Demonverse Interlude #2 -HeiAl, Al->Scar - PG-13
Title: Demonverse Interlude #2
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Crack, action/adventure
Pairing: HeiAl, Al->Scar
Length: 6, 483 words
Author: kalikamaxwell
Artist: No pictures for this one because Cofie is very busy and I'd rather not have further delays.
Notes: This would go between part 1 and part 2 of the main fic.
Alphonse was introduced to Scar the day after his arrival at the convent. It couldn’t be helped, Winry said unhappily, and advised Alfons to stand in front of his ‘pet demon’ in case Scar wanted to shoot ‘it’ on sight. It did not improve Alphonse’s opinion of the humans living in this place: they were all violent and mad. The humans in the city, more specifically the ones found in bars, had a much more pleasant and friendly attitude.
“Father Scar is…” Winry sighed. “I think he’s kind of unhinged, which is understandable after what he saw during the war, but... I don’t know why Riza insisted on taking him in.” They’d reached the small church nested between the other buildings on the premises: Winry lead the way up the age-worn stone steps and through the heavy wooden doors. “Hello? Father?”
Alphonse swept the church’s interior with a curious gaze; he’d never visited a church before. He would have expected it to be somehow unpleasant but he felt nothing special and saw nothing alarming. Three rows of uncomfortable-looking wooden benches took most of the space, facing a space at the front where stood a high table covered with a white sheet. The mysterious thick book resting on this table was mildly intriguing, as were the colorful windows with pictures, the rows of lit candles alongside the right wall and the painted roof curving far above his head. The atmosphere was quiet, almost peaceful, and utterly unthreatening.
Winry’s repeated calls eventually summoned a man from beyond a discreet door placed at the back. This man was the biggest human Alphonse had ever seen (granted, he was still new to the human world), the black robe he wore unable to conceal the size of his arms. The skin, where it was visible, was darker than on any other human Alphonse had encountered so far and a pale scar marred the hard face in a large x shape that didn’t look natural. A demonic wound, perhaps? The human’s eyes were his most telling features, red and fierce and settling on Alphonse with nothing short of hatred.
He remained behind Alfons, fascinated by this striking man but not enough to risk his life to say hi the way he liked to say hi to interesting humans: those eyes called for caution.
“Father,” Winry began quickly, “This is Alfons, and that’s Al. He’s a demon but Riza wants us to leave him unharmed. He’s not dangerous, just an incubus, and he’s working with Alfons. We just wanted to make sure you knew he’s here to avoid any incident.”
Scar hadn’t stopped staring at him. He offered a simple human greeting: “Hi.”
The threatening red eyes finally glanced away from him and up at Alfons. “Keep it out of my church.”
The man left the same way he’d arrived.
“Is he always like that?” Alfons wondered, blinking at the closed door.
“Permanently, yeah,” Winry sighed. “Great hunter, but the personality… He’s here during the weekends to tell mass, but he’s often out on the field during the week, hunting whatever he can find and killing them messily. Just keep the pet away from him.”
Alfons nodded, but Alphonse was busy with other thoughts. That exotic human was obviously dangerous, but he was also incredibly attractive, possessing a beautiful wild aura and such fierce eyes…
Humans needed food even more often than Alphonse did. They also liked to feed in public with many other people, something that almost seemed obscene to him; he much preferred to feed in private. And so, thrice a day, Alfons went to the place called the cafeteria and stood in line to receive a meal. The food changed every day, and from meal to meal too. Morning food was usually eaten in a bowl and drowned in a cold white substance while lunch and dinner food usually came in a plate, though there could also be a bowl of something hot with it. Most human food had no appeal whatsoever for an incubus, but the desserts were lovely: they came in many forms and had many different tastes, generally tasting sweet and wonderful. The only difficulty was obtaining them.
His human always willingly surrendered his dessert but one portion was hardly enough when there were a hundred more in the vast room. He tried politely requesting to have somebody else’s, but the reactions were far from positive, tinged with fear or anger. He would have tried flirting, the way he usually obtained what he wanted, if he hadn’t known Winry was likely to shoot him for it and hadn’t preferred not to upset the humans whose living space he shared. It was quite exasperating to have to control his normal behavior but it couldn’t be helped.
His human sighed when he frightened away a third nun from their table. “Stop harassing them. They don’t like it.”
“They don’t like me,” he corrected with a shrug.
“You’re a demon. They’re not used to being friendly with demons.”
That excuse was getting old fast. He’d done nothing to earn their hostility. Unimpressed with humankind, he sat on the floor and leaned against the wall, concealing himself from view and evading the stares. He couldn’t wait to return to the safety and quiet of their room, where he would at least be able to seduce his way into a good meal.
Within minutes, another nun dress approached their table: it was almost the only free one by now. He listened to the nun and his human greet each other politely and didn’t show himself: she would be frightened like the others. Humans, tsk. They were scared of everything, including their own shadows.
“I see you already ate your dessert,” the feminine voice suddenly said. “Would you like mine? I’m not terribly fond of pudding.”
He couldn’t resist. He rose and inquired with uttermost politeness, “Could I please have it?”
“Al,” his human warned, wincing in advance.
The nun jumped but didn’t panic or draw a weapon. “You’re the demon, aren’t you?”
He confirmed it cautiously. No weapon appeared.
“I’m Maria,” the nun said, and slid the pudding in his direction.
“Thank you. I’m Alphonse.” He drew himself a chair and picked up the pointy metal instrument humans insisted was needed to eat. He’d seen Roy use them too but the name eluded him. Frok, or something.
Alfons let out a breath. “Thank you for not screaming.”
The nun laughed softly, her face expressing more sympathy than humor. “It’s been that bad, has it? I’ve been out in the field these past few weeks but I heard about the ‘new kids’ as soon as I got here. You’re quite the gossip. Don’t hold it against them. Most of these girls aren’t done training so they don’t know so much about demons.” Maria paused. “Though the experienced nuns might shoot on sight instead of freezing up. That wouldn’t be much better.”
Alphonse didn’t weight in, more interested by the pudding than a discussion over these humans’ tendency to be violent for no reason at all. Once the pudding was gone, however, he found he had a question to ask. “Why doesn’t the man with the scar eat here? Everybody else does.”
Maria helpfully provided an answer. “Father Scar? Oh, he’s not very sociable so someone brings him his meals. I’ve done it a few times myself. The kitchen staff already has a lot of work so they appreciate it.”
”Don’t wait for me,” he told Alfons, darting away to the kitchen. He could recognize an opportunity when he heard one.
The single good thing about the fear he seemed to inspire in everybody was that nobody wanted to argue with him. When he said he wanted to bring Father Scar his meal, none objected. He was shortly on his way to the church, tray in hand and devious thoughts in mind. He shifted as he was walking up the steps; Father Scar might have the same issues Alfons did about the ‘kid look.’
He crossed the church and boldly pushed the door leading, he assumed, to Scar’s private quarters. He walked inside and into the barrel of a gun. “Hi,” he said to the gun’s owner as soon as he could look up from the dark opening aimed at his face. “I brought your meal.”
The gun vanished and the tray was taken from his hands. “You can go.”
Father Scar turned to move down the hallway. Encouraged by his continued lack of bullet wounds, Alphonse caught up and latched onto the man’s thick arm, purring, “I’d like to stay.”
The human’s red eyes didn’t seem to agree. Despite their color, they seemed more icy than fiery. It was like the man didn’t notice either his body or his pheromones at all. That was…unusual. He should have been able to make anybody pay attention to him: he was made for it!
“Leave.”
Confused by the rejection, he heeded the threat and retreated. His, however brief, experience told him humans were easy to seduce, so how could this one remain so cold?
