irk as she took pleasure in chastising him over his naivety.
"Oh I'm terribly sorry but the tale you're spinning is so much like the facetious fibs of a daily paperback that it could only be considered the truth," She grimaced as her insides knotted up at one particularly wrenched chortle.
His eyes darkened. He mumbled a few incoherent threats and huffed- striding steadily ahead as he left the cackling girl to her own devices- retching in place with her body seizing violently.
"Egad," she sighed, rubbing her weary belly fruitlessly- aware that this stinging ache was but only penance for appreciating far too much pleasure of her companion's (queer was the sole moniker that came to mind) predicament. She dusted herself off with sweeps of her left hand whilst straightening her unkempt mass of hair as a glimmer of a smirk remained plastered on her face. Spotting the increasing distance between Edward and herself, she scrimmaged to her feet and caught up to him swiftly with a modicum of effort. Rooting to a halt facing the back of him- she pivoted around him in a perfect 180, in a supple twirl resemblant to that of a ballerina, and met him face up- garnering them both to a hasty standstill.
He scowled at her, unwilling to pit himself further within her claws for the sake of her entertainment. As he made a motion to brush her away, she skilfully evaded him and re-enacted her previous trick with considerably more ease.
"Now now, let's not play this game where you chuck your frustrations onto me guvnor. I don't play that easy," she chided playfully.
He made no response other than to stare her down with his blazing golden orbs- mind temporarily at a loss as to how to resolve this situation.
"I find it 'ard to believe that you've made no physical move onto a woman you are presumably in love with. The only excuse I can come up is that you are too drawn up thinking of her as a mere sister," she stated plainly- finding herself to be formidably blunt with him all of a sudden.
His unchanged expression was followed by no disturbance, so she assumed that he had relented for the time being.
Her lips twinkled mischievously, "You guvnor, have a common problem which can be simply explained by the slurred words of the idiot drunkards in the bars back in my 'ome country,"
Deciding to play the role accurately, she played on a dim-witted sodden male visage and plastered a giddy smile from ear to ear.
"But uh bro," she articulated with a low-key barely intelligible voice that she thought impersonated the scatter-brained idiots spot on. "She's…uh…well, like mah sister," she finished, the final syllable unduly exaggerated.
Her subsequent words took on a strikingly zealous tonality.
"That's your problem isn't it? Like the rest of those idiots, you're too afraid to even fathom a reality in which you've developed a powerful attraction for a woman who you've grown up with and treated and thought of as a sister. You still think of the two of you as having shared a prosaic familial bond when the truth is that your feelings for her have matured to become incessantly more passionate and dark. You, like the rest of them, thrive on consistency: on what feels safe and tangible and sturdy- ignoring the presence of a tie that is infinitely stronger, that can only bring you bliss or torment depending on whether you choose to accept it or not," she paused for a moment as she bared a contorted snarl with her pupils dilated to a superhuman degree. Edward's face showed traces of loss of control and shock at this brusque confrontation- once again feeling that same unease at an even more prominent drastic shift of temperament.
Her voice barely shook, void of any trepidation and arrogantly self-assured. The modulation of her personality was so greatly salient and so greatly protuberant that it well enough be conceived that her heartstring* were reverberating at a different frequency- so pronounced was the change.
"You admitted explicitly that you had romantic feelings for Winry, yet you display very little regard for clarifying them forthright. How on Earth can you say that you love her romantically if you display no outright level of physical attraction for her? What is romantic attraction without the attraction bit? Just a descriptor with a zeroed meaning. I don't know if you find it emboldening to believe in an innocent love or if you can't drag yourself to change your impression of her- regardless of what your heartstring yearns for you to say. Whatever your sentiment may be, accept the fact that passion, romantic love is not separate from physical attraction. The two are not mutually exclusive, rather they rely on each other. You are learned of what the truth is and yet you suffer trepidation like a coward before it with an irrational fear of a known unknown…"
He snapped, unable to endure having his courage and pride being ransacked by a stranger, who for some inane reason, believed that she could brutishly intrude upon his personal affairs as if she knew him for all the years of his present existence. Who the hell was she to assume that she could play dice with his life? What gave her the right to indulge herself in his problems? He was utterly infuriated, capsized with such an intense surge of rage that he felt himself blinded from a blaring irradiance that was omnidirectional in nature- originating from everywhere and nowhere in particular. He had just a fractional ounce of remnant restraint and could feel the bubbling rage rise, fall and circulate in his body with vigorous convection.
