Fma-naruto crossover chaper six
A/n: more to come.. Working on it tonight since I'm bored.
OoooO
Ed scowls as a meaty hand grasps his right shoulder, then jerks his head up off the wall. He lifts his heavy eyelids and sees a low table before him, and frowns in his confusion. When did he ever sit down? He slides his eyes to the helpful wall that had supported his head, dully recognizing its composition as wood.
He hears a male voice grumble nearby, but fumbles the meaning of the words. Groggily, he traces the sound to its source: a man dressed in a white apron and paper hat standing before the awsomest stove he has ever seen.
Overall humanoid in form, its hunched shoulders tower over the vendor. Many spikes protruded from the back, and Ed surmises they were functional smoke stacks. He watches the vendor tentatively turn one of the ten eye-like dials on the sculpted face looming above his head, moving with care to avoid touching the jagged teeth within the gaping mouth, and sharply tap a ladle against the side of a great pot. The corners of Ed's mouth tug upwards as his foggy brain recalls that the demonic metal box is his handiwork.
His hands are still free. He is still free. He let's his shoulders relax. His brother Al..
He recalls golden eyes trapped in a bony thin frame. Golden hair shifts to bright red and back, and he squeezes his eyes closed. Brother.. No..
Before he can yawn, a great steaming bowl filled to the brim with slices of meat, long noodles, and a delicious smelling thin broth is set before his nose.
His gamble has paid off.
He owlishly drools in delight as his stomach roars in eagerness, and, hands on either side of the soup, darts his eyes around for silverware. Finding none, his brows meet at the bridge of his nose.
"Are you supposed to eat this with your hands..?" Ed says softly at the tasty looking puzzle. Unsurprisingly, the great bowl does not reply.
Impatiently, he picks up a slice of hot! meat with his fingertips, and just as he brings the morsel to his lips, the man loudly yells out. Ed glares at the thin pair of sticks roughly shoved into his free hand, and turns the gaze to the scowl of the vendor.
The vendor says an incomprehensible mouthful as he jabs his finger at Ed's chest. Ed frowns, turns his gaze to the sticks in his hand, and narrows his eyes.
Of course. I'm in Xing. Xingese eat with sticks. Somehow. Ed thinks, and nods once at the angry vendor as he awkwardly arranges the sticks between his clumsy fingers. I wish I learned how to use these stupid things earlier.
"Ah well." Ed muttered in a grumble of his own. "Can't be helped."
Sent via Blackhole
OoooO
Ed scowls as a meaty hand grasps his right shoulder, then jerks his head up off the wall. He lifts his heavy eyelids and sees a low table before him, and frowns in his confusion. When did he ever sit down? He slides his eyes to the helpful wall that had supported his head, dully recognizing its composition as wood.
He hears a male voice grumble nearby, but fumbles the meaning of the words. Groggily, he traces the sound to its source: a man dressed in a white apron and paper hat standing before the awsomest stove he has ever seen.
Overall humanoid in form, its hunched shoulders tower over the vendor. Many spikes protruded from the back, and Ed surmises they were functional smoke stacks. He watches the vendor tentatively turn one of the ten eye-like dials on the sculpted face looming above his head, moving with care to avoid touching the jagged teeth within the gaping mouth, and sharply tap a ladle against the side of a great pot. The corners of Ed's mouth tug upwards as his foggy brain recalls that the demonic metal box is his handiwork.
His hands are still free. He is still free. He let's his shoulders relax. His brother Al..
He recalls golden eyes trapped in a bony thin frame. Golden hair shifts to bright red and back, and he squeezes his eyes closed. Brother.. No..
Before he can yawn, a great steaming bowl filled to the brim with slices of meat, long noodles, and a delicious smelling thin broth is set before his nose.
His gamble has paid off.
He owlishly drools in delight as his stomach roars in eagerness, and, hands on either side of the soup, darts his eyes around for silverware. Finding none, his brows meet at the bridge of his nose.
"Are you supposed to eat this with your hands..?" Ed says softly at the tasty looking puzzle. Unsurprisingly, the great bowl does not reply.
Impatiently, he picks up a slice of hot! meat with his fingertips, and just as he brings the morsel to his lips, the man loudly yells out. Ed glares at the thin pair of sticks roughly shoved into his free hand, and turns the gaze to the scowl of the vendor.
The vendor says an incomprehensible mouthful as he jabs his finger at Ed's chest. Ed frowns, turns his gaze to the sticks in his hand, and narrows his eyes.
Of course. I'm in Xing. Xingese eat with sticks. Somehow. Ed thinks, and nods once at the angry vendor as he awkwardly arranges the sticks between his clumsy fingers. I wish I learned how to use these stupid things earlier.
"Ah well." Ed muttered in a grumble of his own. "Can't be helped."
Sent via Blackhole