He returned to the room he was meant to share with Alfons, who incidentally was already there, busy methodically studying his guns and doing mysterious things to them.
Alfons looked up. “Where were you?”
Stretching down on the bed, Alphonse wondered aloud, “Do you think the man with the scar is mutilated? He’s strangely cold.”
“Mutilated?” Alfons stared blankly at first, then switched to a bewildered stare as he caught on. “Hang on. Are you implying you tried to seduce Father Scar? He hates demons, you know that.”
“But he’s a pretty one,” he said wistfully.
Now his human was beyond bemused, blurting, “Pretty? You’re completely insane. Don’t blame me if he shoots you.” Alfons shook his head. “It doesn’t matter how attractive you think you are. You won’t get anywhere with him.”
They’d have to see about that.
Alphonse had a perfectly good excuse to lurk around the church every day: he had nothing better to do. His human was busy with various things such as ‘moving’ (this involved putting things in boxes and bringing them to the convent to take them out again), ‘target practice’ (this involved shooting at crude demon drawings and he didn’t want to be taken for a target too) and talking with Riza (but he couldn’t call her Riza, it was ‘Reverend Mother’ even though she wasn’t anybody’s mother and certainly not his) or Winry (he could call her Winry but she didn’t want to talk to him). Outside meals (his human’s or his), he was therefore mostly left to his own devices (with the order to ‘not cause trouble’).
Unfortunately, lurking did him no good: Father Scar was absent. Winry’s words eventually came back to him: the man was surely out hunting. How boring.
He counted the days: it took four before he heard of the man again.
Alfons always left the bed dreadfully early, around the time the sun dragged itself above the horizon, but Alphonse didn’t feel compelled to do the same. He did mourn the loss of his human pillow, however: Alfons liked sleeping on his stomach and he liked sleeping on Alfons’ back. He watched the strange morning ritual unfold with bleary eyes, sighing as his human began hiding his delicious body with human clothing. “Why do you get up so early? The day is long enough to allow a little more rest.” Or a little more bed play, he mentally added.
“Because that’s what people do here. Where did I put--?” Alfons recovered his headdress and carefully put it on his head, hiding most of his short blond hair. “Beside, it’s Sunday. I need to go to church.”
“What for?” The white sheet rustled as he shifted and curled up, seeking a comfortable position to return to sleep. “It’s a boring building.”
“It’s a human thing. Sometimes we go there and listen to a priest talk about God. I’m not that much into religion, but I don’t have a choice. I have to do like everybody else.”
His eyes snapped open. “I’ll go with you.” He stretched his naked body and rose, no longer naked or sleepy. “Father Scar is the only priest here, isn’t he? That means he’s back.”
Alfons’ face contorted itself. “You… Demon… church… I really don’t think--”
He wasn’t minded on listening, leaning out the window and eying the small groups of nuns wandering toward the church. “Hurry.” He slid through the window to follow the crowd, his opinion of mornings suddenly improved.
“Hang on! Al!” Alfons also went out the window, cursing on the way, and ran to catch up, reaching to grab Alphonse’s ponytail and pull him at his side. “Stay with me, you stubborn demon!” His eyes glanced at the church anxiously. “I hope this isn’t blasphemy…”
They almost argued about seating: Alfons wanted to stay in the back while he wanted to be as close to Scar as possible. He won because he didn’t try to argue back, only went ahead and claimed a small wooden bench at the front: Alfons had to joined him.
”Be quiet, at least...”
To be honest, Alphonse would have expected something a little more impressive from a religious ritual. Mass consisted of some singing and a lot of boring talking, only half of which was done by Father Scar. It was repetitive and far less challenging than he might have hoped. Within half an hour, watching Scar, as pretty as the man might haven been, was no longer enough to keep him awake. He wished he’d brought a book. Realizing he didn’t possess any book at the moment, he wished he had books. He knew humans had them somewhere, but hadn’t gotten around to finding them yet.
A side-glance informed him that his human didn’t find mass any more thrilling than he did. He waited for a song to begin before talking.
“Can’t we leave?”
“No. There’s not so long to go. Be quiet.”
He suspected they would both be asleep by the end if nothing was done to prevent it. Luckily, he knew how to stop boredom. He stirred, leaning comfortably into his human’s side, and sent a hand to seek his human’s crotch through the dress fabric.
Alfons grabbed his forearm hard. “No you don’t.”
His fingers kept moving. “We’re both bored.”
“Not. Here.” Alfons was whispering so low it was difficult to hear him.
“Nobody will notice.”
He was disappointed: Alfons looked furious as he struggled to push his hand away. No luck. He let go and slumped on the bench.
Alfons breathed out noisily and moved away from him. “Do you have to be such a slut?”
He didn’t answer the insult verbally, but closed his eyes and concentrated.
“You’re terribly easy to arouse, you know?” he murmured, meaning to see how badly he could make Alfons want it before they returned to their room. It was an appropriate revenge.
He might have overdone it because Alfons wasn’t the only human who became restless over the following five minutes.
“You’re never getting sugar again,” Alfons hissed, having apparently noticed.
He toned it down.
“Ever.”
He ended the game, once more confused. This wasn’t how he expected humans to react. Anger wasn’t a logical response to sexual arousal, was it? This might require further thoughts: he had to determine why Father Scar and Alfons didn’t react like they logically should.
Mass ended shortly after that, and he was glad for it. He was also glad to see Scar striding in their direction, but only until he had a good look at the human’s eyes: the face always looked the same but the eyes were murderous.
“Oh, Father,” Alfons murmured uncomfortably.
Father Scar leveled up an innocent-looking container full of water. Alphonse tensed, guessing it was blessed and about as friendly to him as a grenade.
“Never return here,” was all Father Scar said but he heard the underlying ‘I know what you did.’
“I don’t think the pretty man likes you,” Alfons mocked unkindly as they exited hastily.
To himself, Alphonse swore he would come to understand why humans reacted as they did.
When queried about it, Alfons confirmed there were books in the convent. Alphonse failed to understand why his human was surprised to hear he wanted to gather a few books: his demonic nature didn’t make him stupid or illiterate.
To the library they went-they, because Alfons somehow didn’t trust him not to assault the librarian. The library was located a few doors down from the infirmary, which itself laid in the long hallway leading to Winry’s domain. He recognized the scent of gathered books as soon as they entered; it was a smell he found soothing.
Ignoring everything Alfons said, he moved to inspect the shelves. To his distress, the science section was small and full of introduction books, nothing challenging or new. Roy even owned a few of these exact same volumes.
There was a shriek. A nun was staring at him, eyes wide and holding a book to her chest like a shield. He blinked, once, twice, and realized it was the bookish girl he had frightened into fainting several days earlier. Winry’s friend, whose name escaped him.
He gestured to the shelves. “Do you have anything more advanced? Chemistry or biology would be good.”
The girl blinked, slowly. “You…like books?”
“We’re not stupid.” It was difficult not to feel offended but he kept his tone mild to keep her from running away screaming. “We can read.”
A moment was needed for the female human to digest this fact. “You mean demons publish books too?”
He hesitated. Roy’s library was large, but he didn’t think any of the books in it had been written by a demon, now that he thought about it. The author names had all been human. “I don’t think so. But we read human books so we don’t need to.”
Another delay while the human processed this information, one hand playing with her glasses. “I see… I’m sorry we don’t have much. We focus on books useful for hunting and light reading for the sisters. Other than that, this is all we have---oh, plus the history section.”
“Human history?” He perked at the idea: this was a chance to learn quite a bit on humans. “I’d like that. Show me.”
She did, pilling books in his arms and gaining self-confidence as she did. “This, this, maybe this one too… That should do it.”
“Do these books talk about Father Scar’s people?” Alphonse inquired, studying the covers.
