(no subject)
Holy shit! I wrote stuff! Posting to guilt self into writing more...
Title: Apoptosis
Author: tyndall_blue
Rating: T
Summary: Edward Elric is a prodigy in the realm of biomedical science, pursuing Gene Therapy with a passion bordering on obsession. He's come to seek the support and funding of LysoTech's Genomic Therapy program, under the direction of Dr. Roy Mustang.
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7347127/1/Apoptosis
The blatant and open invitation left the older man stunned into a silence that he filled with the remains of his glass, finally settling it heavily onto the table. Carefully, he smirked, steadying his voice so it wouldn't waver or slur when he spoke.
“Awfully egotistical of you doctor, to presume you're so intriguing that I'm dying to know the story of your life,” he crooned. Edward merely shrugged, unevenly Roy noted and and ambled off to the kitchen after snatching the empty glass from the coffee table. Roy resumed defurring his slacks while Al lavished more attention on the feline who had assumed a less than regal upside-down sprawled position in the young man's lap. The little pink paws were kneading the air rhythmically. Ed returned shortly with two glasses of scotch, one neat and one clinking with ice. The prosthetic arm placed it in front of him, and he found himself listening closely. Faintly, he could hear a whirring and whine above the sound of the purring cat. Edward sat heavily, sprawling much like their pet, legs and arms wide, the very picture of carelessness. They began their staring match again, Edward now fortifying himself with scotch.
“It's called automail,” he offered, drinking again. Roy lifted his own glass to keep pace with the elder Elric., keeping silent.
“The arm,” he waved it vaguely. Now that he was looking for it, Roy could see the unnatural folding of the skin at the wrist. “A friend of ours that we grew up with designed it.”
“It's remarkable,” he replied, swallowing heavily around the alcoholic burn. “What company does he work for?”
“She,” Alphonse cut in, “and she doesn't work for anyone. Their company is freelance thought they just received the DARPA grant,” his voice was filled with an intense pride and affection. Roy filed this away for future reference.
“Yeah, it's some grant given by the Revolutionizing Prosthetics program for breakthrough technology. I'm her guinea pig. She's been making them for me since I was 11,” Edward filled in, eyeing Alphonse a bit with annoyance. Roy frowned around the rim of the glass.
“It must be very expensive,” he probed carefully. He couldn't shake the feeling that the young man was flagrantly displaying an open and festering wound and despite the lackadaisical attitude, could react accordingly to Roy sticking his dirty fingers in it.
“I dunno, never had to pay for it. Despite how often I get it replaced, they say the data feedback I give them is too valuable to risk losing me as a customer,” he shrugged again and frowned at his already empty glass.
“So, how does it work then? Is there any sort of feedback?” Roy knew his curiosity would kill him one day, especially if these brothers were involved. Strange, he remembered there being more in his own glass. Unprompted, Alphonse gently pushed the cat from his lap and rifled in the kitchen while his brother answered.
“Best I can understand, the wires are grafted directly onto the nerve endings and the core of the prosthetic is fused to bone, though they have to distribute the weight because it's really heavy, so some of it extends as far as my ribcage and up to the clavicle,” the flesh hand reached up and traced the scar around the pegs. “I get some sense of pressure and distance now, but that's just cause I've had years to get used to it. When I first started it was just as clumsy as any other prosthetic. Now I could write with it if I wanted.” Roy watched with alarm as the blonde began to reach for the hem of his tank top, and struggled to stifle a choked protest. Alphonse, unphased, began to amiably poor them each more to drink as he opened another gingerale for himself. Roy was beginning to suspect that none of this was real and this was just some horrifying surreal and bizarre dream. He was in the apartment of a brilliant, stunning prodigy, who was his employee and currently disrobing, while his brother, who was sweet and gentle to a point that bordered on disturbing poured them both irresponsible quantities of alcohol.
“Right now, they're trying to figure out a better way to anchor the pseudoskin,” he continued, his fingers skillfully plucking the fleshy substance from suspension. Roy stared, nearly open-mouthed, as it snapped back from the loss of tension, exposing a gleaming silver joint. For a fraction of a second, the young man looked uncomfortable, misreading his expression.
