Phantasmagoria

Chapter 5; Achieving Peace

Bane; "It's sad, it's lonely, and it's humorous in one. I do go so far as to skim over the body; but in a poetic sense; not NEARLY like From What We Once Were. (So eat happy!)"

Bane; "In any case, I'm sorry I haven't updated in so long. It turns out it isn't appendicitis… (so my mom's totally wrong.)… After I got checked, they became concerned with headaches I've been having along with the stomach pains. (DOES IT NEVER END?)

My (extremely annoying) doctor decided that my frequent headaches and all that jazz were due to caffeine. (Not insanity, thank you, so Drumstick, PAY UP!) They confiscated my tea, without which writing was tedious and wearying. Hah, but the 'diet' only lasts for 2 weeks. My agony ends in ( 2 days) and then I can go back and say it in her face; 'I WIN.' And then of course I'll go back to my caffeine-consuming habits, and continue to finish my fanfics. Until then, I managed to scrape together something to hopefully appease you all. Hope you like it…"

A; "So why is it that you're without fuel, and you're still hyper?"

Bane; "It's an internal clock thing. Give it another two days and I'll stop ticking."

Drumstick; "What a shame. Will reviewage keep you going?"

Bane; :-shifty eyes-: "Why, I don't know. I've never tried it before.. But it might just work…"

Bane; " Just for old time's sake, I'll say it. I DO NOT OWN FULL METAL ALCHEMIST. Good. Now that I've got that off my chest..."
It was in silence that they all prepared, and left in a suitingly black vehicle. It had taken Winry a good ten minutes to stop shaking, but her wordless 'trance' was somewhat worse than her trembling. Roy didn't mention it, instead attempting to convince himself that he was simply hallucinating.

Perhaps a half-hour later, they arrived at a substantially large cemetary, where a building had been placed at the border of the gate. It was into this building that they filed, walking lethargically as though the living dead.

Inside were a few connecting rooms, where Hughes was attempting to quiet the curious Elysia ("Will Ed be here?"), Riza was fighting the urge to shoot at Havoc, Jean was trying to piece back together a seemingly expensive vase, and Fury watched, struggling not to laugh at the antics in a show of respect.

There was a good deal of handshaking, and a great deal of 'condolances'. Both of which seemed to make the situatoon more real, and perhaps more terrifying.

Winry, who could not understand why there wasn't a showing of the body, asked one of the attendance women.

"He isn't dressed to be seen, M'adam."

"We're like family to him; none of us mind what he's in." She demanded forcefully. Al stood beside her quietly, whispering things like, 'Winry, maybe there's a reason—' and 'don't yell at the poor woman'. The attendance woman, incidentally, looked nervous and uncertain.

"I-I'm sure you can speak to the manager about it."

The manager, after enduring Winry's fury for a few minutes, gave in. He attempted to hint at why there had been no showing of the body in the first place, but she would have none of it. He led her back into one of the fore-rooms, where there lay several caskets.

"Perhaps you shouldn't see this—"

One glare gave him a brisk new pace. It was a few momets before he had unsealed it, and he opened it to reveal a mangled and unimpressive cadavera. This was not the boy that had lost his mother and remained fearless. This was not the adolescent that had journeyed for the redemption—not for himself, but for his brother. And this was not the man that had bartered his own life in exchange for that of his younger sibling's. This was a twisted and mishapen corpse that showed only how he had died—not how he had lived. His open, golden eyes were now crimson, and his soft, hay-colored hair was limp and dyed with his own dried blood.

She closed the casket.

"T-thank you."

And with that, she left the room, going back to sit with Alphonse and the others as though nothing had happened. Her heart knew better.

"Well, I suppose we can all agree that there never was such a temper." He began, earning a few chuckles and quite a few smiles.

Roy, being a highly-respected military official who worked occaisionally with the boy, had been asked to do a 'remembrance speech'. The great many that had been affected by the prodigy sat in rows before him, listening intently.

"But then, we can also agree that there was never such a determination. I- uh, I met him at the age of twelve. Even then, he was a genius at alchemy. But it wasn't just through alchemy that he was great. And I think that the proof of the lies in his brother—Alphonse Elric." A few spared a glance at the younger sibling who sat near the front.

Lonely amber eyes wandered to those who had attended his funeral. He was slumped against the coffin, fighting the way his imprint kept reverting back to the way his actual body was. It was the way things worked when you were too close to what you had been once; there could be no more illusions of far away appearances. Past always caught up to the present.

"He… uh… He wasn't someone who could shrink back against a challenge. Edward fought for a redemption not all of us agreed he needed. But that doesn't matter now. I suppose, bluntly put, it isn't something that should matter. He died a good man, a devoted brother, and, though he may have loathed to admit it, a goddamnably incredible State Alchemist." There was an appreciative, but solemn (1) applause.

A man swathed in formal black robes stepped onto the podium in Mustang's absence (for he had immediately taken his place among the rows), and proceeded to read a short passage from a worn leather book.

