Writing
Okay so... This Ed is a little angrier than the first part but he's been cooped up for four days, it's enough to make him at least slightly more volatile. I feel somewhat better and less angry myself for having written it. It's short but the fight scene will take some work so. Here, you can has it.
Title: The years have been unkind... Pt. 2
Pairing: Ed/Roy
Word count: 1302
Rating: PG-13
Summary:
Mustang had gone behind his fucking back. Demanding the fuhrer pull Armstrong off a goddamned assignment just for this ridiculous evaluation? It was utter bullshit and if Mustang thought for one second he didn’t know exactly what he had done it, the man was going fucking blind in his old age. Edward snarled to himself as he left the dormitories, the only good thing about being in Central. He didn’t have to pay for a hotel. The paperwork for getting reimbursed was a royal pain in the ass. Made more so by that goddamn bastard.
It wasn’t bad enough they’d dragged him back here like a dog on a choke chain that was getting too far away from its master. Ed hissed a furious breath between his teeth as he walked. No, they’d made him sit around here for four fucking days waiting on Armstrong. Dammit all Mustang may as fucking well be fuhrer from the look of things. Why the fuck would the man agree to this? Pulling a Colonel off an assignment just for this bullshit evaluation? Was the military really so blind that they thought there was nothing more important than this crap.
As soon as he was on the barren plane of the parade grounds he spat a curse between clenched teeth. Word had gotten around. The infamous Fullmetal Alchemist was back in Central. Not only that but he was going to fight the Strong Arm Alchemist. Edward was going to pummel Mustang as soon as he saw the man. This was not only a fucking waste of time it was dangerous. He’d had no problems being showy when he was younger but now he realized how fucking stupid it had been. It made him predictable. Predictability was dangerous and foolish and he’d be damned if he let this stupid game they played be the thing that got him killed down the road.
He’d never been one to hold back in a fight, unless of course his brother was his opponent. He wasn’t about to start now, not for them, not for their roadside freak show. People were still afraid of alchemy and they put them on fucking display as if that would ease the people’s fears? Just what the fuck had he been working at the last few years if this is what they did in their spare time, reinforce the stereotype that alchemists are nothing more than walking killing machines.
Armstrong and Mustang stood on either side of the fuhrer, oozing professionalism so thickly it made him fucking sick. Present audience aside, and not just the fuhrer but the growing crowd as well, Armstrong flashed a glittering smile at him and Ed felt his lip curl before he could force the disdain from his features. He breathed deeply through his nose, closing his eyes for two paces as he tried to quell his anger enough to offer a civil tongue to the fuhrer. He would not speak to Mustang, certain that if he did it would result in a physical assault.
It was too bad Mustang was not his opponent for this particular fight. It would’ve been immensely satisfying to wipe the floor with the arrogant prick. The fuhrer smiled and he managed not to grimace in return. Badges, stripes, and stars glittered on the man’s lapel. Symbols of status, honor, a job well done. He was another fucking paper pusher, even more useless than Mustang because he had no alchemy and yet this was the man they trusted to lead.
No, wasn’t that the point. The position of fuhrer was too dangerous, they’d given it to this sniveling weakling of a man because he could be easily maneuvered by the board members. That had been their mistake with Bradley. The man had had goals, ambitions, he had been too hard to control. His replacement had probably never seen the battlefield but he was nothing more than a puppet, the face the board hid behind.
That was precisely why Mustang would never get it. The man was well known, more willful and stubborn than even they realized but what they knew was enough to keep him out of the fuhrer-ship for the rest of his life. The board wanted control and in Donnelly that was precisely what they had.
He spoke, loudly, voice carrying over the quiet audience that had assembled to see a fight that promised to be just as spectacular as the infamous Flame vs. Fullmetal. Armstrong put a friendly hand on his shoulder while the fuhrer spoke and Ed grit his teeth, pulling away from the familiar gesture. He fought not to shudder, unnerved by the contact. No one touched him these days unless they meant to kill him. It was sad but true. Even Winry was wary of him anymore, hesitating to hug him lest she catch his cynicism like some sort of disease.