"Who the hell are you to say how I feel!" he blasted utterly enraged. His countenance contorted to an effect that the contours of his face sharpened to create an illusionary effect of carnal animalistic definition.
"I'm not ignorant of how I feel about Winry. I don't pretend to think that I care about her just as a sister. Not anymore!" he yelled, a threatening edge to his voice as he crept ever closer to the object of his wrath- his fists clenched in eager await.
"Who are you to condemn the feelings of others? As if you can redefine what it means to be in love with someone! As if you are such an expert to be able to say that you know what love is, idiot!" he castigated cruelly.
He was now a mere few inches away from her. They were in place face-to-face, breath countering off each other, presence armed against presence. Two poles, two polarities creating a wracking disturbance in the immediate vicinity. His of pure unadulterated anger offsetting against hers of pure elemental reason. A field of such magnitude that the light in the very room acted to gravitate to the pivotal balance point of the pair.
She was unfazed by his animosity, showcasing an expression of terrific impassivity. "You say you love her. But I wonder; have you shown it to her?" she catechised coldly. "Have you kissed her? Felt the moist tenderness of her lips and the sweet warmth of her breath," she queried coolly. "Have you truly embraced her? Felt the soft silky smoothness of her cheeks, her unique fragrance- a blend of aromatic esters and perfumed floras," she inquired dispassionately. "Have you experienced her? Explored the feminine curves of her form and drunk in her bodily spirit," she quizzed placidly.
"Have you at all thought of her as a woman? Have you loved her in the veritable sense so as to desire her entirety? Not only her soul and mind, but her body as well?"
"Have you heard of the gospel of love singing through your ears? That which asks for you to feel compassion and passion for your opposite number. To love her- in the emotional, rational and spiritual discipline; to lust after her- in the carnal, sensual and indulgent sense," she quirked an eyebrow at him apathetically.
The swirling congestion of questions were beginning to dismay his anger- for the first time instilling uncertainty in his assertions. Could it be that the crazed woman was right? That he was dispatching his true emotions to some far corner of his mind- only to have some fallible superficial replicas ruminate at the front of his consciousness. Had it never occurred to him to think of Winry as a woman in all earnest? To the deranged wildling's approximation, did he only show love for a part of Winry and not her entirety? Was love really that quizzical? Was it that its purity was established by considering every element of the whole- even those that were deniably in the same virtuousness as the rest?
He contemplated Winry Rockbell. He envisaged the entirety of her form: her physicality, spirit and mind. He thought of her mentality and emotions, her inklings and dispositions, her likes and dislikes, her faith and quirks. He thought of her form- her body.
He consciously began to traverse through the forbidden seldom accessed regions of his mind. He observed stills of her: envisioning her plenitude of smooth, graceful curves; her angelic pulchritude and countenance; her flush ivory skin; her sensuous voluptuous figure that carried with it an overwhelming allure; the swell of her well-endowed chest- recalling the time at which he was able to peruse a glimpse at their aspect in a hastily blissful moment; the hourglass curvature of her waist; the enticing roundness of her rear; the exquisiteness, curvaceousness and definition of her miles of legs. He started to perspire, feel the onset of a weighty redness and a powerful state of arousal that was tampering with his cognizance- sensory overkill was it? Far too much information to be processed in such a minute lapse of time. Pretty soon he was going to get a nosebleed.
No. That couldn't be it. Sure, he didn't consider her in that fashion as much as he ought to; but that was only for the lack of time and the immediacy and the clustering of events in the past few years. He was preoccupied, could he chalk it up to that notch? If so, then why was he yet to be liberated from his vocation? What was still holding him in place, fixating him to the past and its fading sentiments?
His thoughts drifted him back to reality when it crossed upon him that the woman had inched up to him even closer, her impassive gaze perlustrating him with him impeccable scrutiny. Her mien had taken a strange appearance- manifesting from a resonating curiosity that had displaced the icy apathy that had cloistered her.
She bit her lip, "But that's not the complete story. There's something else within you that is striking you at unease- preventing you from realizing your true desires. Something much more dark and virulent- as if you were strapped by tendrils of pure shadow," she stated musingly. She paused for a moment, watching him strangely, "When was the last time you contacted her?" she probed- not talked or chatted but contacted.
