Under the Weight of Your Wings: Chapter Four- Before God
Raeluvs
A/n: PLEASE READ!
And I return from the black void that is grounding! My midterm grades greatly improved, and I have finally escaped the disapproving glares and 'not good enough's'. Between football season, homework and general lack of sleep, I have managed to begin this chapter. And I know that it is confusing- props to you reviewers whom are RIGHT ON TRACK. Some of you are and some of you aren't, I'll admit, but it will clear itself up (possibly within this chapter)
Light Recap: Roy Mustang goes into Lior after receiving a call from someone that is claiming to be Edward Elric (whether or not he is Ed is to be seen). He tells Riza Hawkeye that he is leaving, and yet she has no recollection of this ever happening. Then Riza receives a phone call from our mysterious villain, saying that Roy is in grave danger and her assistance is needed. She too heads for Lior and is kidnapped. The chapter ends with Roy heading off to sleep, not in any potential danger. Sum up- Everyone is being set up somehow; but by whom? Please remember that Lior is now a ways into their civil war, Ed and Al are on an unrelated mission in Aquroya, and though Greed is dead, Homunculi still run rampant.
Now onto the chapter. I hope that you enjoy, dear readers, as this is for you.
Slowly, Riza's eyes cracked open, her gaze blurred, fuzzy; her head was aching horribly. Her hands were bound by rough, ragged ropes that twisted together in knots. She raised them over her head, feeling with trembling fingers dried blood at the base of her neck.
"Ouch." She murmured to herself, just to hear the sound of her own voice for a moment. She blinked a few times, trying to clear the blurry scene locked into her eyes. The walls were stone, cold and gray, chiseled with dents and burn marks. At the other end of the room, some feet from her, was a wooden door that she assumed was locked, and to her right was another door, also presumably locked. She sighed, exasperated.
"Where in the hell am I…?" she muttered.
"Well if I told you, wouldn't that ruin the fun?" A sing-song voice from her right sent a cold shiver down her spine. Her head whipped around so fast that she felt dizzy; her eyes clamped together, trying to steady herself. Her head pounded painfully as she pried her eyes open once more and took in the person that leaned against the door.
He was tall, dressed in sleek, black leather pants and an according shirt that frayed at the sleeves, light glinting off of his pointed boots that looked almost sharp enough to draw blood. His arms were muscular, not to the scale of Major Armstrong, she noted, but built up just the same. His chest was full beneath the shirt, a white collar around his shoulders. Golden eyes scaled her up and down, pointed teeth splitting into a smile.
"Hey there, Riza." He said coolly, as though they were holding a perfectly normal conversation. His words came slowly, carefully; he paused and enunciated each one, "Long time, no see."
Riza's mouth hung agape, her face streaked with confusion and pain; the color of her skin had turned quickly ashen, russet eyes dilating with shock. It was the voice that she had heard on the phone, and the name that he gave her matched his face perfectly.
"Maes… Hughes…?" she breathed, her words exhausting her as she used every bit of her effort to voice just those two words.
"Heh," he rose a hand and scrunched up the back of his hair, the gesture seeming so natural. "That's me."
Riza grappled with possibilities. No one could master a human transmutation; someone would know about it. The factors of one ran through her mind; none of these could be accomplished,
'Could they!'
As his hand returned to his side and he walked past her, heading toward the door across the room.
"You just sit tight now," he said smoothly, "Find something to entertain yourself til I get back, 'kay?"
"Wait!" she exclaimed. "Where is Colonel Mustang!" He stopped and turned back to her.
"Well, didn't he tell you where he was going?" he replied with a question of his own. She bit her lip, confused again.
"That's what I've heard, but I have no recollection of him telling me any such thing." She snapped.
"Any do you want to know why?" He approached her; his hand brushed her hair; she cringed, silent. "Well? Do you?" She nodded once, her face staid.
"Let's just say I have a friend who can change his skin." He said softly, turning to go. She was startled, her mind connecting the pieces of the puzzle presented to her. As his hand passed by her face, her eyes widened; a sickened gasp twisted in her chest.
"What is that…?" she breathed, a bead of sweat sliding down the side of her face. He turned back, looking at her pointedly. A wicked grin slid over his face as he raised his hand.
"Oh, this?" he asked, showing it to her. An image was tattooed upon the strong, firm surface; a dragon that seemed to be engulfing its own tail, inked in blood. He leaned closely into her face, his golden, glimmering eyes matching hers.
"This is the symbol of my sin."
