Chapter Three – Famous Last Words
Lorelei Clemens
"You know that I'm not going to flip out and stab you, right?"
Mustang sits up nearly straight in his chair. "Of – of course I know that," he says quickly. "I'm just waiting for Hughes to come back in, that's all."
It's quite strange, watching a grown man act so apprehensive around an eighteen-year-old girl.
Granted, I did just stab a former State Alchemist to death with a glorified kitchen knife. Since I haven't really processed the entire situation yet, I'm not showing as much emotion as I should right now.
Not to mention that it's the first thing I've said to anyone since what I've now christened 'The Impromptu Reading of Dante's Inferno.'
On second thought, I probably should have kept my goddamned mouth shut.
"Lorelei Clemens," I continue. "My birthday is the first of July, 1896, and I'm eighteen years old. I lived in the South until my parents were killed in the border wars with Creta two months ago."
"But how did you get here?" Mustang asks, blinking.
If you had let me keep talking, I might have gotten to it on my own.
Right at that moment, Hughes walks back into the room, pausing when he realizes I'm actually talking. Thankfully, he doesn't say anything, because "Oh, she can talk!" doesn't encourage me to talk more often, people.
"Quite honestly, I have no idea why I ended up here. I'd applied for a job in the military earlier, and I recently received… transfer orders? Is that it? To come work as a guard at Central Prison. It wasn't exactly what I had wanted, but I dealt with it. But, when I came here, I didn't see any other guards, so I decided to look around. You know what happened after that."
Hughes eventually nods. "What's your name again?" He asks, even though I know fully well he wasn't in the room when I said it. So really, he could've just asked for my name.
Since this isn't Death Note, I tell him.
"That's a strange name," says the man who's named after corn.
Not really, but it is close enough to be suspicious. What kind of parent names their son Maes without an ulterior motive?
"I'm sure you think so," I mutter. "Anyways, thanks for letting me take a shower earlier. Turns out I'm not too fond of having blood in my hair and eyes, well, everywhere, really. Not a very pleasant sensation. But you know that too, don't you?"
There's a moment of silence as the two men look at each other and then back at me.
Crap. I think I just blew my cover. Normal people don't go around saying something like that.
"What?" They ask in complete unison.
I need to learn to control my mouth. Clamping my teeth down on my tongue, I say, "Oh, come on. You're the Hero of Ishval, Roy Mustang. You freaking massacred hundreds of civilians, and you don't expect to be recognized?" I probably should stop talking now, before I start praising him for genocidal mass-murder. And for once, my mouth actually listens to my brain.
Mustang leans back in his chair, like he's trying to get as far away from me as possible without giving up and running out of the room. "That doesn't explain how exactly you recognized me."
"You introduced yourself a little after we first met."
I can see the midget lights over their heads gradually turn on. Had they actually thought I'm a psychic or a State Alchemist enthusiast or something equally screwed up? Knowing them, and knowing this universe, I'd say the answer's yes.
"…Oh."
"You must be letting old age get to you, Colonel."
The comment comes from no one other than the Fuhrer himself, who's standing right inside the doorway. Judging by the reactions Mustang and Hughes give, they didn't notice him either.
"Fuhrer Bradley!"
"Fuhrer?!"
"Angry old eye-patch dude!"
For an entire minute, there's nothing but complete and utter silence.
He's staring at me, like really staring at me, until I remember he's literally the living incarnation of Wrath. He is gonna slice my head off right here and now. My last words will be memorable, at least.
"Oh my god! I've always wanted to meet you. How did you even come up with Order 3066? It was so effective." This is a little overkill, isn't it? Oh well. Better to have everyone think I'm a miniature version of Kimblee than be dead, right.
Bradley blinks – or would it be winks? "I'd like to talk with Miss Lorelei alone for a moment, if that's okay with the two of you."
Hughes and Mustang nod and wait until he moves out of the doorway before going out.
"Would you mind describing how exactly everything played out with McDougal and Kimblee?"
I'm sure as hell not gonna tell him anything. At least, I won't until he gives me a reason to. It's the kinda person I am. "Huh? Why?"
"Since they were both involved in government missions, it's just to figure out if either of them revealed any classified information." He says this without even hesitating, so I assume he had this excuse ready beforehand.
So that's how he's trying to play this off as. It's believable, I'll give him that. "It was my first day on my job, and I got really lost. I heard people talking, so I went towards the voices. Even back there, I could tell that McDougal seemed to have quite the vendetta against you for some weird reason. Did you marry his ex or something?"