Winry held her head in her hands, and Alphonse kept his eyes closed. Neither of them could think of anything other than the sacrifices the boy had made.

Several shots were fired into the air, and the casket was lain into the ground. There was silence, all but for a few light sobs. Edward flicked his hair up, as though bored, but although Roy pretended not to notice him, he observed that something on his face portrayed a hint of sober flush.

"Didn't know so many people cared…"

They all gathered into a large reception room, whereas there was no exchange of conversation until someone (it was later unconfirmed who) switched on a lighthearted bout of music. A dull murmur of 'to his memory' errupted.

The bravest of the crowd came from the outskirts of the room and began to dance, which soon became a large throng as more joined in. Rolling chairs were brought out, which were, ironically, for the man to stand on as they were 'led', or wheeled, around by their dancing partner.

Winry overheard two military men chuckling, "I guess Edward would have had to dance like that, to tell you the truth. Never saw such a shrimp—"

A wrought-iron wrench collided solidly with the back of the man's head. This is some parody to them? We're at a funeral—his funeral—and their acting as though it's funny!

"What in hell is wrong with you? You're sick—ALL OF YOU!"

The music had stopped and people were stopping to stare. Winry, still abashed by this obvious lack of respect, was screeching now.

"We're having a funeral—a FUNERAL, you bastards! If you don't think he was tall enough for you, then you can get the hell out! He… d-deserves better than you all picking fun while he's… j-just been lain in the… -hic- ground!"

Tears streamed down her face as she attempted to reproach and fight her sobs simaltaneaously.

"A-and…. If y-y-you think… you c-can—"

It was at this point that a very flustered Hughes grabbed hold of her.

"G-geroff!" she sniffled hopelessly.

"Ms. Rockbell, can I speak to you outside for a moment?"

It wasn't a demand, nor was it a question. The whispered words seemed more like a comment; something declarative. Unsure, Winry nodded.

She was led unceremoniously into a back room, plain and grey in decoration. Although Winry hardly studied her surroundings keenly through her blearily livid gaze, she could tell quite easily that something about Maes was off. His almost permanent grin had sauntered somewhere out of sight, and his usual kinetic and ever-bouncy disposition had taken a turn for the worse. Hughes looked more tired, and perhaps more worn than she had ever seen him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but not before she had broken down, rage melting into liquid fire that stung as it fell down her cheeks. Never had her tears felt this bitter. Her words stumbled over her sobs, "H-how c-c-can they do this? How can they pre-pretend that he isn't…" she paused a moment, then screamed violently into her hands,

"AND YOU! HOW CAN YOU DISGRACE HIS MEMORY BY POKING FUN ON THE NIGHT OF HIS FUNERAL?"

Edward stood at a distance behind, wishing he could reach in and be heard. He longed for five minutes in which Winry could hear him; could see him. He reached forward, knowing somehow that it would work. He placed a hand within Hughes, the limb disappearing within solidness. He gentle made a space within the man for his own whispy imprint to enter.

Maes was about to console her; to explain—before a sudden shift from within him took place.

"It's… just so damn sick."

Winry, had she been looking up instead of attempting to wipe the tears from her eyes, she would have noticed the way he froze. It took only a second before he had relaxed again… nearly transparent amber eyes blinking with concern where those of green had once been.

The feel of moving a hand, although not that of his own, around the girl's shoulders, and of speaking in a whisper he knew could be the only thing to calm her was almost new. Almost familiar.

"It sounds sick when you say it that way, Win. I—I mean, Edward wouldn't have seen it like that. It's like a tribute, you see? Uhhm, he would have wanted everyone to move on. Ed would have wanted everyone to find their own feet again and keep up with their own lives. This is thei—er, our solution against exactly what he didn't want, Winry. He didn't want mourning. He wanted celebration; for Al. Can you bring yourself to join the crowd? To show him that you can respect what he wanted, Win? "

She nodded tearfully.

The undispensable experience of knowing weight in one's heartbeat, of understanding the solidness of one's shell coursed through him in waves of irrepressable sadness.

I'll never know this again, he realized.

Bringing her into a tight hug, he said, below the volume of a breath, "Could you ever respect all of it?" She didn't hear it through her sniffling.

"You're right, Mr. Hughes. I think I get it now…" she continued on as he pulled away. Green eyes blinked with confusion.

"But I didn't—"

Winry wasn't listening. She had already started out the door, and joined the swelling crowd. Maes sighed, shrugged, and followed her. The teen watching from the wall behind said nothing more, simply smirking openly.

This is going to be a long night, he thought exasperatedly. Sudden images of men on rolling chairs to dance, and then, to himself, he added, Not short… just not a giant like everyone else. Yeah… That's it. They're just tall. Every single… one of them… yeah…

He faded out of sight, missing a stomach to have sunk with his newest realization.

(1)Bane; "I played the Funeral by ear, so sorry folks, if I didn't get the whole process right..."
Bane; "I have half of 'Listless' and 'From What We Once Were' done, so expect another update within the next week!"

:-dancing-: