FMA: Riddle Me This
I... may have forgotten that I hadn't actually posted this yet. (Whoops.)
Title: Riddle Me This
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (manga/Brotherhood)
Word Count: 665.
Rating: PG (brief language, disturbing themes)
Summary: Ed and Al decode a cookbook.
Warnings: SPOILERS if you don't know what's in Marcoh's research notes.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist and all associated characters, settings, etc., belong to Hiromu Arakawa-san. The only profit I make from this work of fiction is my own satisfaction and, possibly, the enjoyment of others.
Author's Notes: Written for the April 29 prompt at 31_days - "that's because we're intelligent".
Ed grinned fiercely as he scribbled something down, checked Marcoh’s wording, and continued to write. It had taken days and days of work, but he and Al were cracking the old man’s cipher. When they had finally realized that beef stew meant the philosopher’s stone - but only when discussed as the main course, not as a side dish or a possible addition - it had really sped up their progress, and he couldn’t help feeling that his favorite dish being code for the stone was a good sign.
Beef stew is best with a variety of ingredients, and only the freshest meat is acceptable for the most intense taste.
Ed flipped through his notebook, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth thoughtfully. “Most intense taste” - that clearly referred to the stone’s level of power, and “variety of ingredients” meant that the stone needed a lot of material. But what was the material? “Freshest meat” - he stopped, reading over his own writing with a frown. A disquieting idea came to him, but he shook it off. He must have read Marcoh’s notes wrong.
In fact, I prefer to butcher the meat myself shortly before cooking, so that the taste is retained throughout the process.
Ed hesitated, pencil hovering over the blank page. That - that couldn’t be right. Surely it didn’t mean what he was thinking.
Many chefs have different ideas about the type of beef that is most productive, but all agree that other types of meat are not nearly as strong as beef.
He shoved his chair from the table, eyes scanning Sheska’s neat handwriting frantically. No, no, that couldn’t - the stone was not - the stone was the only way to get Al’s body back, and if Marcoh’s notes were telling the truth then the stone was-
“Brother?” came a very small voice to his right. Ed jumped, staring over his shoulder wildly. Al was looking at him, helmet unreadable as ever.
“Al, I-”
“Brother, I think you need to read this,” Al interrupted, and Ed suddenly realized how much Al’s voice was quivering.
“What is it? Did you figure something out?” Ed pushed his chair out of the way in an effort to get to his brother as fast as possible. It was all right; he must’ve made a mistake somewhere, but Al had made some kind of breakthrough while he was being distracted by ridiculous fears. He could look at what Al had discovered, and then he would go back and fix wherever he’d gone wrong.
“I - I think…” Al began, but apparently couldn’t finish. He handed Ed what he’d written down instead.
Ed scanned it, unable to stop the wave of relief from sweeping through him. Whatever Al had worked out must be big if it had thrown him so much he couldn’t even speak about-
He stopped. He read over Al’s notes again, then a third time, before lowering them slowly. His eyes couldn’t quite seem to focus on anything.
“Brother?” Al questioned.
Ed’s flesh hand shook. He didn’t reply.
“Brother, I think that-”
“Yeah,” Ed said unsteadily. “I just got there myself.” Somewhere he found the energy to turn his head, meeting the two points of light that were Al’s eyes.
“Then, the philosopher’s stone really is-”
“Made by sacrificing people’s lives.” Ed exhaled slowly. There was a loud, shuddering clatter as Al dropped to the floor, burying his face in his gloved hands. His armor rattled as he trembled. Ed lashed out, knocking over the table and sending papers, books, and pencils flying. “Damn it!” he howled, not even noticing the clamor at the door as their bodyguards frantically asked what was wrong.
The philosopher’s stone, their goal throughout years of searching, his only hope of restoring Al’s body, was the product of murders. Lots of them. Ed punched the ground with his automail fist, only distantly noticing that at some point he’d fallen to his knees.
