He Who Searches for Himself
Once upon a time, a traveler from a far off land and a great philosopher had come to meet. One man possessed great power, the other possessed great knowledge. Their voices became one for the first time and, from that fabled encounter, a new dawn was brought forth.
'I had no idea herbs could be manipulated in such a way,' fawned the traveler in awe.
'I had no idea alchemy could behave in such a manner,' cheered the philosopher in delight.
Each man spent days at the other's ear, sharing words of wisdom that eclipsed the others.
'I stand in your world somewhat humbled, Great Philosopher. My knowledge is nothing beyond sparse compared to your wisdom and profound abilities. I truly came unprepared for our encounter,' the traveler lamented.
'My young man,' cheered the philosopher, 'you have shared with me wisdom that my children's children will know the benefits of. You are far too harsh on yourself.'"
The traveler raised his head – an idea overtaking him.
'May I be so bold as to make a proposal, Great Philosopher?'
'By all means,' the wise man encouraged.
'I shall take my leave of you now and cradle in my heart all that which you have given me,' explained the traveler, 'I shall return to my land with these riches and share what I have learned with my people. I will request of my peers the procurement of our knowledge so that each time our paths may cross, new knowledge can be exchanged between our kinds.'
'An equivalent exchange?' questioned the philosopher.
'That is my proposal,' was the travelers response, 'for you have the methods to which our knowledge may be applied.'
'With open arms I will await your return, and shall too work towards perfection of theses sciences for both our nations.'
Chapter 78 – Rebellious Ignorant
Why was it so much more enthralling, and obviously time consuming, to sit at this poorly lit desk and glare at this poorly written alchemy sigil, than it was to drown in all the other information? The conclusion seemed to always return to: because it was a mystery. Mysteries are always so much more tantalizing and invigorating than easy pickings.
The permanently established sigil upon a German sect floor was grotesque. It was constructed with a plethora of understanding, completed deconstruction, but completely failed at reconstruction. At points, the sigil was deliberately designed to seek an alternative outlet for reconstruction. In a desperate attempt to fulfill its intended purpose it would rebound and devour the alchemist. The mind, body, and soul would be unceremoniously torn apart in no particular order. The power flow would just be desperately grabbing for whatever it could get and ultimately never getting enough. No amount of life force could ever be provided to satisfy whatever this sigil was meant to do.
Ed continued to question it, though. If this sigil was meant to do something, what would it do? That question was a greater mystery than realizing it essentially did nothing at all. There wasn't the slightest indication that it had a functional purpose beyond being 'pretty fancy to look at'.
Edward frowned at the sheet. It made him queasy thinking about what attempting to control something like that might feel like. Leaning over it a little further he narrowed his gaze as a curious thought crossed into his mind – a thought that was unceremoniously interrupted by two stealth hands that came down past his ears to rest on the desktop.
"Fascinating."
Ed glanced to the intrusive flesh, "Bugger off, Thomas. Who let you in?"
"Who would you assume let me in?"
Rolling his eyes, Ed moved to remove the sheet from the table top, but missed his mark when Thomas beat him to it. He turned over his shoulder, watching the Englishman hold the sheet cautiously by its corners.
"Yes, fascinating."
Unimpressed, Ed's tone rose at the intrusion, "It doesn't fascinate you at all. You even tried to scare Winry the way you tried to scare me off."
Without qualifying the statement, Thomas released the paper from his fingers and allowed it float down to the floor, "Why are you doing this Edward Elric?"
Scoffing, Ed reached down for the paper, but found himself unable to reclaim it as Thomas placed his foot over it. He glowered up from below his brow, "Don't say my name like you think you're my father or something.
Using the tip of his foot, Thomas slid the paper away from his verbal jousting partner, "I thought we came to an understanding on this a long time ago, that's why I invited you to accompany me on campus – so you could see other avenues to channel your knowledge through," the man gave a disappointed sigh, "you're smart, Edward. Really brilliant; I watched you make an entire theatre of senior science students sound like schoolchildren without a day of classroom education, yet bury your intelligence in fictitious alchemy. It makes you seem a little mad and I'm quite certain you are not," Shaking his head, the Englishman couldn't clear the befuddled expression, "Did the Germans convince you this was an acceptable waste of your time?"
"Do you people ever run out of things to blame the Germans for?" Ed stood up, stomping his good foot down on the remaining portions of exposed paper, "just go home and play with your kid."
Thomas's brow knotted and the man lowered his gaze over his shorter counterpart, "You sound like a sympathizer."
"Guess what, Tommy," Ed chirped his words. He stiffened his shoulders and, extending his back to challenge the man who did not seem to be as tall as he once used to be, said "I would have to care about some fragment of this world to sympathize with it and I don't. Get out."
"You try very hard not to care about anything around you, don't you Edward?" the Englishman tilted his head, allowing the gaze to slide down the bridge of his nose, "you didn't even care enough to come to Julie's funeral."
Wishing he could spit in the man's face, Ed disengaged the staring contest, left the paper etching to the floor and abruptly turned back to the desk, "I was in Rome. You can't get from Rome to London that quickly and I didn't know she'd died until later anyways."
Thomas reached down and retrieved the sheet of paper from the floor, "You never said a word to anyone when you'd left. I thought you'd at least do her the courtesy of saying goodbye."
"I had no plans to say goodbye to anyone and I had no plans to have to come back here either," Ed looked away while running a memory through his mind. He turned around sharply, resting his backside against the front edge of the desk.
Thomas's hand came up with the bastardized sheet of paper. His gaze running over the deliberately plotted lines that meant nothing to him, "So, now what will you do? Continue to expand on this nonsense and play around with all these unknown things you hide in your possessions."
"That's the general plan," Ed nodded affirmatively, stepping out and snatching the sheet of paper back with the sharp flick of his wrist. He held it up at eye level, looking over the sigil as he walked back to the desk to replant himself.
What a lurid nightmare this sigil in his hand was; much more of a nuisance than Thomas, but entirely silent about it, thankfully.
"What does it do?"
Surprised, Ed looked up, "What?"
