I lost it. I truly did.
I placed today's post on a rather large rock in the yard as I had found a weed sprouting in the flower bed.
I hardly want my musing to get all mussed up with clinging dirt that nestles among errant rootlings, for how could anyone ever enjoy reading them that way?
Anyhow, the deed done, weed drooping over my victorious fist, I turned about to retrieve the printed page. Only, it was gone; Completely vanished along with the rock it rested on.
I darted my eyes around the yard, thinking I was simply mistaken. Off to the side, near the flat plane of a decorative fence, I spied movement. As I turned fully, I found great clumps of dirt flying into the air.
My errant stone was busily digging, for it was, in fact, a rather large turtle. As I approached, fascinated by the presence of such a creature in my yard of all places, it raised its ancient wrinkled head to regard me.
In its mouth was a ragged sheet of paper. I truly suppose the pulp could have been the hoary remains of my post, but I shall stick with my original claims: The post is lost.
The turtle has earned its name, and I think "Dug" is highly appropriate.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Fma-naruto chapter 17 continued
A steady buzzing snore echoes throughout the hall of the Kazekage's tower when the sun nears it's peak. The gathering councilors look at one another, and most frown in severe displeasure. Gaara knows they all await news of the Five Great Countries' approval of the Allied Shinobi Forces to be announced, which is due to be delivered at noon through a rare broadcast, and the unexpected and embarrassing noise will surely be heard by the daimyo of Wind easily enough. It will also unfortunately broadcast along to the other daimyo as well, and such a sloven sound will definitely adversely affect Sand's future contracts, should the Alliance be successful in the impending World War.
He well knows the what it is like to be without sleep, and normally he would not wish to disturb anyone from their rest. He is the Kazekage, and since he has the village's future to consider.
Kankuro, like Temari, does not have to be present at official village proceedings. Gaara leans over to his brother, and whispers his instructions on the matter.
In moments, Kankuro shoves open the door to the guest room. The bang of the knob on the sandstone wall makes a few council members wince.The sudden noise, sharp as a kunai, has little effect on the sleeping guest within.
Through his sand eye, Gaara sees that the thick dictionary lies were it fell a few hours ago, draped over the boy's face. He sees all of the boy's thin limbs sprawl limply over edges of the mattress in complete relaxation.
Kankuro shakes his head at the sight, and raises his hands. Gaara sees the chakra strings form at his brother's fingertips, then stretch out like spider webs across the room, most latching onto the thick mattress. His brother then barely twitches his forefinger, which skillfully causes the mattress to violently jerk.
The boy is a blur of motion, leaping away onto his hands and back onto his feet. His hands are up in a matching defensive taijustu-like stance even as his back crashes into a bookshelf, the force of impact shattering glass of the picture frames placed there.
Gaara watches Kankuro creep up to the boy and tilt his head. In moments he waves his hand over the boy's face, but the boy doesn't react as one would normally expect: no jerk away from the movement, nor a slapping swipe to push the intruding hand away. Instead, Gaara sees the boy's mouth begin to move.
Gaara weaves his fingers together, willing his sand eye closer. Yes, the mouth moves, but the golden eyes are curtained by those long bangs. Kankuro spots his eye, raises a brow in understanding, and shrugs as he turns away. His job is done: the snoring has stopped.
Gaara moves the eye closer still, and sees for himself the boy's unfocused golden gaze.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
He well knows the what it is like to be without sleep, and normally he would not wish to disturb anyone from their rest. He is the Kazekage, and since he has the village's future to consider.
Kankuro, like Temari, does not have to be present at official village proceedings. Gaara leans over to his brother, and whispers his instructions on the matter.
In moments, Kankuro shoves open the door to the guest room. The bang of the knob on the sandstone wall makes a few council members wince.The sudden noise, sharp as a kunai, has little effect on the sleeping guest within.
Through his sand eye, Gaara sees that the thick dictionary lies were it fell a few hours ago, draped over the boy's face. He sees all of the boy's thin limbs sprawl limply over edges of the mattress in complete relaxation.
Kankuro shakes his head at the sight, and raises his hands. Gaara sees the chakra strings form at his brother's fingertips, then stretch out like spider webs across the room, most latching onto the thick mattress. His brother then barely twitches his forefinger, which skillfully causes the mattress to violently jerk.
The boy is a blur of motion, leaping away onto his hands and back onto his feet. His hands are up in a matching defensive taijustu-like stance even as his back crashes into a bookshelf, the force of impact shattering glass of the picture frames placed there.
Gaara watches Kankuro creep up to the boy and tilt his head. In moments he waves his hand over the boy's face, but the boy doesn't react as one would normally expect: no jerk away from the movement, nor a slapping swipe to push the intruding hand away. Instead, Gaara sees the boy's mouth begin to move.
Gaara weaves his fingers together, willing his sand eye closer. Yes, the mouth moves, but the golden eyes are curtained by those long bangs. Kankuro spots his eye, raises a brow in understanding, and shrugs as he turns away. His job is done: the snoring has stopped.
Gaara moves the eye closer still, and sees for himself the boy's unfocused golden gaze.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Fw: Fma-naruto chapter 17 continued and revision..
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
-----Original Message-----
From: llothcat@sbcglobal.net
Date: Sun, 31 Jul 2011 10:48:27
To: Blogger garden<llothcat1.garden@blogger.com>
Reply-To: llothcat@sbcglobal.net
Subject: Fma-naruto chapter 17 continued and revision..
A steady buzzing snore echoes throughout the hall of the Kazekage's tower when the sun nears it's peak. The gathering counselors look at one another, and most frown in severe displeasure. Gaara knows they all await news of the Five Great Countries' approval of the Allied Shinobi Forces to be announced, which is due to be delivered at noon through a rare broadcast, and the unexpected and embarrassing noise will surely be heard by the daimyo of Wind easily enough. It will also unfortunately broadcast along to the other daimyo as well, and such a sloven sound will definitely adversely affect Sand's future contracts, should the Alliance be successful in the impending World War.
He well knows the what it is like to be without sleep, and normally he would not wish to disturb anyone from their rest. He is the Kazekage, and since he has the village's future to consider.
Kankuro, like Temari, does not have to be present at official village proceedings. Gaara leans over to his brother, and whispers his instructions on the matter.
In moments, Kankuro shoves open the door to the guest room. The bang of the knob on the sandstone wall makes a few council members wince.
The sudden noise, sharp as a kunai, has little effect on the sleeping guest within.
Through his sand eye, Gaara sees that the thick dictionary lies were it fell a few hours ago, draped over the boy's face. He sees all of the boy's thin limbs sprawl limply over edges of the mattress in complete relaxation.
Kankuro shakes his head at the sight, and raises his hands. Gaara sees the chakra strings form at his brother's fingertips, then stretch out like spider webs across the room, most latching onto the thick mattress. His brother then barely twitches his forefinger, which skillfully causes the mattress to violently jerk.
The boy is a blur of motion, leaping away onto his hands and back onto his feet. His hands are up in a matching defensive taijustu-like stance even as his back crashes into a bookshelf, the force of impact shattering glass of the picture frames placed there.
Gaara watches Kankuro creep up to the boy and tilt his head. In moments he waves his hand over the boy's face, but the boy doesn't react as one would normally expect: no jerk away from the movement, nor a slapping swipe to push the intruding hand away. Instead, Gaara sees the boy's mouth begin to move.
Gaara weaves his fingers together, willing his sand eye closer. Yes, the mouth moves, but the golden eyes are curtained by those long bangs. Kankuro spots his floating sand eye, raises a brow in understanding, and shrugs as he turns away. His job is technically done: the snoring has stopped.
