Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is the sole property of Hiromu Arakawa, who in all ways is amazing and should be nominated for some sort of award! (I think she already has been, actually.)
Well, here I go. I've only gotten this far, to chapter three, in one other story that I don't intend to finish. So as long as I don't give up after this chappie, I think we have a good chance of seeing this one through to the end (as long as I don't get distracted with another fandom, but I don't think that will happen any time soon since Naruto Shippuden is really grating on my nerves). Would you believe, I still don't know how this whole shabam will end? Btw, both Ishballa and Leto's pronouns will be capitalized because each person believes their own god to be real.
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The train the Elric Brothers, Winry and Sheska boarded was hardly crowded, which meant less staring for Al to deal with. There were about eighteen other passengers in the cart scattered around, the majority of them being business people and war veterans heading for Rush Valley. The town wasn't even a friendly place to settle down in; Sheska had read that nearly the entire economy of it depended on automail repairs. She wondered vaguely what would happen to the mechanics should the war ever unexpectedly end: would their products gradually fade out into obscurity, or would they milk current clients out for all their worth by purposefully creating automail constantly in need of repair? She voiced this to Winry, who expressed concern.
"I never thought about that," the mecha otaku mused, " I don't like to think about my services needed so long as people are being mutilated, but it is true. Mm... I guess if the war stops, which I hope for as much as everyone else, I would have to pick up a different trade. That doesn't seem fun, though," she frowned. "I'd rather be dirt poor than give up automail. Oh well. The cars they're designing now are interesting, too."
"That's right," chirped Al. "Who says you can't still be a mechanic? Just like alchemy always has something hidden about it to learn, machinery these days is always evolving."
Ed snorted. "Don't encourage her, Al. She's already such a geek." Winry glared and reached impulsively for her wrench, but it had been confiscated and tucked into her luggage before the train had taken off. She gave a frustrated harrumph as Ed grinned cheekily across from her. He addressed Sheska, but really focusing on Winry's reaction. "We're sorry about deterring you from your mission just because someone here wants to play Miss Tourist. She doesn't even stop to think of the military's tasks, tsk tsk."
Winry whirled in on Sheska, who was sitting next to her and scooting away silently now. "I never meant to, Sheska, you know that! You don't mind, do you? See, of course she doesn't, Ed. I'm sorry Sheska, but this is a strictly business trip for me too; I'm going to learn about different types of automail. Don't deny the dreams of the youth!" Sheska trembled and mumbled a "No, ma'am". Suddenly the blond brightened and reached for the bag she had insisted on bringing with her. "I almost forgot! Mrs. Hughes and I baked a pie together earlier. She taught me the recipe, so I can make it again when you get your body back, Al!"
"Yay!"
The former librarian held up a hand bashfully against the slice offered to her. "Sorry, I'm allergic to apples," she lied, hiding the fact that actually she just didn't like pie. That, and any kind of pudding, made her very sick. She could tell Winry didn't buy it either, because she looked slightly offended.
"I've never heard of a person being allergic to apples."
"You haven't? I once knew a girl who couldn't eat dairy products, wheat, meat, or pineapple. She survived mostly on popcorn."
"Aw, Sheska, you' just read that in a horror book, huh?"
"No, it's true!"
"It's all right. We know you only say these things 'cause your real life is ultra boring."
"Brother, don't say that. Sheska, he didn't mean it."
"Yes I did! Don't just decide what I do and don't mean!"
"It's all right, Alphonse. I'm used to it by now."
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"Young Master, may we aid you in your search?"
"I don't see how you can. I'm certain you know no more of Rentanjutsu than I do." Ling thought better of gulping down the precious liquid sloshing in his canteen and sighed. "I was sure the Xerxes ruins would hold a major clue." Fu stood rigidly behind him, his granddaughter inspecting a wall close by. The sun was more severe on them, he knew, because of their manner of dress, even thought they would never complain. Out of the corner of his eye he spied Ran Fan briefly unmasking herself to wipe her brow. She caught his glance and quickly latched it back on. "Well, there's nothing for it. We'd best press on to Amestris."
Ran Fan slipped up beside Fu and bowed. "We are ready, Young Master." Her voice was toneless as always, but silky-smooth and a rich alto. With his back still facing them, he smiled.
"You both need to take off your masks." Before Fu could mount a protest, he quickly piled on his reasoning in his imperious voice. "We are about to embark on the final stretch, but you two are in no condition to travel for more than a few hours longer in this heat. You need to use common sense: the Ishballans we met near this place were clad loosely and in bright clothing. We should go back to them and see if we can buy or barter some clothing for you."
