Title : Whispers of a Nightmare
Genre : Anime/Manga
Category : Full Metal Alchemist
Disclaimer : Nope, this one belongs to someone else as well.
Summary : Takes place after the incident with Nina. Something's wrong with Ed, and Al just can't quite figure out what it is. Serious situations and angst ensue.
Warnings : Angst, mild language, violence, and other issues that shall go unnamed for now. I don't want to give away too much of the plot just yet, now do I? ;)
Rating : T
Chapter 22 : The Magnificent Truth of Deception
"The next time you need to make a phone call, can it wait until after we've gotten a room?" the question came through tightly grit teeth, the man whom they belonged to still on the verge of snapping his gloved fingers. His narrowed brow was still set in semi-fury, obviously not amused by Hughes entrance in the doctor's office. And it didn't help matters much that the man came bursting in like a maniac gushing about how "she almost took her first step today, Roy!," and that they had to get back before she actually did.
Now the two men were on the way to the local tavern, the Lt. Colonel in need of something to calm his nerves that had been on overdrive ever since he left Central.
"Sorry, Roy, but you'd understand if you had one," Hughes murmured, folding his arms. "Alright, now that you've calmed down and that vein's finally stopped throbbing in your forehead," he began, his voice taking on a serious tone, though the expression radiating off his face was anything but. "What did you find out?" he asked, opening the door to the bar, the smell of stale cigarettes and ale easing through his nostrils.
"They're headed to Renégauld. One can only assume why," Mustang stated flatly as he took a seat at the bar, handing over the slightly charred newspaper clippings. He immediately placed an order, not caring about the possible hangover that would be once again waiting for him in the morning. He'd get over it.
Hughes scanned the black and white pages, shaking his head as he came to the last one. "That's...just plain disturbing. So, what, do they think this doctor left something behind there? That's quite a long shot, isn't it?" the hazel eyed man inquired, taking a sip of his drink.
"A long shot's all those boys need. They don't care, even it is just a minute chance of something, they'll go no matter what," the Lt. Colonel answered, staring down into the brown liquid that was now nearing the bottom of the glass. He watched as one of the ice cubes shifted, the alcohol politely bubbling in response.
"Something's nagging me about the name of that town. I can't quite recall what, but I remember hearing something about it right before the War." The Major took another sip, letting the substance cool his throat, even if it did burn slightly as it went down.
"I don't remember hearing anything about it," Mustang stated, his brow declining as he sat up straight, going through the years of information that was stored in his morally bankrupt brain. "All I recall is that it was a quiet mining town with a fairly small population. I don't even know if we have any officers stationed there or not."
"I could be mistaking it for somewhere else, but I'm pretty sure that's the one. There was type of accident there or something. But that was years ago..." Hughes shrugged it off, taking another drink from the barkeep. "I just wish those two wouldn't have done this. I understand that they want to fix something, but they're just kids. But then again, I guess they haven't learned the true definition of patience yet."
"Apparently not," the onyx eyed man agreed, drinking down the last bit of alcohol. He scooted the glass forward, silently asking for more. "What did Edward say to you that night before he and Alphonse left?" the inquiry seemingly came from out of nowhere, a dazed expression gracing his onyx colored eyes.
Maes almost choked on the transparent substance, wiping a bit of it from his lips. "And what brought that up?" the dark-haired man questioned, setting his glass down on the bar, trying not to cough up the last bit of liquid that was still trapped in his throat. He attempted to clear it, but with little avail.
"I need to know what you said to him," the black haired man repeated, clenching the full glass that sat in front of him, fighting the shaking urge that was searing through his hands. "I just want to know what made him think he could run off like this." Now the shaking was threatening his vocal chords, pissing him off nonetheless.
"Well, I didn't tell him to disobey your orders and run away if that's what you're asking," Maes deadpanned, an eyebrow arching as he downed what was left of the alcoholic beverage. "Besides, I wasn't the last one to talk to him that night, if I recall correctly. What exactly did you say to him? Or did you forget?"
