Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist, Hiromu Arakawa the goddess of manga does.
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Sheska plodded along the pathway to the hospital nervously. Yes, she had just gotten promoted. Yes, that meant the bills would be easier to pay. Yes, it also meant she could now afford to collect all the first issues of her favorite comics and ingeniously sell them to people she had previously competed with for outrageous prices, and no one could stop her! 'Ah, but that would be illegal, again...' Lately there had been a rush of illicit thoughts streaking through her head. She disregarded the issue for the moment. Now, how would she explain to Mother that hers was no longer a desk job? 'There just might be Hell to pay, if she goes into one of her fits.' Dearest Mother. She thrust the clinic's glass door open violently and remained heedless in her frenzy as the man who's nose it had crashed into writhed on the floor. The receptionist didn't even look up, smiling as Sheska zipped past. "She's been moved to room 42!"
"Thank you, Clarisse!" The answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything, was that right? She was only relieved Mother hadn't been moved to a lower numbered room. The lower you went in the clinic, the closer you were to surgery. She only waited in the elevator with its nifty new jazz music, that hip modern stuff artists were just now fumbling with, till the second floor. At Central HG, the hallways were a bit crowded, so she would scrunch up her shoulders and think narrow as a sparrow till destination was met, but here was desolate, vacant. There was no energy; the halls were mournfully empty. She could skip all the way along if she wanted to, or dance, and the most patients could do was sit up in their beds and command that she halted this ridiculous happiness business at once! She chortled to herself. No, most inmates of the gloomy residence had watched her grow up. She'd won their favor the day she ran screaming and slamming herself on the walls because Mother had cruelly pulled a tall hat over her head and she had been panicked and sniffling and ready to let the dam burst when she had abruptly stopped, dead in the center of the room, and realized all she had to do was take the stupid hat off. When she did, there was Mother on her bed with her hands covering her mouth, shaking, Clarisse, who had been a nurse back then, snapping pictures fluidly, and the whole floor gathered neatly in the doorway, each of them grinning sadistically.
They had waited till she started wailing to laugh.
Sometimes it was so easy to hate people, but that was only after she let herself be tricked. Many times now she had heard it: "Sheska, you gullible fool." Eh, as long as they were entertained, they would underestimate, and never suspect exactly which way the wheels were turning. She reached the new door, with rust on the hinges, and tapped gently to test out the squeak. It was irritatingly loud, just like the last one. Mother's willow voice came from inside. "Did ye bring the Myth Book?"
Sheska loped in sheepishly. "Sorry, Mama, it slipped my mind today. Brought you some candy, thought, since I heard Tapioca Pudding Week is coming up. I've been stocking up for a while now." She dumped the glorious contents onto the foot of the bed. Mother was so short her feet only reached the three-fourths mark, so she wasn't bothered. She tossed the covers to one side and crawled over the excessive length, mouth hanging open.
"Geez, girl, you sure know me!" Mother snatched up a peppermint rock candy stick and unwrapped it feverishly. She explained, munching loudly, "We're in the preliminaries week now, so after lunch, surprise! Vanilla pudding for all the good behaved patients, even more if yer old." She made a candid face of disgust.
Sheska nodded her agreement avidly. "Eh, Mama," she started, and Mother looked at her blankly. "I have some news to tell you..."
Mother sighed. "News, oh boy. Ye were on the library staff, an' then ye weren't, and five days of no visits ye were back in with the same blokes who fired ye. That day ye were bawlin'. I wonder if the sweets ye bring now are a bad omen this time 'round?" She peered at the pile shrewdly.
"No! It's not completely bad, at least..."
"Are ye gonna say something like, 'We'll be able t'spend lots more time together whilst I find me a fresh job'?" Mother snorted. "Child, you shoulda told me sooner, thataways I coulda started helping sooner. Francis down the hall's got a grandbaby looking too. I'll just ask him tomorrow."
"It's nothing like that," said Sheska. She mumbled the next part: "I've—I've been promoted." Now Mother was stunned. She rocked backwards on her bottom.
"Ehhhh? What's this? Me honey's been raised up a notch?" Her voice took on a higher pitch when she was pleasantly surprised. "Why that's wonderful! Why didn't ye say so? Let's go get us some balloons! And we'll climb to the rooftop and let 'em float up to the aliens, and they'll come down 'cause we'll have written the invite on with Sharpie and—"
Sheska cut her excited chittering short. "No, Mama. Tonight I have to pack. I'll be leaving early tomorrow."
Mother frowned. "Ye been transferred?" She knew things like that; Sheska liked to tell her of each day and its happenings and goings.
