CIRCUS—A FMAB AU FANFIC
A/N: There's this thing with new stories...the author just can't help but bombard her poor readers with new chappies...hehe
I know I said the next chappie would be posted sometime around next week but my muse had other ideas...hence, this came out sooner than I planned. *smiles*
Chapter 3 will be out next week and perhaps after that I would be following a fortnightly schedule. TO BE KING followers, the chapter 13 of the fic will be out as usual on Tuesday. Happy reading, folks!
CHAPTER 02: FLAME MAN AND METAL BOY
Ed was pissed.
Royally, completely, irrevocably pissed.
Al walked in front of him as human barrier, as if trying prevent him from jumping and wringing the life out of that smirking bastard. He dug deeper into his pockets, the scowl becoming more of a permanent fixture on his face. Al's smile was genuine as he took in the surroundings—Ed couldn't help but shake his head. How did his baby brother get the calm genes while he had none?
Apparently someone has to call the spade a bloody spade on its face.
They came to a halt in front of a generic looking tent—a canvas cylindrical thing with a canopy on top. Ed couldn't discern its colour—it seemed to be a faded combo of every colour imaginable.
"This will be your living quarters for the month—until you get assigned to your permanent jobs," Mustang said, gesturing to the tent. "The bathing tents are at the base of the hillock over there and the food tent is just next to it. A loud bell rings for wake-up call, lunch call and dinner call. Breakfast is up to you—cook it on your own or stay hungry. Your choice."
Al listened to Mustang diligently, saving all the information in his memory.
"And listen you two—the practice tent and animals' tent are out of bounds unless you are accompanied by a senior member of the circus. Those places are dangerous and frankly, I don't want your blood on my hands," Mustang added. "By the way, what's with the gloves, kid? Aren't you sweltering in this heat?"
Al gave a surreptitious glance at Ed while the latter noticeably stiffened. The flamboyant red coat and the white gloves had only one purpose—hiding the automail. It wasn't as if Ed was ashamed of it—it just invited unwanted questions which he would rather avoid if possible. Along with the pity that came with it.
"Says the man bundled with all the clothes from a store," Ed said flatly.
Mustang shrugged—a circus was hardly some place to remark on someone's unusual sense of attire.
"Lunch call in ten minutes...I would be heading towards the food tent if I were you," he said before walking out of the earshot.
The interior of the tent was...spartan. Clean but nothing was certainly new here. Two bunk beds were diametrically opposite the entry flap, with a worktable on the right and a small cupboard on the left. Two rickety chairs flanked the table, looking as if they were dug out of some archaeological site.
"Certainly not five star accommodation, huh Al?" Ed remarked, placing his suitcase next to the bunkbed and sitting on the hard, thin mattress.
"We will live," Al said, looking around at what was going to be their new home. "At least we won't be imposing on anyone...from here on, we would be earning our way in the world."
"True that, brother mine," Ed agreed. "That black-haired git said it's almost lunch time—I dunno about you but I'm hungry."
"Brother, it's Mr. Mustang! He's going to be our overseer for the month—don't go affronting him now," Al exclaimed exasperatedly.
Ed held up his hands in a placating gesture. "All right, all right. I will stay clear of him...you just do the talking part, okay? Something about him rubs me the wrong way."
Al nodded, secretly glad his brother was seeing reason for a change. They couldn't afford to blow up this opportunity. So git or not, they had to grin and bear it.
They jogged up to the bathing tents in the direction which Mustang had pointed out. Since it was the middle of the afternoon, it was sparsely populated—just a couple of people washing away the dirt and grime of the journey like them.
A rotund man with reddish hair clad in a white vest and black workpants was squatting on the grass, chatting with a blond, lanky man puffing away on a cigarette. The rotund man caught sight of the duo coming out of the washing area and waved them over.
"Hey kids! You the ones assigned to Roy?" he called.
Al nodded, walking up to them. Ed grumbled, but followed all the same.
"Yeah...I am Alphonse Elric, and this is my older brother Edward," he said in a manner of introduction.
"I am Heymans Breda from the inventory and this smoker is Jean Havoc. He assists Roy with his performance," the red-haired man said, getting up on his feet and shaking hands with Al. Havoc followed suit.
"What does Mr. Mustang do?" Al asked politely. He could feel a pique in Ed's interest—even though he tried to whistle nonchalantly. He couldn't help but giggle mentally—Ed was seriously too predictable at times.