Mustang was silent as he went over their conversation in his head, recollecting that it wasn't exactly as pleasant as he first thought. "So you're saying this is my fault, right?" he asked, the liquor apparently already having some sort of effect on his nerves. The glazed look was just starting to settle in his eyes, a warning sign to the slightly but not thoroughly intoxicated Maes that possibly it was time to get going.
"No, but I honestly don't think what we said had any thing to do with him leaving. He'd already made up his mind beforehand. Even if that whole little you're staying put until you work out your issues thing did possibly set him off," he muttered, standing to his feet. The look he earned from the Lt. Colonel could only have been described as a deathly one, making the Major want to seek comfort in the room that was waiting for him back at the inn. But before he could make another move, the door to the tavern opened, an authoritative looking Hawkeye making an entrance.
"Sir, I believe there may be a problem concerning our next relocation," she stated, coming to stand in between the two slightly inebriated men. A trace of concern laced with worry taunted her eyes, but she stood firm, practically at attention.
The glazed look immediately left its owner's eyes, he standing up as well, not liking the woman's tone in the least. "We'll talk about this outside," the onyx-eyed man ordered, heading for the door. Trying desperately to tame the alcohol that was flowing through his bloodstream, he welcomed the outside air, thankful for the cool gust of wind that graced his face as he stepped out of the bar.
"Sir," Hawkeye began, taking glances between the two men that stood at her sides. "I was calling ahead, to make reservations at the inn there, just in case they were needed. I attempted this approximately three times, but only received a busy signal. I then proceeded to call HQ to find out whether or not there was a problem with the phone lines in Renégauld. The dispatcher I talked to...told me some disturbing news. Apparently there was an accident there six years ago that claimed the lives of the townspeople. Some sort of toxic gas leaked from the mines and throughout the entire town, killing all those who inhaled it." She paused, taking in a deep breath, afraid of the words that were about to leave her lips.
"Go on, Lieutenant," Mustang prodded, the makings of a headache traveling through his temples seemingly at the speed of light. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach, feeling that somehow things were about to get even worse.
"Officers were sent in after a distress call was made, but since they had no idea of what they were heading into, none of them were prepared for what they were about to face. The soldiers that were sent in perished as well, the gas still being toxic. And according to the dispatcher, the town was then closed off, Fuhrer's orders. And with the threat of war impending, the whole ordeal was then forgotten about. None of the bodies were ever...properly disposed of, sir," she ended, forcing the lump that was in her throat back down into her chest.
"Meaning that the whole damn place is a literal ghost town," the thought parted Hughes lips, his hazel eyes gleaming with a fear that had been locked down ages ago.
"We can't risk them getting there before us. Let's get going," Mustang gave the command, leading the way back to the inn. For the first time in six years, he was afraid; and for the first time in his life, an absentminded, silent prayer left his lips. Only tonight, the nightmare would apparently be real.
&&&&&
The streets were lonely, not a soul in sight, except for the one that was encased in a metallic shell. The hallow suit of armor drifted past the street lamps, casting a fairly large shadow over the concrete in front of him, only making the feeling of loneliness multiply tenfold. The sound of his metal body clanking filled his ears, a part of him still not used to the sounds it made. He missed being able to tiptoe and be light on his feet, scaring the wits out of his older brother when the time arose. The only reason he could still get away with it now was because the older boy was a bit of a heavy sleeper, other than that, no chance.
His steel helmet seemed to hang tonight, even if it wasn't physically possible. A hopeless feeling of woe wrapped around him, apparent in his slow, steady steps. One could say that the eleven year old was depressed, but that wasn't exactly the case. Worried and scared half to death would probably be more appropriate.
Nearly every movement, every step had to be taken with care, the sight of his brother on his back becoming more and more common. But at the current moment, the spot was vacant; empty. He almost missed it—almost.
