I don't own FMA
VAIL'S AXIOM:
In any human enterprise, work seeks the lowest hierarchical level.
Fuery hadn't quite expected this when he'd signed onto the military, sure he knew he'd have to work his way up, but he didn't know the bottom would be so bad. His specialty was wires, not coffee.
"You know, if they'd ask me to fix this coffee machine I could do that, but get the right coffee for everyone and make it back to the top floor without spilling it, now that's going to be a problem," he joked with the guy working behind the counter.
The guy behind the counter muttered something that sounded an awful lot like, 'I'll give you something to complain about, Grunt' and Fuery gave him a weak smile. He thanked the man as he took the last cup, and made his way over to the counter filled with sugar, creamer, lids, and straws. This was the first step. He pulled out a list and carefully started adding the earlier specified amounts of sugar and cream to each cup, marking each with a name as he finished it. The last, and most difficult, task was next—delivering them all to his superiors on the seventh floor without spilling anything. This task wouldn't have been so bad, if not for the problem he should be working on…the elevators. Of course, he couldn't say that to his superiors, they would think he was being insubordinate, and remind him that people were already working on the elevators.
He took each step slowly, hugging the warm, paper cups to his chest as he went. He was just past the landing of the second floor when a group of men rushed past. One nudged Fuery's elbow as he passed, and Fuery thought the officer, a second lieutenant, was about to apologize, but the man shook his head and mumbled a phrase Fuery would rather forget he heard about grunts always being in the way.
Fuery ignored the heat seeping through his uniform where a splash of coffee had landed on his arm and continued on his way, thankful that the lids had stopped more than the small amount of liquid from burning him.
Once he made it to the seventh floor, and delivered all but one of the coffee cups (without any thanks), he walked into the Colonel's office. The burly man was partaking in an intense conversation over the phone, which Fuery didn't pay any attention to, and didn't even stop his speech to the person on the other end of the line when Fuery set down the lukewarm concoction.
He had nearly escaped when the man barked his name. Fuery spun around, and gave a quick salute. "You're needed down on the third floor, something about some lines being down, and don't go wandering off on coffee runs again, Grunt, it just causes more work for the people looking to find you," his superior ordered, the phone still pressed to his ear.
Fuery was nearly out the door when the man called him again. He turned to salute again, but the colonel was, once more, immersed in his conversation, the only thing out of place was the envelope he held out in Fuery's direction.
Fuery gingerly made his way back to the desk, and found his name printed on the manila envelope.
The colonel waved it impatiently, and without further hesitation Fuery snagged it out of his hand.
"Thank you, Sir," he said, and saluted as he fled the room.
Down on the third floor, Fuery found his fellow tech specialists shooting ideas back in forth in a conference room. He was briefed about the elevator situation just as he entered the room, but the brainstorming ceased when they saw the envelope in his hands.
"Reassignment already?" one asked.
"Reassignment?" Fuery echoed.
"Open it," a man Fuery vaguely recognized prompted.
Fuery undid the brads and pulled open the tab. Two pieces of parchment slid into his hands as he emptied the envelope.
"Where you goin'?" another voice asked.
"Eastern…tomorrow," Fuery answered, skimming the page, and moving on to the next one. "As a sergeant," he finished.
"Nice, out of this place, and a promotion," one man whistled.
"Didn't one of the alchemists from Eastern recently visit here?" the man Fuery recognized asked, taking the papers out of Fuery's hands.
Fuery nodded, trying to grab the papers from his comrade.
"Working with Colonel Mustang now…the Flame Alchemist. What'd you do while he was here?" the man asked.
"I don't know," Fuery answered, finally getting his reassignment papers back. "I…I need to go pack," he stuttered, shoving the documents back in the envelope as he left the room.
"Hey, the elevators," someone called behind him.
"I've got new orders," he shouted back, and left them on their own.
Fuery grumbled as he marched through the warm halls of Eastern Headquarters, the documents under his arm fluttering with the wind haunting the corridors.
"More paperwork, Colonel," he announced as he entered the office he shared with five others.
The raven haired man glared up at him and gave a sigh.
"Don't even think about cleaning the windows, or burning anything," the lone female in the office warned, never looking up from the report she was reviewing.
"Just put it here," the Flame Alchemist ordered. "Oh, and you've got more paperwork, too, Kid," he informed Fuery.
Fuery looked over at his desk, and copied the colonel's earlier sigh.
As he pulled the pen from his desk, Fuery spied the older stack on the Colonel's desk, which had decreased in size a bit quicker than usual, and Fuery wondered how much of the paperwork really should have been on his desk. As he blotted out a misspelled word, he decided that paperwork really wasn't that bad, at least, not compared to the coffee runs he used to make.
A.N. - Thus, number two of this collection is complete, and we've had some fun with Fuery! Well, I hope you enjoyed it! Four more laws to go! Thanks for reading!
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