"That alchemy symbol," through nearly tight lips, Thomas gnawed on the question, "you'd told me once how you can customize symbols to behave in certain ways. What does that particular one do?"
"Um, nothing you'd like. Nothing I'd like," he raised an eyebrow at it before turning the image around and holding it up for the man to see, "you're a religious man, Thomas. Your God really wouldn't like this idea; this kind of alchemy would make him reel. I haven't a clue what its intended purpose is, but if anyone tried to use it for something, all you would see is someone disintegrating and vanishing before your eyes. You'd be scared and completely ignorant about what you'd just witnessed, but your God would understand what had actually happened," he took a step closer to Thomas, his voice dipping low and grave, "his precious man would have been ripped apart at the fibers of his being. That man's mind, body, soul, and all the ties that bind him would be torn down, consumed, and thrown at a crossing in life's journey that neither takes him to heaven nor hell. Normally, his soul would be absorbed and used as fuel for another kind of life in a subsequent realm, but with this…"
Edward suddenly stopped himself. Something within his mind told him to narrow his focus and stop the train of thought before it moved too fast. Slowly, Ed's brow rose again and he could feel his heart trip up as it began to race. He turned the sheet around again to look at the configuration more closely. Wildly he ran projections, computations, assumptions, theories, and outcomes through his mind.
"… There would be too much to digest. It would probably choke," lost in his thought, his shoulder slowly fell and his eyes widened as he spoke to himself, "… are you serious?"
Thomas was left standing without a word for his verbal sparring partner. The Englishman watched as Edward turned the paper around, flipped it over, spun it upside down, and held it up over his head.
"That is disgusting, Edward Elric," the unwelcome addition to the room finally spoke, "these things you're playing with, they have no place in this King's country."
"Oh, I agree," he answered swiftly, all the while his gaze continued to pierce into the fibers of the sheet of paper in his hand as he began a slow inquisition of the ludicrous and disturbing idea in his fingers, "my dad comes in early tomorrow morning, right? I'll ask him if we can leave and I'll take my ideas with me. Put in a good word for me, okay?"
The bustling halls seemed to stretch forever throughout the building. Every blue-dressed military official moved through the hall either chattering with a companion or locked in silence within his or her own thoughts. They all seemed so disinterested in what moved outside their own bubble. The allowance of Central Headquarters to be divided equally between military and government officials created a mix of society's people. Security was in mild shambles and still not certain how to proceed for fear of creating strife between the two distinct factions. At this point in time, no one would question an extra face and Izumi Curtis was the only face of the travelling lot that could not be distinctly recognized walking through Central headquarters.
With her hair down and dressed in a simple burgundy peddler's dress picked up from a market on their way into town, Izumi continued her march through the building. The group had arrived in Central early that morning and Izumi's instructions to start the day were simple. The outcome would be predictable provided she abstained from using any alchemy to turn the building into her own rendition of modern art. For the sake of everyone involved, Izumi had no intention of creating an utter mess like the last time she'd barged into a federal building.
Stopping in yet another hall she'd been freely allowed to wander down, the woman confirmed the room number written down and gave a firm knock to the door with her ring-bearing hand.
"Enter."
Without flinching, Izumi did just that.
"Can I help you?" the voice came without looking up.
The teacher's abrasive voice broke out, "This is supposed to be the office of Brigadier General Roy Mustang and you are not him."
The structured face of Hakuro snapped up a narrowed gaze at the intrusive woman, "He is no longer in this office. What business do you have here?"
The woman's hands came to her hips; her voice as firm and powerful as ever, "His office is in charge of the investigation, reconstruction, and restoration for the main Central Market group. Myself and other families are looking for the compensation promised by this office that has not been delivered by your establishment. Our own funds are nearly gone and we have children to feed and clothe. Unless you plan on putting diapers on our babies and food on our tables, you need to get me the person in charge of this issue now."
"Who let you in here?" Hakuro abruptly questioned her with a mixture of ire and panic seeping into his tone.
"No one. I walked in," ironically, it was the only piece of truth Izumi would speak, "who the hell are you?"
Clearing his throat, Hakuro quickly scraped together a method of expelling this woman who'd unlawful entered a government office. The last thing he wanted was for it to become public knowledge that a member of the general public had actually been able to enter this far into a government facility, "I am Major General Hakuro and I can't help your situation at the moment, unfortunately. I'm not the individual you need to speak with. But, I can set you up with an appointment agent who can arrange for you to sit down with one of our compensation workers and irons things out."
"That lazy twit you have working in appointments turned me away. You think I'm going to trust her to actually complete the job just on your say so?" Izumi threw some snap into her tone, "If I leave this office without any type of satisfaction, I can guarantee our families won't be getting any of our promised compensation and I will not stand to let that happen Mister Major General Hakuro," Izumi took a delightful pleasure from watching the man boil as she berated him, "at least the last occupant of the office did me the courtesy of snagging some useful four-eyed thing who did up papers and got us store tickets. Those are about to run out. I want to work that arrangement with her again."
Moving from his desk, Hakuro played along with the situation, extending a casual arm towards the office door to escort his intruder out, "If I can get her name, I can certainly try and set you up. Believe me when I say that ensuring that the Central Market and all its resident retailers are well taken care of is a high priority issue."
"But it's not your problem," Izumi's eyes rolled.
"It is a problem," the man fought to keep his cool, "it just doesn't fall into my sphere of influence. We have some good people taking care of that, just give them a little time," taking hold of the door handle, one of the highest ranking officers in the complex opened the door for Izumi and gingerly escorted her into the hallway, "If we're running short on time, then there's no need to create a mountain out of a mole hill. If you'd like to deal with the same people you dealt with before, I can arrange it."
She could have giggled with how amicable he was trying to be. Turning herself around to look the general square-on as he deliberately accompanied her out of the office, probably to ensure she didn't burst back in on him, "I had this young four-eyed girl named Schezque or something working the issue and she gave me nice little Band-Aids for the problem," Izumi swung her arms up and crossed them at her chest, "If she's still kicking around, I'd like her to get us another box of Band-Aids, please and thank you Major General Hakuro."
