For Sky: All is Fair in the Art of War
To: sky_dark
From: Santa
Request: Ling (not Greedling)/Ed, fic or art
Rating: n/a
Title: All is Fair in the Art of War
When he had been younger, Ling recalled, it had once been requested of him to read Tun Szu's Art of War. Requested, not required of course, because no one required a prince to do anything, but his tutors had very strongly suggested that he take a break from his busy schedule of skipping rocks across the palace's reflection pool and review the venerable guide. Ling had considered it (considered but not conceded) and eventually the book had wound up in the small closet that comprised his 'in' box. At the time, he had thought that a greater appreciation of his leisure time was the most wisdom he could eke out of moldy old classics.
Now, years later and thousands of miles away from his 'to do (but only if a typhoon has washed all the beaches away and there's absolutely no one to play with in a fifty mile radius)' box, the prince found himself wishing for the Art of War again. If there was one flaw he grudgingly had to admit, it was that on occasion he rather lacked in foresight.
Tun Szu, after all, would have seen this coming.
He stared across the restaurant table at his opponent warily, not at all sure how he should respond. Edward Elric hadn't said much since they'd entered Tremalchio's, but he kept grinning in a way that made Ling uneasy. He'd once made it halfway through the first chapter of Tun Szu's guide, and he definitely remembered it saying that to win in battle, one must first know one's adversary. Well, Ling had been tailing Edward for sometime now and so far he'd learned that an Edward Elric that pleased with himself could be up to nothing good. Add on the fact that Ed had started the evening by announcing he was going to be picking up the check, and what little sense of self-preservation Ling had was screaming for attention. Ed inviting him out to a fancy eatery, offering to pay, smiling at him so openly - all the hallmarks of a trap.
"So ah…I have to ask, what's the occasion?" he asked, staring into those unnerving golden eyes, trying not to let the man know he was intimidating him. The gold rims on the fancy wine glasses were as bright as Ed's eyes, and in the low candlelight from the showy winter themed centerpiece positioned between them it seemed as though both were gleaming pointedly at him.
"Well, I've been thinking," Ed said. "You know, as my 'cultural liaison', you've gotten to introduce me to so many wonderful Xingian holidays…"
"I have," Ling said, nodding warily.
"Like…let's see, what was it last New Year's, the Lantern Boat festival? Where you sailed flaming boats down the canal and I had to put all those barges out?"
"It's a celebration of renewal," Ling said. "Fire burns down the old and makes way for the new."
"Yes, nothing like transmuting a dozen freighters from scratch to start the year off right." Ed's eyebrow twitched a little, but his smile didn't falter. That wasn't a good sign either. "And what was that spring festival again? Austere? Oeaster?"
"Eostre," Ling said glumly. He was beginning to get the sneaking suspicion he knew where this was going.
"Right, Eostre," Ed said. "When you introduced me to your 'traditional' egg cuisine."
"Eggs show the promise of new life in spring."
"Especially when you boil them with the whole chick inside, right?" Now the lips twitched a little, as if Ed's clenched teeth were the only thing keeping his smile in place. "You know, I have to hand it to you, I've never eaten anything with a beak still on it before."
"You are a man of great fortitude and bravery?" Ling tried.
"Yeah, and I also braved eating 'dancing' live octopus at your summer Ocean Festival, log-tossing at your Celebration of the Thousand-year Pines, and you know, I looked up that 'Eleventh-Eleventh' day you said happened in November? No Xingian in Central seems to think it exists!"
"Was that when I told you we consume only raw hide on November Eleventh?"
"Better than when you said winter starts with a six-day fast!" Ed said, and now there was nothing at all amused or happy about his expression. The smile was teased out so hard it was nearly a grimace, only sheer force of will fixing it on Ed's face.
"I told you that liquid foods are perfectly acceptable!"
"Yeah, only after the fact! I thought my stomach was going to eat its way out of my body! But! That's okay."
Ed jabbed a finger at the centerpiece on the table, still grinning that damnable parody of a grin. The candles there were huge red and green affairs with a sprig of fresh holly woven between them.
"Because this time it's my turn," Ed said triumphantly. "In case you haven't noticed, asshole, it's Winter Solstice. That's an Amestrisian holiday."
"You don't say," Ling said weakly. Was it just his imagination, or were waiters closing in on them?
"Yeah, now I get to treat you to our customs," Ed said, and when had Ling ever thought that baby face was harmless? Ed was rather reminding him of another text he had chosen to skip back home with his tutors…the venerable Guide to Identifying Demons. "You want holiday drinks? Foods? How about pickled foot and hoof of reindeer? Very famous, very traditional, I guarantee it would be an insult to refuse."
Ed gestured to the wait staff and a silver tray appeared in front of Ling, the cover off to reveal pure horror with hooves attached. Artfully arranged, with just a spring of parsley next to a glob of something furry and unmentionable.
"You should try our eggnog too, they make the real kind here. None of that 'commercialized' bullshit with cream in. This is the real kind, raw eggs and spices. It'll put hair on your chest, keep you warm this winter."