"But Young Master," struggled Ran Fan, "As your guards it is our first priority to—"
"As guards," interrupted Ling regally, "Your first priority is to take care of yourselves so that you can live up to your own expectations." He turned and saw that while Fu held his gaze steadily, Ran Fan still had her head bowed. "I don't want you collapsing halfway there."
Fu raised his arms slowly and unlatched his mask from the back of his head, then launched a scrutinizing glance at his granddaughter, who was as solid as ever. Then he noticed something. "You fool!" he said halfheartedly, and with a swift motion took off her mask. Ran Fan had been breathing heavily. She was looking sick; her face and hands were baked red. Ling brought his hand to his forehead exasperatedly and hurried to get the horses over while Fu steadied Ran Fan and scolded her. Minutes later, the tree were off on their journey, one horse burdened with the weight of a gluttonous prince and a somewhat limp and warm figure stubbornly dressed in black.
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An hour or so after Sheska had boarded the train with all her nerves crumpled tightly in the stomach, Rose helped Miguel up the steps inside, using the crutch strategically. Because it was a bit later in the day, there were a few more passengers than they liked, but it couldn't be helped. Rose pulled a stern face as many of them took double takes to make sure they weren't Ishballan. She held the gaze of anyone who dared to stare long challengingly till he looked away. Their seats were in the second to last cart, where there was rumored to be more jostling. She had thought that they should try for a cart in the middle since his leg might get irritated, but Miguel had said he wouldn't mind, actually looking excited. He mostly communicated through facial expressions and shakes of his head, but she knew he could talk as well as the next guy; he just didn't like to. Once he had explained curtly, "It'll start shifting on me soon," which Rose humorously interpretated to mean he was practicing for when puberty struck at is vocal cords and he'd have to keep silent to preserve pride. She thought it was cute: he was eight.
There were four seats in each "compartment", two facing two. The one assigned to them was already occupied by a snoring man in a suit. Rose signaled to Miguel that they should be quiet, but he shook his head and pointed to the tree bottles of whiskey deposited at his side. With that, he further proved it by tossing his bag to the seat by the window, smacking his crutch against the hard side of a seat, and sitting down noisily as possible. Rose rolled her eyes and made a show of sitting with eloquence, bag in her lap. A few minutes later Miguel made her take out the cards so he could play solitaire. The train was beginning to dredge itself up sluggishly when who should she see trudging down the aisle but the man they had met in the Ishballan camp? He had a knapsack on his back, and was wearing sunglasses, but he was so easy to recognize that she realized she would probably still be able to tell it was him even if he dyed his hair orange. She nudged Miguel with her elbow and waved to the dark (in complexion and in aura) man. "Oh, you're that man from before! Is your seat here? Come sit with us. Don't worry, this man won't be up for another four hours." He bent and sat stiffly on the edge as the businessman with slick brown hair stirred. "Why are you going to Rush Valley, if I may ask? Oh, excuse me, I've forgotten your name."
He grunted. "Call me what you like."
"Chuy?" Rose shoved her elbow into Miguel's ribs harshly, but he smiled winningly as she apologized for him.
"I am usually called 'Scar' because of..." He touched his middle finger to his forehead. The youths nodded sympathetically. "And I am going to Rush Valley to find someone."
"Is he a friend of yours?" Scar shook his head guardedly. Rose decided this meant he didn't want people prying into his interpersonal relationships. Luckily, she was used to secretive people and had a civil tongue. "Ah. And why do you think he would be in Rush Valley?"
"Because his automail arm was destroyed a few weeks ago. Completely. There is a good chance he is still there."
"I see, an automail arm." Rose smiled slightly. "Mm. You know, lately in Liore there has been increasing violence over the death of the false prophet of Leto." Scar held eye contact with her tolerantly, although she could tell he didn't think much of Leto. She continued quietly. "I know you believe Ishballa is the only God, but that's how we feel about Leto too. And we believed wholeheartedly that all His prophets were sent from above, sincere in their intentions. 'Father' Cornello came to us granting miracles, and we all fell for him. We even believed he could raise the dad." Here she narrowed her eyes sorely, then relaxed. "Then one day a small young man with an automail right arm and his brother in armor popped in and exposed Cornello for the liar he was overnight. He told me that there was no way to bring the dead back, that I shouldn't count on what others tell me; he said I need to use my own legs and move forward." Her smile was uncertain. "I still want to believe in Leto, even though now I can't ever trust prophets again."
