Prompt 230, ginger, The Bull
Title -- The Bull
Author-- cornerofmadness
series -- manga
Disclaimer -- Arakawa owns all
Rating -- teen
Characters/Pairing -- Breda, Mustang
Word Count -- 1,002
Summary --He’d been a label until now
Author’s Note -- I planned on a short little Breda piece since I’ve rarely worked with him. Looks askance at that word count. Hmmm.
XXX
For most of his life, Breda had been the odd man out. He was more label than man. All through his early school he’d just been ‘that ginger boy.’ Every school had one, the red hair standing out like a beacon and just rare enough a trait to be remarkable. Only the teacher noticed he could read better than any of his fellow students and whipped through math like a bird through the air. Red hair was the end all, be all of his childhood.
As his schooling went on, and he grew into his body, Breda went from being ‘that ginger boy’ to ‘that bull of a boy.’ Even the teachers seemed a bit blind to his intellect. He never got very tall - much to his regret, he had always wanted to tower over the others, red hair blowing in the breeze like his own personal flag - and he put on weight. Most of it wasn’t actually fat. Bull had been a good descriptive choice. Breda turned into a barrel-chested, muscular, fireplug of a young man. Sadly he usually just looked fat in clothing.
The coaches hadn’t missed him though. He was asked to wrestle and play ball. Breda resisted at first. He didn’t want to detract from his studies, but he quickly learned he could excel at both. Being on the teams helped him make friends in a way being studious hadn’t. He didn’t like to think hard on that and just let himself enjoy what he had; the bull of the school had friends.
Breda hadn’t planned on going into the military, but there hadn’t been money enough to continue his education. The country was at war and protecting it from religious zealots had sounded like the honorable thing to do. A man could make something of himself in the military. The Staff Sergeant had sized him up immediately and dismissed him as the slovenly, stupid redheaded kid. The idea that being big meant you were dumb had always pissed Breda off, but he had gotten used to it by then, bitter about it, as well. He didn’t get signed up for special training. He got sent to the front lines and he needed all his brains and his luck to survive a war that had been an obvious lie to the people of Amestris. How could a religious minority, now broken into small warring tribes after years of fighting, be the threat the papers said they were?
He’d been debating what to do with his life once he got sent back to Eastern command and was awaiting reassignment. He only had a few months left before he could either re-up or take his severance and run. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he left, but the military didn’t seem to appreciate him much. Sitting in a bar drinking probably wasn’t going to give him any answers, but it was enough for tonight. Seeing someone approach his table, Breda looked up into slanted eyes, half shaded by a shock of out-of-control, black bangs. The man didn’t look like a major, in spite of the pips on his collar, but Breda knew the face. He swallowed hard. What the hell had he done to attract the attention of the infamous Flame Alchemist? Breda had heard the bastard was only one step away from being as bad as Crimson Lotus.
“Breda Heymans?” Flame asked.
Breda scowled. How did the alchemist know his name? “Yeah?”
“You worked with Maes Hughes on occasion in the war?”
He nodded. Obviously the man knew he had. “I did. What of it?”
The Flame Alchemist smiled, and Breda saw it touch the man’s eyes, lighting them up. In that instant all his anxiety drained away. “You probably know who I am, Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang.” His hand floated up to his collar. “Still waiting on the insignia.” The smile faded. “I’m looking to build a team here in the East. I’ll be in command under General Grumman. I could use a man like you.”
Breda sighed. Of course, here he was looking for muscle. It figured. “Oh?” he grunted, non-committal.
“Hughes says you play a mean game of chess.” Flame smirked. “I can definitely use a man who can do that.”
Breda blinked. Finally, someone wanted him for his intelligence and not because he looked like he could bowl over a line of men. He hadn’t remembered ever doing anything to showcase his brains in Hughes’s presence, but Breda wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “And better yet if people take one look at him and would think checkers would be more his game?”
Flame’s smirk grew. “Precisely. I’m glad you understand. So, could I interest you in a game? We can talk about my proposal as we play.”
Breda drained his mug, setting it aside. “Sounds good to me.”
“And if you’re as good as Hughes says, maybe I’ll teach you to play Go,” Flame said.
Breda’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that the Xingese game? Supposed to be the hardest game in the world to play.”
Flame grinned again. “You’ve heard of it. Good. I think this is going to work out well.”
Breda followed the Flame Alchemist to a half empty anteroom on base where the chess set was already waiting. He knew it was probably foolish of him to sit down and try to beat a man who could incinerate him with a snap, but as they played, he realized that there was more to Mustang than his alchemy. For his part, Mustang seemed to see more to Breda than a bull-like body topped with ginger hair. In the space of one long, hard-fought game, he went from considering leaving the military to signing on to what might be the plans of an egotistical mad man. Mustang had clear cut goals and reasons, and for once, someone was taking Breda seriously. It was too intriguing a chance to let pass by. He went in for the long haul.