Seeing Ed like that was like watching the last days they spent with their mother. He hated seeing her like that, they both did. The woman that the two boys had known to be strong and vibrant had wasted away into almost nothing, the life in her eyes fading slowly but surely, day by day.
The memories were still fresh, even if they were slightly blurred; but the pain—the pain that they brought hurt worse than anything Alphonse could remember, making him silently wish that perhaps he could've forgotten them, just to be able to remember her being alive instead of dead.
He wanted to cry, to let go of all the feelings and emotions that swam around him but were just out of reach, but he couldn't. They were trapped inside that empty shell, just as his soul was, bound forever and a day to the steel until other means of life could be found, preferably his old body. But the way things were looking, he wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to see that happen.
It seemed that the farther they went, the harder they worked, it all just fell apart, leaving behind more gaping holes and questions. Was there really a Philosopher's Stone? This question in particular haunted him more than the rest. He didn't want to speak any more of it to Edward, knowing the older boy was dead set on getting the eleven year old back to normal and wouldn't hear anything discerning the thought. But what if there wasn't? What if he was stuck like that for the rest of his life?
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a tiny voice, breaking through the steel material that made up his current state of being. He looked up, a small child coming into view.
"'Scuse me, sir, but I'm looking for my little brother. Have you seen him?" the young boy asked, staring up with innocent blue eyes, dirty blonde hair making it to just past his ears. From the looks of it, he had just gotten out of bed, still in his pajamas.
Alphonse stared at the boy for a moment before answering, clearly confused as to why a child the boy's age would be out at such a late hour. Humoring himself, he bent down to get as close to eye level with the kid as he could, his armor clanking miserably below him as he moved.
"Are you sure your little brother's even out here? It's awfully late," the kind tone emanated through the suit of armor, his soul-filled eyes flickering.
"Oh, no, 'm positive. He always sneaks out late 'cause he's afraid," the child answered honestly, his bright blue eyes tracing the much larger suit of armor, the eleven year old now realizing the boy was clinging to a teddy bear, obviously his brother's.
"What's he afraid of?" Al inquired curiously, fear slowly leaking through his metal hinges and seeping into his soul.
The boy immediately hung his head, reluctance confiscating his speech. "He's-he's afraid of--"
"Jonathan! Jonathan!" a woman's terrified voice rang through the night air. "Oh my God, there you are!" she said breathless, running over to the two boys, her eyes widening at the sight of Alphonse. "I am so sorry, sir. He does this almost every night. I'm sorry for him troubling you," the brunette continued, her sapphire eyes filled with tears.
"Oh, it's alright, ma'am, but he said he was looking for his little brother...," Al's voice trailed off, extremely confused.
Wiping the tears from her eyes, she slowly looked up into the armor's soul-filled ones, a saddened smile forcing up the corners of her lips. "His little brother passed away a few months ago," she stated with a shaky voice. "Sometimes, he remembers...other times, he forgets. They were together when it happened," her voice dropped down to a whisper, tears threatening her vision once more.
Alphonse bowed quickly, feeling strangely guilty and out of place at the same time. "I am so sorry, ma'am. I-I didn't know." His voice dropped as well, his eyes falling to the ground as he watched her turn to walk away. "Um, it's awfully late. Why don't I walk you back home?" he offered, glancing up at the young woman.
She stopped short, looking back at him. "That would be nice. Thank you," she replied, a trace of a genuine smile crossing her lips. "What do you say to the nice man, Jonathan?" she prodded the little boy, he slowly looking back up at Alphonse as they started to walk.
"Is that cold?" the blue-eyed child inquired, staring at the metal as it glinted gracefully in the pale moonlight that had just started to break through a batch of thick clouds.
