(no subject)
Author: perlaret
Title: With These Hands
Recipient: Izilen
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Winry Rockbell, implied background Ed/Winry
Summary: It seems Rush Valley missed her just as much as Winry missed it.
The house is quiet, the halls empty of footsteps and laughing and brotherly ribbing, rooms and drawers filled with too much space now that everything's been packed away. The two settings at dinner seem somehow too small, the table too vast.
"I think I'm going to go back," she says.
Granny peers around the room, the ghost of an empty chair reflecting against the lens of her glasses. "It has gotten rather less exciting around here lately, hasn't it?"
Winry shrugs, smiling around the bite of broccoli in her mouth. She swallows, says, "And you know how I've always hated the waiting."
-
It's been over a year and a half since her last visit, but she called ahead, and her friends are waiting at the train station. Garfiel's hug is predictably overenthusiastic, and Paninya's far more sedate, although she's got a grin that hints at all sorts of possible mischief.
"About time you got back," Paninya confides as they leave the station behind them. "Tommy's been muttering for months about how dangerous your grandmother must be to live with."
"I asked Granny about that once," Winry shoots back with a giggle. "She just laughed the scariest laugh I think I've ever heard and wouldn't say a word."
They sigh a sigh of mutually thwarted curiosity.
There's plenty more to talk about, but even the conversation can't keep Winry from breathing in the hot, hazy desert air, the hustle and bustle so typical of Rush Valley, automail mechanics shouting from beneath their doorways to passerby, the gleam of metal and steel flashing from every direction, the yellow cliffs in the distance. In a way, Riesembool will always be home, but this place speaks to her heart in another way entirely.
"Winry Rockbell, is that you?!"
The three of them turn almost as a unit towards the voice that cuts through the hubbub of the street to find a tall woman with flyaway curls, brown where it wasn't streaked thoroughly with gray, and a grease stained smock hurtling towards them. Winry's face lights up with delight, and she drops her traveling toolbox to rush over and greet the older woman with another embrace. It's a hearty one, as strong as a mechanic's arms always are.
"Miss Larissa, it's so good to see you again! How is the shop?"
Larissa waves off her question, saying, "Fine, fine, and so is Jo, before you ask. More importantly, it's good to see you! How long are you here for this time?"
"Well," Winry hedges, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, "business these days is just a little too slow for my tastes back in Riesembool."
"Ha! Well there you go. Hey, Garfiel, don't tell me you've snapped her up already? I could use a clever mechanic like Winry around our shop!"
Garfiel chuckles heartily, a cheek pressed to his cheek, before coyly replying, "Now, now, don't think I'll give up that easily!"
Laughing, Winry has hardly opened her mouth to reply herself before another voice cuts in.
"Did I hear someone say Winry? Miss Rockbell, is that you?"
"Winry! It's Winry! My leg hasn't been the same since you left, you know!"
All said, it took them nearly two hours to make the 20 minute trek from the train station back to Garfiel's shop, and even upon arriving, the word had gotten out and visitors kept appearing, but Winry could hardly find it within herself to complain.
-
"The thing about Rush Valley is, no matter how chaotic things get, we don't forget our own," Garfiel tells her later that night as they unwind over tea. Paninya had crashed over on the faded floral loveseat on the side of the room a while back, her soft snores punctuating the otherwise quiet conversation.
Winry feels a warmth rise up in her chest, that sense of contentment and belonging that had always colored her apprentenceship here making itself known once more. But it's a little embarrassing too, and she shrugs it off, a touch rueful.
"I've hardly been here that long, altogether," she points out, not without regret. Kimblee's interference had hardly been good for her career, unfortunately.
"But you made an impression," Garfiel reminds her, then winks and adds, "and not only on me.
"The fact is, you were very skilled already when you got here, and a fast learner besides. I could use a talented business partner like you!"
Winry very nearly spilt her tea.
"Partner?" she chokes, setting down the cup quickly.
"Oh yes!" Garfiels says, all too cheerful. "I'm far too shrewd a businessman to let the competition woo you without a fight, you know. That," he adds, looking up at her innocently from beneath his curled lashes, "and if you struck out on your own, I'd lose half my clientele overnight."
The laugh they share at that is raucous enough to startle Paninya awake mid-snore.
-
They agree on a two month trial period, long enough for them both to work out the parameters of the arrangement, and for Winry to fairly consider any other offers. There are more than she expects, but none quite fit.
She looks at starting her own business too, but it's a longer process than she cares to carry on through alone, and maybe it's the automail mechanic in her, but she's always preferred building on and improving what already exists than doing something all for herself.
-
Winry enjoys all the patients reassigned to her, but every mechanic has their favorites.
Hers is a nine year old girl named Clara with dark skin, wild hair and bright eyes. She had lost her right arm and her father in a car accident several years back, but that didn't stop her from being a little hellion. She dragged her mother in almost every day to see the progress Winry was making on constructing a new arm.
