Of Fire and Alchemy
Chapter 4
Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did own something, why do you think I would be sitting here writing this shit?
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When he had first seen him, Mustang certainly suspected something. Hughes was different from any elf he had ever studied, in all his years laboring over his work. He wasn't blond, he wasn't aggressive towards humans, and, above all, Hughes could not perform alchemy. Granted, he had the pointed ears and the "one with nature" personality, but he was not an alchemist, and that made him stand out.
Now Mustang finally figured it out: Hughes was a half-breed. The human wasn't exactly sure how he found the time to figure this out, since most of the time he was either talking to Hughes about some random subject or floating in his own little happy place, induced by the natural painkillers and drugs to dull the pain. But the fact still stood that one of Hughes's parents was not an elf.
Parents… this brought the first coherent memory back to Mustang. He remembered how, when he was younger, his entire family had gone to the shores of Aerugo almost every summer. There was the perfect place to climb and play on: a jutting rock that was covered up when the tide came in. It provided as a place for him to hold on to if the tide current ever tried to carry him off, despite being slippery with various algae growing on it. When the tide went down the rock was exposed again, and it stood, prominent and tall among the dips and bowls the tide had made continuously coming in and out.
It was a mountain close up, but from far away it looked sort of like a sturdy sea monster washed up on shore, but still formidable. When it was partially covered by the tide it looked as if it was poking its head from the water, checking to see if the coast was clear before emerging full and proud, standing itself to the greatest it could be when the tide was completely out.
At first, when the painkillers had just been introduced to him, Mustang thought it made the pain disappear, then reappear when the feelings had worn off. But now he could compare it to the great serpent rock in the Aerugion shore. The painkillers washed over the pain and hid it beneath a pleasurable feeling of pure numbness, and Mustang could be peaceful. But then the tide went out and the sea monster poked its ugly head from the once calm feeling.
With his ruined shoulder and busted ankle, Mustang couldn't go anywhere soon. True, the potions and attention Hughes was giving him was helping, but his recovery was still too slow. Within a few more weeks, possibly even days, he would be discovered and taken prisoner. But Hughes had told him not to worry, that he'd take care of everything. For some reason, Mustang could not find it in himself to trust the half-breed, though Hughes was now his lifeline. Hughes was the source of the potions and the care. Hughes was responsible for bringing the tide in to cover the rocky pains. Hughes was the moon now and he relied on him.
Then, one day, the moon didn't show up in Mustang's sky.
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The rebels really were getting the better of the situation.
Roy sprinted from the office as dignified as he could and snatched his famous sword from its place in the weaponry wall. He flew in a whirlwind into the nexus of the knot of rebels, straight into the tumor of the problem. The group shrieked in surprise as he dove from the above balcony of the nearest store and into the middle of their circle. Before they could recover Roy had killed three and wounded seven. They reeled back into the main crowd and disappeared from his sight.
These kinds of fights always left a bad taste on Roy's tongue, always. He didn't like killing, and he never liked the feeling of blood on his fingers and splattering on his clothes. It was one of the hardest stains to get out and the rustic color that remained for a long time afterward served as a constant reminder of the incident. If anything, he had learned that the red blood mixed with the cornflower blue of his uniform did not mix into a fetching shade of violet but instead dried into a vomit-inducing shade of a mahogany color, more brown than red.
Now the blood doused his uniform, splaying across it in intricate fashions that promised the laundry workers hell. But now the inner circle was fighting back, realizing that this battle was only against one person. What a fool, jumping into the middle of their fight without reinforcements! Surely, he yearned for the afterlife. He was insanely outnumbered, they could see that.
They didn't know that he insanely outmatched their entire force. Roy was small, and he was much, much faster than one would expect. The shining sword blade flashed here and there dangerously, then was gone in a wild spurt of warm liquid. People were mowed down before their brains had time to react to the warning, threatening glimmer of the sword.
"The Lightning Demon! The Lightning Demon!" The rebels shrieked, moving away from the dangerous figure until there was a clear ten foot circular space between Roy and the rebels. They drew back hesitatingly, not wanting to be the next to fall at the mighty swordsman. He glared around intensely, his vision splattered by the tinted red of the lifefluid that covered everything.
"Your leader! Let me fight your leader!" He called into the huddled crowd. This provoked nothing more than frightened murmurs and even more drawing back. Roy repeated his request several times before conceding to the fact that he would not be able to get into contact with the leader. So he'd have to break up the crowd now, and he knew just how to do that. Roy withdrew from its holster a gun, a handpistol at that. The rebels drew away, their eyes reflecting the fear stabbing into their thoughts. Gunpowder was only recently invented, and this man, this demon man, held a useful amount in the palm of his hand.
There was a tense silence. Roy shot two rounds into the air and the crowd dissolved immediately, like a small spoon of sugar in a large glass of water. There was utter panic and confusion for a few minutes, then total quiet as the marketplace was emptied of anyone, rebels or not. Another rebellion settled by the famous leader of the military. The top dog.
With a shrug Roy left the battlefield, sheathing the now-rustic sword. He stumbled back into his room and immediately walked out again.
