A/N: A reviewer came up with an interesting point about the botomancy. Does reading tea leaves stem from it? Is there an occult specialist in the house that can answer this?

Disclaimer: Full Metal Alchemist (Hagane No Renkinjitsu) is copywrite Hiromu Arakawa, Square Enix Co., LTD, Funimation, Aniplex, BONES, and MBS, and is not the respective property of MoonDeity or any of her aliases.

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Outmoded Mary Sue Ficcie of Poo

Chapter IV:

Alphonse's Adventure

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There is a certain word applied to the English language called "boondocks".

Bundok is the word for mountain in Tagalog, the Indonesian language of the Philippines, and as the US occupied the place, bundok was shortened to boondocks, to mean the name for difficult terrain on the fringes of training camps. Nowadays it refers to the expressions "out in the rough" or "out in the sticks."

Alphonse was certainly out in the boondocks that cold wet afternoon, as his older brother had ditched him for a thespian Lolita. It took him several hours of standing in the same exact place before he realized that Ed wasn't coming back.

"Bugger," he said out loud to no one in particular. "What do I do now?"

Now, as we know, Alphonse is a very mischievous suit of armor that cannot be left alone for a second without wrecking some sort of havoc on the living world. Sure, he puts up a neat little façade of being a placid boy, but in reality, he treasures the moments he has where he can be the EVIL AND DEMONIC FEIND WHICH RESIDES DEEP DOWN WITHIN!

That was supposed to be said in a hellish, echoing voice, by the way.

Now, as he was thinking of what to do with his evil and demonically fiendish free time, it crossed his mind that Ed was somewhere with a strange and scantily clad woman.

"I'd better go help him, though," he said, sighing and cursing underneath his breath about the burdens of siblings and how he was going to ditch Ed in a dumpster once he got his body back. "But where to start?"

Astonishingly, almost as if on enigmatic cue, a little rapping was heard within his chest plate, and seemed to come inside his armor.

"Eh?"

The rapping turned louder into pounding, and Alphonse started to giggle. There was a profuse amount of rapid spasmodic banging, and then, his chest plate burst off, Alphonse laughing hysterically, and out of his chest flew…a girl.

A young woman to be more exact, she landed face first on the cement, did two somersaults, and landed on her butt with her legs splayed out blinking up at the large hollow piece of armor.

Alphonse, if he had a mouth, gaped.

"Whe-where did you…who are—why…"

The young woman yawned, inserted a pinky inside her ear, twisted it counter clockwise, and got up. Standing up, Alphonse could see her strange attire, for her body was covered in a leather suit riddled with pockets, pouches, and she wore a large sword on her back. She opened her mouth, and it a strangely Germanic-Yiddish accent said,

"Hi," and handed his chest plate back to him.

Alphonse took it and re-attached it dazedly.

"Sorry 'bout that, chum. I've stayed in there longer, but it was getting kinda cramped with all those cats."

Pointedly, a small black kitten poked its head out from underneath Al's helmet and mewed.

"HOW THE HECK DID YOU GET INSIDE ME!"

The girl was looking around and jumping slightly on her high-heeled boots. She looked up with question marks in her eyes.

"Huh?"

Alphonse sighed irately.

"Never mind. Look, aren't you cold, or something?"

The girl blinked.

"No. But let's go into that strange little store over there, they have gourds in their window. I really like gourds, they remind me of tumors. Tumors are fun to lick. Have you ever licked a tumor? I have, they're all round and pulsating and—"

Alphonse shuddered and took the babbling young woman by the wrist and led her inside the store with the gourds, which was actually a coffee house. He set her down at the table, knocked out the guy at the cappuccino machine, and made his extra special Kitty-Mochas for the both of them.

He rammed a scone in her mouth, and sat down across from her.

"First," he said slowly as she attempted to chew the pastry, drool running down her chin. "Tell me who you are."

The girl swallowed the scone whole, and said, "Dru."