Gaara moves the eye closer still, and sees for himself the boy's unfocused golden gaze.
A feeble glimpse of black ink crawling over the pale skin at the boy's open collar, and Gaara's brows lower as he wills the sand eye back for a better view. Unfortunately, the boy dressed in the odd garments that he had watched him summon the day before, and by the many creases, he had lain all night long in the guest bed without changing out of them. The long white sleeves of the top conceal the skin of his arms, and by extension, the remaining seals' activity.
The screens dominating the wall in the council chamber flickered to life, and at the nearly same moment, the boy squeezes his golden eyes shut. The eerie movement playing on his skin slows to a stop as he opens his mouth into a large yawn and stretches his arms over his head.
Gaara blinks, and raises his gaze to the flickering image of the daimyo, reluctantly turning his attention away from the mystery in the guest room and back to the matter at hand.
ooooo
The sky isn't yet orange, but he knows it's late in the day.
Ed looks up as a platter of pastries enters through the open door, carried by a pair of legs. The impossible mental image makes the corner of his mouth raise.
"Food!! Here!" Ed says, hoping the words he chooses in the gibberish are correct.
"You understand us?" The platter halts, and lowers, revealing a face he hasn't yet seen. The mouth grins, but Ed doesn't miss the cloth tied at the stranger's forehead, nor its attached metal plate.
With about a quarter of the pages left to browse, and the painful complaints of his grumbling stomach, Ed's focus is not nearly as complete as he had it the night before. The movements of the fellow with the very welcome tray of food distract his eyes greatly, and he wrinkles his nose in annoyance at his watering mouth. His stomach is not at all happy with him, but he stubbornly forces himself on.
"Bit." Ed shrugs, not looking up from the thick book on his lap, tracing a finger along the side of the page as he scans the words presented there, logging each in his mind for nuance and flavor, then moving on to the next page to repeat the process.
"Why."
"Huh?" Ed looks up at the voice.
"If you understood us all this time.."
Temari says from the door. He sees her arms fold and notes her eyes flashing Hawkeye sharp. He swallows, firmly reminding himself that however much she looks it, she's no Riza. He tries to shove aside the icy feeling that he's about to get shot, and fails.
Ed holds up his hands and shakes his head as he interrupts her angry rant. "Not." Then looks to Temari. "You...no." Ed wrinkles his nose and frowns. "Too fast. No words."
She grunts, and turns her gaze to the fellow with the platter. As the pastry tray hovers tantalizingly close, Ed reaches out and greedily snatches several.
He misses most of what she says, due chomping and chewing, but picks out the last few words.
".. village he is from."
"Resembool." Ed says easily as breathing, speaking around his morsel as he licks his fingers. Temari's brows reach for her hairline.
"And what land is this Resembool in?" Temari says, mustering a hearty glare in his direction. Ed lowers a brow, vaguely wondering what the big deal is. It's not as though Ametris would ever declare war on Xing, now would it? The higher ups may be mad with the thirst for power, but he figures the big freaking desert in the way would likely stop something like that from ever happening.
"Amestris." He says and stuffs another pastry in his mouth. He chews with most of it hanging from his mouth as she mutters something that sounds suspiciously like:
"What kind of answer is..." As she turns in a huff and sweeps out. The platter guy darts his eyes her way nervously before he places his burden down and follows.
Ed leans for another pastry, waving reaching fingers just inches short of his quarry. He has one finger achingly close, and is mentally debating the relative merits of getting off his hump from the very comfortable bed for better grabbings when the door bangs open once more.
A crinkle of thick paper draws his eyes to the visitors standing behind Temari.
Two of them hug a large roll of paper between them, the other four stand and look rather like they ate something highly disagreeable.
"Show us this Resembool." Temari says, and at her gesture, the two unfurl the paper right over the bed. Ed folds his legs and sets aside the tome, choosing instead to regard the image printed before him. It's clearly a map, but to his dismay, none of the features look even vaguely familiar. Icy fear spears his stomach.
"Why." Ed says quickly, lacing his words thick with suspicion, and after a few heartbeats, he looks at each of the highly displeased faces gathered in the room. Those faces allow him to shove the frosty fear into the more familiar territory of bubbling frustration.
"Answer." Temari demands.
Ed folds his arms and glares at her, not liking the tone of this Not!Riza's voice at all. Besides, she has yet to shoot anything at him.
"No. I!"
"Answer." Temari demands, and adds. "Like last night."
Ed narrows his eyes as he hisses. "You pay for me? I slave?!"
Temari takes in a breath, and he watches her nostril flare. He smirks, knowing he hit something of a sore spot.
"Of course not. We..."
"We rescued you." Gaara says, and enters the room. Ed watches the sour faced people move aside rather quickly, making a wide berth for the redhead to stride where ever he should please. He slides his glare towards the pale blue eyes, and snorts in disbelief.
"Answer first. Where I?"
Gaara nods his head slightly, and says in a steady tone.
"Village Hidden in Sand."
Ed furrows his brows at the ridiculous sounding mouthful.
"Fun name. Where I."
Gaara's non existent brow lifts slightly.
"In the Land of Wind.."
"...Riiiight." Ed sweeps his left arm over the map. "Where."
Hours pass as more questions are asked about the location of his home village. He answers and sees frowns. The questions repeat. So do his answers. At the fifth round of the same questions, he snarls for another map, and in the span of a swig of water, it is placed before him. Ed looks down at it owlishly.
"Here is Land of Rock. Land of Fire. And so on." One of the "counselors", he forgets who, says as he gestures. Gaara was careful to introduce them, but with the new language taking nearly all of his concentration to use, the name just didn't stick in his head.
"Map is wrong." Ed insists as he gestures off to where the land bleeds off the edge. He glares at the counselor. "More map?"
"You mean bigger?"
Ed nods curtly, and swallows. As two roll the map up, he sees the people gathered in the room look to one another and mutter things too quick for him to follow. He runs a hand through his bangs, and darts his eyes around.
Through the window, the sky is dark. Outside. There is less bodies pressing in on him and fresh, fresh air. He slips off the not-so-comfortable-anymore mattress, and stands.
"Bathroom." He says to the many eyes drawn his way, and he all but marches to his stated destination. He closes the door firmly behind him, and startles at his own reflection in the mirror behind the sink.
Dark circles linger under his golden eyes, and he wonders at his sunken cheeks, which make his nose look sharper than ever. Golden bangs hang in a limp disheveled mess that match the tangled wreck of a braid at the base of his neck.
"Get a grip, Elric." He says in Amestrian as leans forward and paws his sharp chin. He takes in a breath and lets it out. "What good are you to Alphonse like this? Huh?"
Ed hangs his head over the sink, letting gravity release the tension in his shoulders. He then turns his head towards the small window nestled high in the wall.
"First things first." He says, and tosses a towel down fill to the crack beneath the door. "Fresh air."
ooooo
The counselors take turns pounding on the bathroom door, but Gaara shakes his head slightly when Temari turns her questioning gaze his way. He then turns about and strides out the guest room door just as the largest map yet arrives for Ed to look over.
Only Ed is no longer in the building to do so.
Temari darts out after him, and before she can breathe her unspoken question, he answers.
"Roof."
"That..little.." She growls angrily, and Gaara hold up a hand to silence her.
"We have wasted enough of the village's resources on this. We are at War, and there are far more important things to handle. Begin making with making a list of all the able-bodied nins of Suna."
Temari nods, and turns away.