Dr. Marcoh, he cursed, what did you do?
END
Title: Riddle Me This
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (manga/Brotherhood)
Word Count: 665.
Rating: PG (brief language, disturbing themes)
Summary: Ed and Al decode a cookbook.
Warnings: SPOILERS if you don't know what's in Marcoh's research notes.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist and all associated characters, settings, etc., belong to Hiromu Arakawa-san. The only profit I make from this work of fiction is my own satisfaction and, possibly, the enjoyment of others.
Author's Notes: Written for the April 29 prompt at 31_days - "that's because we're intelligent".
Ed grinned fiercely as he scribbled something down, checked Marcoh’s wording, and continued to write. It had taken days and days of work, but he and Al were cracking the old man’s cipher. When they had finally realized that beef stew meant the philosopher’s stone - but only when discussed as the main course, not as a side dish or a possible addition - it had really sped up their progress, and he couldn’t help feeling that his favorite dish being code for the stone was a good sign.
Beef stew is best with a variety of ingredients, and only the freshest meat is acceptable for the most intense taste.
Ed flipped through his notebook, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth thoughtfully. “Most intense taste” - that clearly referred to the stone’s level of power, and “variety of ingredients” meant that the stone needed a lot of material. But what was the material? “Freshest meat” - he stopped, reading over his own writing with a frown. A disquieting idea came to him, but he shook it off. He must have read Marcoh’s notes wrong.
In fact, I prefer to butcher the meat myself shortly before cooking, so that the taste is retained throughout the process.
Ed hesitated, pencil hovering over the blank page. That - that couldn’t be right. Surely it didn’t mean what he was thinking.
Many chefs have different ideas about the type of beef that is most productive, but all agree that other types of meat are not nearly as strong as beef.
He shoved his chair from the table, eyes scanning Sheska’s neat handwriting frantically. No, no, that couldn’t - the stone was not - the stone was the only way to get Al’s body back, and if Marcoh’s notes were telling the truth then the stone was-
“Brother?” came a very small voice to his right. Ed jumped, staring over his shoulder wildly. Al was looking at him, helmet unreadable as ever.
“Al, I-”
“Brother, I think you need to read this,” Al interrupted, and Ed suddenly realized how much Al’s voice was quivering.
“What is it? Did you figure something out?” Ed pushed his chair out of the way in an effort to get to his brother as fast as possible. It was all right; he must’ve made a mistake somewhere, but Al had made some kind of breakthrough while he was being distracted by ridiculous fears. He could look at what Al had discovered, and then he would go back and fix wherever he’d gone wrong.
“I - I think…” Al began, but apparently couldn’t finish. He handed Ed what he’d written down instead.
Ed scanned it, unable to stop the wave of relief from sweeping through him. Whatever Al had worked out must be big if it had thrown him so much he couldn’t even speak about-
He stopped. He read over Al’s notes again, then a third time, before lowering them slowly. His eyes couldn’t quite seem to focus on anything.
“Brother?” Al questioned.
Ed’s flesh hand shook. He didn’t reply.
“Brother, I think that-”
“Yeah,” Ed said unsteadily. “I just got there myself.” Somewhere he found the energy to turn his head, meeting the two points of light that were Al’s eyes.
“Then, the philosopher’s stone really is-”
“Made by sacrificing people’s lives.” Ed exhaled slowly. There was a loud, shuddering clatter as Al dropped to the floor, burying his face in his gloved hands. His armor rattled as he trembled. Ed lashed out, knocking over the table and sending papers, books, and pencils flying. “Damn it!” he howled, not even noticing the clamor at the door as their bodyguards frantically asked what was wrong.
The philosopher’s stone, their goal throughout years of searching, his only hope of restoring Al’s body, was the product of murders. Lots of them. Ed punched the ground with his automail fist, only distantly noticing that at some point he’d fallen to his knees.
Dr. Marcoh, he cursed, what did you do?
END