“The Ishvarians? Mmm…” The human female surveyed the shelves, kneeling to pull out a slim book to add to his pile. “This is mostly a book on Ishvarian culture, but it gives historical details too.”
“That’s perfect. Thank you.”
Alfons shook his head but didn’t argue with his selection of reading material or his desire to hole up in the room and read all day, which he did with great pleasure. The human world was highly interesting, but he had never interacted with so many people and it was tiring once the novelty started wearing off.
As for the books Shezka had given him, they were amazing. Nothing like them existed in Roy’s library, nothing to prepare him to discover the richness of human history. There was so much, and it went back so far, than he couldn’t grasp how they had gathered these facts. In comparison, all he knew of demon history were Roy’s stories, which all sounded alike, with much fighting and much killing. The kind of stories that had kept him docile for many years: he’d never wanted to get involved in such things. The human world, as little as he’d been told about it, had seemed much more welcoming. It mostly was: even the demon hunters could be approached. One just had to be careful about the part where demon hunters liked to act aggressive without warning or provocation.
It wasn’t long before he had to take a break from history: there were so many dates and names and events and countries that he couldn’t entirely follow. Why did humans need so many countries anyway? He pounced on the other book, seeking the secret of Father Scar’s behavior, and found something wonderful: descriptions of courting rituals.
In this city, courting rituals between strangers involved offering someone a drink and dancing with them before leading them somewhere quiet for sex. It seemed Ishvarians didn’t use the same rituals: it was much more complicated and involved throwing a large party before having sex. On second thought, the ‘clubs’ he’d visited were like parties too, weren’t they? Did humans think so highly of sex that they had to celebrate the idea of having it in the near future?
That would not account for Father Scar’s cold behavior… But said cold behavior might also be caused by his ignorance of the proper courting rituals. If he did things properly, like in this book, perhaps the man would respond favorably. He hoped skipping the party was alright: it would be too much work to invite people to the ‘wedding’ and he didn’t understand what the ‘fidelity vows’ meant or why they should be important anyway. It must have been some sort of promise not to be enemies in the future, as humans seemed prone to betraying each other as much as demons. So, no party. He however meant to try the little things and see if there were any changes in the scarred man’s attitude.
What was the passage again… His finger slid down the page until he found it.
Flowers are always well received due to their extreme rarity in the desert. The person who makes the effort to seek one is regarded as devoted and worthy of attention. The most common token of affection remains food dishes: women focus on quality while men seek to offer rare or expensive foods.
His lips mimicked Roy’s self-satisfied smirk. He had a plan.
It took several hours of hard work before his offering was ready but it was with complete confidence that he went to present his gifts, ignoring the looks and the whispers his conduct was attracting.
He didn’t enter the church to avoid being noticed too early: instead, he arrayed his gifts on the steps. Once satisfied, he raised his energy level until he was certain no decent demon-sensitive human could miss him. It took a moment, but, as he’d expected, Father Scar couldn’t not investigate this energy flag on his doorstep.
Unfortunately, he didn’t get the reaction he wanted. In fact, what he got hardly counted as a reaction, whatever hint of surprise there might have been covered with a blank and uncaring stare.
“I got you flowers,” he said helpfully. “I know they’re not rare here, so I got many of them to make up. Cake isn’t rare either, so I got the biggest I could find.”
Father Scar still didn’t look likely to bend him over furniture and fuck him to thank him for his efforts.
Finally, words came. Sex was not one of them. “Stop destroying the flora.” As a second thought, the human added, “Clean up my stairs.”
Father Scar left him, dismayed and crushed, to wonder what he’d done wrong and what he was going to do with a few hundred flowers.
When he had to explain why he’d methodically murdered half the city’s flora and gathered them in front of the church, he found Alfons was entirely unsympathetic and Winry…
Winry thought it was the most hilarious thing she’d ever heard and nearly died from laughter. “You- Demon- Father Scar- Flowers- BWAHAHAHA.”
“I told you it wouldn’t work,” Alfons added flatly. “He’s not that kind of person no matter how you look at it. First he’s a priest, second he’s probably the faithful type and third he’s almost certainly straight.”
“Flowers!” Winry shrieked, holding her stomach and shaking with the effort to stop laughing. It was a good thing she was already sitting down on the steps (she’d had to push flowers aside to do so) or she might have fallen down.
Meanwhile, Alphonse had to make Alfons explain what in the world ‘straight’ and ‘faithful type’ meant. The answer was baffling. “Only women? Why? That rules out half the population! I can sort of understand only having one mate, but…” He shook his head, still confused. What kind of strange human concepts were these? “Does it upset you if I’m not ‘faithful’ to you?”
A shrug answered him. “Do whatever you like. The point is, stop making trouble when we just got here! I’m not explaining to the Mother Superior you got shot because you were trying too hard to romance the anti-social priest.”
Winry made a sound like she were dying.
Give up? It might have been the best thing to do. But he had to give it one last try. Right after he finished figuring out where to put all these flowers.
It took him the rest of the day to dispose of them. After being informed that flowers were typically given to women, not men, he proceeded to hunt down nuns to offer them handful of flowers. They stared, sometimes recoiled, but didn’t refuse the gift. A few smiles and faint blushes were even spotted.
As for the cake, he claimed he needed it to ‘soften the rejection.’ Neither Alfons nor Winry seemed willing to believe him, but they held their tongue in exchange for a share of the treasure.
Scar was not one to respond either to flirting or to the human method of courting: that much was evident. Alphonse could have pursued his research in books, but he suspected the man couldn’t be moved by regular means: it would take something more direct to break through that cold shield. He considered the situation at length and concluded his last chance was to bypass the man’s brain and speak directly to his cock. He knew human males were led by their cocks: he’d heard Winry say as much.
Alphonse knew exactly what to do: what cock could possibly resist his naked ass? Thousands and thousands of years of evolution had contributed to make his species as appealing as possible to humankind in order for the former to feed on the latter. It was only natural for humans to be drawn to him, and if clothes somehow dimmed his appeal, he only had to discard them.
He cautioned himself to be careful about the execution: Alfons had proven anger could override sexual arousal if he was too pushy or picked his timing and place poorly.
He raised his thoughtful gaze from the desk’s polished surface, surface on which he was seated at the moment, to glance at the bed from where his human watched him plot with concern.
He smiled. “Don’t worry, pretty. I like you best.”
“That’s not what worries me.” A headshake punctuated the sentence. “He warned you not to return… I’d ask what you’re plotting, but it’s going to be easier to pretend I didn’t know if I don’t. Just don’t get shot.” With that, Alfons sank back against the gathered pillows and returned his attention to his book, which happened to be one of those strange fiction books Alphonse didn’t understand (what use were fake books?).
“Don’t wait. I’ll be busy for some time,” he said cheerfully, exiting by the window.
The church was quiet at this hour, growing dark as the sun descended: once it was gone, only candles would be left to fend off the darkness. Perfect, as intimacy would be needed. He closed the heavy wooden door as quietly as possible and crept towards the altar, climbing the few steps leading to it. The door was not far behind, leading to what he knew were the priest’s private quarters. Scar was beyond that door, unaware of what was coming for him.
He shifted to his adult form and knocked on the door, waiting to hear footsteps. He then stepped away, turned and placed his hands on the altar for support, settled in a position that he hoped put sufficient emphasis on his offered rear. His clothes had already vanished, cool air caressing his back. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the door open and Scar glance out--and right at him.
“Gift for you,” he said modestly, arching a touch. He let a second pass before adding, “It’s rude to refuse gifts, isn’t it?”
Scar was staring, and he was pleased. Immensely pleased. He was attractive, even to a man who was as responsive to flirting as a wall. “Please?” he carefully prompted.