He looks quite uncomfortable about going down this path. "Stay on track, please…"
"Oh, right. I basically crashed into McDougal, who randomly flipped out and attacked me for no reason at all. I don't really like being randomly attacked, so I pretended I was an insane cultist."
He's trying – and failing – to understand what I just said. "That was your first choice?"
Are you mocking me, Homunculus? "I knew nothing else would work," I explain. "By that time, he was ranting about how you were a human curry or something like that."
"…Human curry…?" His eye narrows almost unnoticeably.
"I'm not good with words that contain four or more syllables. Hearing issue."
Staring at me in complete and utter disbelief, he says, "No more questions. That explanation should suffice."
I tilt my head to one side and slowly mouth, "Explanation? Ooh." Trying to test my quick – well I suppose quickish – thinking, was he? Then he failed, all because I actually have pretty good hearing. It's surprising, given that I listen to such loud music.
Bradley starts walking away towards the door. "Is there anything else you'd like to ask?"'
"What he did, that was illegal, right?"
He nods slightly.
"How can you be so sure other people in your military don't have the same viewpoint?"
A sharp intake of breath shows me that my point has been made. "And what do you propose I do about this situation?"
Bingo. I smirk and say, "Start with State Alchemists. Meeting a yearly deadline has got to be a stressor for some of them. Many would resort to illegal activities in order to keep their license. I'd suggest sending someone in, using a fake name and backstory, to look into the suspicious ones. I'll admit it's not the perfect plan, but it's better than what you have at the moment."
"I assume you are referring to yourself when you say 'someone' would investigate them?"
It takes me twice as long as I normally do to respond because I have a feeling there was a four-syllable word in that sentence I completely missed. "…Yes?"
"Alright. Now, do you think you can trust the two men outside this room, or do you think this should be a complete secret?"
"Really. How'd you explain being in here so long? And, after all, they're probably listening in to our little talk. Neither of their behavior warrants further looking into, so I'd say we trust them. I hope that's a good enough explanation for you."
He nods and gestures towards the door, saying, "You three can come in now."
Three?
My inward question is answered when another guy, in addition to Mustang and Hughes, walks into the room. I don't remember him. Before I can stop myself, I blurt, "Who the hell are you?"
"He's my personal chauffeur," Bradley answers before the other man has a chance to respond. "Remind me, your name is…?"
"Damon Pythias, sir." Everything about this guy is professional, from his perfectly-shined black shoes, to his short hair the exact same color. His skin's a dark shade of brown, and he's wearing thick-framed black glasses that almost block out his black eyes.
The Fuhrer says absentmindedly, "I assume all three of you heard our conversation?"
Hughes is the first one to respond, but I can still tell he's reluctant to admit it. "The basics, yes."
Quite honestly, all I want to do at this point is go to sleep, so I just want to finish this planning stage and find the nearest bed. "And do you think it could work?" I practically groan, causing all of the people in the room to stare at me in unison with identical 'What's her problem?' faces.
"Well," Mustang drawls, tapping his thumb against his chin, "Assessment Day is in ten days, and it determines which alchemists will be keeping their yearly licenses, and which won't."
The black guy, Damon, steps forward slightly and says, "But wouldn't most people be put off if they think someone's investigating them." Though he phrases it as a question, he doesn't tilt his words up at the end of a sentence, so it doesn't sound like one.
"Let me ask you this. Do I look like a person who's in the military?" Four people simultaneously shake their heads, and I tilt my chair backwards so the front legs are in the air. "Exactly. I could shout that fact from the rooftops, and nobody would believe me. Honestly, I look more like a–" My mouth snaps shut. "…A college student."
"You just came up with something, didn't you," Damon says under his breath. His voice doesn't raise at the end of the sentence, so I'm assuming it's not a question.
I nod. I actually do look like a college student. Maybe even one of those teacher's aids. But, if they don't have colleges in Amestris, I'm screwed beyond a doubt. "Everyone has always said I look like a teacher's assistant. Someone who'd help out teachers, professors, researchers, stuff like that." I resist the urge to add, "You do know what that is, right?" as I wait for them to come to about the same conclusion as I did.
Narrowing his eyes slightly – which is an accomplishment, considering his eyes are already quite narrow – Mustang lowers his eyebrows. "You're suggesting you act as an alchemist's assistant? With Assessment Day so close, who'd accept something like that? They would be more focused on keeping their license than taking on assistance."
At this, Bradley lets out something like a "Huh…" (Dammit. It's the universal sound for, "I never thought of that." This might be harder than I thought.)
"Wait." Hughes's voice. "If the said State Alchemist had a family, then he might be inclined to accept help. Then he could focus on his research."