A white-aproned waiter stepped forward and cracked two eggs into a tall, frosty cup, sprinkled cinnamon and pepper and stirred it with a whisk. Ling recoiled against the back of his seat in terror.
"You can't honestly expect me to drink that!"
"You expected me to drink a bottle of Xingian hot sauce for the 'fire festival'." Ed's yellow eyes were predatory, wide and dangerous in the happy holiday light. He leaned forward across the table toward Ling.
"You expected me to eat whole chicks and things with tentacles and parts of lizards and snakes and fuck-all else, well, it's payback time. I'm paying by the minute to get these guys," he gestured at the row of waiters ringing the table, grinning maliciously, "to make whatever I goddamn want, so you can eat up, asshole. Eat up, and later I'm gonna take you out and show you the miracle of licking frozen lampposts and skating on thin ice. Those are traditions here too…traditions for idiots, perfect for you."
Ed folded his hands in front of him expectantly and this time his smile was genuine -- genuinely malevolent. Ling swallowed hard and stared down at the disgusting pile of sour animal hooves on his plate, the stomach-turning mass of raw egg in his cup.
Looked back up at Ed.
"All right," he said slowly. "I can respect your venerable traditions…as honestly and completely as you have respected mine."
Ed leaned in closer, breathing deeply, eyes dilated, fixed on Ling's face. Ling saw his opening and took it.
"…which is to say, I think we should also respect other important traditions of your people," Ling said. He pointed upwards at the ceiling. "Look above us…someone's hung some mistletoe."
It was a bald-faced lie of course, but Ed was too short to have noticed there was nothing up near the ceiling when they came in. "WHAT?!" he shrieked and pirouetted backward three feet away from the table with a force that only a teenage boy living in mortal fear of holiday kisses could summon. "FUCK no!"
Ling took that window of opportunity to make his break for it. He jumped up from the table and shoved his way through the throng of bemused waiters, flipped Ed a casual salute.
"Hey wait, there's no mistletoe there," Ed was saying. He jumped up from his chair, fists balled, scowling. "Get back here, you little-"
"SorrygottagoseeyouatNewYear's," Ling said, and beat a hasty, if ignoble, retreat right out through the holiday-decorated big bay window. It was not perhaps a great victory - that would have to come later, after he'd had sufficient time to think of an appropriate 'Solstice gift' for poor Edward - but for now, he would take pride in the fact that he had succeeded at living to fight another day.
He thought perhaps Tun Szu would approve.
From: Santa
Request: Ling (not Greedling)/Ed, fic or art
Rating: n/a
Title: All is Fair in the Art of War
When he had been younger, Ling recalled, it had once been requested of him to read Tun Szu's Art of War. Requested, not required of course, because no one required a prince to do anything, but his tutors had very strongly suggested that he take a break from his busy schedule of skipping rocks across the palace's reflection pool and review the venerable guide. Ling had considered it (considered but not conceded) and eventually the book had wound up in the small closet that comprised his 'in' box. At the time, he had thought that a greater appreciation of his leisure time was the most wisdom he could eke out of moldy old classics.
Now, years later and thousands of miles away from his 'to do (but only if a typhoon has washed all the beaches away and there's absolutely no one to play with in a fifty mile radius)' box, the prince found himself wishing for the Art of War again. If there was one flaw he grudgingly had to admit, it was that on occasion he rather lacked in foresight.
Tun Szu, after all, would have seen this coming.
He stared across the restaurant table at his opponent warily, not at all sure how he should respond. Edward Elric hadn't said much since they'd entered Tremalchio's, but he kept grinning in a way that made Ling uneasy. He'd once made it halfway through the first chapter of Tun Szu's guide, and he definitely remembered it saying that to win in battle, one must first know one's adversary. Well, Ling had been tailing Edward for sometime now and so far he'd learned that an Edward Elric that pleased with himself could be up to nothing good. Add on the fact that Ed had started the evening by announcing he was going to be picking up the check, and what little sense of self-preservation Ling had was screaming for attention. Ed inviting him out to a fancy eatery, offering to pay, smiling at him so openly - all the hallmarks of a trap.
"So ah…I have to ask, what's the occasion?" he asked, staring into those unnerving golden eyes, trying not to let the man know he was intimidating him. The gold rims on the fancy wine glasses were as bright as Ed's eyes, and in the low candlelight from the showy winter themed centerpiece positioned between them it seemed as though both were gleaming pointedly at him.
"Well, I've been thinking," Ed said. "You know, as my 'cultural liaison', you've gotten to introduce me to so many wonderful Xingian holidays…"
"I have," Ling said, nodding warily.
"Like…let's see, what was it last New Year's, the Lantern Boat festival? Where you sailed flaming boats down the canal and I had to put all those barges out?"
"It's a celebration of renewal," Ling said. "Fire burns down the old and makes way for the new."