Author-- cornerofmadness
series -- manga
Disclaimer -- Arakawa owns all
Rating -- teen
Characters/Pairing -- Breda, Mustang
Word Count -- 1,002
Summary --He’d been a label until now
Author’s Note -- I planned on a short little Breda piece since I’ve rarely worked with him. Looks askance at that word count. Hmmm.
XXX
For most of his life, Breda had been the odd man out. He was more label than man. All through his early school he’d just been ‘that ginger boy.’ Every school had one, the red hair standing out like a beacon and just rare enough a trait to be remarkable. Only the teacher noticed he could read better than any of his fellow students and whipped through math like a bird through the air. Red hair was the end all, be all of his childhood.
As his schooling went on, and he grew into his body, Breda went from being ‘that ginger boy’ to ‘that bull of a boy.’ Even the teachers seemed a bit blind to his intellect. He never got very tall - much to his regret, he had always wanted to tower over the others, red hair blowing in the breeze like his own personal flag - and he put on weight. Most of it wasn’t actually fat. Bull had been a good descriptive choice. Breda turned into a barrel-chested, muscular, fireplug of a young man. Sadly he usually just looked fat in clothing.
The coaches hadn’t missed him though. He was asked to wrestle and play ball. Breda resisted at first. He didn’t want to detract from his studies, but he quickly learned he could excel at both. Being on the teams helped him make friends in a way being studious hadn’t. He didn’t like to think hard on that and just let himself enjoy what he had; the bull of the school had friends.
Breda hadn’t planned on going into the military, but there hadn’t been money enough to continue his education. The country was at war and protecting it from religious zealots had sounded like the honorable thing to do. A man could make something of himself in the military. The Staff Sergeant had sized him up immediately and dismissed him as the slovenly, stupid redheaded kid. The idea that being big meant you were dumb had always pissed Breda off, but he had gotten used to it by then, bitter about it, as well. He didn’t get signed up for special training. He got sent to the front lines and he needed all his brains and his luck to survive a war that had been an obvious lie to the people of Amestris. How could a religious minority, now broken into small warring tribes after years of fighting, be the threat the papers said they were?
He’d been debating what to do with his life once he got sent back to Eastern command and was awaiting reassignment. He only had a few months left before he could either re-up or take his severance and run. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he left, but the military didn’t seem to appreciate him much. Sitting in a bar drinking probably wasn’t going to give him any answers, but it was enough for tonight. Seeing someone approach his table, Breda looked up into slanted eyes, half shaded by a shock of out-of-control, black bangs. The man didn’t look like a major, in spite of the pips on his collar, but Breda knew the face. He swallowed hard. What the hell had he done to attract the attention of the infamous Flame Alchemist? Breda had heard the bastard was only one step away from being as bad as Crimson Lotus.
“Breda Heymans?” Flame asked.
Breda scowled. How did the alchemist know his name? “Yeah?”
“You worked with Maes Hughes on occasion in the war?”
He nodded. Obviously the man knew he had. “I did. What of it?”
The Flame Alchemist smiled, and Breda saw it touch the man’s eyes, lighting them up. In that instant all his anxiety drained away. “You probably know who I am, Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang.” His hand floated up to his collar. “Still waiting on the insignia.” The smile faded. “I’m looking to build a team here in the East. I’ll be in command under General Grumman. I could use a man like you.”
Breda sighed. Of course, here he was looking for muscle. It figured. “Oh?” he grunted, non-committal.
“Hughes says you play a mean game of chess.” Flame smirked. “I can definitely use a man who can do that.”
Breda blinked. Finally, someone wanted him for his intelligence and not because he looked like he could bowl over a line of men. He hadn’t remembered ever doing anything to showcase his brains in Hughes’s presence, but Breda wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “And better yet if people take one look at him and would think checkers would be more his game?”
Flame’s smirk grew. “Precisely. I’m glad you understand. So, could I interest you in a game? We can talk about my proposal as we play.”
Breda drained his mug, setting it aside. “Sounds good to me.”
“And if you’re as good as Hughes says, maybe I’ll teach you to play Go,” Flame said.
Breda’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that the Xingese game? Supposed to be the hardest game in the world to play.”
Flame grinned again. “You’ve heard of it. Good. I think this is going to work out well.”
Breda followed the Flame Alchemist to a half empty anteroom on base where the chess set was already waiting. He knew it was probably foolish of him to sit down and try to beat a man who could incinerate him with a snap, but as they played, he realized that there was more to Mustang than his alchemy. For his part, Mustang seemed to see more to Breda than a bull-like body topped with ginger hair. In the space of one long, hard-fought game, he went from considering leaving the military to signing on to what might be the plans of an egotistical mad man. Mustang had clear cut goals and reasons, and for once, someone was taking Breda seriously. It was too intriguing a chance to let pass by. He went in for the long haul.