(Untitled)
It was raining. Drizzling. Water dripped onto open umbrellas at the funeral site, into the open holes awaiting their caskets - five of them, austere in black and silver. A large amount of the town stood murmuring to one another between the lines of the sermon, clustered beneath their umbrellas. How appropriate, they muttered, was the weather?
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Immediately, Al felt an acute sense of dread. This scenario was almost reminiscent of his mother's death, and those unpleasant memories were enough to make Al stifle his half-hearted protests and allow himself to be herded out to the car. He soon realized that Ed and Hohenheim were acting far too nonchalant for the deceased to have been anyone they were particularly close to, and though Al's worries didn't entirely subside, they lessened enough for him to focus his attention on more important matters.
It was during the awkward drive to the cemetary that Alphonse finally became aware of the cell phone. The device was different from the communicator he was used to, but at least he was able to understand its basic functions. The message it displayed offered some explanation, but in the end Al still felt he had far more questions than answers. But even more perplexing than the words flashing across the screen was what was taking place in the front of the car; alternate worlds were a reality Al'd grown accustomed to, but Ed and Hohenheim chatting amicably like a typical father/son pair was something he never thought he'd see.
Al blinked, staring at them dumbly. While he wasn't about to take it on faith that the message he'd read was entirely true, at that moment there was no more accurate way to describe his feelings than to say it was as if he'd unwittingly stepped into someone else's life.
For the remainder of the trip Al could only watch, so lost in thought that he didn't even realize they'd arrived at their destination until Ed was thrusting an umbrella in his face and berating him for sitting around like an idiot. With a mumbled apology, Al took the umbrella from him and quickly rattled off an excuse to wander off on his own. There were plenty of questions he wanted to ask his "family", but right now, what Al really needed was quiet moment to himself to gather his thoughts. He was used to some pretty weird things happening to him, but this was all a bit much to take in at once.
He hadn't planned on going far, but Al stopped altogether when a familiar face in the crowd caught his eye. The dress she was wearing threw him off at first, but upon closer scrutiny there could be no mistaking her.
"Amelia?" Al called, speaking as loudly as he could without being rude to the mourners. It was only after he'd already closed most of the distance between them that common sense kicked in, reminding him that it was very unlikely that she was the girl he knew.
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It wasn't too hard. The three Elrics were a shock of gold against the grays and blacks . . . and Al was looking directly at her. One could almost see the wiggle arise in her, starting from the toes and working its way up like a puppy unable to stop its body wiggling with its tail. Al might well be in danger of being pounced upon.
"Alphon--. . . !" But she got cut off as Gracia flicked her ear, recalling her to reality. Several people around them sent shushes their way.
But it was Alphonse. And Ed! Though unable to move from her spot, Amelia trailed after them with anxious eyes, trying to communicate. Telepathic ability would be nice right about now.
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If there'd been any doubts that this was the Amelia from the other world, a closer look at the cell phone she was holding dispelled them. Obviously there was a lot the two of them needed to talk about, but how was he supposed to approach her in a situation like this?
Carefully, Al weaved his way through the crowd to where she stood, acting as if he wanted to be closer to pay his last respects. For a moment he bowed his head towards the caskets, both because death was something he held in reverence and because he felt guilty for using their tragedy as a cover for his conversation.
"How are you holding up?" he quietly whispered to Amelia, words heavy with double meaning.
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But why hadn't Ed come? She flicked her eyes in that direction, querying. Maybe, though, two would have been too many.
There was a great deal she wanted to ask him too at this point -- particularly about the information that had scrolled across the little screen of her cell phone. But it wasn't the time. "This shouldn't have happened." A pause. Her fingers around the cell phone were white with her grip. "It's . . . all wrong."
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Fortunately it seemed like the sermon was almost over.
"They don't really know, do they?" she added, even more softly. Admittedly, whatever was going on was not her primary concern at the moment.
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The trouble with speaking in code, of course, was that the two of them had never practiced this before. With Ed, doing things like this was practically second nature. With Amelia, however... well, if they took the act much farther, they'd probably just end up confusing each other.
"I know all this must be pretty upsetting. It really seemed to happen out of nowhere." Al turned back to Amelia, offering a small smile and hoping his words would be taken as those of a supportive friend. "If you need someone to talk to after the funeral's over, I'll be here, okay?"
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. . . This was going to take some getting used to.
"Please?" The word came out almost before she thought better of it. In other words, please, please, please don't go running off, Al.
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The three of them shared a definite resemblance, and considering what he'd just experienced with his own family, it wasn't hard for Al to reach the right conclusions, shocking as they were. Pretenses all but forgotten, he looked at the oldest woman with a wide-eyed stare. Was this really Amelia's mother?
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Elena, meanwhile, sensed eyes on her and glanced down, giving the slight, formal smile given to an unknown before returning her gaze to the proceedings. Gracia, though, was not nearly so kind, making an amused face at him.
"You're a little young to be checking out women, huh?" Her dress was taut across a very ample bosom. "Especially older women at funerals."
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He clamped down on the urge to keep talking, and his eyes darted to a random spot on the ground as if it was particularly fascinating.
That had been a pretty disastrous way to meet Amelia's family, but despite his embarrassment, Al was also struck by how different she was from her older sister. He had to wonder if it was due to the differences of growing up in this world or if the same thing held true back in Amelia's own.
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For her turn, Amelia might actually have giggled . . . had not the situation been too bizarre as it was. For the moment she wanted to just get *away*, take Al, and try to make sense of it all.
How would Lina have handled it? Probably just grabbed Al's hand and had done with it. Or just fireballed the place out of frustration. Neither were good options.
"I think I need some air." The age-old courtier's excuse. Not waiting for an answer, she ducked out from Gracia's umbrella into the rain.
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Al dashed after her, shifting the umbrella he held to cover them both. They weren't quite alone yet, but the semblance of privacy was enough to make his calm mask drop, and both his expression and tone conveyed urgency. "Are you okay?"
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Finally they were beyond the group, and she ducked behind a rather large family headstone, panting. It was quieter here, and there was no one staring. She was a little damp by this point, though Al's umbrella had helped for the most part.
"That's my mother." The words tore out. "My mother. And my sister -- she's not supposed to be here. And we were in the city a few minutes ago and not here and I don't know whose funeral it is and why everyone's here, and . . ."
Plainly Amelia was breaking the cell phone's request to not panic.
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"I'm sorry." Al fumbled for something comforting to say, but came up empty. Really, he couldn't fault her for sounding so upset. It was admirable that she was keeping it together this well; had their positions been reversed, Al wasn't sure if he would have been able to do the same.
"No matter what they look like, these people aren't really our families." He placed his free hand on her shoulder. "I think it might help if we try to focus on that."
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"My mother . . . was killed when I was little." Her voice was tiny, almost too soft to hear. "By . . . an assassin. In the palace. Oneesan . . . she left."
She fell quiet after that for some time. Then, "Why them?"
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