Rising above his body, she lifts her arms like a chalice and silently opens her heart like a doorway. Bowing her head, she slaps her hands together…
…and that which was Tricia Edward Elric is gone, embraced by the Eggregore.
And the shell of her flesh is filled with a part of the radiance that is Edward...
THIS, Izumi tells us, IS A TIME THAT IS NO TIME. A PLACE THAT IS NO PLACE.
There is the Gateway. Sea of a thousand swirling eyes.
There is Truth, which frankly does not give a damn if you wreck yourself in pursuit of wisdom.
Truth doesn't give a shit. We are all candles ignited from the sun, but each light will flicker and fail and flare up anew according to what it needs to learn--how it is willing to grow.
A body is comprised of cells. Truth is comprised of Eggregores. Circles of souls that spin in an out of flesh, weaving a dance of learning and forgetting. Each tiny spark makes the Eggregore shine brighter. TRUTH is what it has become because the Eggregores of which it is composed never cease in their instinctive drive to become more. More what is harder to define. Like trying to explain to a five year old why a PhD is going to matter in about 25 years of their life.
Eggregores have a purpose. This handful of light, this family of allies, enemies, lovers and friends, has its work to do. There is a rift between worlds. Terrible things will happen if the Alchemic World meets the World of Technology. Terrible men will uncover clever new ways to oppress and kill one another.
A man from the World of Technology, Phillip Von Hohenheim, student of magic, medicine and theoretical alchemy, blundered between the worlds. Not the first, but he had just enough knowledge, as they say, to be dangerous. Landing in a world where his dreams and secret ambitions might be made manifest, he went about as wrong as wrong could be.
Phillip Von Hohenheim wasn't an evil man. He was gentle. Kindly. Soft spoken. In later years he acquired the demeanor of a whipped pup, wallowing in his guilt. He wasn't evil—but he was foolish and blind to the price paid for his knowledge, paid in blood by innocents, including his firstborn son. There had to be an Equivalent Exchange. Something had to set the balance to rights.
Thus it was that a group of souls agreed to separate from their own Points of Origin and merge to form an Eggregore to protect the innocents of two worlds and to hold Von Hohenheim's chaos in check. There were souls that pitied Von Hohenheim and agreed to take on his bloodline.
Over and over, in this world and that world, these souls swirled and evolved, born and born and born yet again. Some, as time passed, formed circles and alliances within the whole. Some were drawn inexorably to love one another, regardless of gender—for what true gender exists within the blazing heart of Truth?
One was a soul that was brilliant, restless—one-pointed. Nearly as destructive as Hohenheim…and willing to burn out that flaw in one lifetime. It took birth as Hohenheim's son.
One was the soul that was willing to sacrifice all that it possessed to level a tyrannical military state.
These souls had loved before. Undoubtedly, they would love again, and gender, time and age be damned.
One of them was preparing to merge once again into the radiance, abandoning it's failing flesh. The other had yet a span of good years ahead of life to be lived. Beloved, if you are done with your days in Amestris—come to Earth. Find me again.
But there was a gulf of time between them—one that could not be breached.
Hohenheim, that meddler, decided to breach it for them.
It fell to one of the Master souls to clean up after him, as usual, aided and abetted by one of Her beloveds—a soul that had been mother to one, lover to the other in recent births. Because of her profound bonds to both the warrior and the restless prodigy, Flame and Fullmetal, she abandoned the shell of her body so that a Pact of Remembrance might be forged….
Edward Elric Speaks…
Far as I knew, I was dying—and other than regret, what kept running through my mind was an image of that idiot, Hughes, standing up at my grave delivering my eulogy. "Yeah, Edward Elric died in the arms of his lover—Stand up and take a bow, Cowboy!—and the only thing we can carve on his headstone is this: 'Here Lies Professor Edward Elric. First He Comes, Then He Goes'. Muuhaaahaaahaaa!!" Whereupon Teddy and Taisa wrestle him to the ground and beat the shit out of him, killing him instantly, and I find my soul flying towards the Gateway with this moron chasing after me, screaming, "Hey! Edo! Wanna see some pictures of my kid??"
Hughes was not trailing after my ass, so I eventually figured out that I hadn't kicked off.
It's a nice feeling, ditching the body for awhile. I've done it before. Not like Al has—my little brother has some shamanic abilities that frankly scare the bejeeezuz out of me. Like that 'putting a portion of my soul' in something business. Couldn't—wouldn't—do that in a billion years. But I left my body when Envy stabbed me, so I recognized what the fuck was up and had a pretty good idea of my destination.