“I know, it looks really gross, and it's a pain in the ass, especially if I tear it somehow,” he murmured and began peeling it down like a glove. Next to his brother, Alphonse had recaptured Lord Xerxes and was playing with his forelegs and clapping his paws together. The cat tipped back his head and gave Roy a plaintively disdainful look. Edward clearing his throat, caught his attention again. The limb was completely exposed and shining stainless steel, the detail was immaculate. Each digit even had a ridge of fingernail. It's owner was now shyly thumbing up around the joint, looking for something before there was a loud hiss and it went dead and limp.
“Here,” Edward grated, extending the limb to Roy. Just when he thought it couldn't get any weirder. He took it with great hesitation, fumbling when the weight of it surprised him. He glanced up to see the man looking away and purposefully distracted, face brightly flushed. He studied the limb, uncertain what to do. He had never considered the possible parameters of politeness when it came to examining someone's artificial limb.
Turning it over, the wrist flopped limply and he tipped it to better look at the shoulder port. He had to fight back a strong urge to touch the prongs that protruded, each harboring wiring within the thin metal sheath.
“This really is remarkable,” he murmured, peering into the joints and glimpsing the wires and bearings there.
“We'll be sure to pass along your compliments,” Alphonse s replied cheerfully.
“She did my leg too,” Edward muttered, kicking out what Roy assumed was his artificial one.
“My god, what'd you do to yourself?” Roy blurted, before he could stop himself. Alcohol, it was clearly the fault of the alcohol. In his periphery, he could see Edward's back go rigid and Alphonse still in anticipation of an outburst. Roy instinctively gripped the limb tighter, perhaps he could use it as a weapon if it came to it. A quick glance showed that Alphonse was now frowning slightly and had ceased his toying with the cat and instead hugged it close. Said animal took that moment to yowl piteously in protest of his captivity.
“It was a car wreck,” he muttered after a tense silence. Roy looked up at the clinking of glass on glass to see him pouring another. If anyone asked, Roy then drank from his own glass to foster a sense of comraderie. “I was 11 years old. It killed our father and I lost my arm and leg.” It was very final, and Roy knew the topic was now dead, no matter how badly was wanted to continue manipulating the metal digits of the finger. Edward graciously took back his arm and with a grimace, forced it back into the hollow of his shoulder. Roy frowned at the blanching of his skin and the slow tense exhale, but it passed quickly and the young man was swift to pull his shirt back on.
Title: Apoptosis
Author: tyndall_blue
Rating: T
Summary: Edward Elric is a prodigy in the realm of biomedical science, pursuing Gene Therapy with a passion bordering on obsession. He's come to seek the support and funding of LysoTech's Genomic Therapy program, under the direction of Dr. Roy Mustang.
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7347127/1/Apoptosis
The blatant and open invitation left the older man stunned into a silence that he filled with the remains of his glass, finally settling it heavily onto the table. Carefully, he smirked, steadying his voice so it wouldn't waver or slur when he spoke.
“Awfully egotistical of you doctor, to presume you're so intriguing that I'm dying to know the story of your life,” he crooned. Edward merely shrugged, unevenly Roy noted and and ambled off to the kitchen after snatching the empty glass from the coffee table. Roy resumed defurring his slacks while Al lavished more attention on the feline who had assumed a less than regal upside-down sprawled position in the young man's lap. The little pink paws were kneading the air rhythmically. Ed returned shortly with two glasses of scotch, one neat and one clinking with ice. The prosthetic arm placed it in front of him, and he found himself listening closely. Faintly, he could hear a whirring and whine above the sound of the purring cat. Edward sat heavily, sprawling much like their pet, legs and arms wide, the very picture of carelessness. They began their staring match again, Edward now fortifying himself with scotch.
“It's called automail,” he offered, drinking again. Roy lifted his own glass to keep pace with the elder Elric., keeping silent.
“The arm,” he waved it vaguely. Now that he was looking for it, Roy could see the unnatural folding of the skin at the wrist. “A friend of ours that we grew up with designed it.”
“It's remarkable,” he replied, swallowing heavily around the alcoholic burn. “What company does he work for?”
“She,” Alphonse cut in, “and she doesn't work for anyone. Their company is freelance thought they just received the DARPA grant,” his voice was filled with an intense pride and affection. Roy filed this away for future reference.
“Yeah, it's some grant given by the Revolutionizing Prosthetics program for breakthrough technology. I'm her guinea pig. She's been making them for me since I was 11,” Edward filled in, eyeing Alphonse a bit with annoyance. Roy frowned around the rim of the glass.