The room, it was in total chaos. Roy wasn't sure how the Elves had gotten out at first: this was not the very first time they had been left alone for over half an hour, thought it certainly was the longest time. Oh well, that didn't matter now. To put it simply, it was devastated, and Roy could guess by an entire army of one Edward. Curtains were shredded, the windows shattered. His desk was splintered into firewood and all the stuffing in his goose-feather mattress had been torn out and thrown in fistfuls across the room. The pillows were burst and hung limply, the floor cluttered with various junk and stuff, and the paint scratched off the walls with angry, one-handed rakes at it.
Roy supposed that he liked the back wall the best, the one he'd be forced to stare at if he had continued to sit at his splintered desk. On it was transmuted the collars and a hair-pin that Roy immediately knew where it came from. Damn that woman and her humanity preaching. Edward had also taken the liberty to scrawl "YOU GOT FUCKED BY THE GREAT AND MIGHTY EDWARD ELRIC" in bright red paint against the scrabbled white. In smaller, neater writing was "Please leave us alone from now on" under it, undoubtedly written by Alphonse.
Roy confirmed it was paint, according to the fact that the rest of the bucket had been splashed around his room, adding to the previous white the wonderful color that was currently across his entire uniform. Roy was tired and stared around his room, uncaring.
But suddenly he was angry. He didn't want to see red anymore, he didn't want to be reminded of how blood-stained his hands were, he knew already. In his fit he rolled up the ruined mattress, which had taken the brunt of the paint, and shoved it outside his door, slamming the cracked wood shut and hearing a mournful whine from the bent hinges. On second thought he stripped off his blood-stained clothes and threw them outside too, finding a surprisingly un-killed corner and curling up catlike in his boxers, trying to sleep even though he knew he wouldn't be able to with the red letters on the wall right across from him. So he turned to the corner, not caring if his bare back was exposed to the fatality of the cold Amestrian nights. But the letters remained imprinted in the back of his mind, just as the face of every person he had killed had.
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Edward and Alphonse raced back to their territory, hearts pumping wildly with the joy of the newly gained freedom. The wind whistled through Al's short blond hair, oh, how he had missed that feeling in those weeks of capture. Still, he couldn't help but feel slightly guilty of the state in which the room was left in, but of course, he couldn't go back now. They were too close to their territory now, too close that to turn away now would be considered treachery, spying.
Edward bounded ahead of Al, his mind free of all thoughts except what was on the dinner menu tonight. He was speckled with red paint and the vandalism had sparked a small flame of mischief in his heart: that was fun and he hoped the bastard was now suffering because of their little prank. Ha, the fuckwit deserved it. Damn human, requesting to learn alchemy? Ha! As if! He would be considered a prodigy if he could transmute a simple toy out of the mud; he'd never be able to fully master their techniques.
Ed's mind was shunted away from that train of thought as the village lights neared and the faint sounds of the evening reached the brother's sensitive ears. They slowed their paces and seemed nonchalant at the first glance. A closer look revealed anxiety, nervousness, wonder. How would the elves accept their appearance? Or even worse, their disappearance? Elves that wandered away from their respective tribes for too long were eventually banished, shunned from their villages.
The comforting noises stopped as Ed and Al entered the village square, paint-speckled and mud-caked. The various elves stopped and stared, some hurrying away, others keeping their ground. Their faces all had the same bewildered look, mixed with a bit of fear. Neither Elric could figure out why. Unless… had they already been banished! Al's heart leapt into its throat with a strained croak and the younger's breathing grew shallower. Ed didn't seem to notice and took a stepforward.
"What, surprised to see us? You knew we'd be back sometime." He said, feigning cluelessness to the intensity of the situation. Nobody answered him.
Just then, a young elf hurried forward and stared up at him with large, curious eyes. She said what the adults had been holding back, what Ed and Al could never have noticed.
"You smell like humans."
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It was a nightmare, a hideous, horrible, nightmare. Roy was surrounded by the angry rebels, but they were all faceless, nameless. They were in a circle, chanting something that Roy really couldn't understand. He was weak, curled up naked on the floor in the center of the circle, weaponless, open to the jeering shouts and the angry calls. He noticed suddenly that his hands were bound behind his back, his feet tied with a heavy rope. He called out feebly for backup but there was none: he was an island in an ocean of rebels.
A tall figure strode out of the crowd and walked right to him, kicked him in the stomach. Roy went flying back, unsupported by anything. He tried straining against the ropes but they held tightly, unyielding. He turned his back to the man, just in time to feel a sharpened blade plunge through his shoulder and spearing his sleep.
Roy woke screaming, only to find that his dream was a reality, well, almost. He craned his neck and saw the figure from his dream over him. The figure's shorsword was plunged into Roy's shoulder up to the hilt, and, ironically enough, it was the same shoulder with the previous scar on it. The figure's eyes glowed a crimson red with cold fury and the last thing Roy could see before he blacked out from blood loss was that there was an entire crew behind him ready to hoist the general into the cart below where he would undoubtedly be taken prisoner for a short while, then tortured for information, then slowly and painfully murdered.
The last thing Roy thought before his mind bucked on him was "Whoop de doo."
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AN: I fell really guilty about not updating sooner, guys, I'm sorry. I've been busy like you wouldn't believe for the past few weeks and I haven't been able to update much. Well, that's about the size of it…. Uh... yeah. I don't have much to say except that the main plot will actually begin soon! Yay! So, what happened to Hughes? Will Ed and Al be accepted again into their society? And what's going to happen to Roy? I know, I'm leaving you with a cliffhanger, but hey, it's not like anyone's actually reading this so… yeah. I'll update when possible. Promise.
