He Who Searches For Himself
It was the horizon never to be forgotten; a bed which, night after night, the sun would lay down upon. It was the holder of many daydreams. Even on the cloudiest and darkest of nights, there would always be something distinct to this existence of peace in an unsettled world that made it their own. It was intangible and indescribable, but the only description needed past the four o'clock hour would be 'Rizembool's western horizon'; enough would be said.
"Mommy. How come over there the clouds are so big and there are none over here? How come they're grey on the bottom?"
Trisha's arms enveloped her youngest son, "Alphonse, do you remember what happened to my dishcloth when I hung it out on the line?"
"Sorta…"
"Remember when we took it off the line, the bottom part of the rag was wet but the top was dry?"
Al nodded slowly.
"That's why the cloud is only grey on the bottom, because the cloud is hanging from the clothes line in the sky. The bottom part of the cloud is still really wet like my rag, but the top is dry, so it's white like all the other clouds."
"Ohhh…" it was such simple enlightenment that explained so much of this unknown world.
Trisha's soft voice carried like the breeze; light weight and carefree, "and you know how if my rag is really soggy at the end it drips onto the grass? That's the same thing that happens to the cloud. When the cloud is really grey it drips onto the grass because it's soggy, and that's how it rains."
"Ohhhh…" for young Alphonse, the world made so much more sense today.
Trisha ran her fingers through his hair, pleased with herself that she'd unravelled one of life's many mysteries today.
Chapter 66 - Façade
Winry stood, immersed in a pungent yellow glow. It neither welcomed nor rejected her.
Her voice called out, and it was sucked into the unending abyss.
"She said 'I wonder who'll help that remaining Elric child if you continue to sit there afraid?'"
Leaving a coin on the shadowless floor, Winry sprinted away and ran until her lungs forced her to stop. Crouching over, hands to her kneecaps, her eyes widened as the coin lay at her feet once again. It was unmistakably silver, yet it carried no shine and no reflection. Clenching it within her hand, Winry threw it across the glowing expanse.
"Tucker performed a partially successful human transmutation. He recreated the mind and body of Nina. But that's all there was. It didn't live in a conscious state because it lacked a soul; something Tucker must not have been able to provide, even if he thought he could."
A child giggled.
Winry looked around; she remained alone. Unlike her voice, this one echoed. And it came again, with friends, they all giggled. Winry's feet crossed over, spinning in circles as she tried to find the source of the giggling that encompassed her.
It laughed at her.
"If Nina did regain some resemblance of a soul, it's probably corrupt. If someone helped Tucker insert a soul into Nina, he or she would easily have been able to influence the information. With Tucker's mental state being what it is, he probably wouldn't notice…"
Her voice called out, demanding to know who was there. It simply laughed at her. The sound grew louder; it echoed in her mind, pulsed through her body, encompassed her soul.
She screamed for the insidious noise to either stop or show itself.
It did both, and Winry wished she'd never asked.
"I wish you'd been able to see who clapped their hands together. The only people who could clap their hands for the alchemical circle are myself, my dad, Sensei and Dante. I don't think there's anyone else out there who can. I've never heard of anyone who fits this nurse's description."
It towered over her, claiming her existence without ever opening its gates. She could feel it, a perfect understanding of what was going on, yet she was unable to pick out any particular piece of the wealth forced upon her. The dark gate doors remained closed as trembling eyes slowly drew towards it.
The infant's shrill cry was as haunting, if not worse, than the laughter that obviously had known what was coming.
"… Diana?"
"Dante was someone my father knew much better than I ever did. You said earlier that Roze couldn't remember much about Lyra, but that's because Lyra was Dante. Dante was manipulating societies, cities, peoples, and individuals for her own benefit. Roze was one of them."
There were no words that could explain the moments of complete understanding.
The doors swung open, their hinges creaking in pain as the darkness of beyond reared its ugly head. From the depths, multitudes of eyes lecherously peered back at her. She couldn't move. She could barely breathe, let alone move. But nothing happened. She simply stared into the horror that waited for her with open arms.
She looked up again; it was that child's fault. The child brought order to what felt like uncertain chaos.
"Lyra's body should be about ready to give out. The Lyra shell was rotting away very quickly; she'd need a new host in order to live. But in order to do that, she'd need the Philosopher's Stone."
It was a crossing found deeper than hell, absorbed with more wisdom and knowledge than she could have ever dreamed of. So, why was all this found at the entrance and exit of here and there? The baby knew.
She'd never heard that term used before, she had no idea who or what Tartarus was… but the baby knew. Somewhere in the infant's subconscious, Winry could feel how the baby likened this place to it. There was no explaining how the baby, who could only cry, knew so much.
"Dante'd used the last of her stone to transfer into Lyra, and the new stone was used up when Al brought me back. She doesn't have the resources or time to create a new stone so she can keep on living. She should die off, if she hasn't done so already."
Winry climbed the stairs and stood before the black chamber. The understanding of her surroundings suppressed all fear she had for the looming gate.
The prying eyes vanished.
Extending her arm towards what lay beyond the gate, her fingers touched the darkness only to realize the void was solid… somewhat. At first she thought she would have been able to step through, but stability existed at the grace of another.
This was Diana's fault.
"Ed… you need the Philosopher's Stone to create a hermaphrodite, right?"
Winry pushed her hand against the black abyss and watched as it sunk in. It was like reaching into cold tar; yet, she pulled her hand out cleanly.
This was crazy.
A new voice emerged, above and beyond the sound of the howling baby Winry had tuned out. It screamed. She stepped away from the boundary, and looked into the light once again. This sound was external; it did not vibrate within her existence like everything else.
Where was it coming from?
"Winry, is there a reason you keep bringing this up? It's not like you to care about alchemy, let alone something so weird."
A cold pair of hands grabbed her legs; Winry froze in panic. A demon beyond the gate summoned her.
How could she even breathe in that? Her imagination ran in place of the legs that could not: what it would feel like to suffocate. To gasp solely as a reaction to living, only to have your lungs fill with a muddy fluid each time she inhaled. She didn't want to know what it would feel like to beg for air and never receive it. She didn't want to know what it would feel like to choke on the sludge or how much it might hurt. She didn't want to know what her last thought would be when her body would stop living.
A hand came from the darkness and grabbed her by her right shoulder. Someone spoke her name.
Winry screamed and took the only thing she could into her left hand and cranked her handler over the head, watching in delirium as he fell to the ground.
"Ah…" Winry blinked, glancing around in confusion, "ah… sorry… er…" she momentarily forgot everything Ed had told her. What was that German saying for 'I'm sorry' again?
"Es tut mir Leid!"
"Verzeihung," Hohenheim corrected her, his voice monotone from the startling reaction, "you should be asking for Albrecht's forgiveness… I don't think a general apology is going to suffice…"
Standing next to his father, Edward stared down with some hint of concern at Albrecht laying cross-eyed on the floor. Ed had warned him not to approach Winry from behind; especially if she was concentrating so hard she didn't answer their calls.
Winry blinked again, turning her wide eyed and dazed expression to the pliers in her hand.