"You don't know?" Havoc exclaimed. "Then I wouldn't spoil your surprise. We are putting up a show in the evening...see for yourself."
Just then the bell rang, preventing further conversation. Ed licked his lips as smell of roasted chicken and stew wafted out of the giant troughs the cooks carried into the food tent. Havoc rubbed his hands in delight.
"It's stew today!" he grinned delightedly, eliciting identical ones from the Elrics. Ed loved stew—according to him, it was the world's best invention.
"It has milk in it yet you do not feel the bovine nastiness!" he had exclaimed. And stew often reminded him of home.
The food tent was a noisy, boisterous place. People sat around in rickety tables, chatting amicably as they gobbled down their food. Havoc and Breda invited the duo to join them at their table. They were soon joined by one another man, a bespectacled timid looking one with a roundish gentle face.
"Hey there Kain, how are the light works going on? You got the work done, right?" Breda asked through a mouthful of stew.
The man addressed as Kain nodded as he sat on the empty seat next to Ed. "The mild dew we had last night shorted the fuse-board. Nothing much," he nodded, spearing a broccoli on his fork and popping it into his mouth.
"This is Edward and Alphonse Elric, boss is going to oversee them for the month," Havoc said as introduction.
Kain offered Ed a hand, which the latter shook with slight disgruntlement. He hated being disturbed during meal times.
"I am Kain Fuery. I work with the light and sound department," he said cheerfully. Ed gave a non-committal grunt.
Kain looked slightly puzzled. Thankfully, Al came to his rescue.
"Nice to meet you, Mr, Fuery. I hope you would help us settle down," he said politely.
Kain smiled back. "Of course, Alphonse."
"Please, call me Al. Everyone does."
The lunch was a quick affair—as after a morning worth of work, everyone was too hungry to play with food. Ed realised that the smirking bastard was no where in sight. He gave a discreet look around...yep, the bastard was missing all right.
"The Mustang guy, he doesn't eat here?" Ed asked as the five of them walked to the patch of grass they were sitting on earlier.
"Naah, the elite performer people have their own separate food tent along with cooler accommodation—like the aristocracy of the circus folk," Havoc explained as he took out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it.
Ed shrugged, glaring at his brother's silent giggle.
"So Ed, what can you do?" Fuery asked curiously.
Ed looked at Al, glaring at him one last time before answering.
"Wood sculptures, stone too if I have the right equipment," Ed answered. Havoc and Breda whistled appreciatively.
"And you, Al?" Fuery pressed on.
"Painting," he replied simply.
"I see why Bradley got you on the bandwagon—your skills could seriously help us with the props, especially when Heinkel's lion goes on a rampage," Havoc said between puffs, looking at the Elrics with a new sort of respect.
"I just hope it's enough...we really have no where else to go," Al said softly, making the other three exchange confused glances. Ed frowned.
"Hey Al, it's not that bad," Ed said, warning clearly written in his eyes.
Al looked up, the temporary haziness all but absent in his eyes. "I am sorry, just remembered stuff," he said apologetically.
Breda waved it away. "Don't you worry, kiddo. Everyone here has had his share of stuff with the world. You are not alone."
Al gave him a grateful smile.
"Thank you, Mr. Breda."
The four of continued to chat on non-consequential things, leading Ed to tune them out and observe the surroundings.
The work schedule posy lunch seemed to be slightly more relaxed in nature as people were mostly sitting around and exchanging gossip. Just as the full belly and quiet conversations around him were lulling him into a blissful state of semi-consciousness, a shrill scream broke through the peace. Everyone stared at the source of the voice, somewhere in the swath of tents beyond the food one.
Ed scrambled up to his feet, completely bewildered. Al mirrored his expression while the others, to his surprise, wore expressions of resignation and distaste.
"That man never learns," Breda grumbled.
"And we will get another earful from Bradley," Havoc said.
"Why doesn't the brass fire him?" Fuery muttered angrily.
"Can't be done, Kain. He's only trapeze artist we have—the true trapeze artist. Our show will be dead without his act," Havoc answered, biting a bit harder on his cigarette.
Ed didn't have to wait anymore—the source of the scream and the reason soon presented themselves in front of him.
A man with long black hair tied into a ponytail and clad in a white business suit marred slightly with mud was dragging a woman with her hair and flung her in front of him. The woman had dark-brown hair with pink highlights and the typical dark skin of the people from the eastern province. She was currently on her knees begging as tears poured down her eyes.