Ah, was that--? He half-closed his eyes, focusing on smell. Oh, yes. The scent of human arousal was impossible to miss, strong and spicy and so very interesting.
Scar finally moved and he stirred slightly, closing his eyes and smiling to himself in smug victory, waiting for--
Liquid splashed on his rear, wet and burning like acid, drawing a scream from him even as a scent of burned flesh reached his nose. Holy water. The bastard had doused his ass with holy water.
Teary-eyed, he rolled off the altar to take cover and blindly retaliated with a small burst of energy. Crouched on the floor, he peeked around the altar and frowned at the closed door: his attack had left an impressive burnt mark, almost burning through it. The man had quick reflexes.
He recalled his clothes with a wince and waited, half expecting the madman to return with weapons and try to give him a Swiss cheese look. Nothing moved. He could tell the man wasn’t far behind that door, waiting for… what? An excuse to bring out the guns? A proof of hostility?
He would defend himself if needed, but he did not wish for a confrontation. Deeming the smoking door conveyed the first part of the message well enough, he carefully and painfully retreated. The hissing of burning flesh had stopped, but the sharp pain remained, the wound healing slowly. Holy water. Fucking holy water. Not cute. Not cute at all.
It was a relief to reenter his room and crawl on the bed to lie on his stomach, waiting for the burn to disappear. It was a light wound, as such things went, and the pain was soon only a memory, but the insult had left an invisible burn that wouldn’t heal that easily. There were nicer ways to say no!
Water was running in the bathroom, explaining where his human had gone. Alfons peeked out of it to offer, “I’m about to take a shower. How about it?”
It was easy to tell what kind of shower Alfons was offering, with that smile.
“No thank you.”
Alfons stared. “Are you alright? How badly did he hurt you?”
“I don’t understand humans,” he groaned, and buried his head under the pillow.
There were two ways to avoid humans: stay high or stay low. Humans never walked on the roof and rarely looked up to it, so he merely had to climb up to be alone. Likewise, humans didn’t look under things, so creeping under the building where there was a gaping hole was the better option when it rained. These were the ways Alphonse has found to avoid the scarred priest and the nuns, out of wounded pride: Winry had widely spread the story of his humiliation.
Unfortunately, water plus earth made mud, and humans were cleaning freaks. As soon as mud appeared on him, he was shoved, dragged or ordered into the shower. Pity. He would have loved to wrestle Alfons in the mud.
He wasn’t the only one who took cover under the building when the weather turned rainy: he frequently saw shining eyes in the dark. Their owners, however, fled him. The only exception was the big black cat who’d chased him up a tree: she occasionally found him worthy of company. He’d found out he could endear the animal to him by bringing scraps of food stolen from Alfons’ meals, though they had to be the right kind: dessert wouldn’t do, vegetables either, but meat was perfect and milk, if he could procure a glass, was appreciated. He’d been trying to name the cat and was currently considering Charcoal, because his previous idea, Black Terror, had made Alfons laugh.
There came a time when a pair of shining eyes didn’t flee. Instead, their owner hissed-- but rather weakly. It wouldn’t do to let this matter go uninvestigated. He pushed himself up on his elbows, the best he could do in this small space, and crawled forward. He found a cat, a young, wounded thing with a bent back leg. Cats, like the other denizens of the human world, healed very, very slowly. They often died because of it, from blood loss, hunger or other problems.
He offered the animal the food scraps meant for Charcoal. It hissed and spat and refused to take it, swiping at his hand with its claws. He retreated, leaving the bits of chicken behind. Only then did the animal move to take the food, swallowing it eagerly. The poor thing needed to be somewhere with warmth and food, not to lie in the mud and suffer until death.
He’d been scolded for taking Charcoal inside the building before and knew better than to try asking to bring a new cat inside, wounded or not. Where could he hide it? He pondered the problem until an idea came to him.
The hardest part of his plan was picking up the animal. For a wounded and half-dead creature, it could claw and bite surprisingly hard; his right arm quickly begun to feel warm and sticky with blood, but the wounds themselves healed fast enough to be disregarded. He held on and crawled from under the building.
One unhappy cat in his arms, he walked under the pouring rain all the way to the church: it was empty most of the time, and even when it wasn’t, nobody went upstairs. Upstairs he went, after verifying nobody had seen him, and was pleased to find boxes piled in a corner. He emptied one from the religious booklets it held and put his wet patient inside instead. A quick impolite look informed him this was another female, like Charcoal.
What now? Food, of course, and perhaps a blanket to make a bed, but while he could grasp the idea that wounds needed tending of some kind, he didn’t know what kind exactly. He could wash it, maybe try to straighten the broken limb… Would that be enough? He cursed his lack of medical knowledge about human-world creatures. Well, he could begin with food. It seemed the most urgent.
He left as stealthily as he’d entered and went to the kitchen. He already knew how to open a window and slide inside to locate what he wanted-sugar, usually. But today, he was looking for food suitable for cats, meaning meat or milk. This late, the kitchen was deserted and dark, though he saw well enough to recognize the pots and pans lined on the counters and the tall appliances along the right wall. In the latter, he was able to locate chicken leftovers. He also made away with a whole container of milk and a bowl.
Once back, he presented his offerings. They were accepted with a little wariness but eaten with obvious eagerness. He even managed to make the cat accept food from his very fingers. Wonder of wonders, it purred when he cautiously stroke its head. How adorable was that?
He had to do something about that leg, and immediately. Irritated at his own ignorance and afraid of causing more harm than good, he decided to ask Alfons. He left again to do this, quickly and without paying attention to his surroundings. The door was closing behind him when he heard a sound that made him freeze. Footsteps? Was Scar was in the church? Had he been seen? He circled the building and found a window, or what passed for windows in a church, with all these weirdly colored pieces of glasses. The visibility through the glass was terrible, but he did see the large shadow moving up the stairs.
Oh no.
He scrambled back to the doors and inside, nearly flew upstairs and bared his teeth as soon as he arrived, a warning growl in his throat. “Don’t touch her!”
Scar was moving toward the box, about to peer inside with an attitude that seemed to say he expected to find something unspeakably horrible in it. The man glanced at him briefly, then returned to his investigation.
There was a long pause as Scar eyed the content of the box from a careful distance. “A cat,” he said, and this seemed very odd to him.
Little by little, Alphonse had come closer: he just had to bounce forward to place himself between the human and his protégé. His trust in this human was lower than the floor and consequences be damned, if that lunatic tried to harm his cat, he’d bite his head off.
Scar eyed him, then the box, then him. Assuming that was an expression on his face, it seemed to be a surprised and confused one.
“The leg looks broken,” Scar eventually said, and relapsed into silence. A few seconds later, he turned and descended the stairs.
Alphonse let the man go, relaxing a touch, and knelt to inspect his protégé. Most of the chicken was already gone: he nudged the last scraps closer to her and poured more milk. Was it safe to leave her here? The priest hadn’t done anything terrible to either of them, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.
He was still considering the problem when Scar returned, bringing a box with a red cross on it. The box, it turned out, contained a prodigious amount of bandages, along with other things. Logic told him Scar meant the cat no harm, but he couldn’t help but hover threateningly as he watched the man handle his cat and do mysterious thing to its leg. When Scar was done, he had a bloody hand (the cat hadn’t liked him touching her injury), and the cat had a tightly bandaged and immobilized leg.
The strange human, whose behavior was not getting any less strange, stood up. “She needs food every day,” he said, apparently to nobody at all, and left for good.
Alphonse did not encounter Scar again but a bag labeled ‘cat food’ mysteriously appeared upstairs the next day, saving him the trouble of stealing meat daily.
Humans were weirder than weird, he decided. It would take much, much studying before he could hope to understand them. It was a good thing his lifespan was so long, really.