“It must be very expensive,” he probed carefully. He couldn't shake the feeling that the young man was flagrantly displaying an open and festering wound and despite the lackadaisical attitude, could react accordingly to Roy sticking his dirty fingers in it.
“I dunno, never had to pay for it. Despite how often I get it replaced, they say the data feedback I give them is too valuable to risk losing me as a customer,” he shrugged again and frowned at his already empty glass.
“So, how does it work then? Is there any sort of feedback?” Roy knew his curiosity would kill him one day, especially if these brothers were involved. Strange, he remembered there being more in his own glass. Unprompted, Alphonse gently pushed the cat from his lap and rifled in the kitchen while his brother answered.
“Best I can understand, the wires are grafted directly onto the nerve endings and the core of the prosthetic is fused to bone, though they have to distribute the weight because it's really heavy, so some of it extends as far as my ribcage and up to the clavicle,” the flesh hand reached up and traced the scar around the pegs. “I get some sense of pressure and distance now, but that's just cause I've had years to get used to it. When I first started it was just as clumsy as any other prosthetic. Now I could write with it if I wanted.” Roy watched with alarm as the blonde began to reach for the hem of his tank top, and struggled to stifle a choked protest. Alphonse, unphased, began to amiably poor them each more to drink as he opened another gingerale for himself. Roy was beginning to suspect that none of this was real and this was just some horrifying surreal and bizarre dream. He was in the apartment of a brilliant, stunning prodigy, who was his employee and currently disrobing, while his brother, who was sweet and gentle to a point that bordered on disturbing poured them both irresponsible quantities of alcohol.
“Right now, they're trying to figure out a better way to anchor the pseudoskin,” he continued, his fingers skillfully plucking the fleshy substance from suspension. Roy stared, nearly open-mouthed, as it snapped back from the loss of tension, exposing a gleaming silver joint. For a fraction of a second, the young man looked uncomfortable, misreading his expression.
“I know, it looks really gross, and it's a pain in the ass, especially if I tear it somehow,” he murmured and began peeling it down like a glove. Next to his brother, Alphonse had recaptured Lord Xerxes and was playing with his forelegs and clapping his paws together. The cat tipped back his head and gave Roy a plaintively disdainful look. Edward clearing his throat, caught his attention again. The limb was completely exposed and shining stainless steel, the detail was immaculate. Each digit even had a ridge of fingernail. It's owner was now shyly thumbing up around the joint, looking for something before there was a loud hiss and it went dead and limp.
“Here,” Edward grated, extending the limb to Roy. Just when he thought it couldn't get any weirder. He took it with great hesitation, fumbling when the weight of it surprised him. He glanced up to see the man looking away and purposefully distracted, face brightly flushed. He studied the limb, uncertain what to do. He had never considered the possible parameters of politeness when it came to examining someone's artificial limb.
Turning it over, the wrist flopped limply and he tipped it to better look at the shoulder port. He had to fight back a strong urge to touch the prongs that protruded, each harboring wiring within the thin metal sheath.
“This really is remarkable,” he murmured, peering into the joints and glimpsing the wires and bearings there.
“We'll be sure to pass along your compliments,” Alphonse s replied cheerfully.
“She did my leg too,” Edward muttered, kicking out what Roy assumed was his artificial one.
“My god, what'd you do to yourself?” Roy blurted, before he could stop himself. Alcohol, it was clearly the fault of the alcohol. In his periphery, he could see Edward's back go rigid and Alphonse still in anticipation of an outburst. Roy instinctively gripped the limb tighter, perhaps he could use it as a weapon if it came to it. A quick glance showed that Alphonse was now frowning slightly and had ceased his toying with the cat and instead hugged it close. Said animal took that moment to yowl piteously in protest of his captivity.
“It was a car wreck,” he muttered after a tense silence. Roy looked up at the clinking of glass on glass to see him pouring another. If anyone asked, Roy then drank from his own glass to foster a sense of comraderie. “I was 11 years old. It killed our father and I lost my arm and leg.” It was very final, and Roy knew the topic was now dead, no matter how badly was wanted to continue manipulating the metal digits of the finger. Edward graciously took back his arm and with a grimace, forced it back into the hollow of his shoulder. Roy frowned at the blanching of his skin and the slow tense exhale, but it passed quickly and the young man was swift to pull his shirt back on.