HEIR TO THE FLAME

CHAPTER 33: 'Give or Take'?

"Awww... crutches suck. I hate crutches! Do I have to-"

"YES. YOU HAVE TO USE THEM."

"Okay okay... geez... I'll use the stupid crutches... you people act like I'm so delicate..."

"YOU'LL BE DELICATE IF YOU DON'T USE THOSE DAMN CRUTCHES, ROY GLENN MUSTANG!"

"Yes Mom..." Roy gritted his teeth and put the crutches under his arms, heaving himself upward with them as support. He hadn't even been healed yet and they were already forcing him to stand! What was wrong with these people? He looked quickly at his mother and decided to squash the question. He didn't like that look; it was as if she could read his mind... He... crutched... around the room a few times and pouted at his mother. "Happy now?"

"No. Sit down." Roy grumbled under his breath and let himself flop down into a chair. First she wanted him to get up and... crutch... around, and now she wanted him to sit down! He could almost swear she was becoming menopau- "And wipe that nasty look off your face. I can almost see the insults formulating in your mind."

He resisted snapping back and tried not to look down at his chest. It wasn't looking too good even though his mother had healed most of it. He turned his head to Riza. "Where's Junior?"

"Armstrong called and said that he was heading to HQ and he was looking for Edward."

"Dear God. What on earth is he thinking!"

"He probably went to look for your mother, and, well..." she gestured at Ilia.

"So we have to find him now. Perfect. I'll just go and-" he winced as his chest flared upand Rizapushed him back down.

"You are not doing one single thing until that heals over completely. I'll go look for him."

And now, dear readers, let us press the fast forward cubed button to jump from what will be a particularly violent interaction between, mother, wife, and man. Oh the agony.

Better.

Now we seem to be located in a giant puddle of bloo- oops, we need to fast forward some more.

Alrighty. Here we are. Roy has somehow managed to haul his stupid self out of bed and crawled out the window in the middle of the night without anyone knowing, including Riza. Such a slippery little devil.

Roy trudged along the road, teeth clenched, head bleeding, still picking out pieces of splintered frying pan from his head.

"Stupid... mother... grr... ow!" he crutched a little further and decided that it would be a wonderful time to take a break, such a wonderful moment to just catch a breath or two... ohhh... he might as well go to work. He crutched a little farther before realizing the great irony in his words: he, Roy Mustang, the great procrastinator, was about to go to work banged up like there was no tomorrow with bits of frying pan still stuck in his sore head, his chest area bandaged using about three to six roles (give or take) of bandages, on crutches, his armpits sore from previously mentioned crutches, and a red mark glistening rather decoratively on his cheek in the shape of a hand.

He was going to work looking like he'd gotten trashed by a whole herd of women, oh he'd never live the humiliation down, ever. Then again, he had been beaten up by a whole herd of women. Riza counted as about thirteen, while his mother counted as about three hundred and one, give another fifty or so and take about negative five. He was even beginning to think of strange analogies using the phrase 'give or take' with his mind! He crutched faster.

He'd better get to H.Q. before he lost his mind completely.

Still crutching and crutching and crutching and crutching... this was making his armpits hurt, ugh. But he had to get to H.Q, it was his best shot at figuring out where the heck Junior had gone. If something had happened to him... Riza would never forgive him, hell, he would never forgive himself. Hurry hurry hurry, dammit, crutch faster!

Stupid crutches. Finally he saw the building loom into view and he sped up as much as he could, hopping rather awkwardly towards the double doors, sighing with relief at the lighted windows, and hoping that the doors were unlocked. After he got Junior, he'd bring him back home and they might just catch the radio play-by-play for the finals of the Flameball State Championships. Today was SuperFlame Sunday after all. He was almost there, he could just feel the metal of the doorknob in his hand already, or feel the rawness of his throat when he had to scream for someone to open the do-

His thoughts were interrupted when his wooden crutch snapped in half, tumbling him into the middle of the street, a truck hurtling his way.

"Oh, DAMN."

Hmmm... possibly not the greatest way to leave Roy in the middle of the street on SuperFlame Sunday, but that'll leave you hanging until the next one. Once again, very short, but it's much better than that horrendous last chapter. Thanks for all the support T.T. Makes me wanna cry. Just kidding.

This has alleviated my writer's block a little, and hopefully I'll be up to speed by next week or so.

As for the manga we're trying to make, we've now got the main party down, a lot of the plot, a few extras, a government set-up, two countries, three very insane antagonists, a really big dragon, a bunch of weird monsters, and a team title to go with it. We are now, Delusion Manga, courtesy of Andrews High School. I'm tellin' ya, if we ever get this thing published and make money, we're sending the money to the school; man is my school poor. Ah well. I'm getting knocked for a loop: I've got Honors Civics and Economics and Honors Chemistry to deal with, as well as drawing character, world, government, and scene sketches as much as I possibly can.

Not paying attention in Health helps, I'm sure, I mean, all we do in there is copy vocabulary words and sit around. There's not much, if anything, to pay attention to.

Well, see you guys next chapter,

-T A