Sheska sat on the bedside and reviewed the conversation with the Colonel. She repeated verbatim the components of her new duties and requirements. She said that from now on her life would be in jeopardy and she was all right with that. She would accept and abide by the terms the next day when she turned in the paperwork to the front desk. By the time she was finished, Mother's forehead was furrowed, and a finger was on her lips. "Well, honey-babe, it seems to me this isn't fair one bit." She wiped at the creases in her brow with the back of her hand and sighed. "He says ye don't got a choice in it, fine. If yer okay with it, fine. I'll be waiting for ye whenever ye get back." She drew her self up to full height in the bed, which cushioned the effect. "I can take care of myself: I'm old, love."
"Mama..." Sheska smiled.
A nurse's head popped in. "Sorry, Sheska, visiting hours are over." She nodded to their two fingers and was out of sight in a tick.
"Who're ye traveling with?" demanded Mother, stuffing the candy into her pillowcase and a shoebox under the bed.
"Oh, some friends of mine. You wouldn't know them; their names are Ed and Al, remember? The ones who got me back into service? Those are the same." She gathered her book bag up hurriedly, and headed to the door. "Bye, Mama!" She left the door open.
"Funny, the kiddies next door for a while were called Ed and Al, too. Noisy bunch they were," Mother mused to herself. Then she hollered after her daughter, "Don't ye forget to bring me back a souvenir!"
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Mustang was sweating profusely, sprinting to the front desk. He passed Hawkeye, who offered a bewildered, "Sir?" at the flustered state he was in. He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, but she followed anyway, badgering him in the way only she could, with uneasy silence. They were halfway to the front desk when she asked him what was wrong, was there anything he needed be done? He slowed, and for a moment thought that maybe there was nothing wrong, maybe Hughes was jerking him around. But what if Scar, that righteously enraged Ishballan, was now resorting to luring alchemists out by attacking the people close to them? 'There's nothing a killer wouldn't do to get the job done,' he thought with hatred towards the avenger. "Yes, Lieutenant Hawkeye, check the payphone located nearest the Investigations Department. Report back any evidence of strange activity." He plunged on.
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Sheska strolled leisurely down the street, homeward bound. Mother had taken it unexpectedly well; this was cause for great happiness, but she wasn't quite all for a celebration like what Mother had begun to conceive. Good thing she had squashed it where it started. She shifted the weight of her book bag and squinted. In the distance, was that patch of thorny blonde hair one she was familiar with? She steadied her pace to a cautious gait, so that she felt like she was drifting mysteriously as a spy toward whoever the dude was. He was slumping near a fancy restaurant with a complicated pattern on its door, and when he turned and the smoke swirled around his head she was certain. "Lieutenant Havoc?"
He turned at his name, not at his title, and that meant something. His eyes were half-lidded as he spoke, the curiosity being how in the world he was able to without dropping the cigarette. "Oh, hey Sheska. It's just Havoc outside HQ."
"What are you doing here?" He shot her a withering stare. OK, stupid question. She said more gently, "Are you waiting for someone?"
He plucked out his cancer stick, blew five consecutive puff-rings, and plugged it back in. "Nah, she must have stood me up. Whatever, I only knew her from the grocery store. I was about to go back home anyway." He quirked an eyebrow at her. "What's your excuse for bein' out late?"
"I'm going home too, from visiting my mom." She strode onward past him, and after a few moments was startled to hear the clacks of his boots behind her. Despite herself, she looked over her shoulder back at him. "What are you doing, following me?" She clutched at the onion extract she kept handy in her sweater pocket. Close to a weapon as she could get.
"I told you, I'm going home. You just happen to be going the same way I am." His tone was irritated, but his face was still lax. She decided not to take the former seriously, even though Mother always said the voice was more accurate than anything when judging a person. She slowed down again and he allowed her to sidle beside him. "I hear the Colonel promoted you this morning. Kudos for you."
She grimaced, and he caught it. "I don't have a choice, that's what he told me. My current role is quickly becoming insignificant. He knows I know I have no other talent because I'm so clumsy with machinery, and with all the hype about new technology factories are the only places with openings. Outside of where I am, I'm completely useless, and the Colonel says my only hope lies in the military. The only direction available is forward."
"Forward is good. Forward is exciting."
"No. I like stable, boring. Boring is good, boring is safe. It's not so much that I'm afraid for my life for my own sake," she said, choking up, avoiding the disgusted gaze she was sure he was directing at her, without looking, "as I am afraid for my mom's sake. No one else pays for her to stay at the clinic. She can't retire because she's never worked in Amestris. She would be so lonely."
"I know the feeling," he said bitterly.
She looked sharply up at the higher ranked soldier, and somehow she became frustrated with him. "Why is it so important for you to be in a relationship, anyway?"
"I'm from the country; marriage is involved with status over there. It is important," he said defensively.