It doesn't take Gaara long to reach where Ed is. His arms wrap about his knees, and the back of his head rests against the lip of the edge. The golden eyes lazily drift his way, and Gaara lowers his brows.
They are more glassy in person than his sand eye provides.
"You came out to see the stars."
A bitter snort is his reply, and the eyes return to their star gazing. Gaara nods and takes a step.
"You don't look at all happy with what you see above you."
"Different."
Gaara glances up.
"They look the same as always to me."
"Those that chained me. Box me in dark. No see them." Ed swallows. "Means. I. Am long. Long way from.."
"How far..?"
"Tired of questions." Ed looks off over the village. "I see bag. Bag. Bag. No happy faces. Many big knives." Ed looks back with skewed brows.
"You don't know the word?"
Ed slowly shakes his head, and smiles a wide watery grin. "Um..not done. Book. With..Umm."
Gaara frowns, and sits down near Ed on the lip. Between them, the silence lasts for several hours.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
-----Original Message-----
From: llothcat@sbcglobal.net
Date: Sun, 31 Jul 2011 10:48:27
To: Blogger garden<llothcat1.garden@blogger.com>
Reply-To: llothcat@sbcglobal.net
Subject: Fma-naruto chapter 17 continued and revision..
A steady buzzing snore echoes throughout the hall of the Kazekage's tower when the sun nears it's peak. The gathering counselors look at one another, and most frown in severe displeasure. Gaara knows they all await news of the Five Great Countries' approval of the Allied Shinobi Forces to be announced, which is due to be delivered at noon through a rare broadcast, and the unexpected and embarrassing noise will surely be heard by the daimyo of Wind easily enough. It will also unfortunately broadcast along to the other daimyo as well, and such a sloven sound will definitely adversely affect Sand's future contracts, should the Alliance be successful in the impending World War.
He well knows the what it is like to be without sleep, and normally he would not wish to disturb anyone from their rest. He is the Kazekage, and since he has the village's future to consider.
Kankuro, like Temari, does not have to be present at official village proceedings. Gaara leans over to his brother, and whispers his instructions on the matter.
In moments, Kankuro shoves open the door to the guest room. The bang of the knob on the sandstone wall makes a few council members wince.
The sudden noise, sharp as a kunai, has little effect on the sleeping guest within.
Through his sand eye, Gaara sees that the thick dictionary lies were it fell a few hours ago, draped over the boy's face. He sees all of the boy's thin limbs sprawl limply over edges of the mattress in complete relaxation.
Kankuro shakes his head at the sight, and raises his hands. Gaara sees the chakra strings form at his brother's fingertips, then stretch out like spider webs across the room, most latching onto the thick mattress. His brother then barely twitches his forefinger, which skillfully causes the mattress to violently jerk.
The boy is a blur of motion, leaping away onto his hands and back onto his feet. His hands are up in a matching defensive taijustu-like stance even as his back crashes into a bookshelf, the force of impact shattering glass of the picture frames placed there.
Gaara watches Kankuro creep up to the boy and tilt his head. In moments he waves his hand over the boy's face, but the boy doesn't react as one would normally expect: no jerk away from the movement, nor a slapping swipe to push the intruding hand away. Instead, Gaara sees the boy's mouth begin to move.
Gaara weaves his fingers together, willing his sand eye closer. Yes, the mouth moves, but the golden eyes are curtained by those long bangs. Kankuro spots his floating sand eye, raises a brow in understanding, and shrugs as he turns away. His job is technically done: the snoring has stopped.
Gaara moves the eye closer still, and sees for himself the boy's unfocused golden gaze.
A feeble glimpse of black ink crawling over the pale skin at the boy's open collar, and Gaara's brows lower as he wills the sand eye back for a better view. Unfortunately, the boy dressed in the odd garments that he had watched him summon the day before, and by the many creases, he had lain all night long in the guest bed without changing out of them. The long white sleeves of the top conceal the skin of his arms, and by extension, the remaining seals' activity.
The screens dominating the wall in the council chamber flickered to life, and at the nearly same moment, the boy squeezes his golden eyes shut. The eerie movement playing on his skin slows to a stop as he opens his mouth into a large yawn and stretches his arms over his head.
Gaara blinks, and raises his gaze to the flickering image of the daimyo, reluctantly turning his attention away from the mystery in the guest room and back to the matter at hand.
ooooo
The sky isn't yet orange, but he knows it's late in the day.
Ed looks up as a platter of pastries enters through the open door, carried by a pair of legs. The impossible mental image makes the corner of his mouth raise.
"Food!! Here!" Ed says, hoping the words he chooses in the gibberish are correct.
"You understand us?" The platter halts, and lowers, revealing a face he hasn't yet seen. The mouth grins, but Ed doesn't miss the cloth tied at the stranger's forehead, nor its attached metal plate.
With about a quarter of the pages left to browse, and the painful complaints of his grumbling stomach, Ed's focus is not nearly as complete as he had it the night before. The movements of the fellow with the very welcome tray of food distract his eyes greatly, and he wrinkles his nose in annoyance at his watering mouth. His stomach is not at all happy with him, but he stubbornly forces himself on.
"Bit." Ed shrugs, not looking up from the thick book on his lap, tracing a finger along the side of the page as he scans the words presented there, logging each in his mind for nuance and flavor, then moving on to the next page to repeat the process.
"Why."
"Huh?" Ed looks up at the voice.
"If you understood us all this time.."
Temari says from the door. He sees her arms fold and notes her eyes flashing Hawkeye sharp. He swallows, firmly reminding himself that however much she looks it, she's no Riza. He tries to shove aside the icy feeling that he's about to get shot, and fails.
Ed holds up his hands and shakes his head as he interrupts her angry rant. "Not." Then looks to Temari. "You...no." Ed wrinkles his nose and frowns. "Too fast. No words."
She grunts, and turns her gaze to the fellow with the platter. As the pastry tray hovers tantalizingly close, Ed reaches out and greedily snatches several.
He misses most of what she says, due chomping and chewing, but picks out the last few words.
".. village he is from."
"Resembool." Ed says easily as breathing, speaking around his morsel as he licks his fingers. Temari's brows reach for her hairline.
"And what land is this Resembool in?" Temari says, mustering a hearty glare in his direction. Ed lowers a brow, vaguely wondering what the big deal is. It's not as though Ametris would ever declare war on Xing, now would it? The higher ups may be mad with the thirst for power, but he figures the big freaking desert in the way would likely stop something like that from ever happening.
"Amestris." He says and stuffs another pastry in his mouth. He chews with most of it hanging from his mouth as she mutters something that sounds suspiciously like:
"What kind of answer is..." As she turns in a huff and sweeps out. The platter guy darts his eyes her way nervously before he places his burden down and follows.
Ed leans for another pastry, waving reaching fingers just inches short of his quarry. He has one finger achingly close, and is mentally debating the relative merits of getting off his hump from the very comfortable bed for better grabbings when the door bangs open once more.
A crinkle of thick paper draws his eyes to the visitors standing behind Temari.
Two of them hug a large roll of paper between them, the other four stand and look rather like they ate something highly disagreeable.
"Show us this Resembool." Temari says, and at her gesture, the two unfurl the paper right over the bed. Ed folds his legs and sets aside the tome, choosing instead to regard the image printed before him. It's clearly a map, but to his dismay, none of the features look even vaguely familiar. Icy fear spears his stomach.
"Why." Ed says quickly, lacing his words thick with suspicion, and after a few heartbeats, he looks at each of the highly displeased faces gathered in the room. Those faces allow him to shove the frosty fear into the more familiar territory of bubbling frustration.
"Answer." Temari demands.