He heard her question echoingly, still afflicted with a lessened anger- yet struck with an inhibiting discordance that caused him just enough susceptibility to render him incapable of exhibiting ignorance and falsehood.
His mouth spoke of its own accord, "When I proposed to her," was all he answered.
She peered at him from far beyond his line of focus. The subtle becoming of an epiphany fostered a slant in her temperament. Her eyes returned to her customary deep brown fissures, displaying just enough of a trace of emotion. "What is it that you really dread Edward Elric?" she wondered aloud.
His bearing slackened- his eyes trembled at the notion that his constructed worries had become all the more real all of a sudden. The glaring bloom soon mellowed into the surrounding's ambience; yet he still found himself paling cognizance, a weighty shadow obscuring truths in such a manner that they had escaped the shackling radiant intensity.
He chose not to voice his fears or remark upon the situation, silently walking past her and towards their destination. He only knew that he had to confront the light of the tunnel for it held matter that would alienate him from this icy reality. They continued to walk in silence- neither of the pair taking heed of the other's existence, both lost in thoughts, to make a finer point- suffering, from the damp coldness of blunt truisms.
It seemed to be a small amount of time that had lapsed, yet it felt as if hours had passed. He begin to lose grasp of the pathway he was travelling through, unsure of this tunnel existed at all- or was a transpersonal manifestation of his own insecurities; a reservoir whose depth never seemed to cease.
Somewhere in the insurmountable distance a book tumbled off a crumbling shelf- echoing a soft thud that snapped them both to attention. It contrasted so greatly with the tattered surroundings- looking relatively nouveau and pristine in comparison with its fine leathered hardback and laced spine. He dismissed it immediately, uncaring to garner interest at something that appeared so trivial and pedestrian to him.
The other, however, shuffled over to it- huddling over to scoop up the work gently in her palms. She fingered the cover affectionately, noting the eloquent insignia embroidered in centre cover. It depicted a man and a woman, dressed in themselves and nothing further, entangled with each other- almost as if they comprised the same unit. Tenacious vines enveloped them, self-originating and representing a true circular infinity, embroiling their forms together whilst shelling them from the outside world- pencilled in by the greyed lunar orb cast in their exterior.
She placed it firmly back in its receptacle- choosing not to let go as she sighed wistfully.
"It's a tragic thing isn't it?" she asked softly. He craned his head to look at her and quirked a puzzled eyebrow. "Falling in love," she elaborated- her eyes twinkling with faint mirth. "Falling is the key word there isn't it? One has to drop himself down to the other's level to be unified with that person. It's almost as if you have to amount to her or him, sounds so dreadfully limiting," she remarked with a tepid chuckle.
She tilted her head and smiled gently- grappling onto the book just a little bit more firmly. "Then again I suppose; it's not really a bad thing 'mm?"
It took him awhile to register the significance of those words. For in parallel, he was momentarily baffled at the woman being able to read him so clearly, as if he were as transparent as a glass window. He barely had any time to voice a remark, bluntly interjected by a delighted shriek.
"We're 'ere!" she exclaimed perkily, sprinting up to an inconspicuous bookcase that held no remarkable value in the sea of its equals. He moseyed over to her, arching an eyebrow as she ran her fingers across a bottom compartment and tapped in places here and there with deliberate pursuit. He leaned against the bookcase and drummed his fingers lightly against the dirt-soaked volumes- failing to be occupied at the point of being granted treasure after a laborious hunt.
They both heard a click. She squealed, quickly sweeping away a replaceable plank that concealed a single leather-bound volume. Very little could be made out from the cover, apart from the presence of a few inscribed runes, to his guess: although they looked more like chicken scratches than mystical inscriptions encapsulating arcane secrets of an unknown time.
"Do you see it?" she asked with remarkable quietude- for a person like herself anyway. He huddled over next to her, frowning when the non-existent artefact excluding itself from his sight.
"Here," she motioned, angling the tome directly to the light.
He saw it now, but it ensued no recollection.
An insignia of a twisted serpentine dragon-like creature glimmered, its composition akin to pure lustrous gold, hued with a silvery blurred glow that outlined its edges. Its lightly shaded golden eyes stared defiantly at him, holding within something that positively gleamed of the divine- or at least the preternatural.
"The answers you seek are in this tome," she stated flatly- scrutinizing his reaction as she ran her index finger across the spine smoothly. "However, your journey shall not end with this, far from it actually. You may across a time when you will regret having your palms graze the writings of those whose names are rightfully forgotten for the sake of the world," her voice was grave, her head bowed down as if to convey respects to some unseen foreign presence.