Mustang's elbow rested in the window, the wind licking at the sides of his hair yet swirling back around so that it would continually tease his face. Occasionally he'd brush it aside, but for the most part he didn't pay much mind to it; he was listening.
"Like I said before, she didn't say much else," Russell's hands clasped behind his head, "just said that it was urgent and you should get back as soon as possible. The Lieutenant didn't offer much else up other than that. We were lucky it seems, we'd planned on taking the next train out there after you."
Riza's attention was focused on her task, though she took a moment to give a quick glance at the eldest in their group before replying to Russell, "As far as Central is aware, we're long departed for the east. Why send messengers out when they could simply have contacted the lodge we're heading to?"
"I got the impression they'd already tried. We were their last hope it seems," managing to cross one leg over the other in the cramped seating arrangement, Russell rattled his fingers off the window in thought, "the telephone line was terrible too, she probably tried for a while to get through."
Leaning to get a better view out the window, Alphonse's gaze traveled out to the east. He pressed his forehead against the window's glass, his eyes held a lazy vigil of what lay in the beyond, "That sky still looks miserable…"
Roy sighed, straightening himself in his seat, "If the station attendants can't get through for a track clearance, I doubt that lines from Central could either."
The ensuing silence was uneasy, and it was Fletcher who broke in, "Thank you for taking us with you, we didn't think we'd end up actually coming along."
Roy flicked his lazy thumb over to Alphonse who smiled sheepishly at the gesture.
"You're involved. You did say Lt. Ross said you're to make sure we find our way back to Central," Al rubbed the back of his head with a giggle, "we couldn't just say thanks and leave you there."
Fletcher shook his head, "We haven't left town since the last time we were in Central. Things have probably changed a fair bit, especially with the Drachma uprising. They've really started to come in through the north and into the east."
Diverting her attention for a moment, Riza glanced over to the children, "You boys said at the station that you were looking to head either west or south, possibly into Central?"
The brothers nodded in tandem at the statement, but it was Russell who spoke for both, "I don't know how much is being told around your parts, but obviously the government isn't giving much care to what's going on out here."
Ishibal. One couldn't go any farther east than that, and it had been Drachma's last major strike. Even with the new troop deployment, they'd still been over run. The city was in ruins again, even if the government-controlled media didn't report it as such; both officers knew the implications of the reports that had been slipped into the office. Roy rolled his one good eye; he had a few choice words to say about this new parliament and how both it and the military were being run.
"Why don't you come out to Resembool," Al perked, "it's still in the east, but not as far and much further south. It's quiet and full of open spaces."
"Do they have horses?"
"Oh yeah," Al nodded vigorously at Fletcher's question, "there's a lady just beyond the sunrise hill that raises them on her ranch."
Fletcher turned his entertained look from Alphonse over to his brother, "We should see about visiting Resembool. It would be nice to get away from a big city life for a while, right?"
Russell started to laugh, "I told you this would turn out to be interesting. I just hope it's alright that we're doing this," the laugh curled into a smirk as he redirected his interests, "Mustang…"
Roy rolled his eye again, for the entire trip the boy hadn't bothered to attach either 'Brigadier General' or even 'Mister' to his name.
"… Your people aren't going to get mad over this, are they?"
Glancing the young man's way, Roy's voice carried no doubt in the decision, "They won't be."
The left hand had no idea what its right hand was doing. There was no way Roy would be able to inform anyone in his office of what lay ahead. No matter how many times he attempted to call, no one picked up and that was only when he could connect. Not Havoc, not Armstrong, not even the telegraph desk could be reached. He could barely get a line into Central at all.
What the Tringham boys were able to provide for information shed no light onto why they were supposed to return to Central, other than it was of the utmost importance. Maria Ross had cut her conversation short with the boys, relaying explicit instructions that they were supposed to follow through on. But there was no way of reaching Central to acknowledge that the message had been received.
Riza's voice was low, keeping the sound below the range of sharp, childish ears, "Sir?"
"I know what you're going to say, and you don't need to," it was nice to have the wind blowing in through the window, since it helped mask his replies.
Riza did not say a thing, simply returning her attention to a clear focus on the journey ahead.
"Call it intuition," Roy mumbled, taking Riza's ears under his command once more, "there was something wrong with how it came to pass. I don't appreciate ultimatums being shoved down my throat."
Riza again took a moment to take in the man's presence, as he held steadfast in a belief that allowed his decision to pass.
"There's a reason I have no objection to Lieutenant Havoc sitting in my chair."
Roy's gaze flickered over to hers, snatching it up for just long enough to remind her of what that reason was.
"I still have one good eye, I can see quite clearly with it."
Both out of uniform officers glanced momentarily over their shoulders to the children who chattered in the back seats.
The frustrations at the station had mounted when the final train to Central had been announced. The initial train Russell and Fletcher had wanted the trio to get on had been full. They'd been herded like cattle onto the next train that had arrived so soon after the first. Everyone had been.
This was to be the last train to Central.
This was the last train out of the station in any direction. Every ticket-bearing passenger was to board and be re-routed at the capital. There'd been no reason given why the remaining tracks would not be used. Not even a train to the north or to the south would depart.
The only choice weary travelers were given was a return to Central.
If it had not been for a cascading series of events that were forcing the officer to return to Central, Mustang would never have torn up their tickets.
The clatter of rain began to sound above everyone's heads and the officers returned to facing the road ahead. Roy rolled up his window as Riza flicked on the windshield wipers; her hand re-gripped the steering wheel as she took the car into the storm beating down on their eastern destination.
"And that schematic works through the liquid fuel injection in the rocket. So, in theory, it'll take only a few minutes to shoot someone out of the stratosphere."
Winry 's eyes followed Ed's finger as he pointed up to the science lab ceiling, "… I think you said 'theory' maybe seven times Ed…"
"I know," his hand came up and brushed through his bangs.
Winry began to laugh nervously, "And… tell me again how long it will take us to get up there to find out if we can go home that way or not?"
"About fifty years…"
The deflated sigh came simultaneously as the two folded their arms and returned to leaning over the paperwork spread out on the lab tables.
"Okay… so we started this explanation of flight off by taking me to the Munich air fields and showing me these incredible devices called 'air planes' that fly around in the sky. You wormed your way into some blue prints for me to look at and keep, which I will forever be indebted to you for," the endearing sparkle that danced in Winry's eyes flashed away when her thoughts digressed, "…but you refused to let me go up into the sky with the nice young man who wanted to take me up there."
Ed frowned sharply, "You could fall out of the sky."
"But can you imagine," Winry clenched her fists tight at her chest, "sitting in one of those two seaters, hundreds of kilometres above the ground, hearing the roar of the engine, experiencing the vibration of the machine, feeling the wind blow through your hair…"
"You wear a helmet."
"… Blow in your face as you soar higher than the birds and look down upon the puny people below, laughing at them cause you're up there dancing in the clouds thanks to some miracle of modern technology. My God, they'd look up at me with such envy!" Winry squealed, much to Ed's obvious dismay, and tightened the tension in her clenched fists and arms, shaking fiercely at the thought of the adrenaline rush, "I want to make one."