Roy stepped solidly off of the train, a thin briefcase locked within gloved fingers. He wasn't wearing his military uniform; he wanted to blend in with the civilians to the best of his ability without being viewed as a potential threat. He looked around blankly, wondering if the Fullmetal Idiot was going to meet him here or not. After mulling around stupidly for a few moments, he growled and headed off to a nearby bar; his footsteps echoed as he walked down the center of the street through the ancient, empty town.
The bartender sat alone at the bar, an older man with a graying black moustache, his eyes narrowed to tired slits as he stared at the silent radio, deeply set into his tanned skin. Beads of sweat lined the creases of his forehead beneath his crimson bandana; he looked up as Roy sat casually at the stool on the other side of the bar.
"One shot, and if no one joins me, keep 'em coming." He growled, looking angrily around at the empty road, its only inhabitant being the dust in the wind. The bartender nodded, grabbing the only bottle that he had left from the back shelf, his face split into a toothy grin.
"Been a long time since someone's stopped by here." He said appreciatively, setting the thin rimmed glass down before him. Roy smiled wryly, looking into the pale orange liquor in his glass.
"Yeah, looks pretty deserted around here." Roy commented, gazing about. Admitting this was really ticking him off; he didn't see Edward anywhere in sight. "Heard this place was in the middle of a war; where is everyone?" he asked, confused.
"Fighting's at a standstill." The man sounded depressed rather than thankful.
"That bad?" Roy queried. The man sighed, looking out over the town. The walls of the buildings were old and cracked; windows were shattered, glass lining the curbs of the narrow streets.
"It's not the end of the battle. People are hiding, probably underground or have flown the city; the military's gone out to restock ammunition and rations," he said wearily, his age showing through onto his face. "It's just the calm before the storm. Lior is going to be as distant a memory as Ishbal." Roy's head snapped instinctively in the other direction, his eyes diverting down to the floor. He cleared his throat, changing the subject.
"Out of curiosity, have you seen a little half pint and a walking garbage can?" he asked, holding up a hand to display the minute height of his subordinate. The man thought about it for a moment as Roy drained his glass.
"Well, seeing a shortstop traveling with a tall metal suit of armor isn't hard to forget." He said thoughtfully, reflecting. Roy looked up, hopefully. The man's face lit up with remembrance. "Yeah, I remember those two! Haven't seen 'em though. Not lately; a year or so ago back when Cornello was in power, but since then…" Roy slammed his glass down hard on the counter.
"Hit me."
About four shots later, Roy was starting to feel sort of lightheaded; he passed the glass back. The bartender smiled and started to clean it out, an old worn cloth drying out the creases.
"I take it you were supposed to meet him?" he asked kindly. Roy nodded, looking infuriated.
"Anywhere a guy can get a room around here?" he asked. The man looked down the road. A large temple, at least three stories in height, loomed ominously over the town.
"That place has been deserted for a while; that's where most people go when they want a free room." He said heavily.
"I can pay," Roy assured him, trying not to give him the wrong impression, but the man shook his head.
"I mean that's the only place we have; there's no one there to pay anyway." He replied. "Maybe your friend will be waiting for you there."
"Why do you say that?" Roy asked, perplexed.
"That was the only place that we ever knew God." The bartender replied, a ghost of a smile coming over the wrinkled face. "Perhaps he will find you worthy of a miracle."
Roy smiled thinly and stood, taking his suitcase back into his hand. He placed a large sum of money on the counter. The man looked surprised and opened his mouth to object, but Roy raised a silencing hand.
"I am not worthy of God's blessings any longer." Roy said softly. "I wasn't suited with him and attempted a miracle of my own." His face was wistful, but he met the barkeep's eye.
"When humans try to play God, they are cast away from him." He said, more to himself than anything. "And they are left in the dark to atone." The man looked placid, his face faintly surprised, but his thinned eyes held understanding.
"God sees all sins the same." Came the ragged voice; he placed the shot glass next to the half-empty bottle. "Perhaps you shall reach your atonement today." Roy turned and started his walk down to the temple.
"Thanks, old man." He said over his shoulder. He headed slowly down the center of the road, his footsteps reverberating against the hollowed, thinning walls. After he was out of sight of the bar, he stopped, staring down at the massive building where he would wait, as long as need be, for whomever was to meet him there. He sighed, looking up at the sky, stars beginning to shroud the darkness that grew overhead.
God would take no pity upon him as he sat upon the steps of the sanctuary; he knew that.
"I will continue to atone." He said to the faded paintings and the pillars of the shrine.
"I stopped believing in miracles a long time ago."