Onward to part 2, chapter 1.
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Crack, action/adventure
Pairing: HeiAl, Al->Scar
Length: 6, 483 words
Author: kalikamaxwell
Artist: No pictures for this one because Cofie is very busy and I'd rather not have further delays.
Notes: This would go between part 1 and part 2 of the main fic.
Alphonse was introduced to Scar the day after his arrival at the convent. It couldn’t be helped, Winry said unhappily, and advised Alfons to stand in front of his ‘pet demon’ in case Scar wanted to shoot ‘it’ on sight. It did not improve Alphonse’s opinion of the humans living in this place: they were all violent and mad. The humans in the city, more specifically the ones found in bars, had a much more pleasant and friendly attitude.
“Father Scar is…” Winry sighed. “I think he’s kind of unhinged, which is understandable after what he saw during the war, but... I don’t know why Riza insisted on taking him in.” They’d reached the small church nested between the other buildings on the premises: Winry lead the way up the age-worn stone steps and through the heavy wooden doors. “Hello? Father?”
Alphonse swept the church’s interior with a curious gaze; he’d never visited a church before. He would have expected it to be somehow unpleasant but he felt nothing special and saw nothing alarming. Three rows of uncomfortable-looking wooden benches took most of the space, facing a space at the front where stood a high table covered with a white sheet. The mysterious thick book resting on this table was mildly intriguing, as were the colorful windows with pictures, the rows of lit candles alongside the right wall and the painted roof curving far above his head. The atmosphere was quiet, almost peaceful, and utterly unthreatening.
Winry’s repeated calls eventually summoned a man from beyond a discreet door placed at the back. This man was the biggest human Alphonse had ever seen (granted, he was still new to the human world), the black robe he wore unable to conceal the size of his arms. The skin, where it was visible, was darker than on any other human Alphonse had encountered so far and a pale scar marred the hard face in a large x shape that didn’t look natural. A demonic wound, perhaps? The human’s eyes were his most telling features, red and fierce and settling on Alphonse with nothing short of hatred.
He remained behind Alfons, fascinated by this striking man but not enough to risk his life to say hi the way he liked to say hi to interesting humans: those eyes called for caution.
“Father,” Winry began quickly, “This is Alfons, and that’s Al. He’s a demon but Riza wants us to leave him unharmed. He’s not dangerous, just an incubus, and he’s working with Alfons. We just wanted to make sure you knew he’s here to avoid any incident.”
Scar hadn’t stopped staring at him. He offered a simple human greeting: “Hi.”
The threatening red eyes finally glanced away from him and up at Alfons. “Keep it out of my church.”
The man left the same way he’d arrived.
“Is he always like that?” Alfons wondered, blinking at the closed door.
“Permanently, yeah,” Winry sighed. “Great hunter, but the personality… He’s here during the weekends to tell mass, but he’s often out on the field during the week, hunting whatever he can find and killing them messily. Just keep the pet away from him.”
Alfons nodded, but Alphonse was busy with other thoughts. That exotic human was obviously dangerous, but he was also incredibly attractive, possessing a beautiful wild aura and such fierce eyes…
Humans needed food even more often than Alphonse did. They also liked to feed in public with many other people, something that almost seemed obscene to him; he much preferred to feed in private. And so, thrice a day, Alfons went to the place called the cafeteria and stood in line to receive a meal. The food changed every day, and from meal to meal too. Morning food was usually eaten in a bowl and drowned in a cold white substance while lunch and dinner food usually came in a plate, though there could also be a bowl of something hot with it. Most human food had no appeal whatsoever for an incubus, but the desserts were lovely: they came in many forms and had many different tastes, generally tasting sweet and wonderful. The only difficulty was obtaining them.
His human always willingly surrendered his dessert but one portion was hardly enough when there were a hundred more in the vast room. He tried politely requesting to have somebody else’s, but the reactions were far from positive, tinged with fear or anger. He would have tried flirting, the way he usually obtained what he wanted, if he hadn’t known Winry was likely to shoot him for it and hadn’t preferred not to upset the humans whose living space he shared. It was quite exasperating to have to control his normal behavior but it couldn’t be helped.
His human sighed when he frightened away a third nun from their table. “Stop harassing them. They don’t like it.”
“They don’t like me,” he corrected with a shrug.
“You’re a demon. They’re not used to being friendly with demons.”
That excuse was getting old fast. He’d done nothing to earn their hostility. Unimpressed with humankind, he sat on the floor and leaned against the wall, concealing himself from view and evading the stares. He couldn’t wait to return to the safety and quiet of their room, where he would at least be able to seduce his way into a good meal.
Within minutes, another nun dress approached their table: it was almost the only free one by now. He listened to the nun and his human greet each other politely and didn’t show himself: she would be frightened like the others. Humans, tsk. They were scared of everything, including their own shadows.
“I see you already ate your dessert,” the feminine voice suddenly said. “Would you like mine? I’m not terribly fond of pudding.”
He couldn’t resist. He rose and inquired with uttermost politeness, “Could I please have it?”
“Al,” his human warned, wincing in advance.
The nun jumped but didn’t panic or draw a weapon. “You’re the demon, aren’t you?”
He confirmed it cautiously. No weapon appeared.
“I’m Maria,” the nun said, and slid the pudding in his direction.
“Thank you. I’m Alphonse.” He drew himself a chair and picked up the pointy metal instrument humans insisted was needed to eat. He’d seen Roy use them too but the name eluded him. Frok, or something.
Alfons let out a breath. “Thank you for not screaming.”
The nun laughed softly, her face expressing more sympathy than humor. “It’s been that bad, has it? I’ve been out in the field these past few weeks but I heard about the ‘new kids’ as soon as I got here. You’re quite the gossip. Don’t hold it against them. Most of these girls aren’t done training so they don’t know so much about demons.” Maria paused. “Though the experienced nuns might shoot on sight instead of freezing up. That wouldn’t be much better.”
Alphonse didn’t weight in, more interested by the pudding than a discussion over these humans’ tendency to be violent for no reason at all. Once the pudding was gone, however, he found he had a question to ask. “Why doesn’t the man with the scar eat here? Everybody else does.”
Maria helpfully provided an answer. “Father Scar? Oh, he’s not very sociable so someone brings him his meals. I’ve done it a few times myself. The kitchen staff already has a lot of work so they appreciate it.”
”Don’t wait for me,” he told Alfons, darting away to the kitchen. He could recognize an opportunity when he heard one.
The single good thing about the fear he seemed to inspire in everybody was that nobody wanted to argue with him. When he said he wanted to bring Father Scar his meal, none objected. He was shortly on his way to the church, tray in hand and devious thoughts in mind. He shifted as he was walking up the steps; Father Scar might have the same issues Alfons did about the ‘kid look.’
He crossed the church and boldly pushed the door leading, he assumed, to Scar’s private quarters. He walked inside and into the barrel of a gun. “Hi,” he said to the gun’s owner as soon as he could look up from the dark opening aimed at his face. “I brought your meal.”
The gun vanished and the tray was taken from his hands. “You can go.”
Father Scar turned to move down the hallway. Encouraged by his continued lack of bullet wounds, Alphonse caught up and latched onto the man’s thick arm, purring, “I’d like to stay.”
The human’s red eyes didn’t seem to agree. Despite their color, they seemed more icy than fiery. It was like the man didn’t notice either his body or his pheromones at all. That was…unusual. He should have been able to make anybody pay attention to him: he was made for it!
“Leave.”
Confused by the rejection, he heeded the threat and retreated. His, however brief, experience told him humans were easy to seduce, so how could this one remain so cold?
He returned to the room he was meant to share with Alfons, who incidentally was already there, busy methodically studying his guns and doing mysterious things to them.