"I should be able to find someone with a name like that. I'll check the department rosters…" sighing, Hakuro seemed reluctant to take more than three steps away from the office door; deliberately standing between the office and the steadfast woman, "If you head back over to the desk on the second floor, I will give a call around to a few departments, see where she turns up, and have her sent over to Appointments to give you a hand."
"Oh no you don't!" Izumi's hands came crashing to her sides; she had no idea where the heck Appointments was on the second floor. Raising a pointed finger at the man, the adlibbed tirade continued, "I'll get myself over there and someone will say they have no idea what's going on and I'll have to haul my ass back here to raise more of an issue than what this needs to be."
"Ma'am you need to understand-"
"No, I've done my share of understanding. You think I like scrounging for money and pawning my things so I can afford the basics in my life!" she watched Hakuro grow un easy and she began to realize there were people in the hall watching her little escapade, "I don't have the luxury of your paycheque to pamper my ass with. If you're going to call around to track down this girl for me, I'm going to stand right here until she shows up, then I don't have to track you down again and make a scene when she doesn't appear. I know how you government types function – pawn off your problems. Perfect bureaucracy," Izumi wrinkled her nose, calmed her voice and re-folded her arms. Her tone was adjusted to contain a touch of sweetener, "I assure you, when she shows up here I'll be out of your way. Promise."
Hakuro sighed, the absolute last thing he wanted on his plate today was a public relations disaster, and the louder her voice got, the more it was becoming one. Ears and eyes were sneaking peeks at the event. The thought of having to explain away why security had to haul out a screaming victim of the Central Market fiasco would be glorious fodder for anyone looking for more reasons to cause issues for this new regime. Everyone in the nation was growing aware of the bureaucratically charged messes that bogged down many of the ongoing efforts in areas that stretched far beyond the Central Market – trials and tribulations of a new government, or so people were told.
Raising a hand to rub over the back of his neck, the officer relented. At least the woman would be in the hall and not interrupting him in the office. It would be quicker to summon someone to this location anyways, and as long as the woman was satisfied with someone beyond himself helping her out, he would take it with a grain of salt.
"You'll have to be patient, she may be on break or involved in a task."
"I will create patience out of my worn out patience if you're going to get the job done for me," Izumi gave a careless shrug, leaning her hind-side against the wall across from the door. She did indeed have patience, a great deal of it if it would get this job done. What was lacking was time. Izumi sincerely hoped that standing around, waiting to pass along a message in a bottle, wouldn't put a crimp in everything.
A pleased grin showed up in her expression when she heard Hakuro lock the door behind him upon re-entry of the room. She glanced down through the ends of the hall, watching as the curious onlookers dispersed into their workdays.
'Hm, I bet Mustang'll have kittens when he finds out he's been expelled from his office…' she thought.
The voices could be heard street side, though muffled by walls and doors into incoherent shouting. A passerby might stop to wonder what could have a house up in such a frenzy; it didn't matter though, it wasn't their house to fuss over, so they would just keep walking. The warm billowing of heat escaping from a burning fireplace was a little thicker and a little darker than normal – but nothing beyond ordinary. And then the voices flared up again; it was as though the walls of the house yelled at the neighbourhood. The voices that gave the walls inanimate life thundered around in the middle of winter.
"WHAT! You're just going to let him DO THAT!" Edward's voice tore out, flustered and irate. Unable to throw himself free without a second arm, Ed had been restrained by his father; a strong right hand holding his good arm while the man's left hand held firmly at the back of Ed's fully buttoned shirt.
Charles Wilson added a handful of papers to the fireplace.
Just as it had happened years before, Thomas had alerted the doctor about Edward's interests in alchemy. And again Hohenheim held back his vile son, watching the days of work burn in the fireplace.
"Do not make this worse. You can rewrite your notes, Edward," the father spoke low, with only enough effort for his son to hear.
"Say that a bit louder!" livid, Edward pushed away into the hallway, rather than continuing his charge into the core of the household, "say that a bit louder so the good doctor can hear I'm not the only nut job under the roof. SAY IT."
Hohenheim let his glasses slide down his nose a little farther, casting his retaliatory gaze over Ed's torrent voice and refusing to engage him verbally.
"Maybe if he went through your things instead of my things he'd get to see it," the youngest man in the room threw his left arm out wildly, "your name is even in the goddamned book!" his hand swung to point accusingly at his father, but his voice continued to be projected throughout the house. His raised index finger continued to flail around the hall while his words were deliberately sent tumbling in Doctor Wilson's direction, "The teaching thing is all a cover, because he's a better alchemist than me!"
The elder father's brow lowered sharply, "Edward…"
"And YOU," Ed spun back to challenge Hohenheim's call of his name face-to-face, "are a shitty ass, pathetic excuse for a father!"
"… Shut up."
"WHY!" Ed threw his voice around angrily; there was nothing more that he was able to do about any of this beyond yell, "No one seems to listen to what I have to say! Everyone here has always seemed to think that I'm either a problem on two legs or a couple cards short of a full deck, and for SOME reason they think they all know how to set me right," his voice sharply pitched with disdain and mockery of the British accent, "Poor old Hohenheim got stuck with that foul Edward. What a burden that boy must be some days. Don't think I haven't heard these people say that about me before."
Drawing a deep breath in through clenched teeth, Hohenheim inflated his chest bound with folded arms, casting his shadow a little more prominently over his son, "Are you deliberately trying to turn this day inside out, Edward?"
The vile son beamed with malice, "YES, I am! He's burning my research and you're stopping ME, not HIM!"
"Can you finish making noise sometime soon, Edward?" Charles' voice ran through the house, annoyed and empty of patience again.
Ed's hand slapped down against his side, "See? Not listening."
"I have no problems with my listening skills Mr. Elric, and I'm certainly glad that your father has enough sense to know which one of us is in the wrong here. Though, you are acting like quite the child, again. I wish someone would treat you like one - throw you over his knee and tan your backside red with his belt," his gaze cast over Hohenheim as the father of the howling son gave a darkened warning glance in return. With every footstep Charles took, the man's stiff voice came marching down the hall towards Edward, "what book is this you're mentioning? That's the second or third time you've referred to a book and I didn't see any book belonging to you or your father when I swept my house for your craft."
