Prompt 51. Train. Train Kept A Rollin'
Title: Train Kept A Rollin’
Author: 9daysqueen
Series: FMA: Brotherhood
Word Count: 500
Rating: Teen
Characters: Isaac the Freezing Alchemist, Kimbly the Crimson Alchemist
Summery: The State alchemists are deployed by train to Ishbal.
Warnings: None
Notes: I’m newly back to writing fan fiction after a few years’ break, so please be gentle with me!
The deployment trains were brimful, soldiers crammed in three to a seat and sometimes more. They sat atop their piled gear and tried to sleep away the hours until they arrived at the Ishbalan border. There, crowded jeeps and sand jalopies would replace the crowded trains.
The State Alchemist car, though, was almost empty.
There were only twelve of them in this deployment, and when they arrived there would be private tents and high-quality rations to greet them. The Ishbal campaign was straining the military its utmost, but it still attended to the creature comforts of its attack dogs.
Seated opposite each other at one of the compartment tables were the Freezing Alchemist and the Crimson Alchemist. They were the only two sitting together; Flame, Strong-Arm, Glass, Chiming, and all the rest had claimed benches to themselves and were either sleeping or sitting in taciturn contemplation as the increasingly desertic landscape rolled on by.
Crimson had stacked Freezing’s new high-capacity canteens in neat pyramid, all but the odd one of the pattern, which Freezing had reclaimed. Freezing was pouring droplets from its wide brim onto the tabletop and freezing them, getting the hang of the new transmutation gauntlets the military had provided for him. The table was dotted with these iciclets, some small and round, some long and sharp.
Crimson watched his seatmate work with an approving smile.
“Admirable work, my friend,” he said. “Very elegant.”
“Thanks,” Freezing replied. He spilled another drop and froze it into a towering spike, sharp as a needle.
“You really show such fine attention to detail,” Crimson continued. “It’s refreshing. So many in the program tend to favor brute strength,” his eyes cast backward, toward the towering head of their colleague Strong-Arm, “and simply call it elegance. But you, friend, have a very fine alchemic hand.”
“Thanks,” Freezing said again. Then he cleared his throat, almost hesitantly. “I used to practice by copying the detail on chess pieces.”
“Fascinating. If you did so now, we might get a bit of company. I hear our good friend Flame enjoys a round of the gentleman’s game.” He cast his eyes sideways, over to the table beside theirs, where the Flame Alchemist was looking down at his gloves. Though he clearly heard, he did not look over.
“At any rate,” Crimson continued, “I do like to see a soldier with some pride in his craft. I’ve always said pride in one’s work in the mark of a true artist.”
He clasped his fingertips, reached over, and brushed the base of the long, sharp icicle. It exploded with a high-pitched chinkle. A cloud of ice shards burst around it, catching the gaslight and painting the table with a thousand sparkles of blue and gold. A shard struck Freezing’s thumb and he pulled away, hissing as a little bubble of blood welled and dripped. Crimson seemed not to notice.
“Very elegant,” he said, looking at the spot where the little explosion had taken place. “Very elegant indeed.”
Author: 9daysqueen
Series: FMA: Brotherhood
Word Count: 500
Rating: Teen
Characters: Isaac the Freezing Alchemist, Kimbly the Crimson Alchemist
Summery: The State alchemists are deployed by train to Ishbal.
Warnings: None
Notes: I’m newly back to writing fan fiction after a few years’ break, so please be gentle with me!
The deployment trains were brimful, soldiers crammed in three to a seat and sometimes more. They sat atop their piled gear and tried to sleep away the hours until they arrived at the Ishbalan border. There, crowded jeeps and sand jalopies would replace the crowded trains.
The State Alchemist car, though, was almost empty.
There were only twelve of them in this deployment, and when they arrived there would be private tents and high-quality rations to greet them. The Ishbal campaign was straining the military its utmost, but it still attended to the creature comforts of its attack dogs.
Seated opposite each other at one of the compartment tables were the Freezing Alchemist and the Crimson Alchemist. They were the only two sitting together; Flame, Strong-Arm, Glass, Chiming, and all the rest had claimed benches to themselves and were either sleeping or sitting in taciturn contemplation as the increasingly desertic landscape rolled on by.
Crimson had stacked Freezing’s new high-capacity canteens in neat pyramid, all but the odd one of the pattern, which Freezing had reclaimed. Freezing was pouring droplets from its wide brim onto the tabletop and freezing them, getting the hang of the new transmutation gauntlets the military had provided for him. The table was dotted with these iciclets, some small and round, some long and sharp.
Crimson watched his seatmate work with an approving smile.
“Admirable work, my friend,” he said. “Very elegant.”
“Thanks,” Freezing replied. He spilled another drop and froze it into a towering spike, sharp as a needle.
“You really show such fine attention to detail,” Crimson continued. “It’s refreshing. So many in the program tend to favor brute strength,” his eyes cast backward, toward the towering head of their colleague Strong-Arm, “and simply call it elegance. But you, friend, have a very fine alchemic hand.”
“Thanks,” Freezing said again. Then he cleared his throat, almost hesitantly. “I used to practice by copying the detail on chess pieces.”
“Fascinating. If you did so now, we might get a bit of company. I hear our good friend Flame enjoys a round of the gentleman’s game.” He cast his eyes sideways, over to the table beside theirs, where the Flame Alchemist was looking down at his gloves. Though he clearly heard, he did not look over.
“At any rate,” Crimson continued, “I do like to see a soldier with some pride in his craft. I’ve always said pride in one’s work in the mark of a true artist.”
He clasped his fingertips, reached over, and brushed the base of the long, sharp icicle. It exploded with a high-pitched chinkle. A cloud of ice shards burst around it, catching the gaslight and painting the table with a thousand sparkles of blue and gold. A shard struck Freezing’s thumb and he pulled away, hissing as a little bubble of blood welled and dripped. Crimson seemed not to notice.
“Very elegant,” he said, looking at the spot where the little explosion had taken place. “Very elegant indeed.”