OwlCookies: I thot I was clear with this to begin with… but I guess I was assuming to much… but 1 chapter will be posted each day until Christmas which would be the last chapter. Yknow… kinda like a countdown fic?

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8's Symmetry Powers Made Snow

Snow began to fall upon East City that day. At first, it was just a light snow. But as the day grew on, the snow turned into a blizzarding storm. This fact was not a very happy one for Roy Mustang.

"I-It's cold," he murmured, shivering.

Roy was in his officer, a slightly warm cup of coffee in his hand. It was about to spill due to his excessive shivering, but Riza's constant glare made him keep his hand steady.

"Wh… What the hell happened with the heater?" he asked, despair in his voice.

Riza sighed. "You wouldn't be so cold if you didn't think about it."

Roy ignored her. "You know what? Screw this! I need to burn something!" He looked down menacingly at his unfinished paperwork.

Procrastination was what kept him from doing the damned work. Roy would find any excuse to escape from the dread known as "work." But instead of procrastinating, why not just burn it all and rid of it? He slipped on his gloves so tempted to burn it.

"Sir…" Riza warned. "If you burn your paper work, the higher-ups will find a proper punishment."

Jean Havoc, smoking his cigarette in the corner of the room, chuckled. "She's right, chief. Wouldn't be great if it were you who had to call us chief?"

"Don't push it, Havoc," Roy growled.

Jean laughed, inhaled, and then puffed out a cloud of smoke.

"You know, one of these days, you're going to get lung cancer with those cancer sticks," Roy grumbled.

"They're not cancer sticks, boss!" Havoc protested.

"You wanna bet?" Roy threatened.

Riza stood between them. "Stop it," she threatened scarily. "Get back to work." She narrowed her eyes and fluttered them lightly as she cocked her gun.

"Y-Yes!" they exclaimed in unison, furiously signed papers.

If you could read Riza's thoughts, she would be mentally rolling her eyes and sighing. But you can't. So too bad.

Riza opened her eyes and regained her stoic face.

x.x.x.x.

As he sipped hot chocolate, Al began humming to himself. Even though it was blizzarding outside, Ed had made a lovely fire that kept the whole house warm. To Al, the weather outside seemed very pretty.

"Dashing through the snow…" he sang. "On a pair of broken skiis…" Al remembered when he was younger. Ed had alternated the original song. That had brought many laughs from the kids but many mean looks from the adults. "O'er the hills we go, crashing into trees! The snow is turning red, I think I may be dead, I woke up in the hospital with stitches in my head. OH! Jingle bells, jingle bells! Jingle all the way~" He grinned to himself.

Outside, there seemed to be an echo of his song. Al's ears perked up and looked out the window. There was a quick movement. Shocked, Al got closer to the window and pressed his face against the cold glass.

"A ring, a ring o' roses… A pocket full o'posies… Atishoo… Atishoo… We all fall down… Dead."

The slow and eerie sounding song seemed to now be coming from inside the house.

"B-Brother?" Al asked shakily. "Are you trying to scare me?" There was no answer. "Brother? It's not funny, brother! Stop it!"

"Hush, little Alphonse, don't say a word… killer's gonna kill a mockingbird… If that mockingbird don't die… killer's gonna kill your lullaby."

"I'm serious, brother. It's not funny!" Al shouted into the darkness of the next room where the voice was coming from. There was no answer. "B-Brother?"

There was a rustling movement in the dark room. A mixed humming of the three songs the voice had sung was heard. Al saw something silver glisten in the dark room.

"Al! Watch out!" a voice cried.

Someone dressed in blue stood in front of Al as the silver blade pierced the skin. There was a scream of triumph from the murderer. Suddenly, the knife dropped. Nothing other sound was made except for Al's thumping heart.

"S-Sergeant Brosh?" Al exclaimed, bending down to see if the soldier was alright.

He examined the soldier. Sergeat Brosh wasn't in critical condition, but his shoulder was bleeding. If he didn't receive medical attention, he might die. Having basic medical knowledge, Al went into the kitchen and got a cloth. He then applied pressure onto the wound.

"Sergeant, where's Ed and 2nd Lieutenant Ross?" Al asked quietly.

Brosh winced. "I was wondering the same."

Al looked at the calendar. December 17. 8 more days until Christmas. How many more people are going to get killed until then?

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OwlCookies: this chapter was hard to write :'(