"Get a hang glider," Ed snapped flatly.
"Ed, you can't hear the raw power of an engine if you're on a hang glider," she resisted the urge to slap him over the head, preferring only to mull in the thought of building this airplane from a set of schematics she'd practically memorized, "it would be like my first born child, only better."
"Yeah, it wouldn't poop and scream and cry," Ed rolled his eyes, standing up, "it would just crash to the ground and kill you."
Winry's narrowed eyes followed Ed as he sauntered across the room, "You've been really cynical lately," though she suspected that was because she'd said yes to Albrecht's bizarre offer of dinner after she'd blind sided him; how could she say no to such a funny attempt at broken English, especially after she tried to carve out part of his skull.
"So how's the airplane so different from going up into space?" Winry hung her arm over the back of the chair, "You have to contrive a way to get down safely, if you can get up at all. At least you know that an airplane will get up into the sky. You don't even know if you'll make it out of the stratosphere, let alone how you'll get back down if it doesn't work. You could die trying."
Ed rolled up the diagrams and blue prints scattered across the table, snapping elastics around the ends of the rolls, "I could. But, like I said… forty or fifty years."
The defeated tone carrying in Edward's voice slapped Winry across the face. She hated hearing him sound like that.
Ed sighed and began to shake his head, "I'll help Hermann out, but this isn't going to get me home either. We'll find another bridge to cross, let's just go home for now and have dinner."
Winry debated speaking up, wondering if he realized he'd mentioned two homes, but instead rose from her seat. Wrapping a few elastics around her wrists she began to follow Ed's lead and rolled up the diagrams. She'd sort out which of these she'd place priority on later; her own version of a far superior AutoMail, mastering the principals of flight, or learning the theories behind space flight and propulsion. Those were all things she could do while she was here. Learning enough to contrive a way to return home would constantly be Ed's burden, she could not help but think of a solution that perhaps he'd never given thought to; or rather, did not want to give though to.
With the papers tucked under his arm, Ed waited, hand on the doorknob, for Winry as she darkened the room from the lamp light. Winry's shoes were barely heard as she cut towards the door in the darkness, a sound over looked by Edward. He attempted to pull open the door, only to be stopped as Winry's foot suddenly held the door shut.
"Winry, move your f–"
Her hand clasped down around his that held the knob of the door, Edward fell silent as she pinned him to the handle.
"Ed, can we just… let it be for a while?"
"Let what be?"
The rolled up prints left a hallow echo in the quiet room as Winry swatted them to the floor from beneath Ed's arm, "Why keep worrying about this so much. You know Al's searching for you, I told you that. If everything here does nothing but bring you to dead ends and impassable roadblocks, why not let your faith rest in Al and all your friends rather than letting yourself constantly fail. Al has so much more going for him, so much more he can use at his disposal that he doesn't realize yet. You doing this… it's not doing you any good."
"Winry…" Ed cleared his throat, sighing as he looked away; displeased with the idea of having to explain himself to anyone, "I want to go home. Even if the answer is going to come from the other side and not here, I can't just sit around and accept my surroundings. I'm not going to live a life here waiting to be rescued. Maybe I can find something that'll help, even if I don't know what it is yet. Maybe it's not going to help me until after I get home. But there's no way I'm going to simply sit by and wait; I don't want to accept this."
Winry didn't have the heart to tell him that some days it felt as though he'd accepted this long ago.
But, if he could at least continue to tell himself that the world was supposed to be unacceptable, it was better than nothing.
"I'm sorry…"
Ed sighed, rolling his head around on his neck, "You have nothing to be sorry for."
She wondered what sorts of solutions he had dreamed up in the past and never written down; they'd have to be daydreams, because they most certainly were not brought on by sleep. Winry was surprised that sleep was rather peaceful, even though she never seemed to dream. It was a peaceful respite, more relaxing than she could have imagined. Nothing happened while she slept. Sleep was a void in the progression of her existence; nothing could haunt her there, not like it could in the daytime.
"That's not why I'm sorry…"
It was while she was awake that she found she'd have nightmares. Was it even appropriate to call an event that had actually happened 'a nightmare'? Even as she stood in the relative safety of one side of the gate, if she thought about it hard enough, she could feel everything all over again.
Edward was kind enough to have never pushed her to discuss it, even though she was certain that he badly wanted to know what she'd experienced. They would discuss Al, Resembool, Central, Izumi, and Roze freely, but the conversations revolving around how she arrived would always be at her discretion. She knew that he was watching her walk along a similar path he'd taken. She wondered if he knew, from his own experience, not to bring it up.
"Winry… your foot's still in the way."
"Ed," she made him shiver as her thumb rubbed over the back of his hand in thought, "Al didn't use all of the Philosopher's Stone to bring you back. I think there was some left."
It was a left-field comment that nearly knocked him over, "What?"
"The other day you said that Dante had become Lyra, that she'd lived for hundreds of years because she'd used the Philosopher's Stone to transfer bodies," there was no reason Winry should have found this information as frightening as she did, it wasn't as though anyone could punish her for divulging it, "the Mitchell family nurse said that people other than Al were still able to use the stone. I thought maybe they'd been lying to scare me."
Ed snatched his hand away from the door; firmly gripping his hands to her shoulders, the command of the darkened room held his voice at a whisper, "… She said what?"
"She couldn't be lying," it took all her strength to steady her voice, running the disturbing sequence of events over in her mind. She could hear that voice.
A new fear came into her mind, it compounded the first; the fear that detailed Edward's expression, "Because when I asked you how to create a hermaphrodite you said it was like human transmutation, and you need the Philosopher's Stone to do a human transmutation right. But… Diana's only four months old, and that's what she is. I saw it."
Ed's hands slid down her shoulders, crouching slightly to gain her castaway attention. Winry mind remained wrapped tightly in a sequence of events it continued to strangle her.
"Winry…" a hard seriousness lay the foundation of his coaxing voice, "did she say who?"
"I heard two names…" her eyes closed while white teeth gnawed on her lower lip, "Shou Tucker and the Prime Minister's wife, Lyra Mitchell."
The tension of a clenched jaw filtered through to his flesh hand; Winry stiffened when the grip pinched around her arm. Ed's slit eyes soon shot the vicious look of rage into the darkness of the room, silent long enough that Winry came to speak again.
"… Who died because she succumbed to a disease that caused her body to rot away…"
The words seethed out from between his teeth, "Bitch…"
It was tea. It was a nice, sweet smelling, peach tea. And the prime minister, who thought he was growing a new strand of grey hair with each day of stress that passed, slouched back in his sofa, accompanied only by the thoughts in his mind…
"Sir?"
… And two other people.
The man cracked open an eye, "… Aisa? Oh, and my Diana."
The nurse smiled down to the delighted reaction, extending the sleeping baby held in her arms, "I thought you'd like to see her before I put her down for the night."
"I always want to see my girls," even for an old and parentally inexperienced man, there was something indescribable and natural about holding an infant, "where is Nina anyways?"
Aisa glanced out the door, "She's dressing her stuffed animals."