Ed folds his arms and glares at her, not liking the tone of this Not!Riza's voice at all. Besides, she has yet to shoot anything at him.
"No. I!"
"Answer." Temari demands, and adds. "Like last night."
Ed narrows his eyes as he hisses. "You pay for me? I slave?!"
Temari takes in a breath, and he watches her nostril flare. He smirks, knowing he hit something of a sore spot.
"Of course not. We..."
"We rescued you." Gaara says, and enters the room. Ed watches the sour faced people move aside rather quickly, making a wide berth for the redhead to stride where ever he should please. He slides his glare towards the pale blue eyes, and snorts in disbelief.
"Answer first. Where I?"
Gaara nods his head slightly, and says in a steady tone.
"Village Hidden in Sand."
Ed furrows his brows at the ridiculous sounding mouthful.
"Fun name. Where I."
Gaara's non existent brow lifts slightly.
"In the Land of Wind.."
"...Riiiight." Ed sweeps his left arm over the map. "Where."
Hours pass as more questions are asked about the location of his home village. He answers and sees frowns. The questions repeat. So do his answers. At the fifth round of the same questions, he snarls for another map, and in the span of a swig of water, it is placed before him. Ed looks down at it owlishly.
"Here is Land of Rock. Land of Fire. And so on." One of the "counselors", he forgets who, says as he gestures. Gaara was careful to introduce them, but with the new language taking nearly all of his concentration to use, the name just didn't stick in his head.
"Map is wrong." Ed insists as he gestures off to where the land bleeds off the edge. He glares at the counselor. "More map?"
"You mean bigger?"
Ed nods curtly, and swallows. As two roll the map up, he sees the people gathered in the room look to one another and mutter things too quick for him to follow. He runs a hand through his bangs, and darts his eyes around.
Through the window, the sky is dark. Outside. There is less bodies pressing in on him and fresh, fresh air. He slips off the not-so-comfortable-anymore mattress, and stands.
"Bathroom." He says to the many eyes drawn his way, and he all but marches to his stated destination. He closes the door firmly behind him, and startles at his own reflection in the mirror behind the sink.
Dark circles linger under his golden eyes, and he wonders at his sunken cheeks, which make his nose look sharper than ever. Golden bangs hang in a limp disheveled mess that match the tangled wreck of a braid at the base of his neck.
"Get a grip, Elric." He says in Amestrian as leans forward and paws his sharp chin. He takes in a breath and lets it out. "What good are you to Alphonse like this? Huh?"
Ed hangs his head over the sink, letting gravity release the tension in his shoulders. He then turns his head towards the small window nestled high in the wall.
"First things first." He says, and tosses a towel down fill to the crack beneath the door. "Fresh air."
ooooo
The counselors take turns pounding on the bathroom door, but Gaara shakes his head slightly when Temari turns her questioning gaze his way. He then turns about and strides out the guest room door just as the largest map yet arrives for Ed to look over.
Only Ed is no longer in the building to do so.
Temari darts out after him, and before she can breathe her unspoken question, he answers.
"Roof."
"That..little.." She growls angrily, and Gaara hold up a hand to silence her.
"We have wasted enough of the village's resources on this. We are at War, and there are far more important things to handle. Begin making with making a list of all the able-bodied nins of Suna."
Temari nods, and turns away.
It doesn't take Gaara long to reach where Ed is. His arms wrap about his knees, and the back of his head rests against the lip of the edge. The golden eyes lazily drift his way, and Gaara lowers his brows.
They are more glassy in person than his sand eye provides.
"You came out to see the stars."
A bitter snort is his reply, and the eyes return to their star gazing. Gaara nods and takes a step.
"You don't look at all happy with what you see above you."
"Different."
Gaara glances up.
"They look the same as always to me."
"Those that chained me. Box me in dark. No see them." Ed swallows. "Means. I. Am long. Long way from.."
"How far..?"
"Tired of questions." Ed looks off over the village. "I see bag. Bag. Bag. No happy faces. Many big knives." Ed looks back with skewed brows.
"You don't know the word?"
Ed slowly shakes his head, and smiles a wide watery grin. "Um..not done. Book. With..Umm."
Gaara frowns, and sits down near Ed on the lip. Between them, the silence lasts for several hours.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Friday, July 29, 2011
Fma-naruto crossover, chapter 17
The sky beyond the window glows a soft blue with the approaching dawn, and he shimmies his head up against the pillow before his lids droop closed once more. Ed can see the lettering on the page crawl before his eyes, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a heavy huff of breath that is really a poorly disguised yawn. He frowns and firmly grips the book up before it has a chance tip over his chest and drop over his face.
By the regular spacing of the words, this thick book might be a dictionary.
He is only halfway through the thing, and it is a hardy challenge. His brain may be screwed up, jam packed with far too much Gate knowledge, but he clings to the hope he can decode enough of this gibberish of a language to keep his promise to Al.
At the least he wants to be able to speak with the people that are at worst his new owners. They treat him well enough, he supposes, for him to go through the effort before he leaves them behind.
Not!Riza.
Her name was really "Temari", and she escorted him to a nice looking, clean building with wide windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. It featured many low tables covered in pristine white linen, and a small patio was nestled off to one side. Temari gripped his arm tighter and nearly marched him through the set of double doors.
His rumbling belly roared at place's enticing aromas as they breezed through, and Temari seemed to know the place well. She found a table and sat down with barely a nod at the waiter standing ready at the far side of the large room. The setting did have a nice view of the street, but Ed eased himself down on the edge of the bench across from her as he darted his eyes to the many available exits. With that gnawing in his middle, he soon forgot about dashing away as he became engrossed with the printed booklet placed before him by the waiter.
The white pages were certainly not illustrated at all, but he found himself picking out quite a few words from the sea of chicken scratch. He lowered his brows as he pointed at a beef dish he could read perfectly well, and he did, aloud, as he glanced across at Temari. With an air of superiority, she smirked as she read it aloud as well, barely glancing at his pointing gauntleted fingers, and he raised his brows at hearing the spoken sounds. They were completely different than he thought they should be.
The waiter took the order. Ed then took to pointing at things at random, and naming them in first in Amestrian, then for kicks, Ishballan or ancient Xerxian. Temari looked at him blankly at first, but reluctantly followed along, naming things after the first two items. He kept watch on her face the entire time, and although she kept her features even and unreadable, he thought he saw a glint of curiosity in her gaze.
The meal arrived. Served with measly chopsticks.
Ed glared balefully at the things for several moments, and rather than embarrass himself in such a fine public space, chose to take them into his lap. A small clap later, the discreet transmutation changed the stupid wooden things into a more useful fork.
He did glimpse Temari raising a brow at the utensil as he brought it out for use, but she said nothing regarding it as the meal progressed.
He stuffed the last rice ball of his dish in his mouth when the waiter slipped what Ed assumed was the check on the table. Temari didn't glance in its direction, but produced several brightly colored notes from a pouch at her back.
She was intending on paying for the meal, after also providing much useful language lessons to him when she didn't much want to.
He hardly thought that was an equivalent thing to be allowed to happen.
He looked at his right hand as he threaded his fingers before his chin, feeling the living flesh within the diamond hard gauntlet. He felt rather silly, sitting there with such a highly defensive thing of war on his person in such a peaceful, luxurious establishment. Unlike the automail installed on his what was left of his leg, it was not really a necessity.
He reached and touched his left upon her hands. He shook his head slightly at her look his way.
"Domo." He said, carefully repeating what she had said to him earlier that evening.
