A heartfelt thanks to everyone who reviewed. I don't have to tell you that I don't own Full Metal Alchemist, do I?
"Okay." said Edan. "I think we're safe."
They were hiding behind the counter of the Religious Supplies store. Both siblings sported a pair of fake mustaches and spectacles. The owner had gone on lunch break. Oh, he was still inside the store, of course. In fact, he was watching the authors' every move. But, he was still on break, so it wasn't his problem. Yet.
Alice removed the pathetic disguise. "Right. Back to business, then." She thought for a moment. "Why are we here again?"
"To look for a stone of some sort, I think."
They wondered in silence until someone come into the shop. She was a young girl about Edan's age (17). Her name was Violet. Whether she had been named after the purple bangs in her otherwise brown hair, or vice versa, nobody knows.
"Good afternoon, sir!" She said to Edan, who was still wearing his disguise.
"Er, good afternoon…"
"I'd like to buy some supplies for an offering, please."
"Miss, I'm not the one you should be asking."
"Whatever do you mean?"
"Just watch." Edan removed the disguise.
"Dear Leto, you've ripped off your mustache! Doesn't that hurt?"
Edan sighed, and then motioned to the shopkeeper. "Aren't you going to do anything about this?"
He shrugged. "My break's not over yet."
Later…
"Have a good day, and may Leto always watch over you!" Violet left with her supplies, humming a cheerful tune.
Alice took out a silver stopwatch. "So, what's her story?" She asked the shopkeeper.
"What's it worth to ya?"
Alice switched to berserk mode again. "You tell me, or I'll reduce this shop to a pile of RUBBLE!" She clapped her hands together. From her sleeves and coat scores of small pieces paper flew out, affixing themselves to the floor and ceiling.
"Did some of those come out of your top and skirt?"
"Oh, shut up. Now, prepare yours-MMPH!" Edan dragged her out of the store.
Father Cornello, the founder of Letoism, was an elderly man. At age 70, his face was covered in wrinkles, and his eyes bore deep laughter creases. Cornello wore the black robes of a stereotypical anime religious leader, which did nothing to hide his considerable gut.
At the moment, he was holding his daily "show off my powers parade". Cornello marched through the city, flanked by his loyal followers and his sycophantic cronies. Flowers rained from the sky, along with the occasional poor fool that had been commissioned to drop them from the tops of buildings.
The founder caught one in his hands (a flower, not a poor fool) and cupped his hands around it. There was a flash of light, and suddenly it became a snapping turtle, which promptly went on a toe biting rampage.
The crowd cheered anyway.
500 yards away, Edan watched the whole thing through binoculars. Alice was looking at the parade nearby.
"What do you think, big brother?" She called Violet over.
"It's author power. Without a doubt. Take it from the experts, Violet. Your prophet is a fake."
"But, that passage didn't obey the law."
"The law?" Violet could feel the familiar burning sensation of her brain be loaded with too much information.
"To the uninitiated, Author Power is an incredibly powerful skill that allows you to create or do anything, regardless of how impossible it would normally be. However, there are limits to an author's abilities. One important rule is the Law of Manifestation. If you use a description to create something that doesn't have a physical form, reality will only make a guess at what this thing really is. For example, if you tried to create a weasel-dragon hybrid, you would most likely get a dragon with tiny, fuzzy claws. The only possible way to bypass this is to make a very specific description, and sometimes not even that works.
Furthermore, a rather complex passage, such as creating a living thing, requires some type of energy source. That's why laptops have become so popular. The passage can derive its energy directly from the battery.
Lastly, some things are simply too impossible for even Authors to create, such as gods or singing sock puppets."
Alice looked around. Everyone within hearing distance had disappeared. She could hear the faint sound of crickets chirping. "Curse them all." She thought for a moment. "But, make Edan bump his shin on something painful, instead."
The member of Leto's church grunted with exertion as he tried in vain to push open the overly large doors to Father Cornello's chambers. Why on earth had the priest made his doors so incredibly heavy? Was he trying to keep people out? The clergyman stopped to catch his breath. It was impossible. No man alive could open these… door-fiends! Then he caught sight of the signs over the entrance. "Push."
The clergyman entered to find that all the lights in the room had been turned out, except for one small lightbulb. What little illumination it provided revealed Cornello, sitting behind an expensive looking desk, stroking a stuffed cat.
"Good evening, founder."
"Is it, Bradley? I have received news that you failed your mission."
"Sir, I just started working here today. I-"
"Excuses do not please me, Bradley. And neither do failures."
"Sir, have you been forgetting to recap the white-out bottles again?"
"What matters is what you have been doing, Bradley. I have a new task for you. Bring the Elric siblings to this church and have them killed. Do not fail me again, or I shall have you canned. That is, I shall have you tied down, so that people may throw canned squash at you."
"But, sir-"
"Begone."
"Father Cornello."
"Begone."
"Sir-"
"Begone."
"Oh, forget it."