I resist the urge to leap-slash-tackle-slash-hug Hughes from across the room.
I knew there was a reason he was my favorite character.
Damon nods in agreement and says, "Then it's just a process of narrowing down which current State Alchemists have a family. I have to admit that it's a pretty good plan. For one composed in less than ten minutes."
Was that sarcasm? That sounded like sarcasm to me.
"So, you agree to this?" Bradley stares at me with his non-Ouroboros eye. "You can still back down, you know. It's not too late."
Screw that. I'm not backing down just because… just because I'll have to deal with kids. (Or a kid. Whatever.) My extremely-reasonable fear – no, dislike – of children will be ignored for the time being.
"No, I'll do it," I say before I can let my hatred of evil midgets fully possess me.
Probably seeing the regret in my eyes, Damon raises one eyebrow. "Should we get started right away?" He asks, looking at the Fuhrer.
"On second thought, can I take a nap or eat or something before working? I kinda haven't done any of those things in… um… a while."
The last time I ate or slept was a hundred years from now, but I'm not saying that.
Especially not in front of a Homunculus, and a dude who wasn't even in the original timeline.
Hughes starts laughing slightly. "I bet you don't even know how to take care of yourself," he mutters under his breath. "Come on, you're staying at my place for the night."
By the time I realize that he has an evil midget daughter, it's too late.
My eyes open. And then they close, because I'm lazy and I never want to get up. It's only when I hear voices – ones that I recognize – that I stop trying to fall back asleep.
"She's asleep in my bed, Al!"
"You can use mine. It's not like I'm really going to need it, Brother."
"But still..."
"Ed, I don't sleep, remember?"
"But they don't know that–"
I try to get up onto my elbows, and manage to fall onto the floor. "Ouch. Uh, hello." I wave up at the two people in the room from my upside-down position. Guess that's one way to make an entrance.
"Oh!" Alphonse. "Did we wake you?"
Should I lie, or should I tell them the truth? I've been lying enough already, and I'll probably lie even more often later on, so I decide to tell them the truth. "Not exactly," I say, pushing myself up so I'm sitting against the bed. "Who're you guys?"
Edward puts his hands on his hips like he's going to launch into a speech about how they're the Elric brothers, but he's the Fullmetal Alchemist, not his brother. "We're the Elric brothers," he says in a voice unbecoming of how small he is. "He's Al, and I'm Ed,the Fullmetal Alchemist. I take it you've heard of me?"
He kinda looks cute standing there like that – no, I don't mean cute-cute. Cute like an adorable little puppy that's just brought you a bone so you can chew on it. Not cute like that guy in your biochem class who was cute before he shaved only the left half of his head because of a dare.
Okay, since he possesses that rare cuteness rarely available to humans – except for Griffin Friar, because Griffin Friar is unbelievably puppy-cute-like – I'll be nice to him. At least for right now.
"Uh, duh? Are you really the youngest State Alchemist in the history of the program?" I finally stand up. Because the room is so small, I'm less than a foot away from him, which is actually kind of a good thing.
Looking vaguely uncomfortable with standing so close to me, Edward nods. "And you're…?"
I guess Hughes didn't tell him, so I say, "Lorelei Clemens. I–"
"–Killed McDougal," Alphonse says. He's sitting on the other bed, legs crossed. "He escaped all of the military officers who were looking for him. How did you stop him?"
His voice isn't accusing, it's just curious, but his reddish eyes are staring right at me. The effect is more than enough to make it hard for me to breathe. After all, he is a huge suit of armor.
Ah, crap.
"Honestly," I admit, "I got lucky."
Edward gives me a stare, one that says: 'You look like you went through a blender, girl.' I've had a lot of experience with that particular look, so I gave it its own, albeit unique, name. He runs a hand through his bangs and asks, "Have you looked at yourself? Your neck is literally covered in bruises. You don't look very lucky to me."
"Brother! That was kind of rude."
Blinking down at him, I tilt my head to one side, trying to see if I can see my neck. Obviously, it doesn't work. "I can't really see my own neck without dislocating something," I say, putting my hands on his shoulders.
He doesn't disappear when I touch him, so I have to assume that I'm still awake.
His discomfort increases; he tries to take a step back, but forgets the bed right behind him. And since I'm gripping his shoulders, I come crashing to the floor with him. Actually, somehow I end up flipping over the bed and landing in the space between it and the window. I hold out one of my arms, and it hits the wall instead of my head, so I guess I lucked out again. Even if it's now stinging like hell.
The door to the room opens a minute later, and I hear someone say, "What was that sound?"
