Don't expect much tomorrow, or until next Saturday; school's taking back over.
Famous Last Words:
It was not, admittedly, the first time he had been captured. For some reason, when people looked at Edward Elric, they saw, rather than the totally badass State Alchemist, an easy kidnapping target. And no, it was not because he was… vertically challenged!
It wasn't all bad; he now had regular training on how to deal with kidnappers or hostage-takers, and it didn't cost anyone a sens!
So, there he was; locked in a room with a concrete slab for a bed and several hired grunts with guns on the other side of the door. They had left a few bits of rubbish in the room, but nothing he could make a weapon out of.
Even his automail had been detached!
His ears pricked up as he heard part of a conversation on the other side of the heavy door.
"Look, he's only got lipstick, Vaseline and jam. What trouble can he cause?"
A grin stretched its way across his face. Using the lipstick to draw, and the sugar in the jam…
Not even five minutes later, a loud explosion rocked Eastern City. Colonel Mustang had been waiting for just that.
"Follow the smoke and screaming citizens. Fullmetal'll be at the other end,"
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Partly due to his swift rise in ranks, partly due to his war reputation and also partly due to his womanising ways, the Flame Alchemist had to endure many taunts and insults when sent out to bring in criminals.
Luckily, he had a fairly thick hide.
Usually, anyway; there were some things that were he simply could not forgive, as this man was about to find out.
"Oi! Mustang! Yer mum's a slag!" the man, a drug dealer, thief, mugger, and soon to be charcoal, shouted.
Snap.
Insults to himself, Mustang could handle. Insults to the woman who had raised him? Unforgivable. The man survived, but he would soon wish he hadn't.
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Ed and Al had lost their purse.
Well, according to Ed, it had 'gone walkabout', but Alphonse knew that was just his brother's way of spreading out or simply evading the blame.
The Elric brothers had no money on them and, without a ticket, they would not be able to board the train to Eastern City, where Ed had to give in a report to Mustang by the next day or risk… something.
That still did not excuse Ed for what he did next.
"Brother, I'm telling you; you can't do it!"
"Al, listen to me. I bet you I can jump that ticket barrier. It's not that high!"
"Brother, it's almost as tall as you are," his long-suffering younger brother replied.
"WHO ARE YOU CALLING A TINY LITTLE MIDGET WHO FALLS IN BETWEEN CRACKS IN THE PAVEMENT?!"
"I didn't say anything like that!"
Ignoring Alphonse's protests, Ed squared up to the barrier and took off at a run. Just as he jumped, he tripped over a dropped umbrella and landed, upside down and twisted between the bars of the barrier.
He looked up at the helmeted face that was somehow giving off a reproachful expression and raised a single metal finger.
"We never speak of this again."
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It was about a week since the flagpole incident in the Military Police and they had just received a tip-off from an anonymous source about the whereabouts of a certain wanted criminal.
The thing was, when they went to the place specified by the unnamed informer, Scar was lying in wait. Apparently, he had orchestrated the whole thing just to get to those pursuing him.
'Damn.'
That word, and various other four-letter ones along the same lines, was thought simultaneously by every single man in the squad.
As one, they turned their guns on the beggar who had been his messenger.
"No! Don't shoot me, it's him you want!"
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Hughes was not sure what the man had done to her, but Lt. Desque's ex-girlfriend was pissed. He had come to work with his shirt un-ironed, boots unpolished, hair un-combed and a number of cardboard boxes containing his worldly possessions.
He'd certainly never been thrown out by his beautiful Gracia.
Anyway, the guy asked if he could have the afternoon off to try to reconcile with his girlfriend and, always happy to interfere with other people's love lives, Hughes immediately agreed, before looking through his (unofficial) file.
Hmm, Sandra Wakes, 25, blonde, blue eyes, 5'7'' and a musician. Sounded temperamental; should be fun to watch!
Hughes managed to get his whole staff to throw him out by flashing pictures of his wife and baby daughter, gushing over them until one of the newer men started hitting his head on the desk.
Of course he knew just how effective it was as a tactic to get his way! What did people think he was, oblivious?!
He tailed Desque to a lovely little café which seemed to be opposite her apartment. Unfortunately, he was too late to catch the attempt at reconciliation before she started hurling things at him from her window. Later on, after he had sent the poor man to hospital with broken arms and at least a few damaged ribs, he asked a bystander what, exactly, the man had been saying. The reply was… unexpected.
"Oh, he said something that sounded like 'The funny thing is, the closer it gets, the more it looks like a piano…'."