"D-R-E-W?"

"No. D-R-U. Dru is Dru."

"Uh-huh. And where is Dru from, and how did Dru get inside me?"

Dru was attempting to drink her mocha without the use of her hands by nosing it across the table.

"Dru is from a village called Wilhelmia, not of this land."

She succeeded in knocking the coffee off the table. Al gave her his (he can't really drink it, can he?).

"Dru got called in. Dru was summoned here. Dru rode around in your chest for a while because it was warm and dry and smelled like Cheetos."

Dru planted her face abruptly in the coffee, forming a vacuum seal, and lifted it up with the mocha dripping off around the rims.

"Dru…is an Alchemist."

Alphonse fell over and at that same moment, Dru's mocha was siphoned off her face and fell in her lap. She smiled dumbly.

Al stood up and raised his eyebrow.

"Alchemist."

Dru licked the mocha off her nose and nodded.

Alphonse stared a while at the curious creature, and decided to use her knowledge to his advantage. Either she truly was from another world, or she was insane. Little did he know, it was both.

"Ookaay…if you're an Alchemist, tell me how to forge a Philosopher's stone."

"A Philosopher's stone? You mean these?"

Dru held up a pendant from her chest, a necklace wrought with dragons and swords encasing medium sized red stones. Al, if only he really could, gaped.

"Yeah, we call 'em catalyst stones from where I come," she said distractedly. "They're family heirlooms, and they really help in boosting your transmutations."

Al's mind was whirling.

"With those…I could get my body back…real flesh and blood…"

"Oh, I know how to get your body back," Dru interjected. Alphonse stared at her.

"You do?"

"Sure," she said, and removed his helmet. "Just take your armor off."

Just as she said, the tufty head of 15-year old Alphonse Elric poked up over the rim of the armor. "Eh?" he said, and shed the remaining pieces of armor to reveal a body that had been inside the steel all along. "Well, that was easy."

"Damn straight it was," said Dru, eating the contents of his chalk bag. Alphonse, restored to his natural form even though he was never changed at all, a mystery that will probably never be explained, sat down across from her.

"You seem to know a lot," he said cautiously. "What else can you tell me…?"

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Now, we are going to take a rest from the distractions in the lives of FMA's main characters to view the life of the petty antagonist we know as Scar.

Scar, of course, is a loser.

He never really got anywhere with his serial killing spree, abandoned it abruptly once he found some kids in a sewer, and was forced to live with his retarded hippie brother for most of his life. Why he hasn't drowned himself in the toilet is way beyond me.

Now, Scar is a sad, sad man. He has to live in a stupid tent with some stupid Ishbalans, with his stupid scarred face and no one really knowing his real name. His tattoo is also really unattractive.

Now, as he was sitting dejectedly in the filth that covered the refugee camp, it dawned upon him that he needed a woman to make him happy.

A woman or a dog.

But where could he get a woman or a dog in this malodorous encampment? He supposed he could dress up one of those dorky kids in drag and a Wishbone suit, but that wouldn't really give him the kind of satisfaction men crave.

Now, as coincidence (or conspiracy) had it, Cyn, our reticent divine telephone operative, was heading up the path to Scar's campsite, yapping on her cell phone. We haven't really given insight to Cyn, have we?

Cyn, as outlandish as this may sound, is a Martian. Martians, though, are not the green slimy skinned bulbous eyed amphibious creatures of cartoons.

No, Martians look remarkably like humans, except that they have coal black skin, not like African Americans, but black, black, jet-black ebony skin. Many have odd hair or eye colorings due to the various mineral deposits in their air and water. Cyn, as an example, has silver eyes and grey and silver streaks in her hair.

Why is Cyn here, why is she talking to Earthen gods, and why the hell does she get a cell phone when you still have to use a cruddy old pay phone?

Probably because you don't listen to Franz Ferdinand, or sleep until 2:00, or make calls for all-powerful ancient gods living in New Mexico, which also inexplicably happens to be located past the moon, if you read the part about Roy and Riza's reverse face faults very carefully.