He combed his mind for the right equation, and pressed his palm against the unyielding carbon. He felt the tickle of the discharge dancing up his elbows, and he opened his eyes to the golden glow, the carbon of the gauntlet compressed further down according to his will. The transmutation took less than an eye blink for him to complete, and he smoothly caught the small glittering bauble as it dropped.
The skin of his right hand was a wrinkled, clammy mess and he hid it in his lap as he handed the created diamond over the waiter. Ed's brows nearly touched when he saw the expression on the waiter's face. The man's eyes were round with wonder and amazement as the man pinched the jewel between his fingers and lifted it to the light. Ed didn't think the thing was THAT spectacular a creation to warrant such a reaction.
Across from him, Temari gasped, and stood so suddenly that the table jolted over his way. Ed caught it as she snatched the diamond from the waiter's grasp. She then said something in a low commanding tone as she shoved the colorful bills into the man's empty hands instead.
The exchange made Ed briefly wonder if he had broken some law they had against creating diamonds, and chewed his cheek as he stood up to quickly make his leave. He made it as far as the door before Temari again wrapped her arms about his right.
Apparently, the night was not over.
The room she brought him to was clean. It consisted of mostly of low bookshelves that lined the walls, and the bed at the far wall looked far more comfortable than the pavement offered him in his alley.
There were no chains. Anywhere. That was on the plus side of things. He was no Roy Mustang, after all, and felt the blush heat his cheeks as he darted his eyes to Temari as she strode off. He didn't know exactly what she had in mind, bringing him here.
Idly, he eyed the many photographs with mild interest, but long habit made him reach for a volume he saw gathering dust upon the shelf. He browsed through the pages, the finding gibberish contained within a mix of things he could understand and could not. It was like a code in a way, and he focused himself in the effort to decode it.
When he reached end of the last page, he closed the book and startled. Over his arms draped a pillow and a blanket. He blinked owlishly at them, and supposed Temari had tossed them both there in her frustration at failing to get his attention. He looked around, rubbing an eye at the room's dim lighting.
He then shrugged, chose another book, (this one a thick tome of sorts), and settled himself comfortably onto the bed.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
By the regular spacing of the words, this thick book might be a dictionary.
He is only halfway through the thing, and it is a hardy challenge. His brain may be screwed up, jam packed with far too much Gate knowledge, but he clings to the hope he can decode enough of this gibberish of a language to keep his promise to Al.
At the least he wants to be able to speak with the people that are at worst his new owners. They treat him well enough, he supposes, for him to go through the effort before he leaves them behind.
Not!Riza.
Her name was really "Temari", and she escorted him to a nice looking, clean building with wide windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. It featured many low tables covered in pristine white linen, and a small patio was nestled off to one side. Temari gripped his arm tighter and nearly marched him through the set of double doors.
His rumbling belly roared at place's enticing aromas as they breezed through, and Temari seemed to know the place well. She found a table and sat down with barely a nod at the waiter standing ready at the far side of the large room. The setting did have a nice view of the street, but Ed eased himself down on the edge of the bench across from her as he darted his eyes to the many available exits. With that gnawing in his middle, he soon forgot about dashing away as he became engrossed with the printed booklet placed before him by the waiter.
The white pages were certainly not illustrated at all, but he found himself picking out quite a few words from the sea of chicken scratch. He lowered his brows as he pointed at a beef dish he could read perfectly well, and he did, aloud, as he glanced across at Temari. With an air of superiority, she smirked as she read it aloud as well, barely glancing at his pointing gauntleted fingers, and he raised his brows at hearing the spoken sounds. They were completely different than he thought they should be.
The waiter took the order. Ed then took to pointing at things at random, and naming them in first in Amestrian, then for kicks, Ishballan or ancient Xerxian. Temari looked at him blankly at first, but reluctantly followed along, naming things after the first two items. He kept watch on her face the entire time, and although she kept her features even and unreadable, he thought he saw a glint of curiosity in her gaze.
The meal arrived. Served with measly chopsticks.
Ed glared balefully at the things for several moments, and rather than embarrass himself in such a fine public space, chose to take them into his lap. A small clap later, the discreet transmutation changed the stupid wooden things into a more useful fork.
He did glimpse Temari raising a brow at the utensil as he brought it out for use, but she said nothing regarding it as the meal progressed.
He stuffed the last rice ball of his dish in his mouth when the waiter slipped what Ed assumed was the check on the table. Temari didn't glance in its direction, but produced several brightly colored notes from a pouch at her back.
She was intending on paying for the meal, after also providing much useful language lessons to him when she didn't much want to.
He hardly thought that was an equivalent thing to be allowed to happen.
He looked at his right hand as he threaded his fingers before his chin, feeling the living flesh within the diamond hard gauntlet. He felt rather silly, sitting there with such a highly defensive thing of war on his person in such a peaceful, luxurious establishment. Unlike the automail installed on his what was left of his leg, it was not really a necessity.
He reached and touched his left upon her hands. He shook his head slightly at her look his way.
"Domo." He said, carefully repeating what she had said to him earlier that evening.
He combed his mind for the right equation, and pressed his palm against the unyielding carbon. He felt the tickle of the discharge dancing up his elbows, and he opened his eyes to the golden glow, the carbon of the gauntlet compressed further down according to his will. The transmutation took less than an eye blink for him to complete, and he smoothly caught the small glittering bauble as it dropped.
The skin of his right hand was a wrinkled, clammy mess and he hid it in his lap as he handed the created diamond over the waiter. Ed's brows nearly touched when he saw the expression on the waiter's face. The man's eyes were round with wonder and amazement as the man pinched the jewel between his fingers and lifted it to the light. Ed didn't think the thing was THAT spectacular a creation to warrant such a reaction.
Across from him, Temari gasped, and stood so suddenly that the table jolted over his way. Ed caught it as she snatched the diamond from the waiter's grasp. She then said something in a low commanding tone as she shoved the colorful bills into the man's empty hands instead.
The exchange made Ed briefly wonder if he had broken some law they had against creating diamonds, and chewed his cheek as he stood up to quickly make his leave. He made it as far as the door before Temari again wrapped her arms about his right.
Apparently, the night was not over.
The room she brought him to was clean. It consisted of mostly of low bookshelves that lined the walls, and the bed at the far wall looked far more comfortable than the pavement offered him in his alley.
There were no chains. Anywhere. That was on the plus side of things. He was no Roy Mustang, after all, and felt the blush heat his cheeks as he darted his eyes to Temari as she strode off. He didn't know exactly what she had in mind, bringing him here.
Idly, he eyed the many photographs with mild interest, but long habit made him reach for a volume he saw gathering dust upon the shelf. He browsed through the pages, the finding gibberish contained within a mix of things he could understand and could not. It was like a code in a way, and he focused himself in the effort to decode it.
When he reached end of the last page, he closed the book and startled. Over his arms draped a pillow and a blanket. He blinked owlishly at them, and supposed Temari had tossed them both there in her frustration at failing to get his attention. He looked around, rubbing an eye at the room's dim lighting.
He then shrugged, chose another book, (this one a thick tome of sorts), and settled himself comfortably onto the bed.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Bear in the dog food contin..
The child, was Joey his name?
She took in a breath, fully intending to call out to him, to draw him away from the flimsy door. Only he did the unthinkable.
He reached up for the rusted knob. After a bit fumbling that was more like a jiggling fight with the stubborn hunk of metal, he managed a twist. The mechanism within the door gave an audible click.
With that pile of unappetizing, dry and no doubt quite stale dog food sitting in a nice pile right there at the entrance, Gale could well imagine that to a bear, a kid would be a much nicer, juicy, entree.