"Haven't you given up on Leto?"
"It wasn't Leto who was corrupt, it was the man who used His name for power." She paused. "If you don't mind me asking, Scar-san, do you still believe in Ishballa?"
Scar wasn't startled by the question. On another day it would have mad him angry, but this girl was only looking for answers. "Yes, I do. If Ishballa had truly abandoned His people, the extermination would have succeeded. We are in a bleak time now, but we still have a chance."
The boy held his crutch in his left hand, staring out the window. The landscape was desolate, a wilderness of some sorts, with a pine grove every two miles and birch trees sprinkled here and there. At the bank of a steam running alongside the train tracks was a great silvery willow tree stooped over in solemn age. He was staring intently out at the fields beyond, but Scar saw he was listening because he nodded at some points. At the silence he straightened up and held out the deck of cards to Rose. "Oh, would you like to play Speed or Slap Jack?" He held up two fingers and pointed to Scar. "He wants you to play. It will be a long ride. Would you, please?"
He was not given the opportunity to decline. "The rules are simple, very simple. It will get boring after three rounds, so I'll teach you Speed next. In this game the idea is to get to the card first so you can keep it for the rest. We'll all have a third of the deck and take turns laying a card face up in a pile. You have four chances each game to spot a Jack. When you see one, slap it. The first person to get to it keeps it."
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Central, despite being the largest city, capital, and center of Amestris, didn't have much of a nightlife. At least there wasn't one in the exact true center, where the Furer and the military reigned. It wasn't that the crime rate was the lowest here so much as it was always dealt with much more quickly and efficiently. This was why the Scar case was so famous; he had evaded the martial forces' grasp each time he appeared so far, and should he show up again he could very well break a record. He also wasn't feared as much as he probably should be; after all, only a small minority of the military was qualified to be a State Alchemist, and it had slipped out that he had thus far not been known to target civilians.
Soldiers liked to think the main reason that the crime ate was kept at bay was the positioning of certain places prone to encourage mishaps. Of course, the top on the list has always been "bars", shops in which customers may consume as many alcoholic beverages as they can buy in one night. The brilliance of the founders of Amestris was manifested in the city's plan: all bars were located in the same district. Now, this allowed the military an assumption that most criminals would live near that district, and that people who lived in districts far away would be less prone to crime.
As a renowned and legendary serial killer, Barry the copper knew this tact to be absolute bologna. The criminals that truly deserved the fear of the citizens wouldn't rely on any specific substance for his genius. No, a serious and dangerous man would simply believe himself to be justified in his killings whether for a cause or just because he enjoyed it. The one thing that really bummed him out about killing was when they fought back and injured him. It just took away from the butchering of human flesh experience. A great thing about this new body was the fact that not much damage could be inflicted upon it. It was with this perspective that he conducted himself after the flattening of Lab 5.
The first thing he had to do was disguise himself in case that venomously lithe Lust patrolled the city. He settled for a burlap sack. He considered going out of town but knew that this was unquestionable. He would have to stay in Central; he'd go the bad type of insane if he didn't have enough victims to supply his survival appetite. Next was where he would be headquartered: nowhere in particular. It would be less easy for anyone to pin him down that way. Besides, it wasn't like he needed a place to sleep. He would keep moving all through the night and find a deep alley when he was more noticeable during the day.
Barry was well aware that although neither the military or the Homunculi were combing the city for him, should he give them the chance they would just drag him to a lab and conduct all sorts of experiments on him. Well with Lust it was more likely that they would just dispose of him before he could leak information not to be made known to the human sacrifices.
He was sitting on a park bench in the bar district, waiting. Drunkards had a lot of body fat, which was very exhilarating to chop up because he could slice through it like butter; it was so much of blatant nothing. He liked to chop obese people standing up. When his cleaver sliced the man-boobs from their bases they would slide down the rounded body and fall to the asphalt with a satisfying plop. Next to go was the arm fat jiggling below the biceps (or triceps, whatever; he had learned the anatomy of beef-meat, not man-meat as a butcher), then the thy fat behind the quadriceps, then the calves, then the floppy, sagging ass, and finally the big prize, the sweetest sensation: the belly. It was thrilling just to imagine!
Midnight had passed not ten minutes ago. It wouldn't be long now. Barry peered down the street expectantly, and sure enough there was some unlucky drunk chump taking a swig from the bottle at his hip every eight paces. He was in total bliss; he would be caught unaware. And he was. The suit of armor adorned with a burlap sack fell into step beside him, and he didn't flinch. Contrarily he looped his arm around its neck and leered in its face. "Maan, when you get laid off by the military ya know somethin' wrong wichoo. S'not like they lookin' fer smarts, right? Ya know, man?" He gave the suit's shoulders a shake.