"Yes, nothing like transmuting a dozen freighters from scratch to start the year off right." Ed's eyebrow twitched a little, but his smile didn't falter. That wasn't a good sign either. "And what was that spring festival again? Austere? Oeaster?"
"Eostre," Ling said glumly. He was beginning to get the sneaking suspicion he knew where this was going.
"Right, Eostre," Ed said. "When you introduced me to your 'traditional' egg cuisine."
"Eggs show the promise of new life in spring."
"Especially when you boil them with the whole chick inside, right?" Now the lips twitched a little, as if Ed's clenched teeth were the only thing keeping his smile in place. "You know, I have to hand it to you, I've never eaten anything with a beak still on it before."
"You are a man of great fortitude and bravery?" Ling tried.
"Yeah, and I also braved eating 'dancing' live octopus at your summer Ocean Festival, log-tossing at your Celebration of the Thousand-year Pines, and you know, I looked up that 'Eleventh-Eleventh' day you said happened in November? No Xingian in Central seems to think it exists!"
"Was that when I told you we consume only raw hide on November Eleventh?"
"Better than when you said winter starts with a six-day fast!" Ed said, and now there was nothing at all amused or happy about his expression. The smile was teased out so hard it was nearly a grimace, only sheer force of will fixing it on Ed's face.
"I told you that liquid foods are perfectly acceptable!"
"Yeah, only after the fact! I thought my stomach was going to eat its way out of my body! But! That's okay."
Ed jabbed a finger at the centerpiece on the table, still grinning that damnable parody of a grin. The candles there were huge red and green affairs with a sprig of fresh holly woven between them.
"Because this time it's my turn," Ed said triumphantly. "In case you haven't noticed, asshole, it's Winter Solstice. That's an Amestrisian holiday."
"You don't say," Ling said weakly. Was it just his imagination, or were waiters closing in on them?
"Yeah, now I get to treat you to our customs," Ed said, and when had Ling ever thought that baby face was harmless? Ed was rather reminding him of another text he had chosen to skip back home with his tutors…the venerable Guide to Identifying Demons. "You want holiday drinks? Foods? How about pickled foot and hoof of reindeer? Very famous, very traditional, I guarantee it would be an insult to refuse."
Ed gestured to the wait staff and a silver tray appeared in front of Ling, the cover off to reveal pure horror with hooves attached. Artfully arranged, with just a spring of parsley next to a glob of something furry and unmentionable.
"You should try our eggnog too, they make the real kind here. None of that 'commercialized' bullshit with cream in. This is the real kind, raw eggs and spices. It'll put hair on your chest, keep you warm this winter."
A white-aproned waiter stepped forward and cracked two eggs into a tall, frosty cup, sprinkled cinnamon and pepper and stirred it with a whisk. Ling recoiled against the back of his seat in terror.
"You can't honestly expect me to drink that!"
"You expected me to drink a bottle of Xingian hot sauce for the 'fire festival'." Ed's yellow eyes were predatory, wide and dangerous in the happy holiday light. He leaned forward across the table toward Ling.
"You expected me to eat whole chicks and things with tentacles and parts of lizards and snakes and fuck-all else, well, it's payback time. I'm paying by the minute to get these guys," he gestured at the row of waiters ringing the table, grinning maliciously, "to make whatever I goddamn want, so you can eat up, asshole. Eat up, and later I'm gonna take you out and show you the miracle of licking frozen lampposts and skating on thin ice. Those are traditions here too…traditions for idiots, perfect for you."
Ed folded his hands in front of him expectantly and this time his smile was genuine -- genuinely malevolent. Ling swallowed hard and stared down at the disgusting pile of sour animal hooves on his plate, the stomach-turning mass of raw egg in his cup.
Looked back up at Ed.
"All right," he said slowly. "I can respect your venerable traditions…as honestly and completely as you have respected mine."
Ed leaned in closer, breathing deeply, eyes dilated, fixed on Ling's face. Ling saw his opening and took it.
"…which is to say, I think we should also respect other important traditions of your people," Ling said. He pointed upwards at the ceiling. "Look above us…someone's hung some mistletoe."
It was a bald-faced lie of course, but Ed was too short to have noticed there was nothing up near the ceiling when they came in. "WHAT?!" he shrieked and pirouetted backward three feet away from the table with a force that only a teenage boy living in mortal fear of holiday kisses could summon. "FUCK no!"
Ling took that window of opportunity to make his break for it. He jumped up from the table and shoved his way through the throng of bemused waiters, flipped Ed a casual salute.
"Hey wait, there's no mistletoe there," Ed was saying. He jumped up from his chair, fists balled, scowling. "Get back here, you little-"
"SorrygottagoseeyouatNewYear's," Ling said, and beat a hasty, if ignoble, retreat right out through the holiday-decorated big bay window. It was not perhaps a great victory - that would have to come later, after he'd had sufficient time to think of an appropriate 'Solstice gift' for poor Edward - but for now, he would take pride in the fact that he had succeeded at living to fight another day.
He thought perhaps Tun Szu would approve.