God, I hoped I didn't –stay- dead or whatever. That would mean being apart from Taisa—and that is never a good thing. Maybe Alchemists mate for life. I know I did. Waited long enough for that bastard to find a mother to bring him into the world again. Guess he was determined to have that same sexy voice, those smoldering eyes and that body I can't keep my hands off of, no matter how long we live and love together.
Most likely, I concluded, I was passing through the Gate to reunite with Al and Teddy and Mustang. First chance I got I intended to rip Teddy a new one for being so damned careless—yeah, I know. I saw the fuckin' video. Al was the one poking around at the stone. Point is—and I hate like hell to say this—Teddy is…well…
Teddy is expendable. Not an Alchemist. Not really. But she'll be a teacher of Alchemists someday. I loved her dearly, but if I had to make a choice, a snap decision on who I'd save if I could only rescue one…well…I'd have to hope that her soul would forgive me. If I could get back in one piece with Al, I'd be fuckin' luckier than I deserve…hell, if only Al could get back, that would be fine, even though it would kill me to leave Taisa.
This journey seemed to take a hell of a lot longer. I was starting to get worried. Worse, I was starting to get drowsy. I bit the inside of my lip, pinched myself. Nothing. I….couldn't…keep…miiiii…eyes….
There's this fresh smell that comes up from the river, y'know? Best on a autumn morning. And the musk of oak leaves crunching under your feet as you run up the path to the white frame house at the top of the hill, the house next door to Rockbell's.
There's the crisp sound of sheets playing on the wind, dazzlingly white against the green of the meadow. Washdays were good days, because as soon as the laundry was hung out to dry she would always start on her afternoon baking. The bread was done early, laid out of wire racks to cool. Apples had been cored and peeled, dusted with cinnamon, and tumbled into brown and white sugars. Pie dough was rolled up and chilling in the ice box—so hard not to sneak in and steal a bite of apples or a pinch of dough--you could hear her even when you couldn't see her: Edwaaard! Alphonse! If I find one dirty fingerprint on my dough I'm going to throw it away and you'll have to do without dessert this week. Do you hear me? Of course, there were always fingerprints and pinch-holes….and there was always pie in the pantry. I guess Mom just rolled her eyes and figured her boys were hopeless.
She was coming around the front, an empty basket in her arms. There was a smudge of flour on her cheek and a huge smile of welcome lit up her face as she ran to me, arms outstretched.
I…I didn't mean to start crying like that, but when she just scooped me up in her arms and kissed me I just lost it. I lost it completely. She carried me out to the old swing Dad had built for us and sat down, cuddling me close. "Edward…oh, my baby…I've missed this, holding you like this." She had tears in her eyes and she laid her cheek against mine. She smelled wonderful.
I couldn't stop myself from sobbing out, "Oh god…Mom…sorry. So sorry…my fault, all of it—"
"Hush, precious. It's all right. I'm fine now. Put it all behind you now." She was kissing the tears from my cheeks the way she always did if I skinned my knee or tumbled down the steps. But what was making me cry so hard was facing her, my Mom, and owning up to how I'd fucked things up since the day of her death.
I couldn't stop myself. It was like when I was six and had a stomach virus and couldn't stop vomiting, over and over until I was so weak all I could do was lie in her arms, my little body shaking and convulsing as wave after wave of sickness rolled over me. This time it was shame, a lifetime full of it. Every death I caused, every mistake I'd made, and Al…
Oh god. I had to tell her what I'd done to Al. And to her.
She rocked me and listened, her soft hands moving in an unceasing caress of my shivering body, nuzzling my hair.
When I'd emptied myself, she told me she'd already known everything. "What I didn't already know or guess, your brother has already admitted." God…the love in her eyes…that tender forgiveness. I could barely look at her it hurt so much. "Alphonse wouldn't let me face possible death at Orlando 5 without telling all of us everything. And I will tell you what I told your brother: it's done. Do you honestly believe there is nothing I wouldn't forgive? You are my babies, regardless when or how I exist now. Don't you know there is nothing in this world or any other that would turn my heart away from you? Edward…my little man. How many years of your very long life have been wasted in guilt and self-loathing? Enough, child. Shhhhh….close your eyes, my baby, my dearest love. Close your eyes….and rest for a while."