Gale descended upon the child in an eye blink. Both of her hands grasped the thin biceps so that she lifted the small form up and away from the opening door with little effort. It was almost like the child as a sack of potatoes, only that, all the while she streaked through the kitchen, the boy screeched very shrillily, kicked wildly at her shins, even connected a left punch at her mid section.
He was still screaming as Gale shoved him, most unkindly, through the swinging kitchen door with the other children in her charge.
She heard the pig like snort just behind her. It was horribly, much more clear, and oddly, quite wet sounding. She froze and swallowed. She darted her eyes over her shoulder.
A massive fur covered body shadowed the streaming sunlight for a stuttering heartbeat. Then, as the shadow lurched low, she whirled herself through the swinging door.
Gale stepped breathless into the next room. To this day, she has no idea how she urged the many children out the double doors down the way without screaming once.
A/N: eh. Not that good an ending. Might work on this another time for a cooler sort of one, but I say this here prompt is officially done.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
She took in a breath, fully intending to call out to him, to draw him away from the flimsy door. Only he did the unthinkable.
He reached up for the rusted knob. After a bit fumbling that was more like a jiggling fight with the stubborn hunk of metal, he managed a twist. The mechanism within the door gave an audible click.
With that pile of unappetizing, dry and no doubt quite stale dog food sitting in a nice pile right there at the entrance, Gale could well imagine that to a bear, a kid would be a much nicer, juicy, entree.
Gale descended upon the child in an eye blink. Both of her hands grasped the thin biceps so that she lifted the small form up and away from the opening door with little effort. It was almost like the child as a sack of potatoes, only that, all the while she streaked through the kitchen, the boy screeched very shrillily, kicked wildly at her shins, even connected a left punch at her mid section.
He was still screaming as Gale shoved him, most unkindly, through the swinging kitchen door with the other children in her charge.
She heard the pig like snort just behind her. It was horribly, much more clear, and oddly, quite wet sounding. She froze and swallowed. She darted her eyes over her shoulder.
A massive fur covered body shadowed the streaming sunlight for a stuttering heartbeat. Then, as the shadow lurched low, she whirled herself through the swinging door.
Gale stepped breathless into the next room. To this day, she has no idea how she urged the many children out the double doors down the way without screaming once.
A/N: eh. Not that good an ending. Might work on this another time for a cooler sort of one, but I say this here prompt is officially done.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Bad poetry..
A/N: prompt provided by figment dot com, and as I have this awful headache, here is some stinky poetry.
Prompt:
Sharks in the river
Shining the deep
Silver glinting gently
Slipping gliding
Sharp pointy teeth
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Prompt:
Sharks in the river
Shining the deep
Silver glinting gently
Slipping gliding
Sharp pointy teeth
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Fma-naruto chapter 16 continued..
"I heard you've dumped Shikamaru and are seeing someone new." Kankuro teases in a singsong voice as Temari enters the council room.
Temari graces her brother with a glare as she folds her arms.
"The ninja ranks may be compromised." She announces with a steady voice.
Gaara presses his lips together.
"What did he say to you?"
"More of that gibberish. The last bit sounded more like a grunt that a proper word."
"That's not what I heard happened." Kankuro says.
"The point is. We know nothing of him any more than we do the Akatsuki. They were snooping about the slaver's old camp areas, most recently the cave where we bothered to rescue the little..." Temari hesitates as she takes a breath."..creep. He may be a ruse of theirs to reach our softest targets."
Gaara nods.
"Matsuri was the first he recognised.
Begin monitoring her movements immediately. I will make note of those he tries to approach in such a manner." Gaara glaces at Temari's departing back, then takes in a breath. "The meal looked delicious. You did enjoy yourself?"
Temari eyes dart his way, but she frowns in Kankuro's direction as the puppetmaster chortles behind his fist.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Temari graces her brother with a glare as she folds her arms.
"The ninja ranks may be compromised." She announces with a steady voice.
Gaara presses his lips together.
"What did he say to you?"
"More of that gibberish. The last bit sounded more like a grunt that a proper word."
"That's not what I heard happened." Kankuro says.
"The point is. We know nothing of him any more than we do the Akatsuki. They were snooping about the slaver's old camp areas, most recently the cave where we bothered to rescue the little..." Temari hesitates as she takes a breath."..creep. He may be a ruse of theirs to reach our softest targets."
Gaara nods.
"Matsuri was the first he recognised.
Begin monitoring her movements immediately. I will make note of those he tries to approach in such a manner." Gaara glaces at Temari's departing back, then takes in a breath. "The meal looked delicious. You did enjoy yourself?"
Temari eyes dart his way, but she frowns in Kankuro's direction as the puppetmaster chortles behind his fist.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Monday, July 25, 2011
Fma-naruto chapter 16 continued...
The street's dirt path crosses a wider, more well packed road, and a he sees robed people milling about with worried faces. He startles at what sounds like a roll of thunder, and its followed by a rhythmic pounding. As he reaches the intersection, he glances at the few figures squatting behind large barrels off to the side. Their arms swing with grand gestures before they strike the skins stretched over the tops with stout sticks.
Above him, dozens of fragile lanterns dangle from wires that stretch across the expanse of the intersection, and the warm glow they shelter within is a stark contrast to the darkening sky.
"A festival..?" He says, barely able to hear his own voice. A head with four blond pony tails seems to part the crowd. The drums cease, and in the hushed silence, the imperious voice of Riza Hawkeye rings out with weighty authority.
Only he doesn't understand a thing she says. And he thinks, damn. She's good at this.
Whatever she says, the crowd certainly likes it.
The drums roll again, and cheering couples move together in another pattern altogether.
Couples. He thinks. And. Dancing. He feels his cheeks heat up. That's one way to have a private conversation in a crowd, and I won't likely break her cover that way.
He takes the opportunity for what it offers, and slips along, circulating about the edges of the mass of people and ambling towards the lieutenant.
He hopes he will not get shot for what he's about to do. He creeps closer, and closer, shadowing her steps within the press of bodies. The drums thump as louds as his heart as he reaches out. He taps the tips of his left fingers against her shoulder as he stretches to his toes.
"Hawkeye, can you tell me what the hell is going on..?!?" He angrily hisses in a whisper by her ear. Without hesitation, she turns a glare at him. Ed tilts his head at her narrowed eyes.
Her irises are green, not red. He frowns. She doesn't have laugh lines, in fact, as her face is fresh almost like she is near his age, which doesn't make much sense. This woman could be Riza's twin. A much. Younger. Twin.
He breathes in a tentative breath. This close, she does smell sort of...good. Instead of, say, like something rotting, like a homoculi would.
He swallows and feels his cheeks flush. This is a mistake. He eyes the metal plate bolted to the headband that she has across her brow. A big mistake.
"Fuck. You. Really don't know me..?" He mutters, the sounds lost in the cacophony of the crowd.
Ed shakes his head from side to side at the woman and backs up a few steps in case he has to move quickly. He bumps against someone's back, and grits his teeth. The bridge of his nose burns with his cheeks.
He stops and swallows down half hearted apologies when he sees Not!Riza confused and angry face. He darts his eyes down, then raises them again.
There is a scattering of Gate-born knowledge, he knows, buzzing somewhere in the depths of his mind, but he may as well try to grasp the fog for something useful for all the good it would do. He scrubs his mind, trying for what language he knows for the right words. Precision matters greatly to him as a scientist.
He wasn't exactly treated all that well, and language lessons certainly were not offered to him. He vaguely recalls a fellow slave did help him up from the ground one time, or other slaves speaking something like this whenever he winced at their gentle ministrations of his open wounds.