As though playing to a crowd, Edward began to laugh. It was so hearty and contrived that the bitter taste in his sound gave the two elder men cause to tighten their expressions, "I don't know what you're talking about! I have no book for you to burn!"
Slowly, Hohenheim's hands rose to his face, slipping under his glasses to give a deep rub to his eyes. He was going to have an uncompromising headache; he could feel it coming.
Charles' face narrowed, fighting to keep his voice in check – his throat was already sore from earlier, "I think Germany has made you more belligerent than before you left. I will not tolerate your shenanigans under my roof, I know you are aware of that, and hiding it in your belongings doesn't change that."
Ed rolled his eyes and refused to acknowledge the memories of this place he tried hard to purge, "You know, there are famous people in your recent history who tried to understand alchemy and I don't see you chastising them! They're even included in your education system!"
"Those men were from a different time and a much less modern era. We're far wiser now than we were before, so those men's ignorance can be forgiven," with each few words he strung together, Charles' voice rose, "your actions cannot, because you are neither stupid nor ignorant. You are a fool. You acknowledge alchemy to be a useless science, yet you continue to construct these ridiculous things and ideas as though you're hoping something may change," the doctor's voice dropped to the floor, "you make no sense. So, the nonsense will be discarded and you will use your brain to find something else to do with your spare time," Charles' eyes slipped from the boiling man to his unsettlingly frozen father, "won't he, Hohenheim?"
There was no response.
Ed snorted, the bridge of his nose knotted up as his face contorted, "This from a guy who bases his actions on instructions created from a fear-mongering interpretation of a convoluted work of fiction that talks about people who did unreal and ridiculous things hundreds of years ago. I do not see how I'm the one who's the fool."
Steeped with serious warning, Hohenheim's voice finally rose up, "Edward Elric, that's enough from you."
The announcement of his name by his father was the cue for the son to step up to a tumultuous line drawn in the sand, "Oh come on, don't tell me you haven't been itching to tell any one of these prawns a good reason why God doesn't exist?"
The conversation would end there. Without another verbal warning, Edward found himself lurched around by a hand that suddenly appeared; taking firm hold of him at the front of his shirt. He blinked into the startled realization that he was nose to nose with his father.
"I think it's time you took a walk," the father's stone voice instructed.
Ed's eyes narrowed, his voice lowering, "I told you I hated this place. I told you over and over…" he found himself surprisingly off balance as the hand with his shirt beneath his chin drove him backwards towards the house's entry way, "and over and over…'
"Come back when you can keep your tongue down and we can have a proper conversation," the father's voice matched low and so deep that it vibrated around them as though the pair stood together within an oil drum. Hohenheim's free hand ripped Edward's coat from the closet as he marched his son towards the door.
Ed didn't care if his father had wanted to keep the doctor from hearing their words or not, his voice again rose loud and coarse, "You're just too busy bending over and letting this place have its way with you. Too afraid to have these people think that you're more screwed up than your kid," Edward's good left hand come to firmly grip the hand at his chest, though it could offer no real challenge.
Hohenheim released his son without warning and watched as he stumbled at the closed door, "You know where I stand and what my answers are. Throwing a fit won't change that," the elder Elric created a free hand by throwing the coat over his shoulder and returned his attention squarely to Edward, "I am extremely picky when it comes to the battles I choose to take on in this world. Some fights just aren't worth it."
Ed opened his mouth to speak, but ended up startling as the hand Hohenheim had him with returned. The towering father reached beyond his son and threw open the front door. Ed planted his feet in defiance, spat out a slew of profanity, but Edward ultimately managed to accomplish nothing beyond further frustrate and infuriate the contents of the house, all the while allowing the cold winter air to drain in at everyone's feet. Ed's hand fought with the fist that had hold of his shirt, but eventually lost the entire battle at the door when Hohenheim lurched his son up off his feet with the power in his monstrous right arm and forcefully placed Ed outside the front door.
The obstinate Elric had tried to remain standing, but the wooden leg did not cooperate, and Ed found himself flat on his ass on the front walkway. Before even being able to get his bearings again, Edward was digging out from beneath the coat that had been thrown over him. Fumbling to his feet, and eyeballing the more than delighted doctor standing in the shadows of the house behind his father, Ed pulled himself up straight and sharply threw his coat over his shoulders. He stood a moment on the walkway, staring back at the exterior of the building that his outbursts had caused him to be evicted from. For that moment, all three men finally wore silence. Without another word, Ed turned and marched himself down the walkway, unfazed by the sound of the door slamming shut behind him. He would give no one the pleasure of being forced to ask to return. Without bothering to do up his coat, Ed dropped his good hand sharply into his left pocket and continued to walk away.
The entire summer could pass by like this and Pinako wouldn't mind. She was neither a farmer nor a rancher, so the constant sunshine was grand. The sun lit the countryside, gave way to warm evening shadows, and generally was the most naturally pleasant thing about where she lived. The fans would run to keep things cool indoors, the neighbours were too far away to notice if the heat caused her to dress a little unsightly, and as much as she loved her granddaughter, it was days like this that she appreciated how Winry had other interests that would allow her to enjoy this day all to herself.
Den suddenly barked.
Pinako grinned to herself. She couldn't forget to include the dog in the day's enjoyment.
Den barked again and it woke the baby the animal protected.
Pinako glared at the wall, unimpressed by the fraying coming loose around the edges of the day.
Den barked again and again. It was the 'someone new is at the door' bark. Pinako chomped down on the stem in her mouth and threw on something presentable as she flew through the upper floor of the house. Dropping a bottle in for the baby, and stomping down the stairs from her second floor workroom, she was finally able to hear the knock on the door that had her dog all out of sorts.
"Hold your horses, I'm coming. Don't anger my dog. Damn it all."
She marched to the door and unlatched the hook. Nobody shows up on days like today; it was simply rude. Everyone in the country knew that. It must be a buffoon from out of town, since it was simply too hot for normal or knowledgeable customers to show up in the mid-day sun. She'd thought about saying something in a sarcastic tone along the lines of 'what can I do for you today?' or some other pleasant words in a crude tone, but when she finally opened the door she suddenly wielded a very scripted response.