She began rocking me gently, my head cradled against her shoulder, and she quietly murmured an old Amestrian lullaby I hadn't heard in nearly a century. Somewhere in front of us I heard a low chuckle. "You're lucky your mother found you first. I'd have kicked the shit out of you."
Mother laughed softly. "You hush, Izumi. Bully us both later if you must, but this is our time."
"Right. I'll be back to fetch you both later. Have a nice nap."
I was grown when I woke up. Weird, huh?
Izumi was waiting for me in the meadow. Mom—no, Teddy—was asleep in the tall grass, curled on her right side, her gloved left hand tucked under her chin. I first saw her sleeping like that in the incubator on the day she was born, so early and so damned tiny that her little head fit right in the palm of my hand. She was in her red coat and was so far gone that she was snoring faintly, which struck me as funny for some reason.
I knelt at my master's feet. "Sensei? What the fuck is going on?" I nodded towards my Moth—no, my niece. "Wasn't I a little kid a minute ago?"
"Call it…call it a purification. Trisha's soul is here, within the Eggregore. Her body is untenanted. I am the link between these worlds, and Love is the Bridge. There is a soul who must journey from one side of the Gateway to the other. You could not travel freely—nor could Alphonse—until you had forgiven yourselves for the mistakes you made—and you could not accept that forgiveness until you had confessed them to the one you had wronged—this child who sleeps here." Her fingers touched Teddy's cheek, almost like she was touching a lover. Before Roy Mustang can cross the bridge he must forgive himself. To do this," she laid her hands on my shoulders, eyes burning into mine, "he feels he has to tell you to your face, not only of his love but of his guilt and shame. This is what he feels he needs before his soul may move forward. Trisha has agreed to be the link. I will be the Bridge. You have made your peace with her. Now you are free to go to him, to help him close this blood-stained chapter of his many, many lives."
So that was what this was all about, eh? Al and I had to convince ourselves that we were forgiven by me telling Mom and him telling Teddy everything about that failed transmutation—how we'd made a monster of her, how we had to kill her in the end to set her free.
It wasn't her forgiveness we craved—on some level, we already knew we had that. What we needed was to forgive ourselves. We'd already spent the balance of our lives trying to make amends, but unless we forgave ourselves it wouldn't mean jack shit…and we'd wind up making the same horrible mistakes all over again.
And Roy—god, what was eating at his soul? Whatever it was, he must have cleared it. What else could explain how Taisa was born as such a bright light, no bitter shadows hounding his every move. Taisa—even thinking of him warms me. He's what Roy should have been. Would have been if he'd stayed out of the military, not become bitter and cynical—if he'd been able to drop that freakin' mask and been allowed to be Roy Mustang, not Colonel Sarcasm.
So. Teddy's body, eh? Damn. That freaks me a little. "Will it hurt her?"
"Yes."
"Then, why her?"
Izumi looked like she was gonna clobber me again. "She's your mother. There's nothing she wouldn't do for you, idiot. Are you ready?"
I nodded.
She lifted a finger in warning. "Don't stay long. You're a guest, not moving in for good. She could die if you linger, so be careful. When I call you, you leave. Understand?"
"Yes, Sensei."
"And don't be too shocked by this…but Teddy's with Mustang now."
Huh? "Yeah? And?"
"She's….with Mustang."
"You already said that."
She gave me an evil grin. "They're fucking."
"Whaaaa--??" I thought I swallowed my tongue at that moment. "Y—you don't mean…??"
"And enjoying the hell out of it. So will you. You're about to find out the true reason women's bodies are superior to men's. Have fun, you little shit!"
"WAITAMINUTE!! MASTER! WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUUU--"
"I'm not Edward," she told him as they began. "I'm Edward's blood…call him…call him, Roy. He is touching you with my hands. Through me…he loves you again."
At the last, before she draws him within her body, she throws the hated eye patch away forever. As they merge, she presses her lips tenderly over the scar before she tells him, "This…is from Edward"…
The Gloves, Izumi tells her. NOW.
Rising above his body, she lifts her arms like a chalice and silently opens her heart like a doorway. Bowing her head, she slaps her hands together…
…and that which was Tricia Edward Elric is gone, embraced by the Eggregore.
And the shell of her flesh is filled with a part of the radiance that is Edward.