Al couldn't help but laugh at the boy's question, a chuckle emanating off the metallic suit. "Yeah, it is, but it protects me, so that's all that really matters," he answered, glancing down at the child. "Um, ma'am—"
"Please, call me, Marilyn," she interjected politely, her blue eyes twinkling in the afterglow of the lamps' light.
"Right, Marilyn," he repeated, albeit a tad sheepishly. "I don't want to upset you, but may I ask, how it happened?" Al queried somberly, feeling sorry for the young woman. He could tell she couldn't have been past twenty-five, if that, though her eyes would have led him to believe different.
She pushed a strand of loose hair out of her face before answering, holding her composure as best she could. "Both of them used to sneak out, I guess to look at the stars. It was something they did when their father was around..." Her voice trailed off for a moment, a wistful look glimmering through her eyes. "Anyway, they somehow managed to get down to the lake. We-We found them the next morning, Jonathan was alive but barely breathing; Edward however..."
The armor stopped clanking for a moment, Alphonse stopping dead in his tracks, frozen.
"Is there something wrong?" the young woman asked, stopping as well, staring up into the soul-filled orbs.
"Um, Ed—that's my older brother's name," he answered despondently, trying his best to shake it off. "Sorry about that," he added, absentmindedly scratching the back of his helmet in embarrassment.
"There's nothing to be sorry for...I-I didn't catch your name," the woman thought out loud, wrapping her night robe around her tighter.
"Oh, it's Alphonse. Alphonse Elric," he replied, glancing back down at her, suddenly feeling very empty with a touch of remorse. Maybe he shouldn't have been so loud with Ed, but then again...
He deserved it, and you know it. He's too stubborn for his own good, and if you're not careful, he'll take advantage of your niceness, just like before...
"This is it," she said quietly, her hands resting on the now sleepy-looking child's narrow shoulders. "Thank you very much, Alphonse." She paused, looking away for a moment. "Would you like to come in? I've got tea or coffee..."
"That's very nice of you, but unfortunately, I've got to get back to the inn. My brother's waiting for me, and I'm guessing he's probably about ready to leave." A sudden surge of discomfiture flooded through his system, he forcing himself to look at her once again. "It was very nice meeting you, Marilyn. And you too, Jonathan," he added, glancing down at the little boy. With a wave, he turned around, images of his mother and brother coming to mind, praying that he could save the remaining one.
&&&&&
He was cold, and yet very aware of the fact, but for some reason, didn't care. He could hear the wind howling through the open window, blowing what was supposed to be a gentle breeze across his skin, though it was hardly anything but. It carried a chill within it that was meant for him and him alone, goosebumps spreading like wildfire across his pale skin.
His golden orbs slowly drifted down to the loose strands of hair that were teasing his shoulders, knowing that a shower was more than likely needed. His eyes quietly traced the skin that was shadowed by the golden locks, silently noting the bruises that were gradually fading from his arm. He could see the yellowish, purple trail, winding around his upper arm like a bad tattoo. He could see how truly white the color of his skin had become, but for the life of him, he couldn't see how thin and weak the limb had become. It was beyond his vision now, his eyes not permitted to see the travesty he had committed upon himself.
Slowly, he rose to his feet, finally used to the metallic clank of metal his left foot provided when his right one hit the floor. He made his way to the small bathroom, thankful at its size, knowing it would be hard as hell for Al to get in there, if he had reason to, that is.
Flipping on the light switch, he pulled off the seemingly large undershirt, tossing it to the floor. He was just about to undress fully when the mirror caught his attention. The one thing he tried to avoid, but every time he turned around, couldn't. It was as though as invisible force drew him towards the sight his reflection provided, and he hated the piece of glass for all that it was worth.
Months of self-torture, unapparent to him, showcased itself upon his visage. The lack of food had all but robbed him of any bit of color and vibrancy that was once proficient on his features, his cheeks too sunken in for his own good. But the reality of it all—his reality, was dangerously warped, the delusion that every thing was alright perfectly set in his mind. His brow narrowed as he gave one last glance at the ghost of a boy that stared back at him before turning towards the shower.