Sheska thought hard and glanced up at him. "Maybe you have such bad luck because you're notorious for your short ties. They probably think you're fickle. I wouldn't even consider somebody who breaks up with and picks up two different girls every week, or even a month. It could be that they think you're fickle, or you're not serious, or that you're just looking for flings." When she looked back to him he was slouching so low his face was level to hers.
"But I'm not any of those things," he said, pouting. "At least, I hope not..." He jolted. "Geez! What if you're right, and all I've got to do is build up an honest reputation? That's—that's too simple!"
"Yes, it is. Amazing, isn't it? But you'd have to remember not to try to get into a relationship for a good long time. Abstinence isn't respected by fickle women, but a serious one will count it as a reassuring quality. She'll believe if she hooks up with you you'll be less likely to cheat on her, therefore she'll be less insecure, therefore she will be less likely to cheat on you." She turned into the yard leading to her small house, wet grass squelching under her.
Havoc stood at the edge of it. "I don't mean to be rude, Sheska, but how would you know about stuff like this?"
She stuck the key in the lock and smiled at him. "You'd be surprised how few books there are that don't have some sort of romance tied in with the plot. Pretty tiresome after you realize the redundancy of it all." And before she disappeared inside he caught a glimpse of the mountains and towers of books beyond books crammed in every space possible, stacked in every which way. It looked stuffy in there, he thought, smiling back at her door.
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Hawkeye saw the blood splattered near his feet. Lieutenant Colonel Hughes was inside, she was sure, because there was one of his favorite photos of his family he had not even spared her, inches away from his boots. He was usually good about letting her be. She went smoothly to the entrance of the payphone, and scrutinized the interior, ignoring the stink. The Colonel had been in such a distraught state with good reason. Hughes had a speckle of blood at his heart, and the majority of the life-juice was coming from his backside. He had been shot cleanly through; that took a close distance most of the time. She noted the bullet case by the photograph, it was the same type the military used. But Hughes was well liked by most of the base, so who from within the military would assassinate him simply for an opened position? It made no sense.
She went to the front desk, where Mustang was interrogating the secretary, milking her for everything Hughes had said. She had only taken three minutes. He snarled when she shook her head. She didn't want to tell him. Her eyes blurred, the room was hazy. He asked her if she had seen Hughes running around. It was only then that she began to cry.
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Sheska woke up feeling downright giddy. It was going to be smiley today, she knew by the sun in her lovely yellow drapes. What a chipper morning! Maybe today Lucy would have the candy basket filled at long last. Beyond the windowpane there was the cherry-sweet melody of the new parent pigeons lullibying their babies to sleep so they could go get food. Perhaps she would fling some bread crusts and watch as they swooped down to pick them up gingerly, cooing. They had never once excreted upon her shoulders, and even if they had she was certain she would be mollified by their music. The kid across the street sometimes addressed her as the freaky pigeon lady, but she didn't mind. At least it wasn't bookworm again. That one could get annoying because it was true.
'I wonder if Hughes will let me have my waffle in the office,' she thought, bouncing off her mattress bed. 'I've just finished that last project he gave me, so I wonder if it would be all right to commence another with such a lenient attitude—' Sheska froze.
"Another...project," she stammered to herself in the freedom of her home, "will not be coming..." For a moment, the house was absolutely still.
"AH!"
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It was fifteen after seven. The clamor in the street had stalled her so that she was squished between two bulky men in trench coats for maybe up to ten minutes, until two more weaved their way through and whisked them away. When she had emerged from all the hubbub they were nowhere to be seen, and she had to dismiss the green hand she had spotted to be an odd glove. In any case, she was now making her way through another, more stressed mob. It swarmed and disagreed with itself so that she found herself shoved back and forth roughly.
Eventually she broke free and stood with her arms around a pole. Where were Edward and Alphonse? You'd think it would be fairly easy to spot a seven-foot tall suit of armor, and even though Ed was, er, less noticeable, he wore red always. She raised herself on tiptoe. Now that she could think clearer, she remembered they would be bringing an old friend of theirs along. It had started with a W. Wendy, Whitney, Winnifred...no, something odder. It had been an endearing name, an energetic name, not plain like her own, although the true spelling suggested otherwise. There had been more than one occasion of her forgetting it.
"Yo, Sheska!"
There they were, Ed carrying a leather bag, this antenna slightly crumpled as if someone had brought a large flat-surfaced object on it during a brawl. Clanking beside him was Al with two suitcases in tow, and she felt empathetic toward him, burdened with other people's things. And just behind him was a boisterous, busty, blond girl Ed's age. Her immediate impression: 'Like a doll', she thought in disgust. But she smiled and extended a hand from the pole. "Why hello, you must be Ed's bestest friend he told me about! It's a pleasure to meet you, he said you were ultra-pretty, but I wasn't expecting so much sparkle in you!"
'That may have come across as an insult,' thought Sheska as the girl's expression switched to one of bemusement. "Um, nice to meet you also, uh..." She looked blank.