Alfons looked up. “Where were you?”
Stretching down on the bed, Alphonse wondered aloud, “Do you think the man with the scar is mutilated? He’s strangely cold.”
“Mutilated?” Alfons stared blankly at first, then switched to a bewildered stare as he caught on. “Hang on. Are you implying you tried to seduce Father Scar? He hates demons, you know that.”
“But he’s a pretty one,” he said wistfully.
Now his human was beyond bemused, blurting, “Pretty? You’re completely insane. Don’t blame me if he shoots you.” Alfons shook his head. “It doesn’t matter how attractive you think you are. You won’t get anywhere with him.”
They’d have to see about that.
Alphonse had a perfectly good excuse to lurk around the church every day: he had nothing better to do. His human was busy with various things such as ‘moving’ (this involved putting things in boxes and bringing them to the convent to take them out again), ‘target practice’ (this involved shooting at crude demon drawings and he didn’t want to be taken for a target too) and talking with Riza (but he couldn’t call her Riza, it was ‘Reverend Mother’ even though she wasn’t anybody’s mother and certainly not his) or Winry (he could call her Winry but she didn’t want to talk to him). Outside meals (his human’s or his), he was therefore mostly left to his own devices (with the order to ‘not cause trouble’).
Unfortunately, lurking did him no good: Father Scar was absent. Winry’s words eventually came back to him: the man was surely out hunting. How boring.
He counted the days: it took four before he heard of the man again.
Alfons always left the bed dreadfully early, around the time the sun dragged itself above the horizon, but Alphonse didn’t feel compelled to do the same. He did mourn the loss of his human pillow, however: Alfons liked sleeping on his stomach and he liked sleeping on Alfons’ back. He watched the strange morning ritual unfold with bleary eyes, sighing as his human began hiding his delicious body with human clothing. “Why do you get up so early? The day is long enough to allow a little more rest.” Or a little more bed play, he mentally added.
“Because that’s what people do here. Where did I put--?” Alfons recovered his headdress and carefully put it on his head, hiding most of his short blond hair. “Beside, it’s Sunday. I need to go to church.”
“What for?” The white sheet rustled as he shifted and curled up, seeking a comfortable position to return to sleep. “It’s a boring building.”
“It’s a human thing. Sometimes we go there and listen to a priest talk about God. I’m not that much into religion, but I don’t have a choice. I have to do like everybody else.”
His eyes snapped open. “I’ll go with you.” He stretched his naked body and rose, no longer naked or sleepy. “Father Scar is the only priest here, isn’t he? That means he’s back.”
Alfons’ face contorted itself. “You… Demon… church… I really don’t think--”
He wasn’t minded on listening, leaning out the window and eying the small groups of nuns wandering toward the church. “Hurry.” He slid through the window to follow the crowd, his opinion of mornings suddenly improved.
“Hang on! Al!” Alfons also went out the window, cursing on the way, and ran to catch up, reaching to grab Alphonse’s ponytail and pull him at his side. “Stay with me, you stubborn demon!” His eyes glanced at the church anxiously. “I hope this isn’t blasphemy…”
They almost argued about seating: Alfons wanted to stay in the back while he wanted to be as close to Scar as possible. He won because he didn’t try to argue back, only went ahead and claimed a small wooden bench at the front: Alfons had to joined him.
”Be quiet, at least...”
To be honest, Alphonse would have expected something a little more impressive from a religious ritual. Mass consisted of some singing and a lot of boring talking, only half of which was done by Father Scar. It was repetitive and far less challenging than he might have hoped. Within half an hour, watching Scar, as pretty as the man might haven been, was no longer enough to keep him awake. He wished he’d brought a book. Realizing he didn’t possess any book at the moment, he wished he had books. He knew humans had them somewhere, but hadn’t gotten around to finding them yet.
A side-glance informed him that his human didn’t find mass any more thrilling than he did. He waited for a song to begin before talking.
“Can’t we leave?”
“No. There’s not so long to go. Be quiet.”
He suspected they would both be asleep by the end if nothing was done to prevent it. Luckily, he knew how to stop boredom. He stirred, leaning comfortably into his human’s side, and sent a hand to seek his human’s crotch through the dress fabric.
Alfons grabbed his forearm hard. “No you don’t.”
His fingers kept moving. “We’re both bored.”
“Not. Here.” Alfons was whispering so low it was difficult to hear him.
“Nobody will notice.”
He was disappointed: Alfons looked furious as he struggled to push his hand away. No luck. He let go and slumped on the bench.
Alfons breathed out noisily and moved away from him. “Do you have to be such a slut?”
He didn’t answer the insult verbally, but closed his eyes and concentrated.
“You’re terribly easy to arouse, you know?” he murmured, meaning to see how badly he could make Alfons want it before they returned to their room. It was an appropriate revenge.
He might have overdone it because Alfons wasn’t the only human who became restless over the following five minutes.
“You’re never getting sugar again,” Alfons hissed, having apparently noticed.
He toned it down.
“Ever.”
He ended the game, once more confused. This wasn’t how he expected humans to react. Anger wasn’t a logical response to sexual arousal, was it? This might require further thoughts: he had to determine why Father Scar and Alfons didn’t react like they logically should.
Mass ended shortly after that, and he was glad for it. He was also glad to see Scar striding in their direction, but only until he had a good look at the human’s eyes: the face always looked the same but the eyes were murderous.
“Oh, Father,” Alfons murmured uncomfortably.
Father Scar leveled up an innocent-looking container full of water. Alphonse tensed, guessing it was blessed and about as friendly to him as a grenade.
“Never return here,” was all Father Scar said but he heard the underlying ‘I know what you did.’
“I don’t think the pretty man likes you,” Alfons mocked unkindly as they exited hastily.
To himself, Alphonse swore he would come to understand why humans reacted as they did.
When queried about it, Alfons confirmed there were books in the convent. Alphonse failed to understand why his human was surprised to hear he wanted to gather a few books: his demonic nature didn’t make him stupid or illiterate.
To the library they went-they, because Alfons somehow didn’t trust him not to assault the librarian. The library was located a few doors down from the infirmary, which itself laid in the long hallway leading to Winry’s domain. He recognized the scent of gathered books as soon as they entered; it was a smell he found soothing.
Ignoring everything Alfons said, he moved to inspect the shelves. To his distress, the science section was small and full of introduction books, nothing challenging or new. Roy even owned a few of these exact same volumes.
There was a shriek. A nun was staring at him, eyes wide and holding a book to her chest like a shield. He blinked, once, twice, and realized it was the bookish girl he had frightened into fainting several days earlier. Winry’s friend, whose name escaped him.
He gestured to the shelves. “Do you have anything more advanced? Chemistry or biology would be good.”
The girl blinked, slowly. “You…like books?”
“We’re not stupid.” It was difficult not to feel offended but he kept his tone mild to keep her from running away screaming. “We can read.”
A moment was needed for the female human to digest this fact. “You mean demons publish books too?”
He hesitated. Roy’s library was large, but he didn’t think any of the books in it had been written by a demon, now that he thought about it. The author names had all been human. “I don’t think so. But we read human books so we don’t need to.”
Another delay while the human processed this information, one hand playing with her glasses. “I see… I’m sorry we don’t have much. We focus on books useful for hunting and light reading for the sisters. Other than that, this is all we have---oh, plus the history section.”
“Human history?” He perked at the idea: this was a chance to learn quite a bit on humans. “I’d like that. Show me.”
She did, pilling books in his arms and gaining self-confidence as she did. “This, this, maybe this one too… That should do it.”
“Do these books talk about Father Scar’s people?” Alphonse inquired, studying the covers.