The eyes of the suit twinkled. "I know, huh?" It drawled, the loping man not catching the hollowness of the sound. He didn't notice himself being steered amiably and gently into a small alley with a dumpster. He did notice, his mind returning to him briefly, his guts spilling out onto the ground, but before he could rustle up a good scream his vocal cords were severed as his head detached from his shoulders and smacked into the wall, landing by his entrails with a charming thunk. If Barry could whistle still, he'd be piercing the air with "Having a Wonderful Time," with enough gusto to be admitted into the ranks of an opera. As it was, he could still sing, but barely so that it had a chilling effect even if the tune was BINGO. "'What might bother you...'" he crooned, finishing up, "'Doesn't bother me!'"
Moments later the suit with the gaping mouth emerged from the slit between buildings and set off down the street at a rolling gait. He had ditched the remains in the conveniently placed dumpster, reminiscing of the glorious scent of a job well done. What he wouldn't give to feel the bones of the spine, the sticky fluids running between his fingers! ...It was at times like these he felt the most empty.
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Scar had succeeded in bruising Rose's fingers the first round, so the next two he made so much of an effort to hold back that he was sure to only move his hand once both youths had slapped the deck. After the third round Rose saw he wasn't even looking at the cards, only their hands, and called it off. "Okay," she said patiently, "This next one is called Speed and can only be played with two people, so Miguel and I will go the first round as an example." She began dividing the deck into two piles the accurate way, then laughed and put them back together, embarrassed. "Here I am talking like an expert and forgetting the first step in setting up. Let's start again." This time she dealt out five cards facedown, two cards beside each other still faced down, and five more identical to the first stack, all in one row. Then she split the remaining cards again, passing one half to Miguel.
Before they began, Rose turned to Scar to explain. "It's only complicated the first time, but everyone loves it once they get the hang of it. Me and Miguel will each turn over one of the cards between the two stacks to start the game. Once we see the number, we can put cards on top of it from our haves. You can only have five cards in your hand at once. You can only put a card on another if it's one unit below or above that card. So if there's a three there, I can put down a two or a four. Royalty goes like ten, Jack, Queen, King, and Ace, with two following Ace 'cause its value is one. If none of your cards can be put down, then you each flip over one of the cards from the stacks on the ends. The goal is to get rid of your half before the other guy." She smiled at his blank stare. "Don't worry, it'll all make sense soon. Just watch closely."
Once the two cards between the stacks of five were revealed, the youths' hands became blurred, and Scar, who had trained as a warrior-priest of Ishbal for many years and learned to use his senses swiftly as a gun, became lost among the motions. But as it wore on, he began to follow it and see how it was done. So when Rose set the game up again between him and herself, saying, "Let's see you give it a whirl," he was ready.
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After three hours stuck in the train stuck with Winry (who managed to find creative wrenchless methods to beat him) sitting across from him, Edward was sore in body and in spirit, and didn't hesitate to let everyone know. "Winry you jerk!"
"Oh shut up. Don't spoil it for me or you're in for a world of hurt." She said this with sparkling eyes and dimples in each cheek, hands clasped over her heart as if it would stop from excitement. Mecha paradise! Everywhere she turned, shops where automail mechanics showed their skills and proved their worth, manufacturing sleek limbs of the highest performance level. Her head was spinning with unadulterated pleasure.
Upon entering the automail town, Sheska felt as though she was setting foot on foreign land. "Where is the love?" She choked, hands clutching over her heart as if it would stop with terror. Artist's bane! Everywhere she turned, Philistines ravenous for money, hassling with customers and charging more than their services' worth, manufacturing tools for violence and hate. Her head was spinning with absolute shock.
"Now now, Brother," said Al soothingly, "try to get along. If we don't interfere we may get out of here sooner, otherwise she might keep us here forever out of spite," he added in a lower tone. Of course, since his voice tended to echo in his hollow body, Winry heard every word and dished out a debilitating smirk over her shoulder. The Elrics shuddered. Al turned to Sheska and pointed out a general store nearby. "Wait fur us in there, ok? There might be some books... ah, wait Brother, I don't think that's such a great idea! Winry, stop him!" Sheska watched Al chase his elder brother to an automail arm wrestling contest and shuffled over to the store, which turned out to be a pawnshop. At a glance she could see there weren't any books, but in this horrible oily town she supposed she had to make do with examining antiques. Most trinkets were the only ones in stock and priced fairly high, strangely enough, as they were ordinary objects she saw in everyday...modern...life...