He considered this. "What does it actually say about the ancient practitioners of alchemy? What did they know that we missed out?" he asked urgently- hoping for answers that would reject the possibility that this was a grand hoax.
She lifted her gaze to match his, watching him reproachfully. "Don't think that what's held in here is all one giant fabrication. This account is an amalgamation of old and new; of unknown, forgotten and unforgotten. The ancient ones…" she paused- clenching her fists. "They were not of the realm of mere men. They knew things which normal men cannot comprehend without guidance. They knew of existence, divinity, God, truth and spirituality. They knew that alchemy wasn't as mysterious and profound as it seemed- that is merely obeyed some of the foremost laws of nature," she caught her breath.
"It was their knowledge that proved to send them to their doom. This is why we do not know or hear of them. Even the select few who have- chose to keep the newfound knowledge till their deaths. If it is known without boundaries, people would use it malignantly without constraint- damning the world with them. I feel that you can perhaps be the lighthouse that will bring back what was forgotten, Fullmetal Alchemist," she finished imperiously as she held out the book for his retrieval.
Her words struck him terrifically, though he couldn't help but doubt the integrity of her hyperbolic declaration. Surely what was held in here would not to such an extent divert the course of mankind! The idea was simply outright laughable. Nonetheless he would take caution with the alleged secrets contained within this tome. If anything that posed for great worry came up- he would choose not to disclose it. But really, knowledge within this tome that could reshape the mould of mankind's course? It hardly seemed pliable that it would have escaped the minds of centuries of scholars. On the other hand, her manner of delivery and safekeeping of the tome assured him that there was something ground-breaking in here. Her last declaration echoed through his ears. If she thought him to be the lighthouse that would deliver- the just but forgotten memoirs of an unknown race- to the ships passing through his port, he would gladly fulfil that role.
He carefully removed it from her hands and held it gently- fingering the serpentine emblem that promised fruitfulness to his, until this moment, fruitless journey.
"Promise me one thing guvnor," she said suddenly, squaring up at him with an intense expression. "Call the woman you love, idiot. Before you really mess things up,"
Edward smiled, it was sometime since he was scolded in such a manner. It brought back not truly unpleasant memories. "I will," he promised.
Episode-III
He stood in line, perlustrating through the pages of his newly obtained tome- noting the obscure encryption with which the knowledge within was masterfully concealed. It would take him quite a while to peruse the volume for thematic devices that could explain the book's encryption mechanism- after which he would have to cipher through the foreboding breadth and width of this thickly endowed volume. It invocated equal measures of exhilaration and gloom.
He caught quaint whispers of Cretian men and women chatting to their recipients in their brash tongue. How striking a comparison it offered with the Britagnese woman's dialect? How dissimilar their tongues were to his? He thought of truly how ignorant to the world he was by relenting to stay in Amestris. The myriad of cultures that just this corner of the vast world offered was terrifying by itself. He could not imagine the experiences of seasoned worldly travellers who had voyaged to all four corners.
He glanced at a Cretian man in front of him- his sturdy gaze fixated decisively ahead. His olive skin, steel jaw, black hair and sharp cut of his face spelled much of the unique traditional features of the Cretian race. The little time which Edward had spent within the country had been enough to admire the distinctiveness of its people situated in this Mediterranean locale. Their warmth, rich cultural diversity, vibrant city life and bountiful delicacies guaranteed that he would once more invade on the hospitability of this sunlit nation. He still found it hard to get past his newfound food craze- a dish of bread layered with tomatoes and oregano served with goat cheese and a thick garbanzo paste. It was close as it was ever going to get to taste like heaven- the true contender for that privilege resided in Amestris. He had to get someone in his native land to prepare it for him, perhaps Winry could…
The steel-jawed man in front of him had replaced the phone's receiver- grumbling incoherently with a few choice indigenous swear words that Edward had zoned on in his travels- sometimes from first-hand experience, much to his own chagrin.
He strolled over to the front of the queue and dialled in the operator's number swiftly, placing the brass-embellished receiver on his ear and tapping his foot impatiently as the familiar dial tone sounded in his ear.
"Operator here," came the droll of a middle-aged Cretian man. "Who're you calling today, friend?"
He licked his lips, "Could you redirect this call to the Amestrian switchboard please?"