"Dammit," he muttered, fidgeting with the bandage that was also in need of a change. "Why isn't the damn thing healing faster?" The twelve year old's question fell on deaf ears, the alchemist not even bothering to listen to himself.
Carefully, he unraveled the white piece of material, the skin still a bit red and itchy around the wound. He gently ran one of his flesh fingers across it, feeling a tingle of pain run through the limb. It was on the road to recovery, but due to lack of nutrients and proper rest, the healing process had been greatly stunted.
Reaching his hand through the near-transparent shower curtain, he turned on the water, making sure it was hot before he climbed in. Steam immediately shot through the small room, humidity slowly soaking into his lungs.
Shakily, he got in, the involuntarily chattering of his teeth slowly coming to a stop as the hot water started to hit him. The twelve year old closed his eyes, letting the deeply tensioned muscles relax underneath the water pressure. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around himself, feeling eerily alone.
He hadn't meant to upset his little brother. Nowadays, that was becoming more and more commonplace the further they went on. It wasn't as though he tried to piss the younger boy off every chance he got; he was just doing what he thought was best for the both of them, even if it didn't seem like the wisest decision at the time.
Why doesn't he understand? I just want to get him out of that damned metal body, and back into his old one! I'm doing this for his own good. Why doesn't he get it? And I'm not obsessed either...am I?
He didn't like the direction his thoughts were going, cutting them off before he started to lose what little bit of self-contained sanity he had left.
With a sigh, he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair, watching the foamy substance circle around the drain before it was sucked down into the pipes. His brow narrowed as he realized there was something mixed with the water, something barely noticeable since it tried to blend in with the water, doing a fine job of it up until now.
He bent down to examine it, running his hand through the transparent liquid, only to come up with a handful of hair. At the sight of that much hair wrapped around his fingers, he stood up, his heart pounding in his ears. Hurriedly, he began pulling out the loose strands, tugging at the tips of his hair. His eyes widened as more and more stuck to his digits, a clump soon forming in his hands.
As nausea teased his throat and stomach, he let the disgusting sight fall to the shower floorwatching it twirl around the drain before it went down it. His jaw clenched immediately, the twelve year old trying desperately to hold down whatever was still in his stomach.
His hands shook as he moved the soap across his body, ignoring the bones that were seemingly jutting out of his skin.
The distinct taste of iron quietly found its way to his mouth, he spitting in reflex. Bloody saliva mixed with the rest of the liquid that was continuously spinning around the drain, creating a nasty shade of pink in the mix.
Taking a deep breath, he finished the shower, inwardly hoping that dizziness wouldn't come to conquer him as it so loved to do. He reached for the towel, the smell of bleach hitting him as soon as he dried his face off. His nose crinkled at this, but he was far too preoccupied with other things to notice.
He stepped out, careful not to slip on the wet floor. The blonde dried himself off, wrapping the towel around his waist when he was finished. He picked up his clothes, trying to stand up as slowly as possible, but to his dismay, a round of double vision knocked him senseless, he leaning on the wall for support. Once it had passed, he opened his eyes, the mirror catching his glance once more, though this time, for an entirely different reason.
Sprawled across it in perfectly clear script, the word Soon met his immediately distraught face, his clothes falling to the floor as the reality that he was not alone hit him. Before panic could settle in, another thought struck him.
"Al, that is not funny!" he shouted, limping out of the bathroom and into the chill of the inn room. The blonde's mouth fell open as he realized he was still alone. "Al! Quit hiding! This is not funny! I know you hear me! Look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to make you mad! You know I'm getting better at it, right?" the anger that held his tongue quickly turned joking, his golden eyes gleaming with silent fear. "Al? Alphonse?"
The door opened, a solemn suit of armor making its way into the room, brown bag in hand. Glancing up and seeing his brother standing half naked in the middle of the room brought immediately confusion to his thoughts, his gauntlet tightening on the food.
