(slinks back in apologetically) H-hey... (nervous wave) You guys took that really well, actually (laughs) Don't worry, I'm trying to keep Ed from being killed this time, as I've already killed him once before and felt very guilty about it (in my story Inevitability, and yes, that is indeed shameless self-promotion that you see here)... =_= But, just so we're clear, you guys DO realize that I've got to follow the natural consequences of your choices, right? If you keep choosing to fling Ed/yourselves into suicidal situations, he'll probably have to end up dead... But! Enough morbidity! I'm gonna reply to people's reviews next time, 'cause I've got a computer-time limit today, and I'm typing like a maniac, can you tell? but I do have to tell you that the wonderful, wonderful FulllmetalKeyblade-13 drew Ed in a skirt for me (wriggle-dances with joy) and the link is in my profile and go check it out noooowww.... :DDD
Most of you said to ditch the outfit for now, and go check out the murder, so that is what we shall do! Also, anyone who has any suspicions about who-dunnit, PLEASE tell me, I wanna hear your theories! And now...
You're left staring after him in shock, and after a few mental kicks, you manage to get your brain started again. Immediately your mind jumps to the human transmutation, and a shiver curls down your spine as you consider a connection between the two. Even though you know nothing about the investigation aside from that someone was killed and that the body was found somewhere near here, and even less about the human transmutation attempt, the dread is cold and heavy in your stomach, possibly intuition, possibly paranoia, most likely both.
As soon as Beggens is safely and long out of the store, you begin pulling the hoodie off, undoing the belt, stepping out of the skirt... The relief blooms then, sort of delayed by the surprise when you heard the news of the murder, but the skirt jerks you back to the present. As you finally let yourself relax you almost sag with the strength of the relief pulsing through you.
You take a slightly longer time taking off the boots, staring at them longingly before pulling on your own shoes, and then looking around for your coat.
The lady is holding it out for you. "Thanks," you tell her. "For, uh... you know."
"You didn't kill him," she says, instead of replying. You pause mid- shrugging your coat on and look up at her, hearing the tiniest hint of a question in her voice.
"No," you say, a little offended. "Do I look like a killer to you?"
One corner of her mouth quirks up. "No..." Somehow she's managed to turn that single word into an insult on your manhood, just from the inflection, and you glare at her.
"You will tell no one of this," you hiss, a blush creeping across your cheeks. "Or I really might have to resort to murder."
"Are you trying to reclaim your macho-ness?" she asks, utterly serene. "It's not working."
"Yeah, well." There's no answer to that that won't make you seem like a jerk, or worse, a pansy, and besides for that it's probably not a great idea to insult her, what with the information she's got....
"Thanks for your help," you tell her, trying to ignore the faint blush that's just refusing to go away. "See you." You turn for the door, already running over in your mind what you know about both cases, when she says, in a low, dangerous voice, "i thought I told you that you weren't leaving here until you purchase something."
You stop, glancing over your shoulder at the lady. Oh, riiight. "I guess I'll take those earrings I was looking at earlier. How much are they?"
"Very well, sir," she replies, all business and formality now that she's got a sale. "That's eight-hundred marks. Anything else?"
"No, I do--EIGHT-HUNDRED MARKS?!"
"Is there a problem, sir?" she asks calmly.
"They are NOT!"
"I've been considerate enough to include tips in my calculation," she says, the wide, evil grin belying the solemnity of her voice.
You snort. "Fine, whatever, I'll just shuffle it off to Mustang's tab. Can I get the earrings and go now?"
"The clothes will be an added six-hundred forty marks, sir."
Wh-- "WHAT?! B-- but I just--"
"Once the clothing is used, the customer has to pay for it. Sir," she adds quickly, almost forgetting it in her glee.
"They aren't used, I just--"
"That'll be fifteen-hundred marks in all," she tells him. "Would you like me to call the authorities to enforce the store policies? I am under the impression that there are some soliders nearby...."
You honestly feel like fainting. This manipulative-- "F-Fine!" you snap. "I'll freakin' pay for all of it, don't call the military!"
She smiles angelically at you.
At the register, you grumble curses under your breath- or, more accurately, just loud enough for her to hear- hunching your shoulders and basically sulking away, while she hums, tapping away at the buttons and counting money, an insanely huge grin on her face.
"Who knows?" she says brightly, handing you the bag. You give her a glare that would melt stone. "Maybe the outfit will come in useful for something."
There is no way to misinterpret her tone. "Wh- what are you implying?" you demand, the blush coming back full-force.
"Oh, nothing," she says innocently, smiling at you, quite friendly now that you've tripled her paycheck. You scowl back at her, although the flush on your cheeks probably ruins it some.
"I hope I never see you again," you grumble as leave the store, holding the bag over your shoulder so the brand on the side is more difficult to see.
"You too," she calls back. You push open the door, and you step out into the deserted street.
Just a while ago this road has been full of people, but the combination of the murder and Lieutenant Beggens storming through with a gun had scared everyone away. You look around, weighing your options. You could find the crime scene right away, and risk getting caught; or you could go straight back to Headquarters and try to bluff your way out of trouble by convincing them that Beggens left you, you would never do all that stuff he's accusing you of, no sir; or you could call Al, like your plan was originally.
You wander down the street, the bag over your shoulder, thinking....