"And our house guest?"
"With her, Nina's quite attached."
His wrinkled hand brushed the soft hair off Diana's forehead, "Thank you for keeping them occupied so I can have an evening to myself. You've been handling some of my business affairs as well, I'm becoming indebted to you," slowly Mr. Mitchell rose to his feet, walking around the comforts of the evening room with the child, "it's been very difficult with my wife gone, but you've handled everything with great poise and balanced children while you've been at it. I cannot thank you enough."
Clasping her hands in front of herself, Aisa played the part and cast her eyes down, "I don't have words that can repay this type of flattery."
"Mister Prime Minister?"
Both parties in attendance of the room turned their heads towards the door, curiously examining the attendant who'd asked for his attention.
"There's a telephone call from you, it's from military investigations."
Mitchell blinked, the obvious look of confusion was apparent, "What do they want at this hour?"
"They said it was important."
Straightening his tie, Mitchell returned the infant to her nurse and followed the attendant out into the hall, "I hope that whoever it is knows military channels go through Hakuro and not myself."
The attendant replied as he opened an office door, "The man on the other end said it directly pertained to you."
"Really?" Mitchell marched past the man, his hand coming over the telephone receiver resting upon the desk, "the call's been redirected here?"
"Yes, Sir."
Snapping up the receiver to his ear, Mitchell took a deep breath before speaking, "Sebastian Mitchell."
"Ah! Good evening Mister Prime Minister, this is Sergeant Denny Broche from military investigations!"
"Broche…" Mitchell knew this name, "Oh, young man! You're the one who found Alphonse and his young friend in the market."
"Yes sir."
Mitchell's grin grew wide, delighted by the energy in the voice he was speaking with, "I'm glad to finally speak with you, was there something you needed?"
"Likewise," Broche's voice paused, "but we have information for you pertaining to the girl you have in your care. Brigitte…Schittenhelm." He wasn't sure if the pronunciation was right, but it was close enough.
Mitchell's voice oozed with curiosity, "You found out her last name? That's wonderful, I will pass the information along so her family can be located."
"Well actually, one of our military escorts to the north returned today and brought her mother back. Word had gotten out from a newspaper one of the troops had taken with him and the woman came forward."
"You're kidding?"
"She has all of the child's documentation too."
Mr. Mitchell's hand came over his forehead, the delight streaked across his face, "There've been so few pleasant stories come out of the north. Where's her mother?"
"She's in the building, a few officers are just going over the last pieces of identification and paperwork so she can pick her up. We didn't want to separate her from her daughter any longer than she's already been."
"Oh of course. Mr. Broche, would you hold on just one moment," covering the mouth piece, Mitchell turned to his attendant and issued incontestable instructions for Aisa to bring Brigitte to the room at once, "my apologies, Sergeant. But, I can return Brigitte to her mother's custody tonight if it's not too late in the day."
"Not at all, I'm certain her mother will wait here, she's very eager."
Mitchell finally came to sigh, unable to dispose of the grin that had come over him, "Sergeant Broche, I thank you for this."
"No thanks required, Mister Prime Minister."
From the corner of his eye, the lovely young stature of the other child he enjoyed to call his own came into view, "I will be by the department within the hour, please be expecting us."
"Of course."
The conversation ended at that, and Mitchell turned to greet young Nina, who'd begun her approach. A giant white plush bear was held in her arms, the child's high pigtails had been curled and woven with ribbon to match the lovely deep blue and white dress she wore.
"I have good news my dear," Mitchell's grin ran ear-to-ear as he crouched down to eye level for her.
Nina's voice, dripping of sweets and innocence, tantalized the old man's ears, "Sir… Ms. Aisa told me in passing that Brigitte was to come see you immediately. Is something wrong with her?"
"Not at all," his hands came to rest on her shoulders, never realizing the child would much rather have rolled away in disgust from his touch than continue on with the curious investigation, "I have some very good news for Miss. Brigitte, I have to see her right away."
The child's saucer eyes glowed up at the man, her smile artificially lit as she continued the inquiry, "It must be important, you aren't normally involved with her activities."
Mitchell began to laugh, "Oh my dear child," he swept the reluctant child into his arms, "I'm sorry I've not been able to spend much time with you or your young friend lately."
Nina's chin rested at the man's shoulder, an unimpressed set of eyes casting their gaze around the room where he could not see, "What could possibly be so important that you'd summon my friend Brigitte?"
"I received a call; Brigitte's mother was found."
The childish tone fell from her voice like beams crashing down from the rafters, "… What?"
"Winry," Hohenheim had pushed his coffee table away, pulling around one of the kitchen chairs instead. He sat down in front of the couch cushion Winry had sunken into, momentarily glancing up to Edward, who stood, arms folded, scowl ablaze, in the corner of the living room, "I need you to tell me, from the start, what she said."
Winry scratched her kneecap momentarily, glancing at anything that was not Ed and his father, "Okay, so first after Diana's not so girlish… 'body' startled me, the nurse told me that Diana was a hermaphrodite. She said it was a girl and a boy fused from two different worlds. She said it was more efficient and convenient than previous methods. I asked her if she was an alchemist, but she didn't directly answer my question. I asked her what they were doing with Diana, and she said it was an experiment and that I should be part of it."
Hohenheim ran his hand over his hair, seemingly growing more unsettled, "Dammit…"
"Yeah that's a big help, Dad," Ed's bitter voice snapped at him.
The older, and far more knowledgeable man, glared over his shoulder at the snarky remark. He engaged in a battle of displeasing stares before dropping the knife that cut the line, "An infant child has the most cohesion between its mind, body and soul, that's why Dante was easily able to call on the gate with Roze's baby; you know that. In theory, a hermaphrodite infant made up of life from within or beyond the gate and life from our side, can be used to not only call on the gate, but acts as a stabilizer for the gate and the two worlds. Not only can you send into the gate, but since the infant has properties of the gate, you can take from it as well."
Ed blinked through his dumbfounded expression, "That's ridiculous, who thought that up?"
"I did," Hohenheim answered flatly as his son glanced away, "several hundred years ago."
Winry tilted her head in confusion.
"I never came across a theory like that," Ed mumbled quietly.
Hohenheim smirked at the reaction, somewhat amused by Edward's shame of his own ignorance, "We never wrote it down; the underlying purpose was flawed, terribly so."
"Not that flawed," Winry squirmed.
"So the baby's a door stop," Edward's slit gaze traveled back to his father, "How do you know what you're going to get since you can't see beyond the gate."
"We don't know," shrugging, the old man simply sighed, "that's why it was flawed."
The conversation slowly rubbed Winry the wrong way. They were talking about using a helpless and defenceless child as a 'door stop' like it was nothing.
"Okay," Ed dropped his arms and pulled himself over to where the two sat, "so Dante has a tool that'll get her any given thing from this side of the gate…"
"Wait," Winry stopped the conversation, sitting forwards from where she'd embedded herself, "Dante, Lyra, whomever… she died in the hospital. I was there the day it happened."