The mouth—so soft, so sweet—has become demanding. Devouring. Biting the thin shoulders, moaning aloud. "Ohhh…you bastard…"
And I, Edward Elric, was back in Amestris.
And Roy , once more, was in me, loving me through her body.
And my master was right, damn it. Female superiority can be summed up with two words: multiple orgasms. Shit. Teddy could probably fuck a man into a coma, bounce out of bed after coming a dozen times and play racquetball without breaking much of a sweat. "God damn, Mustang," I told him as he caught his breath. "can we be dykes next incarnation?"
He gave me one of those wicked, sexy smirks that made me want to fuck him through the floor. "Good idea, Fullmetal. A sprained tongue might shut you up."
AMESTRIS, 1951
Cosine passed from table to table, gathering up dirty plates and empty mugs. Live music tonight. Good crowd. Strange faces, grave above those stiff blue collars. They nodded in time to the music but never joined in, not roaring like the rest of the drunks at the Briggs Mountain Inn. The officer in charge was a slim, small woman with iron gray hair clipped short above her collar, her fine features etched with worry. She kept glancing at her watch and biting her lip and when Cosine offered to top off her ale she shook her head. "Coffee, please. For me and my men."
"I'm Ross. Let's talk in private," she was told when she returned with a steaming carafe and extra cream. A tall officer with a shock of unkempt grey hair and a cigarette dangling from his bottom lip neatly lifted the tray out of her hands with a wink. "Don't worry. Ma'am," he chuckled. "I'll see to it. Hey, Furey!" he shouted above the crowds to a small, neat man engrossed in a chess match with a thickset sloppy one. "Sober 'em up, okay?"
A drunk in the corner stumbled to his feet, spilled a handful of cenz on the table and struggled with his coat. Passing the tray to the one addressed as Furey, the shaggy haired man moved to intercept the drunk on his way to the door. "Come on, old timer," he told him kindly. "I'll see you home so the missus won't skin you."
Cosine had seen this thin, shabby man in the inn a lot this spring but never heard him allude to anybody waiting for him when the pub closed. "Why, Vato, if I'd known you had a wife waiting, I'd have packed you off with some coffee at last rounds," she teased him as she passed. Vato snapped to attention, then began to slide towards the floor.
"Whoa, feller! Lemme get you out of here. Easy—ooops!" Like a gunny sack, old Vato was flung over the officer's shoulder. "Night, all!" he called cheerily.
"Night, Havo!" the stout man called back. "Don't forget, you owe me for that last pitcher."
"Pay ya back tomorrow," he was told, preceding Cosine and the woman named Ross out of the inn's warmth and into the bitter darkness, cold enough to snatch one's breath away.
Soon as the door closed behind them, the 'drunk' was dumped unceremonially to the pavement. 'Vato' bounded to his feet and snapped to a salute, which Ross returned with a curt nod. "Van's ready, sir." he told her. He glanced at 'Havo'. "You did get the heater running, didn't you?"
Cosine was pushed into the spacious rear of a what appeared to be an ordinary delivery van, the kind that brought fresh meat and imported beers from Central for the guests lodging and dining in town, and sure enough there was plenty of provender in storage bins. Gesturing for Cosine to seat herself on a tall stack of flour bags, the woman Ross closed the van doors behind them and flipped on the overhead light.
"Did you bring them, Havoc?" Ross inquired mildly.
"Sure thing, Chief. They're in the front seat. Warmer up there with the driver."
"Bring us a sample, if you please." She offered Cosine a smile that might have been meant kindly but instead made her feel as if she'd gone home and found some items of intimate apparel missing from her lingerie drawer.
There was a loud shreeeeeeeeeeeee! from the front seat and 'Havo' or Havoc, whatever the hell his name was, pushed his way back into the light, a bundle cradled in his arms. It was wriggling in a most alarming fashion. A long, pink tail whipped out and slapped at the soldier's shoulder.
"Miss Cosine? I'm a farmboy, y'know. Just came back from a furlough to visit my family back east and help clean up the barns for planting season. I brought some friends back with me who need food and lodging. I think we'll put them up here at the inn."
He unwrapped his parcel with a wry grin, revealing two of the most enormous rodents she'd ever seen. Black as tar with red, feral eyes, naked pink tails and wicked incisors, orange as pumpkins, capable of gnawing through bricks.
