The Waters of Lethe
Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, just my my OCs. I like to play around in it's world and torture Ed for awhile
Author's note: post series, some movie events will happen, but differently
Warning: may contain movie spoilers. Has and will contained violence and death. This chapter features a little spritz of "lemon". Those under the age of 21 should cover their eyes.
Beta: Moi, for now.
48 What Happens In Casablanca... (Was in den Casablanca...)
Casablanca, Morocco. March 21, 1928
"Mmph." A metal hand cautiously pulled sheets off a sleepy face until the morning sunlight shone full upon it. Edward peeled one eye open, before he groaned and shut it again, then yanked the covers back over his head. "Ohhh!"
His head was pounding as if The Anvil Chorus was thundering away inside his temples. How much did I drink last night? It must have been too much because he couldn't remember exactly what he'd done after the others goaded him into drinking that third whiskey and soda. Or, had it been the fourth? Fifth? Sixth? Edward was having considerable trouble recalling the exact number. He said aloud, "So this is what a hangover feels like."
Edward's voice was barely above a whisper, yet it sounded too loud to his aching head. He shut his eyes tightly, but they snapped open a moment later when a female voice muttered sleepily, "Mmm? Did you say something?"
He moved his head slowly,ever so slowly to the left and his eyes met the cornflower blue orbs of Ginger Beere. A langorous, and faintly knowing smile crawled slowly across her face, "Hullo, tiger. You were incredible last night."
Three hours later, Edward slumped in a chair at a small cafe and moodily nursed a fizzing drink Harry claimed was a sure-fire hangover cure. The agony in his temples had subsided to a dull throb which beat in time with the roiling misery in his guts, caused by the knowledge of what occured last night. Ginger and her companion were actually prostitutes Harry knew from previous visits to Casablanca and he'd decided the much-too-sober Edward needed to have a little "fun". Ginger volunteered for the job.
He'd offered Edward the first whiskey and soda before their "spot of din-din" and the party kept on drinking after supper. Somewhere along the line, they eventually left Rick's Cafe and made the rounds of some of Casablanca's other "gin joints" and had some more drinks. Many more drinks. And then he was back in his hotel room, with Ginger, she had him backed against one wall, and they were kissing. Passionately. He couldn't remember how they got there, or why he was embracing her, because large chunks of his memory appeared to be missing.
He was still holding up that wall when she unzipped his trousers, knelt down and did "things" with her mouth and tongue that turned what remained of his higher brain functions to mush. After a few minutes of sensations that had Edward moaning with pleasure, they moved to the bed and had sex . More than once, Ginger claimed, although he couldn't quite recall the experiences. Fortunately. Discovering Ginger in his bed was bad enough, but finding out she was naked was even worse. After he'd lifted the sheets to see his own nude body - he didn't reallly want to think about that - Edward blushed scarlet with shame.
Harry finished his brunch, sat back and drained his cup of coffee and burped loudly. Edward threw him a sour look, he had barely touched his own plate because nausea burbled threateningly at the mere thought of eating. He took another sip of the fizzing drink and grimaced at the foul taste. Harry signaled to a waiter for more coffee, then turned to Edward after his cup was filled, "How long are you going to sulk, old chap? I thought you were enjoying yourself last night. Ginger certainly enjoyed you."
Edward's face reddened and Harry laughed.The sound shot thorough his sore head like a drill, and he winced with pain. "Please, Harry, not so loud. I'll take your word for it about last night, but I don't think I will ever drink again. I never knew it was possible to be in such agony afterwards."
"You just aren't used to alcohol, but with another month of practice, you'll be holding your liquor with the best of them." Harry seemed bound and determined that Edward lose his innocence, but he was more worried about Alonzo and Djura. Were they harmed after their subterfuge was discoverd in Cairo? He massaged his aching temples and groaned, just thinking made his brain hurt.
Dublin, Ireland. October 30, 1934
He hurried through his preparations, but still got out the door of the apartment building later than he liked. With a slice of buttered toast between his teeth, Edward jogged down the sidewalk while thrusting his right arm through the sleeve of his coat. He was on the verge of stopping to button it when the roar of a diesel engine announced the bus was coming to the stop nearest his home. He bit off a piece of the toast and broke into a dead run, his right hand scrabbling in a coat pocket for his bus pass.
Edward made it by the skin of his teeth, and the bus was already moving by the time he flopped back into the last empty seat. He stared sightlessly ahead and ate his toast, because his brain was already churning away on today's lesson plan. The bus filled up with other morning commuters, and he eventually moved next to a window to make room for a plump lady in a green checked coat. Squashed in his seat, Edward smiled and nodded at her, then he let his mind drift back to work. The street around the bus was choked with cars, trucks and other busses, so he never noticed the black sedan that followed him.