“The Ishvarians? Mmm…” The human female surveyed the shelves, kneeling to pull out a slim book to add to his pile. “This is mostly a book on Ishvarian culture, but it gives historical details too.”
“That’s perfect. Thank you.”
Alfons shook his head but didn’t argue with his selection of reading material or his desire to hole up in the room and read all day, which he did with great pleasure. The human world was highly interesting, but he had never interacted with so many people and it was tiring once the novelty started wearing off.
As for the books Shezka had given him, they were amazing. Nothing like them existed in Roy’s library, nothing to prepare him to discover the richness of human history. There was so much, and it went back so far, than he couldn’t grasp how they had gathered these facts. In comparison, all he knew of demon history were Roy’s stories, which all sounded alike, with much fighting and much killing. The kind of stories that had kept him docile for many years: he’d never wanted to get involved in such things. The human world, as little as he’d been told about it, had seemed much more welcoming. It mostly was: even the demon hunters could be approached. One just had to be careful about the part where demon hunters liked to act aggressive without warning or provocation.
It wasn’t long before he had to take a break from history: there were so many dates and names and events and countries that he couldn’t entirely follow. Why did humans need so many countries anyway? He pounced on the other book, seeking the secret of Father Scar’s behavior, and found something wonderful: descriptions of courting rituals.
In this city, courting rituals between strangers involved offering someone a drink and dancing with them before leading them somewhere quiet for sex. It seemed Ishvarians didn’t use the same rituals: it was much more complicated and involved throwing a large party before having sex. On second thought, the ‘clubs’ he’d visited were like parties too, weren’t they? Did humans think so highly of sex that they had to celebrate the idea of having it in the near future?
That would not account for Father Scar’s cold behavior… But said cold behavior might also be caused by his ignorance of the proper courting rituals. If he did things properly, like in this book, perhaps the man would respond favorably. He hoped skipping the party was alright: it would be too much work to invite people to the ‘wedding’ and he didn’t understand what the ‘fidelity vows’ meant or why they should be important anyway. It must have been some sort of promise not to be enemies in the future, as humans seemed prone to betraying each other as much as demons. So, no party. He however meant to try the little things and see if there were any changes in the scarred man’s attitude.
What was the passage again… His finger slid down the page until he found it.
Flowers are always well received due to their extreme rarity in the desert. The person who makes the effort to seek one is regarded as devoted and worthy of attention. The most common token of affection remains food dishes: women focus on quality while men seek to offer rare or expensive foods.
His lips mimicked Roy’s self-satisfied smirk. He had a plan.
It took several hours of hard work before his offering was ready but it was with complete confidence that he went to present his gifts, ignoring the looks and the whispers his conduct was attracting.
He didn’t enter the church to avoid being noticed too early: instead, he arrayed his gifts on the steps. Once satisfied, he raised his energy level until he was certain no decent demon-sensitive human could miss him. It took a moment, but, as he’d expected, Father Scar couldn’t not investigate this energy flag on his doorstep.
Unfortunately, he didn’t get the reaction he wanted. In fact, what he got hardly counted as a reaction, whatever hint of surprise there might have been covered with a blank and uncaring stare.
“I got you flowers,” he said helpfully. “I know they’re not rare here, so I got many of them to make up. Cake isn’t rare either, so I got the biggest I could find.”
Father Scar still didn’t look likely to bend him over furniture and fuck him to thank him for his efforts.
Finally, words came. Sex was not one of them. “Stop destroying the flora.” As a second thought, the human added, “Clean up my stairs.”
Father Scar left him, dismayed and crushed, to wonder what he’d done wrong and what he was going to do with a few hundred flowers.
When he had to explain why he’d methodically murdered half the city’s flora and gathered them in front of the church, he found Alfons was entirely unsympathetic and Winry…
Winry thought it was the most hilarious thing she’d ever heard and nearly died from laughter. “You- Demon- Father Scar- Flowers- BWAHAHAHA.”
“I told you it wouldn’t work,” Alfons added flatly. “He’s not that kind of person no matter how you look at it. First he’s a priest, second he’s probably the faithful type and third he’s almost certainly straight.”
“Flowers!” Winry shrieked, holding her stomach and shaking with the effort to stop laughing. It was a good thing she was already sitting down on the steps (she’d had to push flowers aside to do so) or she might have fallen down.
Meanwhile, Alphonse had to make Alfons explain what in the world ‘straight’ and ‘faithful type’ meant. The answer was baffling. “Only women? Why? That rules out half the population! I can sort of understand only having one mate, but…” He shook his head, still confused. What kind of strange human concepts were these? “Does it upset you if I’m not ‘faithful’ to you?”
A shrug answered him. “Do whatever you like. The point is, stop making trouble when we just got here! I’m not explaining to the Mother Superior you got shot because you were trying too hard to romance the anti-social priest.”
Winry made a sound like she were dying.
Give up? It might have been the best thing to do. But he had to give it one last try. Right after he finished figuring out where to put all these flowers.
It took him the rest of the day to dispose of them. After being informed that flowers were typically given to women, not men, he proceeded to hunt down nuns to offer them handful of flowers. They stared, sometimes recoiled, but didn’t refuse the gift. A few smiles and faint blushes were even spotted.
As for the cake, he claimed he needed it to ‘soften the rejection.’ Neither Alfons nor Winry seemed willing to believe him, but they held their tongue in exchange for a share of the treasure.
Scar was not one to respond either to flirting or to the human method of courting: that much was evident. Alphonse could have pursued his research in books, but he suspected the man couldn’t be moved by regular means: it would take something more direct to break through that cold shield. He considered the situation at length and concluded his last chance was to bypass the man’s brain and speak directly to his cock. He knew human males were led by their cocks: he’d heard Winry say as much.
Alphonse knew exactly what to do: what cock could possibly resist his naked ass? Thousands and thousands of years of evolution had contributed to make his species as appealing as possible to humankind in order for the former to feed on the latter. It was only natural for humans to be drawn to him, and if clothes somehow dimmed his appeal, he only had to discard them.
He cautioned himself to be careful about the execution: Alfons had proven anger could override sexual arousal if he was too pushy or picked his timing and place poorly.
He raised his thoughtful gaze from the desk’s polished surface, surface on which he was seated at the moment, to glance at the bed from where his human watched him plot with concern.
He smiled. “Don’t worry, pretty. I like you best.”
“That’s not what worries me.” A headshake punctuated the sentence. “He warned you not to return… I’d ask what you’re plotting, but it’s going to be easier to pretend I didn’t know if I don’t. Just don’t get shot.” With that, Alfons sank back against the gathered pillows and returned his attention to his book, which happened to be one of those strange fiction books Alphonse didn’t understand (what use were fake books?).
“Don’t wait. I’ll be busy for some time,” he said cheerfully, exiting by the window.
The church was quiet at this hour, growing dark as the sun descended: once it was gone, only candles would be left to fend off the darkness. Perfect, as intimacy would be needed. He closed the heavy wooden door as quietly as possible and crept towards the altar, climbing the few steps leading to it. The door was not far behind, leading to what he knew were the priest’s private quarters. Scar was beyond that door, unaware of what was coming for him.
He shifted to his adult form and knocked on the door, waiting to hear footsteps. He then stepped away, turned and placed his hands on the altar for support, settled in a position that he hoped put sufficient emphasis on his offered rear. His clothes had already vanished, cool air caressing his back. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the door open and Scar glance out--and right at him.
“Gift for you,” he said modestly, arching a touch. He let a second pass before adding, “It’s rude to refuse gifts, isn’t it?”
Scar was staring, and he was pleased. Immensely pleased. He was attractive, even to a man who was as responsive to flirting as a wall. “Please?” he carefully prompted.