"This is Solaris," he told her. "Named her after an old girlfriend." The monster was the size of a kitten, fixing her with a bold stare and puffing out her cheeks, sniffing rapidly as if trying to determine if Cosine might taste better than the handful of dog biscuits Havoc had offered her as a snack to keep her quiet. "And this is Bradley." Cosine yelped in alarm as Havoc held him up for her approval. "Male, as you can see. Very male—one hell of a set of luggage on these river rats, don'tcha think?"
"Havoc!" Ross cautioned.
"Oh, sorry, Ma'am!" Havoc ducked his head but didn't look the least bit remorseful. "Anyway, we need to find 'em a good home since they're about to become parents for the first time. Judging from what the vet says, Solaris could have, oh lemme see—"
"—as many as twenty pups in a litter, considering the healthy conditions the mother and father were raised in," Falman contributed.
"Right," Havoc nodded, scratching Solaris behind the ear. "Not to mention, the in-laws. See, Bradley's been a baaaaad boy, haven't you, big fella?"
"I—in-laws?" Cosine stammered.
"Yup. Solaris has five beeeyoutiful sisters. And Fuhrer Rat had his wicked way with all of 'em. And since I can't keep 'em in the barracks," Havoc held them closer, "we figured we'd put them up at your place."
"Six sisters. Six litters. And if you calculate for maximum fertility, that comes to approximately one hundred twenty babies. And since a female rat can conceive within 24 hours after giving birth—"
"—and Bradley's such a horny little bastard—"
"HAVOC!"
"Ahh…sorry! Anyway, he'll be raising up his own little Rat Battalion and using your pantry as his barracks. Sounds like fun, eh?"
Cosine's face began to crumple. "Wh-why are you doing this to us?" she wailed, shrinking back as far as she could from Havoc, who had taken a cookie out of his pocket and given half to each monstrosity, now perching on his shoulders.
"Simple," Havoc told her. "You ratted out our Boss. We figured we'd return the favor."
The innkeeper's wife looked mystified. "What did I ever do to you, Miss Ross?"
"Oh, she's our commanding officer," Havoc clarified.
"But our Boss is Colonel Mustang," Vato Falman finished.
"But…but he's retired, right?"
"He risked his life for us and gave up everything to save this country from King Bradley," Ross told her firmly. "He may be retired, but as far as we're concerned he'll always be The Boss."
Cosine looked unconvinced. "You—you work for the President, right, Miss Ross? What would she say if she knew you were doing this behind her back?"
The driver of the van pushed back her cap and leaned around to wave at Cosine. "She's not doing this behind my back, my dear," said President Riza Hawkeye. "Who do you think has been keeping the rats warm up front?"
"Fuhrer" Bradley finished his cookie bit, stretched out on Havoc's broad shoulder and began washing his massive testicles with a quick pink tongue.
Cosine fainted.
An hour later they had assembled in the landlord's office.
Vato Falman, now on the President's staff as National Security Advisor.
Kain Furey, father of binary code who built the first Amestrian computer, roughly the size of a small office building.
Heymans Breda, author and chess master, almost single-handedly responsible for the high popularity of the new role playing game Castles and Chimeras, which he'd invented to entertain his grand children.
Jean Havoc, who returned to active duty after a full recovery from his paraplegia and had risen to the rank of Major and was vastly popular with the soldiers in the field because he had never lost his sunny, easy going personality.
And lastly, Riza Hawkeye. President of Amestris. Currently thumbing through what appeared to be a Health And Safety Inspection form #39-404F. After a long, long wait, she nodded to the terrified owners of the Briggs Mountain Inn. "My….oh my goodness. Cockroaches, you say, Breda?"
Breda handed her a large glass jelly jar. Inside a muddy brown insect as big as Havoc's thumb scrambled around and around. He shook the jar. The roach hissed.
"Goodness," the President deadpanned. "I didn't think hissing roaches were found outside of Xing."
"They don't live long in the cold, Madame President."
"Long enough to lay eggs?"
"Yes, Ma'am!"
"Where did you capture that particular specimen?" the President inquired mildly.
"In the refrigerator," Havoc smirked. "It had eaten half a cabbage when Breda caught it."
"And the Fuhrer?"
"He's looking a bit anxious, Ma'am. Agnes is in labor."
"Agnes?"
"The one with the white smudge on her belly."
"Oh. The one with the nasty temper. Thank you, Havoc. Mister Furey? What was that you were saying about the television set in the bar? Isn't that the only working set in the Briggs Range?"