"I have no interest in assisting the government or military today. I have no donations to provide. There is no one in this house to conscript. You will leave my property now. Good day."
"I'm sorry ma'am," the voice was as generic sounding as the young man's face was to look at. At the AutoMail engineer's door stood two young, clean cut, freshly shaven, identically dressed men, "but we have a warrant to search this property."
That was a new catch line for a uniformed officer at her doorstep. This time it wasn't a military officer delivering a message to her door; it was a government officer that, along with the statement, ensnared the old woman's undivided attention, "A search warrant? For here?" she pulled open the door, "what on earth for?"
"It's printed in the warrant, Ma'am," came the other generic voice as he handed her the folded wad of legal papers, "may we enter?"
"Boy, I may not be a proponent of all the laws of this land but I am still a law abiding citizen," she stepped away from the door, unfolding the paper bundle, "if the law says you have to enter, then that's what'll happen. I really have no idea what you want from here though."
"Evidence, Ma'am."
Pinako snorted, almost choking on her pipe, "Obviously."
The two men entered and made their way slowly through the main room as the grandmother curled her nose and tightened her brow at the documents she held, "I hate legal papers. Just tell me what matter involves my house?"
Perhaps these young men were twins, or close brothers, because neither showed any particularly distinguishing features from each other. The one stepped away from the mantle as the other approached the staircase.
"I asked a question of the two of you," Pinako snarled, allowing herself to grow annoyed at the intrusion.
"It's for an ongoing criminal investigation, Ma'am. You've been advised."
Pinako could have thrown her pipe at the officer, "Yes, in a document full of fancy speak, young man. I am a mechanic not a legal assistant."
The one officer continued upstairs while the other remained on the main floor, looking over to the stout woman who bubbled at a low simmer, "Lieutenant Jean Havoc has been charged with the abduction of a minor, falsification of records, and destroying evidence. We're here to gather evidence in relation to the charges."
Pinako stood with a curiously confused look in her twisted face at what she'd just heard. Her wrinkled hand slowly removed the pipe from her mouth. She thought for a moment about asking the officer to repeat himself, but realized that she had heard him clearly. That officer's name was familiar, she was certain of it, but for the life of her couldn't pinpoint where she'd heard it.
"Those are serious charges for a military man," she watched as the officer looked her over while she replaced the pipe to her lips. She couldn't place why he had suddenly had such a strange look on his face, "I still don't see what this has to do with my house. I want nothing to do with either the government or the military."
"Did you get the wire, Ma'am?" the voice grew passive, drawing out a strand of meager concern.
Pinako found herself quickly growing to dislike this officer's presence, "Last wire I got was from my granddaughter. She sent me one not long after she'd gotten to Central and that was who knows how long ago. I sent her one back. I told her I'd put money in her bag to buy herself something nice with for her birthday if she ended up being gone that long."
The officer cleared his throat with the warm mid-day air, "You were sent a wire last week prior to our arrival. You were told to expect us."
Folding her arms, the old woman cast a foreboding gaze of doubt over a man at least twice her size, "No wire came for me."
Looking around the room uncertain how to proceed, the young officer seemed to stand in debate of how to proceed with the conversation. He looked to the woman of the house, her foot slowly taping with impatience. Clearing his throat, the officer finally spoke, "I regret to inform you, Ma'am, the minor the Lieutenant is accused of abducting is your granddaughter, Winry Rockbell."
It took a moment to register, but Pinako's pipe finally hit the floor as her voice hit the ceiling, "WHAT!"
"It was in the wire, Ma'am. We'd sent it into your local enforcement office in advance. It was to be forwarded to you," the officer tried to state in his defence.
"I DIDN'T RECEIVE A WIRE, YOU MINDLESS FOOL."
The officer sputtered an apology, trying to explain the situation as best he understood it, but that was entirely insufficient. The woman, barely half the size of the official, very quickly felt himself overshadowed by the elderly lady as she challenged him.
"How long did it take you people to tell this child's legal guardian that she'd gone missing! Have you fools have been sitting on your legal and political asses!" the woman fumed with a red fire that consumed the entire floor and flooded up into the second, "do you know what that poor girl has been through! What our family has been through? We don't need this!"
The old woman's bitter words could be heard echoing across the lush landscape of grasslands that were deeded to the Rockbell and Elric families. Her voice continued aggressively, angrily, and furiously for the whole empty countryside to hear. The words would be useless when all was said and done. All words did was provide a descriptive escape for emotions and not much else. As far as Pinako was concerned, this country's authority establishment was too incompetent for much else to come from her words and it certainly wouldn't solve the issue of her apparently missing granddaughter.
After verbally stripping both officers of every valued moral and shred of decency she could conjure up, Pinako threw her hands up at them, left the officers to her house, and stepped outside in a compact ball of fury. The elderly woman snapped a match into her pipe and took a sharp inhale before practically spitting out the dirty air. Angry and frustrated, she gripped the pipe tight within her teeth and stared off into the countryside. Calming down would be a daunting task. But, as much as she wanted to listen to the rushed feeling in her chest and head to Central, Pinako acknowledged that she should remain in Resembool. Roze was not back yet and she had left for the Hughes household shortly after Winry had left for Central. The grandmother was left in care of her child and the infant boy's mother hadn't contacted her since departing. The picture of Central being painted at the back of the woman's mind was showcased with no sign, no sound, and no word from anyone who'd left with intentions of crossing that city. The more she thought about that, the more unsettling it was that every voice traveling into Central was falling silent.
Forgoing the idea of heading into the capital, Pinako took a strong mental note to make damned sure she let her local enforcement office have more than a small piece of her mind.
It was two hours past midnight; the world had gone silent and the world had fallen to dark. There were always so few stars in the sky to accompany the ill light of the moon. So, to compensate for the tired moon, there were porch lights. People used porch lights was like welcoming mats – if the light was on, company was welcomed and if not, then it was a request for peace at night. At this particular house, the light had finally been turned on shortly after a new calendar day had turned over. So, after staring at the glowing doormat until the bottom of the hour, Edward finally decided to be the only intrusion in the house at that time of night.