From a respectable distance, Sheska inquired the shopkeeper where his merchandise came from. "Eh, here and there," he murmured distractedly, punching numbers in the cash register. "Various patrons," he elaborated.
Just when Sheska's suspicions had been quelled, a young but tall girl in a black tank top, high baggy pants and low pony tail burst in. "How ya doin'? Listen, I got something good for you today. Real fancy watch, see." To Sheska's surprise, the watch she held to the shopkeeper's face was Edwards!
"Um, excuse me," she said to the girl loudly, recalling that she was often ignored because—Mama said—she didn't assert herself. "I'm sorry, but that watch you are holding happens to be an official State Alchemist's amplifying watch."
"What?" said the man behind the counter. "Like from the military? Boy, you've done it now, Paninya. I'm not taking it."
The girl looked indignant. She still held the watch suspended above the counter. "What are you insinuating, that I stole it?"
"I never said that. It may have been misplaced," said Sheska evasively. "In any case, the boy it belongs to is blond, has an automail arm, and is very short. I can give it back to him if you'd like; I'm with the military, don't worry."
Paninya bit her lip, smiled warily, and handed the watch to Sheska.
"WHO SAID THE DAMNABLE WORDS, 'VERY SHORT?!"
Ed smashed through the door, sighted the former librarian and snatched the watch out of her hand. He stood there glaring at the both of them, Al calmly fixing the door and holding it open for Winry, who strode in with a bedazzling smile directed at Ed, cracking her knuckles on the way. "It's only been ten minutes and you're already making trouble!"
As the Fullmetal Alchemist was being pummeled into goo, Paninya tried to reconcile with Sheska, acting slightly humble. "Didn't know, ya know. Just gotta do what I can to pay off a little debt." ("Little? Did someone say LITTLE just now?!" "Quiet, you!" crack)
It's all right," answered Sheska, wanting to smooth it over too. "I won't report it or anything so long as it gets solved here. This isn't in my department, but I'm pretty sure stealing is illegal. Haven't you tried to get a regular job?"
"Well, it might have been that easy if I'd started that way," she sighed frustratedly. "But from the beginning I've just done this, since it seemed real simple and I was too young to work when the debt showed up."
"Not to be rude, but what kind of debt is it?"
The girl smiled indulgently. "You must not know this place very well. Everything around here," she said, bending over and rolling up her pant legs to the knees, "is in some way related to automail." The legs gleamed. Winry halted mid-punch.
"Wow!" She exclaimed bubbly, "Such craftsmanship!" A stream of strict automail terms spouted out quicker than Mustang could steal a girlfriend of Havoc's. "Who was the mechanic? Please tell me! I'm looking for a master so I can learn."
"Um, the guy who gave me these is what you'd call a master, yeah, but he's not the type to accept apprentices. A bit antisocial."
"I'd like to meet him to ask myself, then. Please, do you think you could take me to him?"
Paninya winced, but grinned. "Tell you what, I'll call him for you. He doesn't exactly live in Rush Valley, see." She asked the shopkeeper for the phone and dialed anyway when he refused. Because it was very silent in the room, Winry having put Ed's whining to a stop, everyone could hear what came through the speaker. It rang for a very long time, but Paninya told Winry not to be disappointed yet; he never picked up before the seventh ring because he was superstitious. There was a click, and Paninya's voice immediately rose in pitch and energy. "You, Dominic, sir! How ya doin'? Listen, I got some more money to pay off the legs—"
"Dammit, Paninya I told you I don't need any atonement crap! And you know what, I'm busy, so g—"
"Aw come on chief, we both know you have next to nothing to do over there."
"My daughter-in-law's in labor right now! I need to make sure the doctor doesn't screw up and kill 'em both!"
Winry took the phone from Paninya. "Sir, the best thing you can do for her in that situation is to leave the doctor to his work so that he can concentrate. You might also be able to supply some warm water and clean washrags to make her more comfortable. If you have ice, too, that would help a bit."
"Who the hell is this? Don't tell me how to take care of my family, butthead! What makes you think you know—"
"I'm the daughter of two doctors, Mr. Dominic, sir, and I suggest you take my advice. The number one cause of death is human error, which has most often been reported to have occurred due to distractions in the field."
The line was silent. "Paninya, I'll call you back." click.