"Hughes," Edward groans, "this room is too small for three people." I can hear him get up, right before Alphonse does. "What time is it?"
"About nine," Hughes answers. Judging by the lack of light outside, I assume he means nine at night. Which would mean I was sleeping for… I'm not sure how long. I'm horrible with time.
After trying and failing to pry myself off of the wall for the entire time they were talking, I finally manage to convince myself to ask for help. It won't be that bad. Unless I mess up horribly and I have to hide in a hole for the rest of my horrible life. And now I'm imagining the worst. "A little help here?"
Almost right after I say that, someone – I think it's Edward – grabs my collar, yanking me into a standing position.
With my air supply being cut off again, it might take a few seconds for me to be able to talk. So I simply give him a thumbs-up, wobbling out of the room while unbuttoning the first button of the shirt Hughes had given me while I was still in the prison. It was a little big, and it didn't fit nearly as well as the uniform I'd 'arrived' with, but that one was now literally covered in blood, and I don't quite like wearing bloody clothes.
The light in the next room I walk into is on, and I recognize it as Hughes's living room. Nobody's in it but me; I sit in one of the chairs, the one right next to the lamp.
"So, you met the Elrics."
Embarrassingly enough, I almost jump out of my seat at the voice until I realize it's only Hughes. "Mm."
He smiles slightly and says, "Don't worry, they're leaving tomorrow morning to go to some city. Maybe Liore? They don't stay here all the time."
I nod to show him I'm still listening.
Something shifts in his eyes, and he picks up a black binder from the table in front of me, sitting down on the couch. "This has the names and profiles of every single current State Alchemist. I had Roy pick it up from somewhere-or-another. It might come in handy for choosing who you'll eventually investigate."
But I don't need that thing. I already know who I'm going to investigate.
"But you don't have to do it tonight, of course. You should just go back to sleep again."
I grab the binder out of his hands, opening it and pulling my feet up under me. "I'm not tired. Not tired," I repeat when he tries to take it back. "I'll work through the night. By the morning, I'll know who to investigate."
Sighing, Hughes asks, "Do you want help? It'd go a lot faster if we work together."
"...Aren't you tired?" He had to have been up for a while, even before my unfortunate incident with the ex-State Alchemist and the knife.
He shakes his head. "I had like seven cups of coffee throughout the past two days, so even if I want to, I won't be able to sleep for a while."
Coffee. This world has coffee. That is probably the most important thing I've learned. Ever. In my whole life. Sorry, the Pythagorean Theorem.
I nod absentmindedly and snap the rings open, handing him about half of the papers inside. "Is that enough?" I ask as I take out the other half and put the empty binder on the table.
"Yeah, that should be good." Hughes makes quite a face when he flips through the first few. "I thought they were supposed to be in alphabetical order. Apparently not." He shrugs and keeps going, pulling out one group of pages that're stapled together. "Looking into him would just be a waste of time." He puts it down next to him after showing me the picture of Mustang on it.
Staring at the first one in my stack, I mutter, "I don't think Elric's secretly participating in illegal activities." Down onto the table Edward's paperwork goes. Well, actually he did. But Hughes doesn't need to know that yet.
The next one is someone I don't recognize, a guy with tan skin and blonde hair who's holding a cigarette in one hand and staring at the camera. He's wearing a suit, but the tie is slung around his neck instead of being tied, and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone. Jason Pelion, it reads. The Energy Alchemist.
He turns out not to be the kind of person I'm looking for, so I put his file on top of Edward's and move on to the next one.
And the next, then the next, and so forth, until Hughes says, "Here's one. Shou Tucker; he's the Sewing-Life Alchemist. He only recently got his state certification, and he lives alone with a dog and his daughter. Does he meet your standards?"
I lean forward to look at it, rubbing my eyes to keep myself awake. "Yes! He's exactly the one I was looking for! Well, you know what I mean." He actually was the exact one I was looking for. I go to raise my hand to take the file, but I'm too tired to even do that. "How long has it been? Since we started, that is."
"…Four hours, I think." He answers, "Since it's just about one now." Wow, that's a long time to be looking at pieces of paper. "You think he's the right one? There's a train going from here to East City in two days. Roy's going to be on it, because his office is back there. After you arrive, he could probably introduce you to Tucker and do most of the talking. If I ask him to, that is."
"Sounds good," I say, but it comes out as a slur. God, why am I still tired? I've only been awake for like four hours.
Hughes raises his eyebrows and puts Tucker's file face-down on the table. He starts gathering the other ones up, putting them back in the binder. "You really should get to sleep, you know."
I stand up and say, "I will after I go to the bathroom." Blinking, I realize I have no idea where it is.