"Welcome back."
Or so he'd assumed.
Ed's gaze borrowed into the darkness of the home to identify the location of the voice, slowly shutting the door behind himself, "Why are you still down here?" he asked the voice within the darkness – no candle, no music, no existence beyond the voice. It took only another moment before he realized the sound had come from the sitting room of the Wilson home and Edward's path took him slowly towards it.
"Are you better now?" the old father's voice traipsed through the darkness, "because I did say we'd have a civil conversation."
Ed faintly laughed at the ridiculous notion, his eyes not having adjusted from the outdoor lighting to the complete absence of anything indoors. He squinted as he followed the rug down the hall. Edward allowed himself a moment to think about how strange it was that after such a morning; his father had actually hung around waiting for the civil conversation. Civility usually took a few days to reinstate itself.
"Don't think for a moment you didn't deserve that," Hohenheim's voice came around again, "I know you know better than to even start that line of conversation."
Leaning up against the doorframe to the sitting room, Ed's gaze helplessly canvassed the small, pitch-black room. He stood silently, his eyes slowly adjusting to illuminate the darkness, "Whatever," the pitch in Edward's voice sharply changed, though the volume never rose, "you had the gall to throw me on my ass outside when this problem was yours in the first place," he took a quick glance down to his faux left leg, "I think I need to have Winry look at the leg now – I'm limping. I hope your skull can handle her wrath."
The elder man sighed, shaking his head, and choosing to leave that line of conversation alone, "Speaking of Winry, she was quite smart; she hid the book in her underwear," as unabrasive as his words were, Hohenheim's subsequent sigh drifted through the room like the sound had been ripped from the old man's rotting core, "I asked her to show it to me this afternoon."
Not responding immediately, Ed took a few moments to see if he could figure out just why his father's tone didn't sound right, "… You didn't know the book was coming?" His question was cautious.
"No, it was supposed to be locked away in my office at the university. I've never shown it to anyone," the taste of Hohenheim's words was thick and heavy – wrought with frustration that had simmered for hours in a pool of anger, "Which means someone has gone through my office, found it, and sent it our way to entice you."
"It worked. I'm enticed," the son's words were abrupt, completely disinterested in his father's personal concern for the matter, "And now you get to tell me more about this book before you get going on anything else."
Hohenheim gave a light laugh at the commanding tone his son tried to use. Straightening his back as his hands came down to his knees, he took a deep inhale of the night air, "That thing… it came from a hypothesis I'd thought up a very, very long time ago, after the third time I'd accessed the Gate. At that point, Dante and I had wondered about the possibility of this world being part of the old alchemy folklore. Some things that had been passed down through fables matched far too well," his head slowly drifted upwards as he spoke in thought, "it was never a plausible or functional theory, so I should have left it as a hypothesis. It was impossible to complete without being here. I was the one who'd discontinued it, but Dante was the one who couldn't let it go."
Sliding his hand up the doorframe, Ed gripped the wood with a firm left hand as he continued his questions, "How complete is the version I read?"
Uncertain, the man's head shook, "It's at eighty percent, I'd say – give or take. The information needed to complete the theory is not available; it will never be," Hohenheim inhaled sharply, tightening his jaw before he spoke, "The version that remains with Dante is far less complete. But, she is going to believe that it's much farther along and use it's concepts to access this world."
The mid-night silence drifted through the room again, negotiating with Edward's hand as it slowly slid down the polished wooden frame of the sitting room doorway.
"That's dangerous," he finally said.
Shifting in his chair, Hohenheim looked down into his hands shrouded in the absence of any night light, "Dante'd thought this world was so rich and vast that it had grown beyond any desire for our world; we weren't worthy. We'd been given the recipe for the Philosopher's Stone and could not create it. What failures they must have viewed us as," his words were steeped with hints of sarcasm, as though to mock her assumptions, "She'd concluded that this was why documented stories of travelers from beyond the Gate had stopped. They were always the ones coming to us; but we were never able to get to them… not until we could complete the Philosopher's Stone at the very least. By the time we'd created it, we were far too late to present it to anyone."
Edward's fingers began to drum against the wood, "That's not why they stopped coming."
"If there ever was any honest ability in this world to perform alchemy, it has been lost through natural evolution and no other reason. I do not expect either you or I to ever find out what method it was that this world used to breach the Gate thousands of years ago," Hohenheim's voice and gaze became entangled and then lost to the darkness of the far corner of the room, "that knowledge and information cannot be touched."
Wrinkling his nose, Edward stiffened his jaw and cast aside his eyes, "Even if Dante can't talk to the people of this world's history like she wants, there is a ton of information still here that can make her very dangerous."
"Dante would become a catastrophe," his hands clenched over his knees, "she will seek out a way to stop the degradation of her soul and I have no doubt she would find a solution here. That would make her the nearest thing to immortal either world may ever see. There is also the chance that she could unintentionally destroy the symbiotic relationship between our two worlds with her attempts at breaching the Gate. Who knows what happens from there," the father withdrew his wandering gaze. His old pair of wrinkled hands clasped together as the equally aged set of eyes looked over to his son, "Edward, when you get home, as powerful a person as Dante is now, the knowledge you take with you will make you far more dangerous than she is."
Without taking time to digest the ideas his father had just outlaid, Edward poised a burning question, "Do you know what the sigil on the Thule Hall floor is meant to do?"
Hohenheim's answer was abrupt, "No."
"Bullshit," Ed chirped, "because I think I've figured it out, which means you already know."
Without responding to the accusation, the senior alchemist would keep a quiet moment in time for himself for as long as he chose to burden himself with it. Disinterested in how long that would take, Edward would wait within his father's capsule of time until he spoke again. The dark evening's silence was very glad for the younger man's earlier words, because it would again be allowed to drift into the room while Hohenheim sat without a word. The older man wouldn't allow silence to settle though; scattering it like dust blown from an untouched ledge as he took a deep breath and slowly released it. His clasped set of hands occasionally bounced at his knees as though a conversation were taking place, though no words had been spoken by anyone until Hohenheim finally broke the evening.