"How is it?" Clara demands today, practically appearing out of nowhere and peering over Winry's worktable with an all too critical eye. Winry leans away from her current project (a modification on the Bullhorn 550 Duluxe, with retractable blades and platinum detail work - a beautiful bit of machinery if ever there were one, and rotating saws would only make it prettier) and pushes back her work goggles until they rest against her forehead.
"This isn't yours, kiddo," Winry laughs, brushing her hair back from her eyes. Strands stick to her sweaty neck where they've fallen from her ponytail. "Why don't you go check out the middle drawer over there. Nope, next one over. There."
The look of awe and fascination on the girl's face when she sees the new arm is a reward in and of itself. "There's still a few internal parts missing," Winry says, "but those should be arriving by the end of the week. It'll probably be done by Monday."
Clara turns to her with eyes wide. "And then I'll get to wear it?"
"Your physical therapy and recovery records are stellar, so I don't see why not," Winry says, strolling over. "And look." She reaches down, twists the small metal ring finger one way, then the other, and a panel sudden pops open. "I even put in a secret compartment for you, though you have to promise to keep it clean."
"I will," Clara promises, all aglow with excitement. "Can it shoot things too?"
"Not this model," Winry sighs, dramatic and regretful, before leaning in conspiratorally. "But once you've outgrown this one, who knows."
-
"I really don't know how you did it, Miss Winry," says old Mirabell Craigson, flexing her metal foot back and forth cheerfully. "That old idiot Marcus Black I started seeing again after you left is good enough, don't get me wrong, but no matter how much oil I use, I can never get rid of the infernal squeaking in his parts, and oh, I really do hate shopping around, so many hacks you get in this city."
"All it needed was some tightening up and rebalancing," Winry says, putting her supplies back in their various compartments. It's the end of the day and her feet and shoulders are sore, but she's had too many instances of misplaced tools to forego clean-up. "It's not all that complicated."
Mirabell huffs. "Complicated enough, apparently! Now tell me, you really are sticking around this time, right? An old lady like me can't suffer any more mechanic changes, I'll have you know. Any attractive young paramours I should know about who might steal you away? I'll need to chase 'em off with a stick."
Winry feels her cheeks warm as they always do, but she swallows it down with a smile. "Oh, I'm sure he'll show up when he feels like. Either way, I'm here to stay."
Outside the window, the setting sun washes Rush Valley with hues of burnt orange and rosy red. Shop keepers are closing up their stores even while others still hawk their wares and ambush unsuspecting passerby with their dubious deals. Winry scoops up a handful of loose screws as Mirabell makes her exit, depositing them back into the properly labelled container and breathes a contented sigh.
Title: With These Hands
Recipient: Izilen
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Winry Rockbell, implied background Ed/Winry
Summary: It seems Rush Valley missed her just as much as Winry missed it.
The house is quiet, the halls empty of footsteps and laughing and brotherly ribbing, rooms and drawers filled with too much space now that everything's been packed away. The two settings at dinner seem somehow too small, the table too vast.
"I think I'm going to go back," she says.
Granny peers around the room, the ghost of an empty chair reflecting against the lens of her glasses. "It has gotten rather less exciting around here lately, hasn't it?"
Winry shrugs, smiling around the bite of broccoli in her mouth. She swallows, says, "And you know how I've always hated the waiting."
-
It's been over a year and a half since her last visit, but she called ahead, and her friends are waiting at the train station. Garfiel's hug is predictably overenthusiastic, and Paninya's far more sedate, although she's got a grin that hints at all sorts of possible mischief.
"About time you got back," Paninya confides as they leave the station behind them. "Tommy's been muttering for months about how dangerous your grandmother must be to live with."
"I asked Granny about that once," Winry shoots back with a giggle. "She just laughed the scariest laugh I think I've ever heard and wouldn't say a word."
They sigh a sigh of mutually thwarted curiosity.
There's plenty more to talk about, but even the conversation can't keep Winry from breathing in the hot, hazy desert air, the hustle and bustle so typical of Rush Valley, automail mechanics shouting from beneath their doorways to passerby, the gleam of metal and steel flashing from every direction, the yellow cliffs in the distance. In a way, Riesembool will always be home, but this place speaks to her heart in another way entirely.
"Winry Rockbell, is that you?!"
The three of them turn almost as a unit towards the voice that cuts through the hubbub of the street to find a tall woman with flyaway curls, brown where it wasn't streaked thoroughly with gray, and a grease stained smock hurtling towards them. Winry's face lights up with delight, and she drops her traveling toolbox to rush over and greet the older woman with another embrace. It's a hearty one, as strong as a mechanic's arms always are.
"Miss Larissa, it's so good to see you again! How is the shop?"
Larissa waves off her question, saying, "Fine, fine, and so is Jo, before you ask. More importantly, it's good to see you! How long are you here for this time?"
"Well," Winry hedges, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, "business these days is just a little too slow for my tastes back in Riesembool."
"Ha! Well there you go. Hey, Garfiel, don't tell me you've snapped her up already? I could use a clever mechanic like Winry around our shop!"