"Um, Ed, what are you doing?" he asked, tilting the helmet to one side as he took the sight of his shaking and obviously cold brother in.
It took a minute for the boy to respond, his gaze finally meeting Al's. "That's not funny, Alphonse," he scolded seriously, trying to hide the limp that was still confiscating his leg as he walked over to the single chair in the room, opening up the suitcase that held his clothes.
"What's not funny, Brother?" the eleven year old inquired curiously, taking a few steps towards the obviously confused State Alchemist.
"Writing that crap on the mirror!" Edward responded sharply, trying to hide the tears that were brimming in his golden orbs. "You know, I know I upset you and everything, but you didn't have to do that! I wouldn't even do that to you," he added, muttering underneath his breath as he pulled an undershirt and pair of pants from the suitcase.
"Ed, I didn't write anything in the bathroom. I just got in," the boy replied innocently, though there was a slight tinge of annoyance in his undertone.
The boy continued fidgeting with the suitcase until finally his stubborn streak cooled. Slowly, he looked up at his younger brother who still hadn't moved from the spot he was in.
"You really didn't write that in the bathroom?" he questioned softly, glancing up at the eleven year old through his bangs, his head still bowed slightly.
"No, Ed, what are you talking about?" Now the boy was annoyed, and that emotion could be told through his voice alone. He folded his gauntlets, continuing to stare down at the motionless twelve year old.
"Nothing. Never mind," he murmured, casting his glazed eyes on the bed. Without another word, he grabbed his clothes and made his way into the bathroom, wearily peering up at the mirror. Any trace of the word was gone, the steam dissipating into the room. "I know what I saw," he muttered, gritting his teeth, anger suddenly rising over him. Tears burned once again at his eyes as he clenched the counter top, both arms shaking in frustration and weakness.
Hanging his head, he started to dress, careful not to agitate the wound anymore than it already was. He sighed as a lone knock graced the door.
"What is it, Al?" he asked, exasperation clear in his tone. Another knock followed, a sigh escaping his lips as he cracked the door open. Before he could say another word, a piece of white material in the form of a bandage was held up in front of him, the younger boy silent in his response.
Edward stared up at the dangling cloth, a pained smile slowly forcing his mouth to turn up. He quietly took the fresh bandage, his wet hair still shielding his face.
"Thanks, Al," he said quietly, his voice hanging on the edge of a whisper, his gaze gradually wondering up to his little brother's.
"It's okay, Brother, really," the boy responded honestly, still feeling guilty about their earlier confrontation.
"No, I mean it. Thanks. You didn't have to do anything for me, but you did anyway. Even though I know I pissed you off. I'm sorry," he added, the pained expression still more than evident.
"I'm sorry too," Alphonse apologized, wishing that at that moment, he could've smiled, just to bring some sort of life or happiness to those golden orbs that seemed drained and weary. "Cheer up, Ed. We're almost there," he tried, getting the faintest sign of reassurance from the older boy.
"Yeah, hey, um, do you think you could braid my hair for me? It's still kinda wet and all..." his voice trailed off, suddenly looking very shy and young, younger than his twelve years anyway.
"Sure, uh, in here?" Al asked, looking back and forth at the small amount of space in the little room.
"Sorry, give me a minute," he said quickly, shutting the door right in the younger boy's face.
"Ed!" the indignant cry came, the eleven year old folding his arms in protest. "Are you embarrassed now or something?" he asked only to get a scoff from Edward.
"Yeah, right! I'm not embarrassed," the boy muttered, hurriedly slipping on his pants and shirt, inwardly hoping his brother didn't hear the tiny murmurings of, "Ow! Ow!" over and over again as the material slid over his leg.