"I have no idea how someone managed to conjure that up and I do not want you to even think of using it."
Ed's gaze narrowed, his voice entirely unimpressed, "We can't use it – we're on the wrong side of the Gate. And even if it was workable, I wouldn't take a chance with it unless I had no other choice."
At his son's words, Hohenheim finally rose from his seat, drawing out a path through the darkness of the night towards where Ed stood. His hands drew up as he approached, falling down over his son's shoulders, rocking the young man's balance, "It is not a choice at any point, Edward. It is vile."
The younger Elric paused, caught only for a moment, before the stiff glare returned to Ed's eyes, "I'm going back to Germany. Someone there knows who constructed this sigil and I want to talk to them."
Hohenheim's voice rose over the darkness, "Edward, the only ones who would have the skill to construct that are Dante and Envy and I am certain Dante isn't entirely responsible. You don't know for certain where Envy is."
"Someone knows who drafted that floor ornament, that'll trace Envy, and I'll stay clear. Envy isn't the same this time around. He's restricted to the form of an ordinary man and I have no interest in engaging him," the younger man's face tightened and his words came out as absolutes, "what I am interested in is the route that got him to a point where he could craft that sigil. If he'd been working on a backdoor scheme for Dante about how to forcefully return someone from beyond the Gate, then tracing his footsteps might help us. There has to be more than one way to establish a point from 'there to here' and I'm going to find it. That path starts at the Thule hall."
Hohenheim's jaw tightened, not wanting to bring this overnight hour into an uproar with the issue, "What about Winry? She might not want to return to Germany."
Moving away from the doorframe, Ed's fingers slipped from the polished wood with a squeak, though his feet made no sound with his strides, "She hasn't done anything to anyone that warrants what's been done to her. I want to go home; Al is there and I want to be there for him. But Winry, she has to go home. She'll understand why we have to go back," Ed's eyes quickly shot over his shoulder at the father figure who remained in the doorway, "you can do whatever you want, but I'm done being in London. There's nothing for me here, there never was. It's just a place full of memories that I don't want."
Both Izumi and Mustang crouched down, their presence masked by the shadow cast by the wall they'd used to conceal their figures. Izumi's nose curled as she forced herself to put up with the body odor stench that was trapped so deep in this building. She continued to wait for Mustang to give her the signal for what needed to be done next.
It had been an orchestrated twenty-four hours. Izumi's message for Sheska contained instructions from Mustang, which the young officer was given the entire day to arrange. There would be no way for the low-ranking woman to get confirmation back to the group that she'd completed the tasks requested of her – Izumi and Mustang would have to fly blind. But, of anyone in the building who could effectively arrange military and government paperwork on short notice, it was bookworm like Sheska. The burden of trust to get things done within a cloak of invisibility was squarely on her shoulders.
Havoc's location had been mapped before Mustang and Izumi had entered the complex and his entire collection of block-mates had been carefully arranged. Mustang had instructed Sheska to coordinate an exceptional collection of men into one spot – a roster that included some of the filthiest to have been put behind bars in the recent years. Now, the task set upon the officer and the teacher was to get in and get out without having their faces seen or themselves identified. Mustang, if he used traditional tactics, would give himself away in an instant, so his behaviour would have to be more in tune with the rest of society. The surplus shop provided the black head-to-toe outfits the pair would use to become shadows and Mustang had been able to retrieve the only black pair of ignition gloves he'd ever had made. They would rely on their own wits, wills, and skills to get through the remainder.
The Brigadier General's eye combed the ceiling, following the cords of hanging lights. In this block of cells at the second basement floor there was one faint clock that ticked away and one pair of soldier's boots echoing on the concrete. The way down this far had been cleared, walls had been moved, floors had been reformed, and shadows had been created. The pair had moved into the crevasse where they now waited.
"Lights," Mustang directed Izumi's attention to a connector box at the ceiling, a half a cells length away from them.
Her eyes picked out the target. Concealed in the darkness, with the silent placement of her hands together, Izumi put her hands to a wall and carried an alchemical command up to the high ceiling. With a slight crack of the concrete, a thin slice of rock severed the electrical cords. The corridor went black.
Mustang had not been given the opportunity to witness Izumi use alchemy until it had been decided that the two of them would be the best suited to complete this mission. Their combination of skill-sets made the job far too easy and, regardless of preference, neither one could deny they'd have to partner up. What surprised Mustang the most about her was not the command she had over her alchemy's precision or quality, but it was watching this woman clap her hands just as he'd watched Edward Elric do numerous times to control everything. She required no sigil, no writing - nothing. He had never thought anyone beyond Edward Elric could do something like that. It wasn't supposed to be unique to the FullMetal Alchemist? How she could learn a skill like that, or how someone as young as Ed could have learnt that skill, he had no idea.
The corridor seemed to have life breathed into the stench as it went black, but no hint of honest concern came into play until Mustang's right fist knocked the one security guard flat on his back. Izumi took care of the rest – her figure carefully following almost directly behind Mustang's movements as she swept in, strapping a heavy piece of electrical tape over the downed guard's mouth before he could call out. With Mustang's knee pushed into the security officer's chest, the man's arms and legs were quickly bound before he could break free from the siege.
Mustang had moved ahead before the final knot was tied. Izumi confiscated the key ring at the guard's hip, collecting the pile of keys in her hand to keep them from making noise. She slapped a single hand to the cement floor twice, her cue to Mustang that she had the task completed. Mustang had already made his way to the far end of the room to work on the next assignment.
First major hurdle had been cleared.
A vigilante's voices called out, wanting to know what was going on. One other called out in concern and another simply laughed.
Mustang's next move would provide the only moments of light they'd have to get their bearings one last time. With his hand placed at the base of the far wall, he sent a charge shooting along the cement. With a spectacular crack, enhanced by a quick dusting of gun powder, the officer brought down the wall. If the guards on the upper levels were at all concerned, it was only a matter of time before someone arrived and broke through the strategically placed obstacles the pair had set up in advance.