Garfiel chuckles heartily, a cheek pressed to his cheek, before coyly replying, "Now, now, don't think I'll give up that easily!"
Laughing, Winry has hardly opened her mouth to reply herself before another voice cuts in.
"Did I hear someone say Winry? Miss Rockbell, is that you?"
"Winry! It's Winry! My leg hasn't been the same since you left, you know!"
All said, it took them nearly two hours to make the 20 minute trek from the train station back to Garfiel's shop, and even upon arriving, the word had gotten out and visitors kept appearing, but Winry could hardly find it within herself to complain.
-
"The thing about Rush Valley is, no matter how chaotic things get, we don't forget our own," Garfiel tells her later that night as they unwind over tea. Paninya had crashed over on the faded floral loveseat on the side of the room a while back, her soft snores punctuating the otherwise quiet conversation.
Winry feels a warmth rise up in her chest, that sense of contentment and belonging that had always colored her apprentenceship here making itself known once more. But it's a little embarrassing too, and she shrugs it off, a touch rueful.
"I've hardly been here that long, altogether," she points out, not without regret. Kimblee's interference had hardly been good for her career, unfortunately.
"But you made an impression," Garfiel reminds her, then winks and adds, "and not only on me.
"The fact is, you were very skilled already when you got here, and a fast learner besides. I could use a talented business partner like you!"
Winry very nearly spilt her tea.
"Partner?" she chokes, setting down the cup quickly.
"Oh yes!" Garfiels says, all too cheerful. "I'm far too shrewd a businessman to let the competition woo you without a fight, you know. That," he adds, looking up at her innocently from beneath his curled lashes, "and if you struck out on your own, I'd lose half my clientele overnight."
The laugh they share at that is raucous enough to startle Paninya awake mid-snore.
-
They agree on a two month trial period, long enough for them both to work out the parameters of the arrangement, and for Winry to fairly consider any other offers. There are more than she expects, but none quite fit.
She looks at starting her own business too, but it's a longer process than she cares to carry on through alone, and maybe it's the automail mechanic in her, but she's always preferred building on and improving what already exists than doing something all for herself.
-
Winry enjoys all the patients reassigned to her, but every mechanic has their favorites.
Hers is a nine year old girl named Clara with dark skin, wild hair and bright eyes. She had lost her right arm and her father in a car accident several years back, but that didn't stop her from being a little hellion. She dragged her mother in almost every day to see the progress Winry was making on constructing a new arm.
"How is it?" Clara demands today, practically appearing out of nowhere and peering over Winry's worktable with an all too critical eye. Winry leans away from her current project (a modification on the Bullhorn 550 Duluxe, with retractable blades and platinum detail work - a beautiful bit of machinery if ever there were one, and rotating saws would only make it prettier) and pushes back her work goggles until they rest against her forehead.
"This isn't yours, kiddo," Winry laughs, brushing her hair back from her eyes. Strands stick to her sweaty neck where they've fallen from her ponytail. "Why don't you go check out the middle drawer over there. Nope, next one over. There."
The look of awe and fascination on the girl's face when she sees the new arm is a reward in and of itself. "There's still a few internal parts missing," Winry says, "but those should be arriving by the end of the week. It'll probably be done by Monday."
Clara turns to her with eyes wide. "And then I'll get to wear it?"
"Your physical therapy and recovery records are stellar, so I don't see why not," Winry says, strolling over. "And look." She reaches down, twists the small metal ring finger one way, then the other, and a panel sudden pops open. "I even put in a secret compartment for you, though you have to promise to keep it clean."
"I will," Clara promises, all aglow with excitement. "Can it shoot things too?"
"Not this model," Winry sighs, dramatic and regretful, before leaning in conspiratorally. "But once you've outgrown this one, who knows."
-
"I really don't know how you did it, Miss Winry," says old Mirabell Craigson, flexing her metal foot back and forth cheerfully. "That old idiot Marcus Black I started seeing again after you left is good enough, don't get me wrong, but no matter how much oil I use, I can never get rid of the infernal squeaking in his parts, and oh, I really do hate shopping around, so many hacks you get in this city."
"All it needed was some tightening up and rebalancing," Winry says, putting her supplies back in their various compartments. It's the end of the day and her feet and shoulders are sore, but she's had too many instances of misplaced tools to forego clean-up. "It's not all that complicated."
Mirabell huffs. "Complicated enough, apparently! Now tell me, you really are sticking around this time, right? An old lady like me can't suffer any more mechanic changes, I'll have you know. Any attractive young paramours I should know about who might steal you away? I'll need to chase 'em off with a stick."
Winry feels her cheeks warm as they always do, but she swallows it down with a smile. "Oh, I'm sure he'll show up when he feels like. Either way, I'm here to stay."
Outside the window, the setting sun washes Rush Valley with hues of burnt orange and rosy red. Shop keepers are closing up their stores even while others still hawk their wares and ambush unsuspecting passerby with their dubious deals. Winry scoops up a handful of loose screws as Mirabell makes her exit, depositing them back into the properly labelled container and breathes a contented sigh.