"Amazing you're still alive." the doctor told her.
Annabeth had been shoved out a window. The culprit was unknown, but General Armstrong was really upset. According to the girl, she'd been coming back to her cell after talking to some soldiers and had felt a slight movement. The next thing she knew, she was plummeting towards the white ground.
Luckily, Annabeth had wings. At the last minute, she'd snapped them open, giving her enough time to right herself—to some extent.
She'd broken her arm, scraped almost all of the skin off her cheek, and bloodied her nose. Her right eye was blackened, and her knee was sprained. She was very lucky.
"Yeah, well, Heaven doesn't want me and Hell is afraid I'll take over." Annabeth growled, flicking her sparks so that her arm was healed. "I'm just that bad."
"Annabeth…" Edward shook his head dejectedly. She was so stubborn sometimes.
"Yeah, well, I ain't hidin' 'em no more!" she groaned.
Annabeth stood up, stretching her long and lanky body out. Her wings unfurled, glistening in their dark brilliance. They quivered for a second or two, then she stopped stretching. "Much better!" she grinned.
The doctor sat down in his shock. Ed and Al gasped. Annabeth? She trans-muted her clothes—again.
Now she wore a black shirt with slashes and purple lining, a pair of ripped-up black jeans with a large white skull stitched onto one leg, and knee-high black leather boots. She stomped her foot heel-to-toe, and a small blade slid out. "Perfect." she grinned.
Now she really did look like a dark angel. And a very bad one, like one that would take over Hell itself! She walked out of the room, calling for Jane.
"She's very strong and stubborn. But everyone's gonna have a fit when they see her." Al observed.
A very true statement, he realized. Annabeth looked very much out of place. Everyone would have a fit, especially Kimblee and General Armstrong.
Kimblee was staring in shock when they found her, and she was in a heated argument with General Armstrong.
"I'm not gonna hide 'em anymore! It hurts, and who knows, folding them like that may make them stop working for all we know! I'm not gonna risk it! No, they saved my life when I was shoved out the window, but just barely, 'cuz I had t' throw off my jacket first!" Annabeth yelled.
"You aren't going to walk around with your wings out like that."
"Well if it's wings in or leave the fort, I choose leave the fort! I'd rather take my chances outside with my wings at ready, not all bunched up and possibly broken inside!" Annabeth roared, storming away.
"She's full of fire. If you could harness that fire, she'd be an excellent soldier." Major Miles said softly.
"But if one isn't careful, she'd burn them. That's third degree burns, not just make you uncomfortably hot." Kimblee grinned. "Good thing I've played with fire a lot. The Fuhrer is considering making her a State Alchemist!"
"Wh-what? No, she-!" Ed gasped, wheeling around and running after Annabeth.
He got outside and still didn't see her. "Annabeth! Where are you?" he yelled.
"Brother, it's no use!" Al told him, trying to tug him back inside.
"Ed! Al! What's going on?" Winry asked from behind them. She'd been brought along as a hostage by Kimblee.
"It's Annabeth! She's gone!" Edward cried frantically, struggling against Alphonse to get outside.
There was a loud whumph, and they all turned to look. "Someone call me?" Annabeth asked crossly, crouching on the ground, Jane tucked in her shirt. She didn't look even the slightest bit cold! "Spit it out, nit-wits!" she hissed. Jane mewed in agreement.
"K-Kimblee said that Bradley is considering making you a State Alchemist!" he cried.
"He'll have to watch me shoot myself first. Tell Kimblee t' fuck off. If he touches me, I'm gonna pummel him." Annabeth growled. She started running towards them. Twenty feet away from them, she took off. She pumped her wings hard, gaining speed quickly as she rose, turning into a dot in the sky, wheeling and pivoting gracefully.
They were quickly on the top of the fort, watching her through binoculars. She was like a ballet dancer, twisting agilely and spinning in complex cork-screws. Suddenly, she shot toward them. She was aware of their presence, he was sure. Especially when, inches above their heads, she pulled up sharply, flying in a complex zigzag and twisting through wispy clouds that she could reach. "Why is she showing off?" he wondered.
"Maybe she isn't."
They jumped, spinning around. General Armstrong was watching the furiously weaving young dark angel with interest. "Few humans ever get to experience the freedom of wings, hence, they never know how to use them. I'm sure she's not doing that by instinct. Look at how tightly she's spinning. How fast she's going. How high she's flying, how complex her flight-patterns are. She's testing herself. Practicing and learning on the job." the General said, staring at the spiraling girl.
"You're right. I'm watching her now, and she seems to pause for just a second between every flight pattern. She's figuring out what to do and how to do it. If it was instinct, she'd do it quickly, without hesitation." Winry nodded, watching through the binoculars.
Ed turned back to look—and saw Annabeth plummeting. She was twisting and writhing, trying to right herself. "She must be having an attack!" he cried.
At the last possible second, she pulled up, fluttering like the butterfly she really was instead of the hawk she liked to think she was. Then she gently touched down and started walking back towards the fort. "At least she's okay!" sighed Al.
He nodded.
Then, someone ran onto the roof. "Sirs! Scar has just been sighted!"