"Goomen. Naaas. Aye." He hopes the sounds make up an apology, for there isn't much more he can offer. Her face begins to shift, and Ed then turns away.
Or rather, meant to turn away.
Not!Riza grabs hold of his elbow from behind, and he jerks his arm from her hand in a frenzied reaction to the awful feeling of being bound. His eyes widen as he shoots his best glare her way.
His stomach chooses that moment to roar to life, resuming its nearly painful gnawing of his spine. He presses his right to his middle and mentally swears colorfully in the seven languages he does know.
She threads her arm though the crook of his elbow. He gazes at her surprised face, and watches her lips stretch into a fake smile.
"Domo." She says. He has time to raise his brows before she nearly drags him along down the street.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Above him, dozens of fragile lanterns dangle from wires that stretch across the expanse of the intersection, and the warm glow they shelter within is a stark contrast to the darkening sky.
"A festival..?" He says, barely able to hear his own voice. A head with four blond pony tails seems to part the crowd. The drums cease, and in the hushed silence, the imperious voice of Riza Hawkeye rings out with weighty authority.
Only he doesn't understand a thing she says. And he thinks, damn. She's good at this.
Whatever she says, the crowd certainly likes it.
The drums roll again, and cheering couples move together in another pattern altogether.
Couples. He thinks. And. Dancing. He feels his cheeks heat up. That's one way to have a private conversation in a crowd, and I won't likely break her cover that way.
He takes the opportunity for what it offers, and slips along, circulating about the edges of the mass of people and ambling towards the lieutenant.
He hopes he will not get shot for what he's about to do. He creeps closer, and closer, shadowing her steps within the press of bodies. The drums thump as louds as his heart as he reaches out. He taps the tips of his left fingers against her shoulder as he stretches to his toes.
"Hawkeye, can you tell me what the hell is going on..?!?" He angrily hisses in a whisper by her ear. Without hesitation, she turns a glare at him. Ed tilts his head at her narrowed eyes.
Her irises are green, not red. He frowns. She doesn't have laugh lines, in fact, as her face is fresh almost like she is near his age, which doesn't make much sense. This woman could be Riza's twin. A much. Younger. Twin.
He breathes in a tentative breath. This close, she does smell sort of...good. Instead of, say, like something rotting, like a homoculi would.
He swallows and feels his cheeks flush. This is a mistake. He eyes the metal plate bolted to the headband that she has across her brow. A big mistake.
"Fuck. You. Really don't know me..?" He mutters, the sounds lost in the cacophony of the crowd.
Ed shakes his head from side to side at the woman and backs up a few steps in case he has to move quickly. He bumps against someone's back, and grits his teeth. The bridge of his nose burns with his cheeks.
He stops and swallows down half hearted apologies when he sees Not!Riza confused and angry face. He darts his eyes down, then raises them again.
There is a scattering of Gate-born knowledge, he knows, buzzing somewhere in the depths of his mind, but he may as well try to grasp the fog for something useful for all the good it would do. He scrubs his mind, trying for what language he knows for the right words. Precision matters greatly to him as a scientist.
He wasn't exactly treated all that well, and language lessons certainly were not offered to him. He vaguely recalls a fellow slave did help him up from the ground one time, or other slaves speaking something like this whenever he winced at their gentle ministrations of his open wounds.
"Goomen. Naaas. Aye." He hopes the sounds make up an apology, for there isn't much more he can offer. Her face begins to shift, and Ed then turns away.
Or rather, meant to turn away.
Not!Riza grabs hold of his elbow from behind, and he jerks his arm from her hand in a frenzied reaction to the awful feeling of being bound. His eyes widen as he shoots his best glare her way.
His stomach chooses that moment to roar to life, resuming its nearly painful gnawing of his spine. He presses his right to his middle and mentally swears colorfully in the seven languages he does know.
She threads her arm though the crook of his elbow. He gazes at her surprised face, and watches her lips stretch into a fake smile.
"Domo." She says. He has time to raise his brows before she nearly drags him along down the street.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Fma naruto crossover revision chapter 16
He holds his head high as he boredly scans the crowd, and walks down another random street. Most of the freakishly tall people dressed in colorful bath robes tower over him by a foot, and he wishes for his old ass kicker boots instead of the stoopid sandals nearly two sizes too large currently on his mismatched feet.
There is a familiar pattern to their purposeful movements. The people gathering supplies. The packing a great deal of things in too small of spaces.
He narrows his eyes slightly, identifying the underlying calm panic. He found something like it only in those around the well trained soldiers stationed with the North Wall. He recalls his stay at the fortress of Briggs, which had soldiers that were ever ready for war with Dracma at a moments notice.
Someone down the way points upward, the gesture drawing eyes, and he hears a low hiss of what should be a curse word behind him. He dully notes it for future use as he, too, allows his gaze to wander up. Movement in the clear blue above catches his gaze, and he shades his eyes as he watches. First one bird of prey begins a lazy circle overhead, then three more sweep by as it dives towards a rooftop.
From that height, Ed thinks, this entire place should be easier to search.
Ed's gaze sweeps next over the irregular tops of the towering buildings, and an idea quickly forms.
The sky glows a cheery orange when Ed locates Riza, her four blond pony-tails are an easy feature to find in the crowd below. He could only watch as she entered the round looking beehive a distance away, through a set of double doors at ground level. He counts at least thirty people with the metal headbands darting in and out of that place before he gets bored with the mental drudgery of the task.
The place is obviously important to the headband guys. He swallows, for the time being he decides to keep his distance. He has no desire to chance them changing their minds, as he rather likes not having chains attached to his limbs all the time.
That "Gaahrahh" guy. Not that Ed wouldn't've managed to free himself. That was his routine since he was dropped off here by the Gate, when he wasn't drugged up to the gills by his captors. Or poisoned into puking his guts out. Or feverish from infected wounds his captors refused to treat.
The thing that eats at his logic is this: if not for the boy's visit to his hospital room the day before, he suspects he would be less likely to be free to roam right now. He scowls. He has no idea what this Gahrah gets in exchange.
He figits, hating the wait. Somehow, no matter what he tried, he had always been recaptured within a day. His skin crawls with goosebumps, and he folds his arms. The headbanded guys hadn't pursued him since the day before, so, what does that mean?
The redheaded kid with "love" carved onto his forehead holds some sort of importance. If the bowing by the masked guys in the hall was any indication, the significance borders closely on a sort of religious fervor. He has no idea what Gaahrah gets in exchange for freeing him. He has no idea.. He thoughts swirl darkly about the cold pit of terror in his soul, the moon swallowing the sun on the Promised Day...
No. He thinks firmly. Not again.
He raises his head, lifting his jaw from his cupped right hand as he sees Riza finally emerging. He narrows his eyes, calculates the quickest route, and darts off.
He leaps off one roof and dives into a roll as he lands on another. He rises smoothly back onto feet, runs full tilt with furious pumping legs, and leaps onto the next roof. The next, which proves to be a bit tricky to land, is a round sort of beehive much like the building his quarry exited.
His right foot slips even as his left heel bangs uselessly against the sandstone.
Thinking fast, he manages to turn the flying fumble into an ungraceful lunge, giving him a chance to slap his palms together before his left elbow so much as bangs the rough surface of the rock.
Silicon. Oxygen. Matrix of two by one. 3 percent magnesium, aluminum. Point 2 percent.. Oh. Gold..?