"Forgetting something?" Al inquired knowingly from the other side of the door, a quick laugh escaping his metal shell. When he received no reply, he tapped the door. "How about you come out here and I'll wrap your leg, then braid your hair?" the semi-patient alchemist offered.
The door slowly cracked open, Edward limping past the larger boy, the bandage clearly hanging off his leg in a half-hearted attempt to wrap it. Without a word, he let defeat settle in as he sat down on the bed, watching his little brother kneel down to do it a bit more carefully.
"How's it feel?" the younger boy asked, glancing up at the State Alchemist whose gaze had been cast on the floor before Alphonse spoke. He looked up at the steel suit, shrugging.
"I can finally put a little weight on it, if that's what your asking," he replied, leaning back on the bed, his hand touching the brown bag. "What's this?" he asked, opening it up.
"The only place that was open was a little donut shop down the street. That was the only kind they had," the boy explained, glancing up as he saw his older brother slowly start to pick apart the glazed food, putting a little in his mouth at time.
At least it's something, the eleven year old told himself, glancing back down at the bandage, making sure it was tight.
"Alright, turn around," Al instructed, reaching for Edward's comb. Gently, he ran it through the boy's hair, careful not to pull too hard on the tangles.
"You know, Al, you remind me more and more of Mom each day," the words left the State Alchemist's mouth as he ate a little more of the glazed confectioneries, his golden orbs concentrated on the food, trying as hard as he could to force himself to eat it, if not for his benefit then for his brother's.
The combing stopped for a moment, a pang of pain temporarily paralyzing the younger boy. "Thanks, Brother," the appreciation came, his voice barely above a whisper. If he had his real body, tears would have been falling from his eyes.
"Sometimes I forget who the older one is!" Edward laughed off the sentiment, knowing his last comment had struck a chord within the other boy.
"I don't," Al mumbled, shaking his helmet in honesty, carefully starting to braid the still wet, golden locks.
"We're almost there, Al. I can feel it. Who knows? Maybe by this time next week, you'll have your body back," the words left his lips, the boy not knowing what the future was soon holding for him. Later on, he'd understand why he hated fate, but for the time being, that notion was lost on him.
&&&&&
"There's been a change of plans. You are to report to a town called Liore. I'll have further instructions when you get there," Sloth's voice met an angered Envy's ears, the homunculous obviously pissed.
"What are you talking about, a change of plans?" Envy spat, clenching the phone in one hand, its pale skin growing even paler around the knuckles. "I thought we were supposed to get those twirps to go there first, after they had their little play time in Renégauld."
"As I said, there's been a change of plans. You three are to head there first. Contact me when you get there," the other homunculous stated before hanging up the phone.
"So, where are we going?" Lust inquired, standing a few feet away from the scowling Envy, anger burning in its violet eyes.
"We're not going anywhere 'til I've had my fun first," the purple-clad homunculous declared, the scowl slowly transforming into a demented grin.
"You're disobeying orders?" the voluptuous one asked, one hand going to her hip, an eyebrow raising.
"Those two brats don't know anything about pain. Not yet anyway. We'll go to Liore once we're done with them," Envy ordered, getting up. "That stupid little pipsqueak won't know what hit him..."
Author's note : Hey, would you look at that? I'm finally done! After a week and half. Anyway, I just want to say that I can't believe the continuous amount of support I'm receiving for this story. It's completely unexpected and I can't thank you all enough. Seriously, I really do appreciate it.
So once again, many, MANY THANKS goes to Roy-Fan-33, JChrys, Akamori-chan, Night Fox Hiten, ssj2raider, Aemilia Rose, ThePatheticWriter, queenstrudel, stvv, hyperdude, Legendary Chimera, Hitokiri Musei, marufu-chan, iceprincess421, Azumizai, Shattered Mirror01, Mistress of the Night5, Harryswoman, DarkAmber112, and to all of you who've put me on a list or alert. Thank you so much guys. ;) And the silent ones too. :D
Hope it wasn't too mushy. XD