Falling back into the cushions of the couch, Ed gave the type of reluctant sigh his father would have given, "There's nobody else who could manipulate that kind of knowledge. Even if Dante had passed only the knowledge along, it would take a superior and well trained alchemist to even attempt something like this."
Hohenheim's head continued to shake as he stood up from the chair, "Dante would never have let herself die off that way, especially if she had some portion of the Philosopher's Stone left and used it to fuse two children together. She would never have wasted it on that if she didn't have enough to sustain her own existence."
Ed's eyes hid behind his bangs, the last memories of a lost life playing over in his mind, "I don't know when or how she could have taken some of it from Al. Maybe when I was in London the first time she might have had the chance, but I can't remember Al looking any worse off when I came back."
Winry's eyes narrowed… 'first time'?
"From the sounds of things, I would suspect that Dante had been grooming this nurse for several months, working on easy suppression of her soul. She has no other reason to keep a companion like that, especially if she knew she was dying," Hohenheim carried the kitchen chair out of the room, his voice echoing in the hall, "it takes time to suppress the soul of a new host. We use to make a contest out of doing that, seeing which one of us could groom a new container first."
A faint growl emerged in Ed's throat, "That's disgusting…"
Winry slouched in her seat, running her hands over her knees as she tried to make sense of the inconsistencies… 'we' he said?
"Some point before she died, she entered her new host," dusting his hands off, Hohenheim came to stand momentarily at the back of his couch, "and she's been taking this young girl, Nina, around with her since they met in the hospital?"
"Yeah," she jarred her head awkwardly over the couch to see him, "everyone met Nina at the hospital. I met her when Al took her out of the room."
"That's strange that she'd have a little girl around," the old man walked himself around and began to pull the coffee table back to where it had been, "especially involving the girl in her activities. She must have some use for her…"
The moment the table was within range, Ed kicked his feet up onto it, "I'd like to know how she managed to get Nina away from Tucker."
Slowly turning his attention over his shoulder, the old man's ear refocused on his son.
"Even if Tucker had managed to recreate some part of Nina's soul from his memories, she'd at least show some signs of her former self. Dante must have forged some sort of soul to get Nina to behave like that."
They were words with a daunting enormity and Hohenheim straightened his posture. His eyes cast down at the occupants of the couch; they seemed to wither away into their seats at the suddenly daunting presence the man carried, "What is Nina?"
"Nina…" Mr. Mitchell's voice stroked, "don't look like that."
With tiny arms folded and misery scrawled across her face, Nina continued to glare off into the corner, "It's not fair."
Sliding over in the reception seats, Mitchell wrapped an arm around Nina and pulled her onto his lap, "I know it's not fair to you, but it is fair to Brigitte. I'm sure she misses her mother very much, and it's not fair if we don't let the two be together."
"The military'll take her away and I'll never see her again," the voice continued the miserable pout.
"No, they won't," the man re-tied the end of Nina's braid, "Aisa, you're still unable to reach the people you'd said had been looking after Brigitte before hand?"
With baby Diana in her arms, the nurse leaned back with a sigh deeper than Mitchell could realize, "No, but it's later in the evening. She may have gone home."
"I'm sure things have been coordinated already, the Sergeant seemed on top of what was going on," His hands suddenly gripping Nina at her sides, Mitchell jostled the child lightly, "though, I think it should be your bedtime right about now. You're tired and it's made you cranky."
"That's not why I'm cranky," Nina's eyes rolled away; the gaze finally falling down upon Brigitte.
The German girl had moved herself away from the group. Sitting in the last of a row of seats, she would not allow herself to acknowledge any of them. Heavily slouched in a very un-lady-like position, Brigitte's arms held tight around herself while her tired eyes drifted off into a corner; a myriad of thoughts occupying what lay beyond the distant gaze.
An indistinctive voice asked for her attention, accomplishing nothing beyond drawing Brigitte out from her daydreams. She curled a bit in the chair, realizing she had yet another bizarre craving for something she couldn't share with anyone.
"Brigitte?"
Lemonade, with a curly straw, real lemon floating around in the tall glass and two ice cubes; just like one of those magazine pictures.
"Brigitte!"
The words drew Mr. Mitchell to his feet. Brigitte wished he'd sit back down, until she came to realize he was not the one who'd called for her. She played the call of her name over in her mind, finally picking up the desperate tone. Before she could begin to understand why it sounded so urgent, Brigitte realized that the room was flooded with movement.
Moving to straighten up, Brigitte froze; a pair of soft and warm hands cupped her cheeks. The person who'd invaded her personal space held her attention forwards into the foyer. The strong yet gentle hands did not let go as the woman came to crouch down before her.
"Brigitte…"
The girl found herself swept up into the encompassing blue eyes that stared desperately back into hers. The swelling of humanity that wrapped into the gaze was so refreshing she could not let it go. After having experiencing nothing beyond the cold and emotionless existences of some obsessive devil child and her watcher, it was a welcomed sight.
Beyond strong blue eyes, a wind blown mess of short brown hair had been pulled into a clip atop her head. A large, hand knit, light beige shawl was pulled tightly around her neck and hung long over her body. Most startling was the bandage taped over her left cheek, and the red, blue and purple discolouration that painted a ring around her eye.
Only Brigitte was allowed to see the flash of surprise in the woman's eyes when her hand reached out and the tips of her fingers softly touched the white gauze, "Did someone hit you?"
"My God…!"
Brigitte's eyes flew open wide as the woman's arms wrapped around her, holding her tight. She could only listen as the woman's voice sobbed into her shoulder. Her inquisition of the English language continued, wondering what 'I never thought I'd hear your voice again' could have meant.
It was Aisa and Nina who made the next move. The presence of this woman that they could not prove was an impostor frustrated the pair enough, but it was the presence of the next man that brought both to their feet.
Mitchell turned from the warming scene, leading several military and police uniformed officers, Lt. Colonel Armstrong came to join the gathering; standing leagues taller than the Prime Minister as he cast his gaze towards the scene.
"It's so beautiful," a far too mature voice wept, "the reunion of such a loving family torn apart. Such an emotional scene of indescribable proportions, a mother embracing her lost daughter!"
The Prime Minister should have been intimidated by the towering man; until the swelling of displeasure that crept over his body the moment he came to realize, "You appeared at the State Alchemist inquisition, didn't you?"
Armstrong's sparkles died when the question caught him off guard, "I was there, yes."
Holding baby Diana close to her chest, Aisa stepped forward to approach the gathering of men, "You were a State Alchemist?"
Armstrong glanced over to the woman's vicious gaze, "I was, yes."
"I cannot believe that the remaining State Alchemists were allowed to retain in their military positions," it was the most emotion Aisa had ever come to display; shouting out so loudly and angrily all gathered eyes had become cast upon her, "Those of you who did not do this world the favour of dying off should have been executed for your crimes."
Mitchell cleared his voice, raising his hand to silence, "This isn't the time or the place Aisa, please."
"But didn't you and your wife–?"
"Aisa. Please."
The family nurse withdrew into silence. The echo of her critical voice continued to occupy people's minds while Nina decided it was her turn to approach upon the situation.