"Sheska."
"Ah, that's right! The bookworm!" Deep inside, Sheska's mutilated self-esteem leaked crimson tears, stabbed once again. She shot a brief flare at Ed, who shrugged. Must it always start this way? "I am Winry, Ed's mechanic. If you hear he's going into a fight, I'd appreciate it if you told me right away, so I can bash his head in before he smashes my arm." Winry chuckled sweetly. "The little stinker."
"Who are you calling li—" Thwack! A wrench to his skull. Al didn't bother checking him, but Sheska stared.
Ed rubbed his scalp grumpily and said through his teeth, "Come on, we'll miss the damn train." And with that, they went off to find a cart.
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Scar was murmuring under his breath the many prayers of a warrior-priest of Ishballa. He was asking what his next task would be, when he would get out of the camp by the sewers. 'There shall be vengeance,' he thought, clenching his right fist to send honorable pain in jabs up his arm. Each day, they grew weaker. Soon he would rise up and out to fulfill his purpose, eliminating the abominations, the killers without conscience, those beasts set loose on the chosen people. They would be judged as they had been judged. He would bring them to their knees single-handedly.
"What's with the X-guy, Master Priest?"
"Oh, he's just on one of his incoherent tangents again. Snap him out of it, will you?"
A small bag smacked his forehead. That...inexhaustible young boy gave him a victorious two fingers held up. "Bulls-eye!" Scar opened the bag in his lap and took out a raisin. "Don't give me that look. Mama bought those special for you. She had to wear sunglasses and scarves and everything, even though it's getting so warm, so you better at least thank her by eating them." Scar shifted and put all his weight on his legs, straightening and startling the boy. "You want to go out today? Fine with me, but don't tell Mom I let you out. She'll blame me if you collapse or something." The boy knelt and threaded a needle, to fix his kite. Scar moved past him and pushed aside the tent flap.
The encampment was bustling, everyone busy with their chores and obligations to the establishment. The very youngest were little and carried buckets of water for their mothers, clumsily spilling half of the liquid. The very oldest sat on rugs with the woven roofs held above them by sticks, weaving clothing or telling stories or teaching a song to glorify Ishballa. Scar tugged the hood of the sweater given to him over his marking, feeling conspicuous. Presently someone stumbled into his back.
"Oh! I'm so sorry, sir!" The boy leaning on the crutches had his mouth clamped tight and eyes wide. From behind him came a young woman with skin like an Ishballan but eyes that were brown and looked purple from the pink hair at the front. However the rest in the back was normal dark brown. He eyed the boy, who lowered his gaze suddenly, according to the custom of deferring to your elders. The girl spoke up. "I'm Rose, and this is my friend Miguel. He can't talk, and one of his legs is missing, so we're trying to get to a place called Rush Valley. Would you happen to know the way?" It was obviously rehearsed. He looked again down at Miguel and saw that indeed his left leg was gone from the knee down. Just like the Fullmetal Alchemist. He met the boy's eyes, and Miguel gave a shy smile. Rose put a steadying hand on his shoulder. "We've come from Liore."
Scar said, "You need to go south a little farther. Do you have a map?" Both shook their heads, embarrassed. "Do you have enough money for train tickets?" Miguel looked to Rose, who nodded. "Then just get to the railroad station in Central. They have directions for everything; you'll get there in no time."
They lingered, then slowly made their way toward the secret exit. Scar watched the boy limp and almost pitied him. Suddenly they halted. Rose turned halfway, waved, and called to him: "He says he likes your forehead and you're a really cool guy!" Scar raised an arm coolly and spread out his fingers lethargically. Rose laughed, and they continued on their new course, to the gate that led to the sewer and beyond that, the hostile city of Central. He wished them safe travels with a quick customary prayer.
He walked aimlessly in the camp, popping raisins in his mouth dispassionately and smelling all the old Ishballan foods high in oil and spice. Frying virtually anything fit for consumption was a tradition in the peoples' hearts, one that didn't make the life of a fighter easy (try keeping fit in that sort of environment), but it was all part of the culture he loved. Grand Ishbal; the duty of the people was to worship the great Ishballa, and to worship is to love with more than your heart, with your soul. A man who was cut off from Ishbal was also cut off from holy Ishballa's graces, as was written in the book. To be ostracized was a fate accompanied by lifelong dishonor. It was like having your arms amputated; you were no longer capable of accomplishing something for the people surrounding you, so why bother being?
He stopped in his tracks. 'Arms,' he thought. The Fullmetal Alchemist, whom he had left that rainy day with the martial backup, had lost his automail arm. Surely he had to get a replacement quickly, or the military would drop him. It had been a few weeks already, but that was about as long as it took to completely replace a limb. Rush Valley was the heart of automail activity; he would be there.
Scar headed back to the tent.
