Kamaitachi Chronicles

By: Aviantei

Three

And so, only two days later, I sat on yet another couch, though this one was nowhere near as nice as the ones in Mustang's office. It was older, apparent by the tattered material of a faded hue I assumed to have been a dark military blue initially, complete with thinned fabric and scratches on the wooden legs. I really questioned why anyone would use such a thing in a public hallway (which is where I was now), but had to admit it was at least comfy, and almost sleep worthy. I guess you just didn't ditch a couch that served its purpose.

The whole "sleep" idea didn't sound too bad, considering I had been shaken awake in the still dark hours of the morning, told to get ready, and we'd be leaving as soon as possible. The person responsible for that had of course been Mustang, and the bed I had woken up in had been his; though before you get any wrong ideas, he had slept on the couch. I had groggily done what he said, and had been consequently been shoved on a train headed for Central. The train itself arrived early the next morning, so I had been woken up in the dark again, just before I was dragged into Central command, down some halls, and to this very couch.

Despite my tiredness, I refused to sleep anyway, since I didn't want to show any form of weakness in front of the ass (going to sleep on the train with him across from me had been hard enough), so I amused myself otherwise. It was a pretty hard thing to do, with the hallway being extremely bleak in its white walls and plain tiled floor. There was also a notable lack of doors, other than the one the couch was parked next to, so people watching was very limited. I tried counting tiles, only to get fed up like with the paper's in Mustang's office, and did my very best to ignore the fact that every now and then the ass was taking glances at me out of the corner of his eye. When I started imagining torture methods I could use on him, I figured it was a good time to demand some information.

"Lt. Colonel, what the hell are we doing here?" I asked, not making eye contact other than to throw a nasty look in his direction. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a yawn. I smirked. It served him right that he was tired, too, after dragging me around without so much as an explanation. I drummed my fingers against the couch's armrest, producing muffled sounds, to show my irritation.

Mustang sighed like he was explaining something obvious; I wanted to strangle him. He must've felt the daggers I was glaring at him, because his tone reflected none of the pre-described superiority. He turned to face me, and I resumed my former practice of staring off in the other direction. "We are here so I can submit your application for the State Alchemist exam." My eyebrows raised, and he answered the question the motion asked. "I couldn't simply mail it in, because the deadline was a few days ago. So I'm here to pull some strings. It needed to be done in person, seeing as the test's only in five days."

I was going to kill him. Or maybe just punch him. It would only be once, but it would be very, very, hard. After he was unconscious I would drag him to some back alley, and dissect him. I vaguely wondered if there was a Black Market set-up in Central, and exactly how well they paid for the meat of dead military officers. If it came to that, I would run off, change my looks with Alchemy (hair dying was an easy concept), and go back to the way my life was before this. Just as I pulled back my fist to send it into the ass's face, there was a small click as the door now at my back opened.

I dismissed my earlier thoughts. Instead, I turned to focus on the next military man to quickly shift in and out of my practical metal menagerie of them. He was close to Mustang's height, with brown hair and an actually decent smile on his face, even if there were more than a few wrinkles in the mix. Mustang stood up, immediately shaking hands with the newcomer.

"It's certainly been a while, Mustang," the officer in question said. Before the small talk could even advance, I had both of their gazes on me. Feeling at a disadvantage, I stood up. It wasn't anywhere enough to put me on the same eye level as them, but it was better than being below that. "Now then, I assume this is the entrant you wanted to discuss."

I made myself speak the instance Mustang's lips twitched. "Ivy Caiman," I introduced, offering my own hand to for a shake. Within seconds, my hand was enveloped by one much larger than mine, callouses scraping my skin. Maybe because he had come from an office, I had assumed that he wasn't from the battlefield, but I could almost feel it in his grip. And while I didn't quite know what all the decorations on his chest stood for, I knew you didn't get those pushing papers. "Nice to meet you."

"Major General Eli Rosomak, the Metamorphic Alchemist," the man provided, letting go of my hand. I pressed my palm against my pants, trying to erase any evidence that I was nervous. I could see Mustang smirking out of the corner of my eye and resolved to kick him for it later. But what was I supposed to do? Unlike Mustang, who gave off the impression of a slacker, the man in front of me not only had rank, but prestige.