"Please don't harbour any ill will towards him," the woman who stood by Brigitte had once again risen to her feet; her hand held to 'her daughter's' shoulder as she addressed the Prime Minister, "both he and the sergeant were very helpful. There's no way I could thank them enough for all of this… or thank you for this, for taking such good care of my child. There's no way I could ever repay you."
Shaking his head of the bitter voice that echoed within it, Mitchell turned away from the scene and approached, "It was my pleasure, she was very nice and not a problem at all. Though, I imagine she's quite a bit for you to handle, given her condition."
The gentle hand reached back, coming down into Brigitte's hair, "She's a good girl, very intelligent even if we don't always understand her. Intelligence is more than can be what's written down on paper and communicated in words."
"That's very true," Mitchell found himself grinning at a statement soaked in faith. He eyed Brigitte and her utterly perplexed expression; the gaze followed along the girl's arm, watching as her hand moved the hand resting on her head and took hold of it. Ever since she'd arrived in this foreign land, Brigitte had made every attempt to understand the people around her – by watching their behaviours, by listening to the tones of their voices, by judging their reactions, and by listening to her instinct. It hadn't let her down yet.
Brigitte had a mastery for the art of non verbal communication, that's how all of the movies she'd spend hours watching had been presented: silently.
"Mister Prime Minister," Armstrong's voice came out as he came to stand behind the man, a clipboard, "would you review her papers?"
"Of course."
Brigitte eyed the situation, narrowing her gaze in thought as she pieced together what was going on, "Wait a minute… am I being sold?" regardless if this woman would know what she was talking about or not, she was going to demand these answers as Mitchell scanned over the paperwork, "Am I getting sold into British slavery? Is that what's going on here? Am I going to have to clean your house and chimney and barn and things?"
The woman, still holding Brigitte's hand, glanced back as the indecipherable words came out, "Hmm?"
"Do the English actually take German girls to be their slaves?" her eyes narrowed as she thought aloud, "I told my sister that she was lying about that; I don't want her to be right. You should have taken a look at my room before buying me, because I'm obviously not very good at cleaning," Brigitte began ticking off her fingers, "I leave streaks on tables and windows, I can't reach all the shelves, I'm terrible at making beds, I don't know how to fluff pillows properly, I make terrible tea, and I'm even worse at cooking pastries. There are little girls out there who'd love to play house wife for you, why don't you go buy one of them and send me home?"
"Oh my silly child," was all that could be given in response. The warm hands came over Brigitte's cheeks again, and she received a soft kiss to the forehead.
Brigitte's eyes traveled up as far to her forehead as they could go, watching as the woman leaned away from her; a hand sweeping up to straighten the child's blonde hair.
"… Dammit…" Brigitte sank in the chair.
The woman turned away from Brigitte as she accepted the clipboard with the papers, her expression falling as she watched concern sweep over Mitchell's face.
"What happened to your eye?"
"I don't want to clean for anyone…" Brigitte muttered to herself, ignorant of the conversations around her, "I want to go home."
"Oh…" her hand came up, "before the additional troops arrived the other day, Drachma attempted to move into the township again…"
Mitchell grit his teeth, "I heard Drachma tried to move through again just before the second deployment arrived."
"… There were several of us caught in it. Though, I suppose if I'd been turned a little further I wouldn't have my eye at all. This will heal."
"You've had a doctor look at it?" he eyed the fresh bandage.
Standing not far behind Mitchell, Nina's interrogating gaze was far more critical than the Prime Minister was even considering.
"I did," she nodded, "one of the military doctors put the stitches on. When I arrived in Central, they replaced the bandage. Everyone involved has been more than kind."
"You're making that up," Nina scowled, the eyes of the room cascaded towards her, "you're just trying to take Brigitte away from us."
Ed nodded in thought, "Nina died just after I turned twelve. Several years later, Tucker used the Philosopher's Stone to perform a human transmutation on Nina. He turned a chimera into a replica of his daughter. She was an injustice; just some lifeless mind and body he kept around, he wasn't strong enough to attach her real soul. His mental state deteriorated pretty rapidly after that, he carried her around like she was some doll."
Pausing a moment to sort his thoughts, Hohenheim finally redirected his interrogation, "Winry, you were there when Lyra's body died. Who was with her that day?"
"Um…" Winry was suddenly as uncomfortable as Ed found himself, she'd gotten used to the fuzzy grandfather feel; she was ill prepared to be grilled by him, "a lot of people. I think Nina and the nurse were there for a while because Al told me they were getting adoption papers ready. Mr. Mitchell and Al arrived at the hospital at the same time, but Al got to the room with me after she died. I think she actually passed away when we were on our way upstairs, because there was a sudden panic in the hospital. They were all there when she died, lots of doctors and nurses too."
"And you said you saw Nina? Alphonse and yourself met Nina for the first time after Lyra had died?"
"Yeah, Al went in just after it happened and found Nina in the room, that's when he met her. When they came out she told us that Mrs. Mitchell had said mean things to Mr. Mitchell and it made him cry. She died shortly afterwards. She said that she was holding her hand while Mrs. Mitchell went through seizures," Winry scratched her head, trying to recall that far back, "I don't think she mentioned much else."
Mitchell could have grown a few more grey hairs from her words, "NINA," his voice came out harsher than he'd intended, but he did not intend to revoke them, "that's a rude thing to say. Apologize to her."
The wide eyes of the woman stared back at Nina as her scowl deepened, refusing to acknowledge Mitchell, "They don't even look alike."
Her words placed a stunned silence upon the adults.
"My nurse says that big ogre was a State Alchemist, just like she told me that guy who saw Brigitte that one day with Alphonse was once one too. She told me what kind of people you were. I bet they're conspiring to kidnap Brigitte cause she talks funny. Why else would a State Alchemist be involved?"
"Young lady," Armstrong's prowess stepped over the impudent child's, "I'm afraid you're not entirely correct. I am a senior official in military investigations; of course I'm involved."
"Liar!" Nina's tiny voice bit back.
Mitchell's last strand of tolerance had snapped, "Aisa! Take Nina to the car, drive her home, and put her to bed."
"You stupid old man!" Nina's feet stomped, but it was Aisa's hand that came down upon the tantrum throwing child's shoulder.
"That's enough Nina, show some respect," Aisa obvious frustration look out the aghast reactions of the people around them, trying to silence the child, "behave!"
"Don't touch me," Nina slapped the hand away and promptly spun away from another grip that looked to come down upon her other shoulder. Without warning, Nina suddenly tore off down the length of hallway.
"Nina!" Mitchell called out.
"Dammit," Aisa secured Diana in her arms, and took up fast pursuit.
Hohenheim slowly lowered himself into his favourite chair, his elbow coming to rest on the arm, cheek in hand, "Each time we enter a new host, we force the soul into submission. In a proper transfer transmutation, when we transfer out of the host, the suppressed soul is dispersed and the body dies. If Dante is in poor health, the transfer might not be clean. A few things might happen: the original soul may resurface rather than being killed off with the body, or the alchemists' ability to suppress the new soul is greatly diminished."