"Down that hallway." He points me in the right direction, and I walk towards the doorway, my hand on the wall. Once I reach it, I flip on the light and close the door behind me.
It's extremely small, but I've been in smaller. But I don't want to reflect on bathroom sizes right now. That's not what I came in here for, after all.
Standing right next to the mirror and leaning forward, I pull my hair away from my neck and tilt my head upwards. Edward was right; I'm bruised as hell, so badly it's almost making me sick to keep looking at it. It looks like I have a handprint tattooed on most of my neck, three-fourths I suppose, in blueish-purple ink.
It could be worse, I think. He could've killed me. If I hadn't… If I hadn't killed him first.
And that's enough to cause my legs to give out from under me. For once, I'm glad I didn't eat anything since getting here.
I move so I'm against the wall across from the door, and I shove my head between my knees to muffle the sound of what's surely an impending asthma attack. Dammit, Truth, if you're going to drop me into a fictional universe without any warning, the last thing you can do is let me take my emergency inhaler with me. Just imagine. "Oh wait, let me get my inhaler before this eight-episode battle."
A strangled laugh escapes my throat, and soon I can't stop laughing.
But how can I help save Nina and Hughes and everyone else if I can't do anything?
And now I'm pretty sure I'm crying. Great.
Something hits me on the head, hard, and I let out a squeak and jerk my head up. I'm still alone – this I can tell from a quick glance. So what was that? I look around myself, and find what else but an inhaler right next to me. Oh, you have got to be kidding me.
There's a note attached to it. "This one time should do it. After all, I'm much nicer than…" The entire second line is blacked out, leaving nothing that I could read behind. "Goddammit, your clearance level isn't high enough for this information. Good luck. – Truth."
Truth? Like the Truth?
I don't have time to think over it any longer, because there's a knock on the door. Shaking the inhaler rapidly, I shove it in my mouth, breathe out, and press the button to let the magical-air-thingy in. I manage to press the button again before the inhaler vanishes in my hands right as the door opens.
Hughes sticks his head in and I can see him look up at the heavens like he's praying for either guidance or patience. "Okay," he says, walking over to me and pulling me to my feet. "Time for you to go to bed."
He basically drags me out of the bathroom, into the living room, and onto the couch. "The Elric brothers are probably asleep by now, so I think you'll have to sleep here for tonight. You need anything? A pillow? A blanket?"
I shake my head almost unnoticeably, just wanting to be alone right now.
"Lies." Hughes goes over to the hallway and opens a door, coming back a moment later holding a pillow and a ridiculously thick blanket. He throws both of them at me; I catch the pillow, but the blanket falls on top of me like I'm a ghost.
I fall back, pulling it off of my face and somehow getting the pillow to go beneath my head. You can leave me alone, right? Now that you've fulfilled your good deeds of the day quota?
But no, after he flicks the lamp off, I can hear him sit down in one of the chairs.
(Dammit, Hughes, this isn't Twilight.)
Well, this took a lot longer to write than I thought it would. Then again, a lot has happened since I last updated. Like I'm no longer in school, because apparently even one class, Algebra II, three days a week was too much for me to handle. (I swear, having four different chronic illnesses is the most annoying thing ever. At least I get to spend a lot of time with my cat.)
But now I've finished it, and it's like a thousand words longer than the other two chapters. I accomplished something for once.
I don't really think I have any notes for this chapter. Review, and I'll give you a Maes Hughes plushie. Everyone wants a Hughes plushie, right?
And again, I keep forgetting to reply to reviews, so… I'll do it here.
Winrykatbell: Hmm… I'm notoriously bad at figuring out exactly which events go to which chapter, but I think Grif and Lorelei will meet somewhere around chapter seven or chapter eight? Yeah, that seems about right.
An Arm and a Leg: Of course you can have an Ed plushie instead! Who'd want a Cornello one, aside from me? (I have this thing where I want to collect all of the anime plushies I can, and I mean all of them. I'd maybe draw the line at Tucker.)
Lilaclily00: Do make sure to think of a witty comment this time. Now that I've finally updated and all.
Blue VanLocke: Both of the things – that Faust is Jason and Midas is Cornello, and that Jason's alchemy is based on Astor's – are true. And sorry about not replying to your PM, I meant to and then I forgot that I'd never finished it. (The thing is, I've quite honestly forgotten most of the original ending of TAOB, and the rest of it, I'm using for this story. I hope that horrible explanation will suffice.)
Dark Meow Meow Kitten of Doom: Thanks! And that depends on if the swallow is African or European. (You get two virtual cookies!)