Ed shot a glare over his shoulder at the giant of a man. Blue eyes narrowed, concern and confusion obvious on his face and it was all Ed could do not to laugh at him. Had everyone expected him to stay the same hot-tempered little boy he’d been over five years ago? Armstrong had participated in the civil war just as surely as Ed had so what the fuck would lead him to believe that nothing of what happened there would affect him?
He’d seen a lot of things in his quest for the stone, his determination to return Alphonse to his human form blinded him but some of the things he’d seen in the war were just sick. It was one thing to see violence acted out upon a person because of some lunatic’s crazed ideals but to see normal everyday people, the mailman, the sweet girl that lived next door, the kindly old man at the coffee shop do things that made his stomach roll just thinking about it. And all for no fucking reason.
It almost made him glad that they’d been so young when everything had gone to hell. If he’d been older if he’d really been able to wrap his mind around the horror that this twisted world shoved down his throat with all of the introspection he enjoyed now, at the ripe old age of 21. He’d never have been able to follow through with it. Any of it. But the naïve belief that he could succeed had never faltered when he’d been so young. Alphonse was counting on him and that was all that mattered. Now, though. Fuck… No one expected anything from him.
A cheer went up from the crowd and he realized that he was wrong. No these people wanted to see the good little doggie perform tricks for them. These sycophantic warmongering idiots wanted to see a show. The fuhrer was still talking but Ed was ignoring the man’s ramblings on honor, duty, and dedication. He turned, looking up at Armstrong with something that was a cross between the confident smirk that had been his usual expression for so very long and the feral baring of teeth that passed for his smile these days.
The fuhrer laughed, his nervousness obvious this close but to the others it would sound good humored enough. A cute witty little comment on Ed’s impatience and the man finally shut up, telling them to take their positions.
“It will be an honor to test your abilities, Edward Elric.” Armstrong said, with considerably less dramatic flair than was his wont. It meant he was actually going to take this seriously. That was a comfort, at least. It would be fucking useless if Armstrong didn’t try. He’d wanted an opponent that could give him a challenge, not one that he already knew so much about.
The man’s fighting style, while effective, was almost obscenely simple.
Title: The years have been unkind... Pt. 2
Pairing: Ed/Roy
Word count: 1302
Rating: PG-13
Summary:
Mustang had gone behind his fucking back. Demanding the fuhrer pull Armstrong off a goddamned assignment just for this ridiculous evaluation? It was utter bullshit and if Mustang thought for one second he didn’t know exactly what he had done it, the man was going fucking blind in his old age. Edward snarled to himself as he left the dormitories, the only good thing about being in Central. He didn’t have to pay for a hotel. The paperwork for getting reimbursed was a royal pain in the ass. Made more so by that goddamn bastard.
It wasn’t bad enough they’d dragged him back here like a dog on a choke chain that was getting too far away from its master. Ed hissed a furious breath between his teeth as he walked. No, they’d made him sit around here for four fucking days waiting on Armstrong. Dammit all Mustang may as fucking well be fuhrer from the look of things. Why the fuck would the man agree to this? Pulling a Colonel off an assignment just for this bullshit evaluation? Was the military really so blind that they thought there was nothing more important than this crap.
As soon as he was on the barren plane of the parade grounds he spat a curse between clenched teeth. Word had gotten around. The infamous Fullmetal Alchemist was back in Central. Not only that but he was going to fight the Strong Arm Alchemist. Edward was going to pummel Mustang as soon as he saw the man. This was not only a fucking waste of time it was dangerous. He’d had no problems being showy when he was younger but now he realized how fucking stupid it had been. It made him predictable. Predictability was dangerous and foolish and he’d be damned if he let this stupid game they played be the thing that got him killed down the road.
He’d never been one to hold back in a fight, unless of course his brother was his opponent. He wasn’t about to start now, not for them, not for their roadside freak show. People were still afraid of alchemy and they put them on fucking display as if that would ease the people’s fears? Just what the fuck had he been working at the last few years if this is what they did in their spare time, reinforce the stereotype that alchemists are nothing more than walking killing machines.