'We'
Winry's eyes cast away suddenly, stiffening to suppress the tremble pulsing through with each heartbeat. She followed the fabric weave in the cushion, trying to bring about calm; but her ears soaked up the words spilling out around her, each more horrific than its predecessor.
"Eternal life is not possible. There are only so many times we can transfer our souls before the soul itself deteriorates. The body deteriorates with the soul, becoming more rapid with each new host. Each time a new soul is suppressed, the deterioration accelerates and worsens if the underlying soul is not subdued properly. I suspect that's why Lyra's body rotted away so quickly, a poor or hasty transfer."
Winry wrapped her arms around her stomach; she was going to be sick. From the corner of her wide eyes she could see him; his lips continued to move. He was Ed's father, Ed accepted him, he'd been so nice to her, and obviously Mrs. Elric had loved him.
But he was some sort of monster.
Didn't anybody notice this? How could this not be important to anyone? The man spoke and Edward ingested the information like some studious and fascinated pupil. Like it was normal.
This wasn't normal, it was something else, an enormous something else.
Nina had the advantage of barely reaching four feet tall and used her height to dart around those who lingered in the halls. She continued to hear Aisa's voice cry out, pleading for her to stop.
The child tore down the flight of stairs, the braided pigtails flying out behind her as she took each step two at a time. Her polished shoes clicked with each step until she cleared the flight of stairs. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Nina turned her nose to the air, brushed her dress smooth and walked the length of the main floor hall; her fists clenched tight in childish protest.
"Nina!"
Nina clenched her eyes at the sound of her nurse's voice, "You said you'd ensure Brigitte wouldn't change hands! Did you change your mind?"
"Don't be silly," Aisa gathered her breath as she looked down to Nina, "but this was a mess from the start; we didn't know. You know as well as I do that its Brigitte's existence here that's important, not Brigitte herself."
"Of course I know this," Nina scowled, "but there must have been some way for us to keep her. I liked playing with her hair; it was soft."
"I don't see how either of us are in a position to…" Aisa's voice trailed off; her eyes catching two figures at the end of the hall, stepping through the entrance doors.
Straightening, Aisa cast a critical eye down the hallway. The approaching footsteps echoed in the silence while the late evening hue glowing in from the glass doors slowly revealed the guests. Unsettled whispers floated between the two as they watched their two guests smile upon them.
"… What the hell is she doing here?"
"… Why are they together?"
"Then the nurse's body is going to rot away quickly too. If she was sick in a hospital bed to do the transmutation, she couldn't have been in good health."
"No…" Hohenheim derailed Edward's train of thought, "the transfer from Lyra to her new host is clean, and I would not doubt that this new body will last far longer than her others."
Edward's confused stare trailed over to Winry, only to find that she would not return his gaze. Her attention was cast aside, unresponsive and silent. The lingering concern about how distant she seemed carried in his thoughts as he refocused on the deep curiosity he had for his father's information.
"You just said it gets harder to suppress a soul the more times you change bodies, plus the soul itself is rotting away."
Hohenheim stood up from his chair and moved sharply over to where Edward sat. He swatted away the feet the young man had placed on the table, and sat down where the heels had once been placed. Much to Ed's utter dismay, the old man reached out and took a firm grip of his son's hands, "How many hands do you have, Edward?"
Ed sat silent, his eyes wide in confusion, wondering what the hell the man thought he was getting at, "Two…"
'One' may have been the truth, but 'two' was the answer.
The moment of disapproval flashed away from Aisa's eyes, clearing the complexion so that it could carry her smile in response, "There must be a master puppeteer out there playing with our threads. We keep meeting, Mrs. Hughes."
"Isn't it strange, we've met here twice already," Gracia giggled as she, and her guest, were besieged by two sets of eyes that interrogating them. Gracia looked to her company, "I should introduce you. This is Prime Minister Mitchell's nanny, Aisa, and this is his daughter, Nina Mitchell. Ladies, this is Roze Thomas, she's an acquaintance of mine from out of town."
Aisa extended her hand, "It's a pleasure."
"Likewise," Roze smiled, but did not take her hand.
Glancing at her watch, Gracia's curiosity filtered through, "It's past sundown, what are you two doing here so late at night?"
"They took my friend Brigitte away! They sent her off with some lady…" Nina's arms folded in a pout, turning sharply away with the firm stomp of her feet.
Gracia's gaze softened, her hands clasping as she looked down, "Now Nina, I'm sure there's a good reason. She wasn't always going to be able to stay with you forever, after all. You were just helping."
Aisa held Roze in her gaze, and did not turn away when the young woman confronted her.
"I'm sorry, was there something…?"
"No," Aisa's reply was quick, "I was just enamoured. Your skin tone, and your eyes… you can't be Ishibalan… but, are you from Lior?"
"'She held her hand', isn't that what Winry said Nina had spoken?"
Ed's eyes narrowed, "… Yeah…"
"It would be impossible for Dante to do the soul transmutation with that many people tending to her, they'd all notice. It would have been done before her vital signs plummeted, which leaves her alone with Nina and their nurse."
Squirming uneasily as he sunk into his corner of the couch, Ed watched as his father's hands clasped over his good left hand.
"Then Lyra suffered a seizure and died."
His words were slow, "That's right."
"The other hand was held undoubtedly by Mr. Mitchell since he views himself as her husband. Lyra's body did not die immediately after the transfer, so the soul began to resurface and spoke with Mitchell… to make him 'cry'."
Edward's discomfort and curiosity conflicted; but his father's words held him riveted. Between the two, Hohenheim displayed the grasp he had of his son's hand.
"This right hand is held by the Prime Minister, and this left one his held by Nina. Which of the two available females do you suppose was able to clasp her hands around Lyra Mitchell's hand long enough for a pulse to be sent through her nervous system…"
"Oh," the question lifted her unease, "yes, I am."
Nina's voice suddenly broke above all else, "You're a lady from Lior?"
The topic suddenly became uneasy again. Roze wondered silently if all the people of Ishibal felt as though they were spectacles of society too.
"Yes… your name was 'Nina'?"
"Yes, Ma'am," the childish fit Gracia tried to tame was suddenly lost, a wave of excitement suddenly swept over her behaviour, "I've never met anyone from Lior before. You have pretty hair!"
Roze could only laugh, "Thank you, Nina. That's very sweet of you to say."
"I'm glad I could meet you, Ms. Roze!" Nina's hand flew out wide for a handshake.
Roze's giggles continued, "That's so sweet, I'm glad to meet you too," she took the child's tiny hand into hers, "Mr. Mitchell must be absolutely delighted by you."
"Thank you," Nina's tantalizing grin grew across her face as the free left hand moved up to clasp around the handhold she secured with Roze.
"… Until she died of a seizure…"
Silent, Ed paled.
"… To stop her former shell from talking."
Ed's eyes latched onto Winry as she stood up. She moved swiftly out of the room, not a word nor a glance given to anyone.