Now, as she was walking up this path, Cyn was getting yelled at by the other line on her Moto razor.

"What? WHAAAAT!" the voice was so loud and squawky Cyn had to pull her dark ear away. "Why the bloody frig did you send DRU in? Dru! THE Dru!"

"Well, I thought it was a good idea…" Cyn said meekly. The voice cut in.

"DRU is STUPID!" they exclaimed. "Dru is the one who can't be allowed inside the library because she EATS all the BOOKS! Dru is the one who mistakenly blew the Styx River out of the ground! Dru is the one who wrapped herself in an electric blanket and ran through the Vatican screaming things about raping bumblebees and pigeon pogo sticks! DON'T TELL ME IT WAS A GOOD IDEA!"

"But Isis…" Cyn whined to the goddess on the other end. "She's the best Alchemist we have from the other world. I thought she might fit in…"

"Shut up," Isis clipped from the other end. "Shut your stupid Martian mouth. From now on, you tell me who you're going to assign to take eradication responsibilities for a Mary Sue. You might have aberrant tri-dimensional contacts, but that isn't the reason for picking a imbecile to head an extermination."

"You forget, Isis," Cyn said icily. "That she's not the only one arriving on the scene."

There was silence on the other end.

"Who else did you send in?" she finally said, a tinge of worry inking across her voice. Cyn smiled.

"You'll have to seee…." She said in a singsong manner.

"What! What's that supposed to mean! Cyn, do not hang up this phone until you tell me! Cyn—"

Cyn pushed the off button and stuffed the cell inside her bra. She now skipped up in her Martian way up the rocky mountain path, singing the theme from War of the Worlds, a goofy grin plastered on her black face.

Oh, life was pleasant when she could hang up on Isis and leave her without options to deal with her. Too many times had she been struck by lightening when she'd hung up on the gods. Zeus, Yahweh, Shiva, you name it, man, she'd have been hit by it. She often relished these times when she could go on location and dance around in whichever world they were liberating first.

She halted at a small cliff overlooking a precipice. Plunging sharply below her was the lush green valleys of Amestrian rural countryside. She breathed in the mountain air, and hacked at the over abundance of oxygen.

Now, as fate would have it Scar was walking along the path above her, when her choking drew his attention down to her.

He almost soiled his pants.

There she was, that slim figure, that dark-as-night skin, that silver hair, those strange robes, that deadly looking blaster at her waist! Now this was his ideal woman! In a fit of desperation, Scar flung himself down from his high perch…and completely latched onto the unsuspecting Cyn.

"OHMYFUCKINGGOD, WHAT THE FUSTY JAKING HELL!"

Cyn hollered and whirled her arms like pinwheels, tottered precariously at the edge of the cliff, and stepped backward to run around in circles with Scar clinging to her back.

"Oh atypical woman of incongruity!" Scar cuddled onto her back. "Your aberration is most charming and sexy to me! Come with me, so we may make luuuvvvvv in my filthy tent!"

"AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUGGGGHHHHHHH!" Cyn's scream reached all the way to the realm of the gods, but Isis heard and didn't heed because she was still pissed at her for hanging up the cell phone. "GEEERRROOFFF MEEE! BLOODY TRIPODS, GET OFF ME!"

Cyn tripped and rolled in the dirt, leapt up, and unsheathed a long piece of Italian baguette from within her robes. With this, she whacked Scar in the head, unlatched him from her back, and pummeled him into a chunky paste with it.

When Scar had the consistency of peanut butter, she stood up and wiped her brow.

"Whew. The Italians save us once again," she said grimly, and sheathed the baguette. Then, she turned, and ran hell for leather down the side of the mountain to the valley below.

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A/N: There is this globe, see. This globe is a globe of Mars instead of Earth. It is geographically precise and everything. I wish for it with a fiery vehemence.