"Please Mr. Kimblee, I beg you, do not do this!" she wept. A large bruise was slowly gaining colour on her forehead.
"You filthy whore! How dare you suggest that I, Zolf Kimblee, will keep you, a lowly Easterner, as a part of my escort?" the black-haired man spat.
"But sir...you promised..." she wailed in terror and anguish.
"I made no promise of such sort!" he yelled back and was about to slap her hard when he found his hand held immobile. By a short, really irritated blond.
Ed had enough.
"Why don't you stop that act of yours?" he said conversationally, though he seethed with anger.
"What act, brat?" he retorted. "I made no such promise of getting her work in my act!"
"You tried to molest me, sir!" the woman yelled.
Kimblee turned his razor-sharp eyes onto her, wrenching his hand from Ed's grip and advancing towards her.
"What did you say?" he asked menacingly. The place fell deathly quiet.
The woman gave a terrified squeak.
This day, Ed realised, was officially one of the worst days of his life.
"Hey you, white-suited bastard! You are not fooling anyone with the "I am righteous" act—it doesn't take a genius to realise why you brought this lady here. So drop the act, leave the girl and get the hell out of here. You are pissing everyone and ruining my afternoon nap!"
Kimblee turned to him, a maniacal gleam on his face.
"So you little pipsqueak, you think you are the boss here? Do you know who am I?"
Ed's eyes narrowed—Al fervently hoped that Ed didn't notice the taboo word.
"I don't care if you are the freaking president of this country, I'm still kicking your butt outta here!"
"Oh really, kid? Try me," Kimblee cackled as he jumped forward to throttle him.
Ed side-stepped his onslaught and banged a fist on his head. His right, automail fist.
Kimblee kissed the dirt, knocked out cold.
The audience were shocked to silence for a second before cheering broke out.
"How did he do that?" Havoc wondered as they rushed towards him.
"Brother! Are you okay?" Al asked urgently.
Ed shook his head. "I'm fine. Ask the woman...she's scared and pretty badly injured."
Al gently helped her on her feet, rubbing soothing circles on her back.
"Are you hurt, lady?" he asked gently.
"Not really, just a couple of bruises. An ice-pack will be fine," she whispered. Al helped her to the nearest chair and seated her on it. Breda soon appeared with an ice pack and a first aid kit.
"Thank you for helping me. I am Rose," she said in a soft voice, wincing slightly as Al put the pack on her forehead.
"I am Al, and don't talk for a bit. You look weak," Al said as he rummaged about in the box for some cotton wool.
Ed lounged at the fringes of the crowd as he took in the scene. To be honest, it felt good to be in a fight—a nice way to release all his pent up frustration. He was about to chalk up a mental schedule when felt something move behind him.
He turned. Kimblee, with blood flowing freely from his head, had a wild cackle on his lips as he swung a heavy looking wooden bat on a course sure to hit his head.
Ed's mind was fast, but his body was slow to respond.
It's gonna hit me! He realised with a shock.
As his frozen body geared up for the upcoming impact, he saw a torrent of fire rush towards him from his peripheral vision.
Move, legs!
He jumped back, enough to see the fire burn the bat and singe away Kimblee's eyebrows.
The crowd realised that the action was continuing and quickly turned around.
"STOP IT, KIMBLEE!" came a roar from some ten feet away, from where the flames came.
*/*/
"I hate shrimp."
"Roy, eat it."
"I hate it."
"Don't make me shoot you."
"You wouldn't!"
"Try me."
The senior food tent was some distance away from the common mess, away from the noise that generally hung about it like it's own personal atmosphere. Roy poked the soggy crustacean, his face almost squeamish. Riza sighed, before taking the matter in her own hands and forcing the thing down his throat.
A black-haired, bespectacled green-eyed man who sat across the table chuckled at the sight.
"You know Riza, Roy. She doesn't take no for an answer," he grinned.
Roy glared at him, swallowing the mouthful with some difficulty. "Funny enough, Maes. Now stop it before I slip in broccoli in your stew."
That threat effectively shut him up.
"You wouldn't dare," Maes said weakly but he knew Roy Mustang. When cornered, that man was extremely dangerous.
"Eat quickly. We have work to do," Riza said, diligently chewing through her food.
Silence reigned on their table as they gobbled down their lunch.
It was when Roy thankfully dumped his empty plate in the cleaner's trolley when a young boy—probably one of the stagehands—came running into the tent. He looked positively terrified.
