Two more alphabet drabbles... E and F (Mustang, Hughes)
Title: E is for Effort
Characters: Roy Mustang, Maes Hughes
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Silly and fluffy.
Author's note: I got this idea from clinicly8insane, who got the idea from h_mania. So I want to thank both of them.
Effort.
Roy Mustang never put out any more effort than he had to. He was always cool, collected, and calm. He never let his emotions get the better of him.
Except, of course, with Maes Hughes.
He had made procrastination an art when it came to doing (or not doing) his paperwork, so he was startled, but hardly suprised when Lt. Hawkeye would try to shoot at him to wake him up when he would fall asleep and start to drool on the very paperwork that he needed to finish.
But Hughes. Hughes would never cease to getting Mustang's blood to a boil. It would never fail. Less than 5 minutes after Roy walked into his office, his coffee cup in hand- trying to drink enough caffiene to wake up for the rest of the day, the phone would ring.
"Mustang."
"You found yourself a wife yet, Colonel?"
"Hughes!"
"I hear there is a pretty little blonde over in Recieveing..."
"Maes..."
"Or maybe Lt. Havoc has a girl that you can.."
"MAES!"
"Alright, alright. Say, you wanna meet for lunch in the mess hall? I got some new pictures of Elysia that I just *HAVE* to show you! She's such an angel! She.."
It was about then that Roy usually hung up the phone. Sometimes, it just wasn't worth the effort of being the best friend of Maes Hughes.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Title: F is for Fire
Characters: Roy Mustang, Maes Hughes (and some Hawkeye too... whoot)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Fake Roy backhistory! Yah!
Author's note: I got this idea from clinicly8insane, who got the idea from h_mania. So I want to thank both of them.
Fire.
Ever since he was a child, Roy Mustang had been fascinated by it. He wasn't sure why, but the flames that licked into the air and danced a pattern all of thier own just made him jealous that he could never be that wild and free.
He had been just a teenager, oily faced and gangly, when he tried to master the flame for the first time. For just a split second, half of a heartbeat, he saw it leap to his command, obey his whim.
Then it all went wrong in a blinding flash of light.
The next thing he rememberd was the hospital bed, and the smell of anticeptic and burnt flesh. He looked down at his hands and saw nothing but one huge bandage from his elbow down. He tried to wiggle his fingers.
Bad mistake.
It took him at least 15 minutes to stop crying from the pain. It had just about dulled to a throbbing ember when a doctor came in and told him that he would be able to keep all of his fingers, but it has been close. Two of them had been burnt and fused together, but the doctors had been able to pry then back apart.
The stay in the hospital was unbearably long for Mustang, made worse the first time his teacher visited him and about beat him back into unconciousness for trying something so stupid. But his daughter had been there, and stayed his hand. She showed compassion when no one else did.
Several weeks passed before they let him out of the hospital, mostly none the worse for wear. Despite the intense damage that had been done on the surface of the skin, once that skin (painfully) blistered and peeled off, there was very little scar tissue left behind, save the small knife scar between his middle and index fingers where they had to re-seperate the two digits. But even that was hardly noticiable with where it was.
Years later, after Mustang made the aquaintance of Maes Hughes, he found himself at a bar, drunkenly explaining the scar on his finger for the first time to anyone. Only that goofball of a fool Hughes in the Investigations department would be observant enough to notice such a tiny inperfection, Mustang thought, somewhere deep in the back of his inebriated mind.
Hughes kept telling him that he never understood what Roy saw in fire that fascinated him so, and Mustang would just smiled and roll his eyes and tell him that if he was an alchemist, he would understand. And when they came back from the war, for a long time, the fire the burnt hot inside of Roy wavered- flickered in the wind.
Fire would never feel the same.
Characters: Roy Mustang, Maes Hughes
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Silly and fluffy.
Author's note: I got this idea from clinicly8insane, who got the idea from h_mania. So I want to thank both of them.
Effort.
Roy Mustang never put out any more effort than he had to. He was always cool, collected, and calm. He never let his emotions get the better of him.
Except, of course, with Maes Hughes.
He had made procrastination an art when it came to doing (or not doing) his paperwork, so he was startled, but hardly suprised when Lt. Hawkeye would try to shoot at him to wake him up when he would fall asleep and start to drool on the very paperwork that he needed to finish.
But Hughes. Hughes would never cease to getting Mustang's blood to a boil. It would never fail. Less than 5 minutes after Roy walked into his office, his coffee cup in hand- trying to drink enough caffiene to wake up for the rest of the day, the phone would ring.
"Mustang."
"You found yourself a wife yet, Colonel?"
"Hughes!"
"I hear there is a pretty little blonde over in Recieveing..."
"Maes..."
"Or maybe Lt. Havoc has a girl that you can.."
"MAES!"
"Alright, alright. Say, you wanna meet for lunch in the mess hall? I got some new pictures of Elysia that I just *HAVE* to show you! She's such an angel! She.."
It was about then that Roy usually hung up the phone. Sometimes, it just wasn't worth the effort of being the best friend of Maes Hughes.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Title: F is for Fire
Characters: Roy Mustang, Maes Hughes (and some Hawkeye too... whoot)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Fake Roy backhistory! Yah!
Author's note: I got this idea from clinicly8insane, who got the idea from h_mania. So I want to thank both of them.
Fire.
Ever since he was a child, Roy Mustang had been fascinated by it. He wasn't sure why, but the flames that licked into the air and danced a pattern all of thier own just made him jealous that he could never be that wild and free.
He had been just a teenager, oily faced and gangly, when he tried to master the flame for the first time. For just a split second, half of a heartbeat, he saw it leap to his command, obey his whim.
Then it all went wrong in a blinding flash of light.
The next thing he rememberd was the hospital bed, and the smell of anticeptic and burnt flesh. He looked down at his hands and saw nothing but one huge bandage from his elbow down. He tried to wiggle his fingers.
Bad mistake.
It took him at least 15 minutes to stop crying from the pain. It had just about dulled to a throbbing ember when a doctor came in and told him that he would be able to keep all of his fingers, but it has been close. Two of them had been burnt and fused together, but the doctors had been able to pry then back apart.
The stay in the hospital was unbearably long for Mustang, made worse the first time his teacher visited him and about beat him back into unconciousness for trying something so stupid. But his daughter had been there, and stayed his hand. She showed compassion when no one else did.
Several weeks passed before they let him out of the hospital, mostly none the worse for wear. Despite the intense damage that had been done on the surface of the skin, once that skin (painfully) blistered and peeled off, there was very little scar tissue left behind, save the small knife scar between his middle and index fingers where they had to re-seperate the two digits. But even that was hardly noticiable with where it was.
Years later, after Mustang made the aquaintance of Maes Hughes, he found himself at a bar, drunkenly explaining the scar on his finger for the first time to anyone. Only that goofball of a fool Hughes in the Investigations department would be observant enough to notice such a tiny inperfection, Mustang thought, somewhere deep in the back of his inebriated mind.
Hughes kept telling him that he never understood what Roy saw in fire that fascinated him so, and Mustang would just smiled and roll his eyes and tell him that if he was an alchemist, he would understand. And when they came back from the war, for a long time, the fire the burnt hot inside of Roy wavered- flickered in the wind.
Fire would never feel the same.