The boy's lips moved slowly as the gold gaze followed the girl exiting the room, "To stop her from telling everyone what had happened…"
He watched; looking towards the hall Winry had vanished into. Even her shadow quickly disappeared from the wall. He held the confusion subdued in his thoughts while his mind came to focus once again; Ed slowly brought his attention back around to his father as the elder man returned the borrowed hand.
"Even if my hands were that small, all I'd need to do is touch my fingers to complete the circle."
"Roze?" Gracia's voice took Roze's attention and she rose to her feet, pulling away from Nina.
An unseen moment of wicked displeasure crossed Nina's eyes. The fingers on Nina's left hand curled like a cat's claw, flicking her wrist with a weak swipe at the airspace she'd once held the hand in. Her tiny arms dropped away at her sides as she returned her attention to the conversation.
"We were supposed to meet up with them at quarter to nine, we're going to be late."
Roze leaned forwards and swept one of Nina's pigtails over her shoulder as she moved to join Gracia, "I'm sorry Nina, we'll talk again sometime, alright? I'm sure we'll get a chance to visit again."
Nina's tongue clicked off the roof of her mouth before flashing a bright smile for the two departing women, "That's fine, I'm sure we'll see each other again soon!"
The tiny left hand, dangling at her side, twitched in frustration of an unfinished task.
"Nina…"
It was the basis for disgust; hadn't that child's existence been violated enough?
"You should have told me Nina's state to begin with. Dante is not a stupid woman; she saw the empty shell of a child that would require so little effort for her to enter into. The rotting of the child's body would be substantially diminished because there is no soul to suppress."
A child, who'd never grown old enough to commit one, had become immortalized as a weaver of sins.
"Only Sensei would know about Dante's existence… but she doesn't know about Lyra, not even Nina. The only people who might are Tucker and any of the remaining homunculus."
This woman; who'd ruined he and his brother, who'd vanquished his father, who'd scarred a life long companion, who'd decimated the existences of so many over time, walked around with the façade of a child. She walked around free, continually weaving the strings of other people's futures.
"When you look at the face of a little girl, how much blood could you fathom she has on her hands?"
It would have been quick and painless; now if only her gaze could kill as well, the women who walked away from her would never know what had happened.
"Aisa," Nina's cold eyes followed the women until they disappeared up the stairs, her voice carrying low, "have you heard any word back from Ishibal?"
"Nothing affirmative, but the damage was extensive," the nurse followed Nina's gaze down the hall, their voices created no echo in the hallow tunnel, "Drachma took no prisoners."
"Send someone to look into a survivor list for Ishibal, I want to make sure they're no longer around. I don't need anyone else in my way again."
"Of course."
The harsh gaze brought on by compounding frustrations turned up to her nurse, "Has the Tucker operation come to pass?"
"Yes," Aisa nodded slowly, "yesterday."
"Was he found?"
"Wrath, you mean?" the longer Aisa paused, the more she could feel the frustrated aura grow, "he vanished during the seige."
"Send them back," Nina bit back at the response.
Aisa found herself in a surprised stutter, "but… Miss…"
Nina jarred her body around; it was a vicious gaze and a threatening tone that strangled her underling, "Send them back, the wretched thing should be easy to kill, he's probably in the latter forms of digression by now, he hasn't had any red stones in nearly eight months. After all he's been through, they should have depleted by now."
Silence was the affirmative reply, and Nina returned to marching forward again. Her tiny hands slipped up into her curls and she gain swept the childish decorations off her shoulders, "Are they on their way back to Central?"
Aisa followed, her voice held submissive, "The last two trains were to Central, there won't be anything heading out of Xenotime for a while."
"Ensure that they are indeed returning and not running amok."
"Of course."
The child's uncaring gaze watched as a curl returned to dancing on her shoulder, "Remind me to secure a wire out to my two friends. Central City is gathering people with curious minds. They should be put to rest."
"Miss," Aisa came to a stop, watching as Nina continued to move forwards, "you're letting the situation weigh on you too much, it was the best we could do given the circumstances."
"Oh I know, and I know that it will be inconsequential soon enough," for a moment, the corners of the child's lips curled up, "in some ways, this was a better solution than I'd have anticipated. Though, I do miss having daily access to that foolish old man's office."
The nurse threw out a lifeline of encouragement, "I think we have something more interesting to concentrate on now, wouldn't you say?"
Nina stopped, entertained by the braid that continued to dance over her shoulder, she wove her finger through it. The finger was so tiny, she loved it. And she giggled; the voice she now controlled sounded every bit like a child's. Her own voice continued to tickle her ears and she laughed. It was a child's laugh, a sweet, young voice playing in the air space.
She'd bled it of its innocence.
"Ma'am, earlier… was that sort of tantrum really necessary?"
"Aisa, I haven't been younger than twenty five in centuries, I am allowed to throw a tantrum however and whenever I please. Do not critique my behaviour," Nina's left hand swept out to dismiss an idea she'd come to change her mind on, "they can keep Envy's gift, I don't particularly care anymore; she serves no practical use other than being the proudest trophy in my collection," her tiny fingers teased the bangs sitting on her forehead, "and I can do without trophies, as much as I'd love to look at her day in and out."
Her footsteps picked up again, with Aisa's soon to follow. The final soaking of evening sunlight cast dark shadows over the pair, what remained seen for colour became drenched in a fiery orange from the last gasp of a setting sun, "Even if they do solve her puzzle, it's not as though they will ever know enough to understand the importance until I'm finished."
Aisa's arm reached the door before the tiny arm of the body below her, pushing it open for the tiny mistress.
"My dear, old Envy, I'm enamoured by you," a giggle carried softly in the little voice; her footsteps created more volume than her words, but nothing could over power the substance,
"Only you could have remembered an idea of two ancient fools. How could you have imagined that I'd be interested in this after so long? You are far more daring than your bastard father has ever been; even he refused to confirm the existence of life beyond the gate for us. I'm sorry I didn't recognize your gift sooner, but I can see it now. Please, make yourself present for the blooms of the seeds you've planted. You won't be disappointed."
It had been years past since the seeds for the future were planted.
A rogue seed, an ageless seed - one for all eternity. It continued to rot in a festering, malevolent shell. Forthcoming from a solitary night, the decision was rendered to once again exert a merciless fury on a people, a society, and, so importantly, a man he did not care for. For this, the upper hand was not only his to possess, it was his to orchestrate.
The eyes of the devil gazed coldly from behind the mask, smirking in thought.
To Be Continued...
Author's Notes
Dante and Envy work evil even if they aren't together.
So many freakin characters… and I can't leave them out (especially Roze!) cause they're so important. There's going to be a party in Central City soon enough, good thing I know where it's going to be held ;3
"Wow, Ed was uncharacteristically open with Winry." – I think Ed appreciates Winry's presence and he's going to convey that through a level of trust and confidence he places in her. I keep reinforcing the idea he's spent the last five years with no one but his father, and now he has someone he's known for as long as he can remember; he's going to be a little clingy, protective, and place all he has left for trust in her because she is the only thing over there he knows he can trust… even if she does go for dinner with Albrecht X3;;
No photograph yet! And poor Brigitte is so confused. Remember, Brigitte is in italics because she speaks German and not English.
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