"It was. Something's happened to the wireless feed. Looks like the signal's down."
"For how long, Mr. Furey?"
Kain polished his glasses, his face unreadable. "I'm estimating it won't be up until …..oh…no earlier than 9:02 pm on Wednesday."
"WHAAAAATTT??" The landlord rocketed out of his chair. A shove in the chest from Havoc planted him back in his seat. "But we--look, that's the night of the big fight at Armstrong Arena! We've sold tickets for the broadcast—the bar's gonna be packed with paying customers expecting to see the fight."
"Oh, they'll get a fight all right," Falman smiled coldly. "Especially when one of the drunks suggests that you ripped everybody off on purpose."
"--Or the pregnant rat swimming in the cider keg. That might raise a few eyebrows," said Havoc.
"Not to mention what the ladies will do when those giant hissing cockroaches start crawling up their legs and under their skirts," Breda added.
"You won't have to be upset when the health inspectors give you a failing evaluation," Ross was laughing now. "Your customers will undoubtedly burn this place to the ground. Coincidentally, the street repair crews will be out with buckets of warm tar--"
"—and your cleaning lady will forget and leave a number of feather pillows out to air in the back yard—you'll make sure to remind the drunks about the feathers, won't you, Vato? Can't do this properly with all tar and no feathers."
"YES, MA'AM!"
Cosine and her husband had melted down to a puddle of whimpering goo at this point, clinging desperately to one another and looking from face to face for even a brief flash of sympathy.
They didn't find it.
"Please…please. Don't do this, Madame President! We'll do anything, anything you want," they pleaded.
"Really?" The cognac eyes glittered wickedly. "Excellent. I suppose Havoc could insure that Fuhrer Bradley and his six wives could find a new home, preferably in an unpopulated area with plenty of predators. And the roaches probably won't thrive in the cold here. Anything you can do about the signal, Furey?"
"No problem, Madame President, if that's what you want."
Hawkeye deliberated. Then she sighed heavily. "I suppose," she agreed reluctantly. "Provided that our friends here are willing to cooperate."
The landlord and his wife almost dislocated their necks nodding in assent. "Tell us what you want us to do!" they blubbered.
"Oh…nothing much. It's just that we have a squad of sharpshooters hunkered in a few miles from here. They have orders from the Amestrian cabinet to take Roy Mustang by force and to shoot anyone else that comes out of that cave where the Colonel has been holed up. Now," she leaned closer, dropping her voice, "these are good soldiers. Good men. Far from home and lonely. It might be patriotic," she suggested, " if you were to bring a small keg of hot toddy to warm them up—"
"—delivered by some big breas—"
"HAVOC! Please!" The President shot her long time friend a scornful look before returning to her plan. "Delivered by the two of you as a heartfelt expression of your support for our men in uniform." She laid a slim hand on a small thermal cask. "Make sure everybody either has some of the hot toddy or some of this hot apple cider. Everybody gets a hot drink."
Cosine gulped, "Will it put them to sleep."
Havoc looked like he was enjoying this all too much. "Nope. It will make 'em randy. Just in time to rescue that baker's van full of fancy ladies that will break down a quarter of a mile from the perimeter. About fifteen minutes after you've left for home."
"Fancy ladies?"
"I call it The Revenge of the Miniskirt Army," said President Riza Hawkeye.
The van was waiting outside, although the roaches and rats had been moved upstairs with a handful of armed guards. If the President and her co-conspirators didn't return on schedule they had orders to turn the damned things loose in the dining hall. Falman, Breda, Furey and Havoc were hurrying into their disguises.
"Damn," Breda shook his head in disgust. "Hate shaving my beard off."
"It's for the Colonel," Havoc pointed out. "That sarong looks like shit, I hope you know that."
"Hey!" Breda was stung. "At least it covers my legs, which is more than I can say for you, Havo! You've got razor nicks on your kneecaps."
"Goddamn it, will you shut up!" shouted Kain Furey. "This is so humiliating! My wife wouldn't stop giggling when I tried on her high heels."
"Hey, Falman?"
"What, Havoc?"
"Ummm…does this make my butt look big?"
Falman considered the question carefully. "Scientific evidence would refute the idea that what one wears could actually change the size, shape and contour of a pair of human buttocks. The theory is purely based on optical illusion." He straightened his wig. "That said—you should wear that belted. And lime green is not your color."
……TO BE CONTINUED……..