I made sure to remove any trace of stutter before I attempted to speak. I barely had my mouth open before my mouth was utterly dry. "When you say Rosomak," I ventured, "you don't mean the Rosomak that's at the head of alchemical research in the country, do you?"

I'd admit that I didn't know much. But the name had been involved in more than the fair share of modern alchemical research materials I had read, without a doubt. Most of the research was in creating more efficient circles for transmutations—though the focus was on condensing more complex formulas for more practical use than anything else.

Which had been the basis for my ideas when I had started out trying to make headways in my own alchemy.

"Well look at that," Mustang added, finally getting a word in. I was too stunned to intervene in any way. "It seems like we're off to a good start then. So, as you can guess—"

"There's no need to guess; I know," Rosomak cut Mustang off. Ah, so the ass's attempt at trying to earn a favorable outcome in the conversation was as obvious as I had thought it had been. "You already said as much in your phone call, so just save it. Now I need to know why it's so vital that we get this girl in the exams now as opposed to anytime in the future."

Rosomak's eyes were a dark blue, and they locked onto me before I could even think. I had to resist the urge to swallow, but my heartbeat wouldn't let up. He was observing me, probably seeing things I couldn't imagine. I took a deep breath, hoping oxygen would be enough to help me relax.

"You don't really want to become a State Alchemist, do you?"

Without meaning to, my eyes flicked to Mustang. Our gazes met up. I didn't know what I had been expecting, but his pure black eyes widened a bit. It wasn't an expression I had seen him make before, but it would have felt better if I had intentionally caused it.

But Mustang wasn't the person I had been talking to. And Rosomak was still looking at me.

"Okay, listen, I just don't know," I admitted. I chose to ignore Mustang from here on out. How he reacted to my change in attitude wasn't my concern. "I think there's a chance I can do something—you know, be thou for the people and all that. I just don't know exactly what it is. But if I wander around all day, I don't have anything that I can claim to be done as good, either. I mean, little things are fine and all, but what if I want to do something—I don't know, something more!"

I was suddenly grateful for the awkward architecture. This early in the morning, shouting would have just brought a crowd. The almost doorless stretch of walls made that scenario's probability decrease greatly.

I eased my nails out of the palms of my hands. Rosomak had a soothing smile on his face that made me think that that must be what grandfathers were like.

Mustang's hand descended to lightly land on my shoulder. I tensed up instantly but couldn't think of a good way to shove him off. "And there you have it," he said, like my outburst explained everything. I didn't exactly feel good about my character being judged on a pile of random words I had said without thinking. "Of course, if you can't manage it, I understand, but I'd really appreciate it if you could at least get her application in to the works, Major General."

I let out a small puff of air, blowing a strand of hair away from my face. Really, his verbal attempts at flattery were so obvious I wondered how people didn't notice them.

Rosomak's neutral expression didn't even twitch. Maybe it was something that came with age? I wouldn't really know until I got into that age bracket myself, though. "Not so fast, Mustang," he chided, "how am I supposed to make an exception without seeing her alchemy first?"

My hand instantly went to my pocket, feeling over the metal of my capsule. Normally touching it would have comforted me, but not so much anymore. While I had been proud of it when I first designed the thing, comparing it to anything Rosomak had done—now that was just embarrassing. If he was the standard, I should really just go back to wandering around all over again.

Well, I'm not going to get anywhere being a pansy. I tightened my grip, shrugging Mustang off to get some space. It took some effort to keep my shoulders square, and I didn't turn around to face them until I had taken a few deep breaths. I could handle Mustang no problem, and the ass was watching with that smirk on his face, arms crossed. Rosomak was the problem, even though there had been no notable change to his expression since I had stepped up.

Just focus on the transmutation.

I flicked my capsule into the air, and caught it in the opposite hand. There was the familiar flash, and then the weight of my scythe was in my hand. I considered going for an attack move, but that would probably just be unnecessarily flashy. Not sure what else I was supposed to do, I waited, and Rosomak stepped forward, holding out his hand.

"If you don't mind," he requested. Of course, it's not like saying no was probably a real option, but I certainly felt it. My scythe was my one safe point, and he was pretty much taking it away from me. Trying not to show my hesitation, I handed it over, watching as Rosomak weighed it between his hands. "Certainly an interesting weapon of choice." He rolled it over, exposing the transmutation circle on the handle. "Well, this is certainly nostalgic. From Redistribution of Component Balance, yes?"