Again, they quickly moved. In the light, Izumi had selected a labeled key from the ring and presented it to Mustang as she stepped into his position by the gaping hole in the wall.
There were a total of eight cells in this hall with two men per cell. Havoc occupied cell B2-5, third on the north side. Deliberately, Mustang first unlocked B2-7 and threw the door open wide as the rusted hinges bitterly complained.
"It's jail break time, boys," Izumi suddenly barked, hearing the shrill sound of the cage opening, "get the hell out!"
Whether or not the two occupants of that cell would move or not was something neither Mustang nor Izumi cared about. As long as some of them jumped at this opportunity, they were happy.
Second major hurdle had been cleared.
The key ring was numbered in order; they'd known this in advance, so two keys subsequent from this one was Havoc's. Mustang wrestled with the key in the lock, throwing open the creaking metal bars once the lock surrendered. Through Sheska, Havoc's cell mate had been pre-arranged, as had nearly this entire block. Knowing from the start that Havoc would not bolt in a jail break, Mustang made certain that whoever else was in the cell would most certainly run. Much to the officer's unseen delight, the temporary cellmate did not disappoint. No sooner was the door open than a body blew by Mustang and towards the gaping hole.
"What the hell is going on?" Havoc's voice came out of the dark.
"We're running low on options," Mustang responded as he stepped into the block, his voice stepping below the growing crowd noise. He felt Izumi run up to his side and he handed off the key ring so she could open the last two cells on the pre-planned list.
It had taken a moment of astounded silence before Havoc finally responded again, "… Sir-?"
"Don't," Mustang didn't want his name heard, even if there was little chance anyone would pick it up. He'd figured Havoc wouldn't have any idea it was him until he'd said something. Following the sound of Havoc's voice, Mustang reached out and placed a strong hand on the companion's wary right shoulder, "you need to follow us."
The sarcasm started to leak back into Havoc's voice as he shook off the surprise over his visitor, "Do I get a choice?"
Smirking, Mustang gave a firm slap to the man's shoulder, handing over a firearm borrowed from Major Hawkeye into his other officer's hand, "None whatsoever."
Third major hurdle was cleared.
Staying alongside his superior as best he could with the loss of light, Havoc stopped suddenly when Izumi's hand grabbed his upper arm. He stood stiff in place as her instructions were quietly relayed into his right ear. She finally released his arm and pushed him on his way, back in towards the crevice in the wall the two infiltrators had been tucked away in moments earlier.
With a quick trick of shielded alchemy, Izumi removed one key from the collection and passed the remainder off to Mustang. The pair split; each moving to one of the four remaining cell doors on the south side and quickly released the end unit's locks. This time, they chose not to throw open the doors and both bolted back towards the entry point where Havoc had slipped away, entirely ignoring the two center cells at the south block. Ducking into the protection of the shadows, and with an emphatic clap of her hands, Izumi slammed her hands against the wall and deliberately set off a wailing prison alarm – she may have cut the trigger when she'd severed the lights, but it still had a perfectly good battery.
"What'd you do that for!" Havoc choked out hoarsely, "what are you two doing?"
"Making it interesting to cover our asses," Mustang reached over and slapped him upside the head, "didn't I tell you to shut up?"
With sound wailing at their ears and an annoying red light pulsing above them, Izumi pulled off one last command and formed a make-shift door at the end of the protected darkness. Without a word, all bodies slipped through the exit and she promptly reformed the wall as though nothing had ever happened. The trio found themselves standing atop a staircase that dipped down into an unlit tunnel within the structure.
Final major hurdle had been cleared.
"… What is this?" Havoc tried to peer down, but the darkened corridor hindered his attempts to see much of anything until Mustang finally ignited the lantern Izumi held up for him.
"Well, now you two trolls can add 'Jail Bird' and 'Prison Break' to your resumes," Izumi quipped, pulling the tight fabric of the bodysuit off her head and looking thoroughly disgusted with herself, "I cannot believe I just helped out with that."
"Where are we?" Havoc spoke cautiously, taking a few steps down the narrow hall stairs, lost somewhere between utter fascination and complete shock.
Following Izumi's lead, Mustang pulled his head free of the restrictive face mask and took a deep breath, "The old service corridor that ran along the wing… slightly remodeled."
"I had to rearrange things a bit to keep visitors out," Izumi shrugged, rolling her shoulders to loosen them up, "but it'll take us clear out of the building, no questions asked. Each trigger point we pass, I'll reconstruct it like it never happened. Now, get your asses in gear, I have work to do while you boys fumble around."
Dawning a dumbfounded expression and holding a finger pointed out in front of himself, Havoc turned right around on the balls of his feet and came to face Izumi, looking up at the woman from a few steps lower than where she stood, "And who the hell are you?"
"Izumi Curtis," she replied indisputably, putting her hands down on her hips.
Havoc slowly tipped his head to the side, a very lost and befuddled look growing over his face as his superior officer grabbed him by his shirt collar and dragged him further down the stairs.
To Be Continued…
Author's Note:
I'd always had the idea that Ed's dabbles in alchemy were not exactly supported while he was in England – but he was able to branch out once he left. Thomas and Charles behaviour is not a reflection on everyone's reaction towards alchemy though - these two just have extreme reactions that developped over time. What Thomas and Charles have going for them though (and Hohenheim too) is 2-ish years of pulling their hair out from trying to figure out Ed while he'd lived there. Ed is extremely stubborn and tends to listen to himself first and others much later. That would frustrate anyone raised in a very structured and obedient world.
A couple of 'typos' were pointed out that I chose not to correct – Canadian English has a few minor spelling differences from American English (like defence is spelt with a C instead of an S). I guess that kind of makes it hard to tell if I've actually misspelled something or not (I know MS Word hates me lol).
Comments:
Thank you for your comments again :). And I'm glad to see there are some new readers as well. Thank you! (I do like comments, I can't deny that lol). I'm not sure if it's common place (or proper) anymore to respond to any particular comment as an appendix in the story like this or separately with the reply feature. But thanks you again X3