Armstrong and Mustang stood on either side of the fuhrer, oozing professionalism so thickly it made him fucking sick. Present audience aside, and not just the fuhrer but the growing crowd as well, Armstrong flashed a glittering smile at him and Ed felt his lip curl before he could force the disdain from his features. He breathed deeply through his nose, closing his eyes for two paces as he tried to quell his anger enough to offer a civil tongue to the fuhrer. He would not speak to Mustang, certain that if he did it would result in a physical assault.
It was too bad Mustang was not his opponent for this particular fight. It would’ve been immensely satisfying to wipe the floor with the arrogant prick. The fuhrer smiled and he managed not to grimace in return. Badges, stripes, and stars glittered on the man’s lapel. Symbols of status, honor, a job well done. He was another fucking paper pusher, even more useless than Mustang because he had no alchemy and yet this was the man they trusted to lead.
No, wasn’t that the point. The position of fuhrer was too dangerous, they’d given it to this sniveling weakling of a man because he could be easily maneuvered by the board members. That had been their mistake with Bradley. The man had had goals, ambitions, he had been too hard to control. His replacement had probably never seen the battlefield but he was nothing more than a puppet, the face the board hid behind.
That was precisely why Mustang would never get it. The man was well known, more willful and stubborn than even they realized but what they knew was enough to keep him out of the fuhrer-ship for the rest of his life. The board wanted control and in Donnelly that was precisely what they had.
He spoke, loudly, voice carrying over the quiet audience that had assembled to see a fight that promised to be just as spectacular as the infamous Flame vs. Fullmetal. Armstrong put a friendly hand on his shoulder while the fuhrer spoke and Ed grit his teeth, pulling away from the familiar gesture. He fought not to shudder, unnerved by the contact. No one touched him these days unless they meant to kill him. It was sad but true. Even Winry was wary of him anymore, hesitating to hug him lest she catch his cynicism like some sort of disease.
Ed shot a glare over his shoulder at the giant of a man. Blue eyes narrowed, concern and confusion obvious on his face and it was all Ed could do not to laugh at him. Had everyone expected him to stay the same hot-tempered little boy he’d been over five years ago? Armstrong had participated in the civil war just as surely as Ed had so what the fuck would lead him to believe that nothing of what happened there would affect him?
He’d seen a lot of things in his quest for the stone, his determination to return Alphonse to his human form blinded him but some of the things he’d seen in the war were just sick. It was one thing to see violence acted out upon a person because of some lunatic’s crazed ideals but to see normal everyday people, the mailman, the sweet girl that lived next door, the kindly old man at the coffee shop do things that made his stomach roll just thinking about it. And all for no fucking reason.
It almost made him glad that they’d been so young when everything had gone to hell. If he’d been older if he’d really been able to wrap his mind around the horror that this twisted world shoved down his throat with all of the introspection he enjoyed now, at the ripe old age of 21. He’d never have been able to follow through with it. Any of it. But the naïve belief that he could succeed had never faltered when he’d been so young. Alphonse was counting on him and that was all that mattered. Now, though. Fuck… No one expected anything from him.
A cheer went up from the crowd and he realized that he was wrong. No these people wanted to see the good little doggie perform tricks for them. These sycophantic warmongering idiots wanted to see a show. The fuhrer was still talking but Ed was ignoring the man’s ramblings on honor, duty, and dedication. He turned, looking up at Armstrong with something that was a cross between the confident smirk that had been his usual expression for so very long and the feral baring of teeth that passed for his smile these days.
The fuhrer laughed, his nervousness obvious this close but to the others it would sound good humored enough. A cute witty little comment on Ed’s impatience and the man finally shut up, telling them to take their positions.
“It will be an honor to test your abilities, Edward Elric.” Armstrong said, with considerably less dramatic flair than was his wont. It meant he was actually going to take this seriously. That was a comfort, at least. It would be fucking useless if Armstrong didn’t try. He’d wanted an opponent that could give him a challenge, not one that he already knew so much about.
The man’s fighting style, while effective, was almost obscenely simple.