"Yes, sir!" While not an exact replica, I had modified the transmutation circle out of one of Rosomak's books, trying to enhance the theory. I hadn't gotten too far, but it let me make a move quicker if I needed to.

"An interesting development," he allowed, and I couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not. Without so much as a twirl, he clapped both of his hands together, the scythe's handle in the middle. The weapon reverted back to its capsule form flawlessly. "Ah, this is a bit heavy, don't you think? Definitely not something easy to carry around."

I grimaced a bit. The weight had been an issue at first, but I had gotten used to it. "I couldn't adjust the density material without weakening the weapon overall," I said. "No weapon is perfect. At least mine gives me the element of surprise."

"I wonder…" Rosomak looked over the circle again, then performed another transmutation, reforming my scythe. He handed the weapon over, and I clutched onto it so hard I could feel the strain in my knuckles. "Well, I don't have time to be investigating every odd and end, now do I? I'd like to see how you revert it, please."

I nodded, my mouth too dry to say anything. I had tried my best not to pay attention to him, but Mustang was still watching, his smirk dropped a bit. I couldn't even say it served him right. Was I really doing that bad? Trying to get some confidence back, I slapped my hand down onto the handle, spinning the blade until my palm smacked up against the circle.

Transmutation complete, I stayed clutching onto my capsule. Now that Rosomak had mentioned it, I could remember how heavy the condensed metal was. It was more than pitiful. Rosomak, finished observing, turned to Mustang. "She certainly has interesting ideas," he commented. Hey, I'm standing right here. "Though I'm curious as to why you would drag her all this way. She needs refinement."

"She's got good combat instincts," Mustang added, and I remembered with a swell of pride. "She was able to corner me pretty quickly, though I let her win that one."

"Excuse you?!" Forget decorum; I stormed forward, capsule ready in my palm. I wasn't about to start a fight with a military officer in the middle of a government building, but I couldn't just let that slide. "You let me win? Who the hell said you could do that!"

"Easy, Caiman—"

I shoved my face towards his, even though that required getting on my tiptoes to even get close. "I will not take it easy," I growled, enjoying the rumble across my chest. "No one asked for your pity; you should have just let me alone if you were going to play with me, you massive—!"

There was a clap, but it wasn't Mustang—I had been on alert for the snap, but he wasn't even wearing his gloves. Turning my head, I saw Rosomak with his hands pressed together, though there wasn't a transmutation circle in sight. Clicking my tongue, I turned away from Mustang, putting some distance between us.

But really, how did you think you stood a chance against a State Alchemist? You're just a little girl.

Fuck off.

"Normally I'd deny this request," Rosomak said, talking to both of us. I could feel the heat in my face; I had to look like a complete idiot by now. "She's young, and she's volatile. But as we discussed, there's special circumstances, and I don't see what else to do about it." I kept my mouth shut on that one, even if I wanted to demand answers. No need to make a bigger fool of myself. "Besides, she has an interesting potential. As long as you would be the one watching over her, Mustang, I see no reason not to let her try."

"Thank you very much, Major General," Mustang said with a smile. I had no choice but to echo his words.

[NOTES] Look, this story isn't dead. I promise that. I can't say it'll conclude anytime soon, but we'll definitely start to see more updates.

Thanks to Uruvia, BasicalllyComplicated, and patamon642 for the follows and favorites. Also thanks to anyone else I don't have an email notification for. I know this story's been sitting around for a while, but I can't give up on something I've started. This train is (slowly) rolling along.

In any event, I've thought a lot about how to pick up this story for the past few years. A couple of things have changed, plus I have a lot of different ideas about how Ivy and Mustang's relationship works...Hopefully all this time writing other things hasn't gone to waste in improving my skills.

This update is possible thanks to [Equinoctial Stars over Seasons], the mid-season Sauce project intended to kick my butt into gear. Hopefully we'll make some serious progress on things this season.

One final note: Ivy's last name will be changing from Matrons to Caimen, both to fit into the military theme, and to avoid Ivy crossover confusion. I really have no other ways to make up for my early ways, so this is the best thing I can think of. The early chapters will one day be adjusted accordingly.

Though it may take some time, it will definitely be less than a few years before I see you on this story again.

[POST] 030516