"Mr. Kimblee...a woman...a boy...fighting!" he gasped.
A boy? Kimblee? Roy frowned.
"A fight, you say?" Bradley said, standing up. "Physical altercation apart from acts are not allowed in the premises..."
Roy scratched his chin...if it was him...
"Mr. Bradley, I will go and see what's the matter if it is not much of a problem. Besides, the investors would be coming soon—it would be best if you would proceed with the meeting. I will see what the matter is and report you as early as possible," Roy said smoothly, knowing fully well that both Riza and Maes were gawping at him like a goldfish.
Bradley hates dissenters.
"We have nowhere to go..."
Roy knew exactly what that meant.
Bradley shrugged. "All right, Mustang. Do as you deem fit."
Roy marched out of the tent, Riza and Maes close on his heals.
"What is it, Roy? You know Kimblee, he hates you! Aren't you adding fuel to the fire?" Maes asked quickly as he matched his speed to Roy's hurried pace.
"If the kid is who I think it is...I don't want Bradley messing with him now...I have plans..." Roy muttered. "Riza, my kit...where is it?"
"In your tent, Roy. It is on our way," Riza replied quickly, slightly curious. She had never seen Roy so thoughtful before.
When they approached the senior living quarters, Roy rushed into his tent and snatched a small bag. He zipped it open and checked the contents.
Nothing was missing.
He rushed out and the trio resumed their walk, rather jog as the sounds were almost audible at this point.
He saw Kimblee with blood dripping from his forehead. With a giant, wooden bat. Creeping behind a certain blond boy clad in a red coat.
The said blond boy turned around. Kimblee swung the bat.
Roy quickly took out a bottle of kerosene and a lighter—took a swig from it, clicked the lighter and blew the oil, resulting into a torrent of fire.
"STOP IT!" He roared.
Ed and Kimblee stared at him, the former's mouth hanging open. A corner of his mind stored up that particular image of the blond, a part of his arsenal to irritate him later.
"Are you trying to kill him, you idiot?!" he yelled.
He saw Ed skirt around and place a healthy distance between himself and the deranged trapeze artist.
"Oh hello, Bradley's pet flamethrower. Come to enjoy the show?" Kimblee sneered.
Roy realised that the man had finally lost his marbles.
"Calm down, Kimblee. You know Bradley's policy of fighting—you will get kicked out," he said, forcing a calm into his voice even though he felt anything but. He saw an injured woman being treated by Al in his peripheral vision, realising the actual story. Riza quickly walked to her—Roy sighed in relief. She could help, after all she was a trained paramedic before she joined the circus.
An onslaught of unwanted memories threatened to overwhelm him—he shook his head to focus. He found Maes stand up next to him, his throwing knives ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.
"Let us talk it out, Kimblee," Roy said again.
Kimblee just cackled, losing what little coherence he had left. He whipped around to find Ed standing next to the tree, and grinned maniacally.
"You lost me my day, kid!" he roared, sprinting towards him with a hand raised in a fist.
Before Roy could do something, he saw Kimblee being held immobilised by the blond's right hand. The gloved fingers curled around his wrist sharply, making the man scrabble his arms with his free hand.
"Don't piss me off, you white-suited bastard!" Ed said menacingly. With that, he threw the man on the ground, the latter dragging the red cloak off with him.
Roy saw the sunlight being reflected off something metallic...
He gasped.
Ed's entire right arm gleamed, a frown appearing on his face as he snagged the cloak over his head and glared at the crowd's collective gaping expression.
"I have got automail. Problem?" he fumed and stalked off. Al murmured something apologetic before taking off after his brother.
Roy felt slightly weak in his knees.
That kid...what on earth happened to him?
A/N: It's fun writing a younger Ed...you get to make him act as hotheaded as you want!
HavokBrewer: I love my first reviewer...I believe they deserve the affection as they are courageous enough to leave an awesome review for a newly released story...thanks!
BlueIsTheColourOfOurPlanet: I love your fic "Numb"...it's super amazing! And thanks for reviewing and liking my story. :)
Rufescent: There's a dearth of Parental!RoyXEd fics here and I am a sucker for those and thus ended up writing one...though the parental stuff will begin with full force a bit later...we all know how Mustang loves making Ed run around in circles!
Guest: Mostly, though there's another thing he would prove to be good at...all in due time!
A big giant, Milky-Way-sized hug to all those who have read, favorited, followed and reviewed this story...I heart you guys!
*/*/Nazrath/*/*