The buzzing of static electricity rang, followed by a few more of those insufferable dial tones. He drummed his fingers across the receiver, echoing brassy plunks that reverberated through his skull.
"You've reached Amestris. To whom is this call directed to?" came the all too familiar twang of a youthful sounding Amestrian woman, one of his own countrymen.
He would tell the operator to contact the Rockbell residence, wait for those few more insufferable seconds until that sweet blissful voice of hers would sound through that receiver. No doubt she would incur her wrath on him for a much more elongated lapse of time than as of previously- that much was justly deserved- but he could feasibly pass through that wracking bane, it wasn't for a lack of experience after all. When she would mellow, he would zealously voice the extent by which he had missed her, of how much he looked forward to kindling their relationship, to clear out the momentarily standing doubts, fears and misconceptions that were clinging onto him. He would hear of how she had engaged herself and she would hear of how his endeavours. There was so much he desired to tell her, such a great deal that he wanted to straighten out. It came to mind that he had never actually uttered his love for her. Would he be able to do it over the phone? He hoped so. He did not want to stimulate the gravidity of any further reservations. He would once more stipulate their exchange those three months ago, he would tell her that he was ready to spend his life with her, to solemnize the onset of their becoming.
Yet his lips dried…yet not a sound emanated from his larynx.
"Hello sir?" she catechised rather irritably. "To whom is this call directed to?" she repeated.
He licked his lips and closed the distance between the receiver and his mouth. His mouth opened groggily, a few beads of sweat forming on his brow, a subtle tremor forming in his hands. A few more seconds lapsed and the tremor only resonated further- travelling down his arms virulently.
"Hello sir?" she repeated- fabricating no attempt to control her ire at this point. "To whom…"
He replaced the receiver. The sound of a muffled thud reverberated through the still air.
He turned around slowly, his heart thumping frantically and all his wits screaming at him for his cowardice.
He left the queue.
Episode-IV
His head was rested against a hardback acting as a cushion to the brittle sandpapered surface of the table. He slept noiselessly, unmindful of the pedantry of the muffled shuffling of the caretakers in perpetual motion. A few of the elder denizens looked on disapprovingly as he took upon their hallowed domain as a simple resting place, almost as if he were mocking their diligent studies.
His sleep however was not sound, invaded by the unkempt sentiments he had rammed deep into the inner midst of his subconscious- only to have them surface in his dreams as a tormenting penance for his controversion. He moaned softly, his expression clad of regret and dread. His cheek brushed against the serpentine insignia of the tome that he had laid his head upon. A stack of transcripts sat adjacent to the tome: longwinded scribbled incantations, intricate runic formations and complex mathematical formularies inundated its pages- scrawled upon with furious resolve.
The serpentine dragon shone onwards in the dim light of the austere library. Its golden eyes still sparking defiance, yet at a loss as to what rested within the blackness of its surrounding depths.
And there we have the first chapter. Hope a few of you found it amiable enough. If any of you consider it to be capable of merit to any degree- I will continue resignedly. If it turns out to be bat guano- like I imagine- than it shall end as another of my futile efforts.
P.S There is an anachronism hidden somewhere in the passage. Ten points to anyone who finds it.
Oh yes, the chapter:
Much of the sentiments display in this chapter revolved around my idea of how the mental scarring from the events in the manga would impact on Edward. He has obviously lost a great deal and has displayed a hardheaded demeanour- but cannot be impervious to mental cracking. I thought it would be prudent to input this sort of manic dread within him, one that impregnates a fear that he will screw everything up. That's the baseline idea of the Edward-Winry angle. The other idea is the personification of love- yes it's not the traditional pure gospel that we'd liken to think of. I thought that the entire idea of love is to be enthralled with another's entirety- to feel desire for each substantiate element that comprise that person. Else what would be the difference between familial and romantic love? They both include compassion- only one holds passion which is greatly more darker, lurid and tantalising- he says with a shudder.
There are also a few symbols here and there that I mean to establish as recurrent thematic devices- I'll keep them unmentionable for now. Some of you may have noticed the reversal of the conventional connotations of light-darkness/warmth-cold; that is something I've gotten from one of my foreign literature books, that light can be crippling with his ardent radiance whereas the shadows can be soft and comforting. Other than that, I hope you enjoyed the deep psychosomatic analysis into young Edward's mind. I hope this work is to be continued onwards, it is quite an ambitious undertaking- by default and for me.
Until next time.