Ah, was that--? He half-closed his eyes, focusing on smell. Oh, yes. The scent of human arousal was impossible to miss, strong and spicy and so very interesting.
Scar finally moved and he stirred slightly, closing his eyes and smiling to himself in smug victory, waiting for--
Liquid splashed on his rear, wet and burning like acid, drawing a scream from him even as a scent of burned flesh reached his nose. Holy water. The bastard had doused his ass with holy water.
Teary-eyed, he rolled off the altar to take cover and blindly retaliated with a small burst of energy. Crouched on the floor, he peeked around the altar and frowned at the closed door: his attack had left an impressive burnt mark, almost burning through it. The man had quick reflexes.
He recalled his clothes with a wince and waited, half expecting the madman to return with weapons and try to give him a Swiss cheese look. Nothing moved. He could tell the man wasn’t far behind that door, waiting for… what? An excuse to bring out the guns? A proof of hostility?
He would defend himself if needed, but he did not wish for a confrontation. Deeming the smoking door conveyed the first part of the message well enough, he carefully and painfully retreated. The hissing of burning flesh had stopped, but the sharp pain remained, the wound healing slowly. Holy water. Fucking holy water. Not cute. Not cute at all.
It was a relief to reenter his room and crawl on the bed to lie on his stomach, waiting for the burn to disappear. It was a light wound, as such things went, and the pain was soon only a memory, but the insult had left an invisible burn that wouldn’t heal that easily. There were nicer ways to say no!
Water was running in the bathroom, explaining where his human had gone. Alfons peeked out of it to offer, “I’m about to take a shower. How about it?”
It was easy to tell what kind of shower Alfons was offering, with that smile.
“No thank you.”
Alfons stared. “Are you alright? How badly did he hurt you?”
“I don’t understand humans,” he groaned, and buried his head under the pillow.
There were two ways to avoid humans: stay high or stay low. Humans never walked on the roof and rarely looked up to it, so he merely had to climb up to be alone. Likewise, humans didn’t look under things, so creeping under the building where there was a gaping hole was the better option when it rained. These were the ways Alphonse has found to avoid the scarred priest and the nuns, out of wounded pride: Winry had widely spread the story of his humiliation.
Unfortunately, water plus earth made mud, and humans were cleaning freaks. As soon as mud appeared on him, he was shoved, dragged or ordered into the shower. Pity. He would have loved to wrestle Alfons in the mud.
He wasn’t the only one who took cover under the building when the weather turned rainy: he frequently saw shining eyes in the dark. Their owners, however, fled him. The only exception was the big black cat who’d chased him up a tree: she occasionally found him worthy of company. He’d found out he could endear the animal to him by bringing scraps of food stolen from Alfons’ meals, though they had to be the right kind: dessert wouldn’t do, vegetables either, but meat was perfect and milk, if he could procure a glass, was appreciated. He’d been trying to name the cat and was currently considering Charcoal, because his previous idea, Black Terror, had made Alfons laugh.
There came a time when a pair of shining eyes didn’t flee. Instead, their owner hissed-- but rather weakly. It wouldn’t do to let this matter go uninvestigated. He pushed himself up on his elbows, the best he could do in this small space, and crawled forward. He found a cat, a young, wounded thing with a bent back leg. Cats, like the other denizens of the human world, healed very, very slowly. They often died because of it, from blood loss, hunger or other problems.
He offered the animal the food scraps meant for Charcoal. It hissed and spat and refused to take it, swiping at his hand with its claws. He retreated, leaving the bits of chicken behind. Only then did the animal move to take the food, swallowing it eagerly. The poor thing needed to be somewhere with warmth and food, not to lie in the mud and suffer until death.
He’d been scolded for taking Charcoal inside the building before and knew better than to try asking to bring a new cat inside, wounded or not. Where could he hide it? He pondered the problem until an idea came to him.
The hardest part of his plan was picking up the animal. For a wounded and half-dead creature, it could claw and bite surprisingly hard; his right arm quickly begun to feel warm and sticky with blood, but the wounds themselves healed fast enough to be disregarded. He held on and crawled from under the building.
One unhappy cat in his arms, he walked under the pouring rain all the way to the church: it was empty most of the time, and even when it wasn’t, nobody went upstairs. Upstairs he went, after verifying nobody had seen him, and was pleased to find boxes piled in a corner. He emptied one from the religious booklets it held and put his wet patient inside instead. A quick impolite look informed him this was another female, like Charcoal.
What now? Food, of course, and perhaps a blanket to make a bed, but while he could grasp the idea that wounds needed tending of some kind, he didn’t know what kind exactly. He could wash it, maybe try to straighten the broken limb… Would that be enough? He cursed his lack of medical knowledge about human-world creatures. Well, he could begin with food. It seemed the most urgent.
He left as stealthily as he’d entered and went to the kitchen. He already knew how to open a window and slide inside to locate what he wanted-sugar, usually. But today, he was looking for food suitable for cats, meaning meat or milk. This late, the kitchen was deserted and dark, though he saw well enough to recognize the pots and pans lined on the counters and the tall appliances along the right wall. In the latter, he was able to locate chicken leftovers. He also made away with a whole container of milk and a bowl.
Once back, he presented his offerings. They were accepted with a little wariness but eaten with obvious eagerness. He even managed to make the cat accept food from his very fingers. Wonder of wonders, it purred when he cautiously stroke its head. How adorable was that?
He had to do something about that leg, and immediately. Irritated at his own ignorance and afraid of causing more harm than good, he decided to ask Alfons. He left again to do this, quickly and without paying attention to his surroundings. The door was closing behind him when he heard a sound that made him freeze. Footsteps? Was Scar was in the church? Had he been seen? He circled the building and found a window, or what passed for windows in a church, with all these weirdly colored pieces of glasses. The visibility through the glass was terrible, but he did see the large shadow moving up the stairs.
Oh no.
He scrambled back to the doors and inside, nearly flew upstairs and bared his teeth as soon as he arrived, a warning growl in his throat. “Don’t touch her!”
Scar was moving toward the box, about to peer inside with an attitude that seemed to say he expected to find something unspeakably horrible in it. The man glanced at him briefly, then returned to his investigation.
There was a long pause as Scar eyed the content of the box from a careful distance. “A cat,” he said, and this seemed very odd to him.
Little by little, Alphonse had come closer: he just had to bounce forward to place himself between the human and his protégé. His trust in this human was lower than the floor and consequences be damned, if that lunatic tried to harm his cat, he’d bite his head off.
Scar eyed him, then the box, then him. Assuming that was an expression on his face, it seemed to be a surprised and confused one.
“The leg looks broken,” Scar eventually said, and relapsed into silence. A few seconds later, he turned and descended the stairs.
Alphonse let the man go, relaxing a touch, and knelt to inspect his protégé. Most of the chicken was already gone: he nudged the last scraps closer to her and poured more milk. Was it safe to leave her here? The priest hadn’t done anything terrible to either of them, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.
He was still considering the problem when Scar returned, bringing a box with a red cross on it. The box, it turned out, contained a prodigious amount of bandages, along with other things. Logic told him Scar meant the cat no harm, but he couldn’t help but hover threateningly as he watched the man handle his cat and do mysterious thing to its leg. When Scar was done, he had a bloody hand (the cat hadn’t liked him touching her injury), and the cat had a tightly bandaged and immobilized leg.
The strange human, whose behavior was not getting any less strange, stood up. “She needs food every day,” he said, apparently to nobody at all, and left for good.
Alphonse did not encounter Scar again but a bag labeled ‘cat food’ mysteriously appeared upstairs the next day, saving him the trouble of stealing meat daily.
Humans were weirder than weird, he decided. It would take much, much studying before he could hope to understand them. It was a good thing his lifespan was so long, really.
Onward to part 2, chapter 1.