Equation shining bright in his mind, he slaps his hand down as the bruising force of his fall jars his bones. Blue lightning flashes beneath his fingertips, and the rock erupts into a gentle wave, responding to his will. Gravity pulls him down, but with his hand so near stone, the alchemical reaction effectively slows his fall. It is a near thing: The building towers over the narrow alley by at least fifty feet.
He pushes away from the curved wall a heartbeat before he hits, and tucks in his false limb to absorb the brunt of the fall. The pavement loudly cracks at the impact. Immediately he leaps into a backwards flip onto his hands and away from the shallow crater, landing into a series of hops onto his living foot.
He darts his gaze down at his metal toes a moment, carefully flexes the heel of false limb, rotates the flange.
He snorts: of course there's no damage. It's of Rockbell quality.
A breath later the angry shouting around him registers in his brain. He allows his gaze to drift towards the sources, and the corner of his mouth twitches upward at the impossible sight of the people standing on the walls in defiance of gravity.
Several point at the warped sandstone wall he just rode down. He pats the air in their general direction and smirks wide.
"Yeah yeah. I get it." He calls out loudly in Amestrian, and slaps his hands together. He adds in the new curse word he learned for good measure. He sees brows lower as blue lightning dances throughout the alley.
The brilliant blue glow of the reaction engulfs the curved wall, but he strolls down the primitive street beyond, hands causally tucked into his pockets, before the transmutation finishes.
Listening to the shouts of astonished surprise, he whistles tunelessly as he thinks of the sawtoothed bat winged bee he calculated and placed at the very top. He believes, yes, the addition of such a sculpture is just what the dull place needs.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
There is a familiar pattern to their purposeful movements. The people gathering supplies. The packing a great deal of things in too small of spaces.
He narrows his eyes slightly, identifying the underlying calm panic. He found something like it only in those around the well trained soldiers stationed with the North Wall. He recalls his stay at the fortress of Briggs, which had soldiers that were ever ready for war with Dracma at a moments notice.
Someone down the way points upward, the gesture drawing eyes, and he hears a low hiss of what should be a curse word behind him. He dully notes it for future use as he, too, allows his gaze to wander up. Movement in the clear blue above catches his gaze, and he shades his eyes as he watches. First one bird of prey begins a lazy circle overhead, then three more sweep by as it dives towards a rooftop.
From that height, Ed thinks, this entire place should be easier to search.
Ed's gaze sweeps next over the irregular tops of the towering buildings, and an idea quickly forms.
The sky glows a cheery orange when Ed locates Riza, her four blond pony-tails are an easy feature to find in the crowd below. He could only watch as she entered the round looking beehive a distance away, through a set of double doors at ground level. He counts at least thirty people with the metal headbands darting in and out of that place before he gets bored with the mental drudgery of the task.
The place is obviously important to the headband guys. He swallows, for the time being he decides to keep his distance. He has no desire to chance them changing their minds, as he rather likes not having chains attached to his limbs all the time.
That "Gaahrahh" guy. Not that Ed wouldn't've managed to free himself. That was his routine since he was dropped off here by the Gate, when he wasn't drugged up to the gills by his captors. Or poisoned into puking his guts out. Or feverish from infected wounds his captors refused to treat.
The thing that eats at his logic is this: if not for the boy's visit to his hospital room the day before, he suspects he would be less likely to be free to roam right now. He scowls. He has no idea what this Gahrah gets in exchange.
He figits, hating the wait. Somehow, no matter what he tried, he had always been recaptured within a day. His skin crawls with goosebumps, and he folds his arms. The headbanded guys hadn't pursued him since the day before, so, what does that mean?
The redheaded kid with "love" carved onto his forehead holds some sort of importance. If the bowing by the masked guys in the hall was any indication, the significance borders closely on a sort of religious fervor. He has no idea what Gaahrah gets in exchange for freeing him. He has no idea.. He thoughts swirl darkly about the cold pit of terror in his soul, the moon swallowing the sun on the Promised Day...
No. He thinks firmly. Not again.
He raises his head, lifting his jaw from his cupped right hand as he sees Riza finally emerging. He narrows his eyes, calculates the quickest route, and darts off.
He leaps off one roof and dives into a roll as he lands on another. He rises smoothly back onto feet, runs full tilt with furious pumping legs, and leaps onto the next roof. The next, which proves to be a bit tricky to land, is a round sort of beehive much like the building his quarry exited.
His right foot slips even as his left heel bangs uselessly against the sandstone.
Thinking fast, he manages to turn the flying fumble into an ungraceful lunge, giving him a chance to slap his palms together before his left elbow so much as bangs the rough surface of the rock.
Silicon. Oxygen. Matrix of two by one. 3 percent magnesium, aluminum. Point 2 percent.. Oh. Gold..?
Equation shining bright in his mind, he slaps his hand down as the bruising force of his fall jars his bones. Blue lightning flashes beneath his fingertips, and the rock erupts into a gentle wave, responding to his will. Gravity pulls him down, but with his hand so near stone, the alchemical reaction effectively slows his fall. It is a near thing: The building towers over the narrow alley by at least fifty feet.
He pushes away from the curved wall a heartbeat before he hits, and tucks in his false limb to absorb the brunt of the fall. The pavement loudly cracks at the impact. Immediately he leaps into a backwards flip onto his hands and away from the shallow crater, landing into a series of hops onto his living foot.
He darts his gaze down at his metal toes a moment, carefully flexes the heel of false limb, rotates the flange.
He snorts: of course there's no damage. It's of Rockbell quality.
A breath later the angry shouting around him registers in his brain. He allows his gaze to drift towards the sources, and the corner of his mouth twitches upward at the impossible sight of the people standing on the walls in defiance of gravity.
Several point at the warped sandstone wall he just rode down. He pats the air in their general direction and smirks wide.
"Yeah yeah. I get it." He calls out loudly in Amestrian, and slaps his hands together. He adds in the new curse word he learned for good measure. He sees brows lower as blue lightning dances throughout the alley.
The brilliant blue glow of the reaction engulfs the curved wall, but he strolls down the primitive street beyond, hands causally tucked into his pockets, before the transmutation finishes.
Listening to the shouts of astonished surprise, he whistles tunelessly as he thinks of the sawtoothed bat winged bee he calculated and placed at the very top. He believes, yes, the addition of such a sculpture is just what the dull place needs.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Fma-naruto chapter 16
The sky glows a cheery orange when Ed locates Riza. He raises his head, lifting his jaw from his cupped right hand, and watches as she marches out from a set of double doors nestled in a round beehive - looking building below him. He narrows his eyes, calculates the quickest route, and darts off.
He leaps off one roof and dives into a roll as he lands on another. He rises smoothly back onto feet, runs full tilt with furious pumping legs, and leaps onto the next roof. The next, which proves to be a bit tricky to land, is a round sort of beehive much like the building his quarry exited.
His right foot slips even as his left cracks uselessly against the sandstone.
Thinking fast, he manages to turn the flying fumble into an ungraceful lunge, giving him a chance to slap his palms together before his left elbow so much as bangs the rough surface of the rock.
Silicon. Oxygen. Matrix of two by one. 3 percent magnesium, aluminum. Point 2 percent gold..
Equation shining bright in his mind, he slaps his hand down as the bruising force of his fall jars his bones. Blue lightning flashes beneath his fingertips, and the rock erupts into a gentle wave, responding to his will. Gravity pulls him down, but with his hand so near stone, the alchemical reaction effectively slows his fall. It is a near thing: The building towers over the narrow alley by at least fifty feet.
He pushes away from the curved wall a heartbeat before impact, and tucks in his false limb to absorb the brunt of the fall. The pavement loudly cracks at the impact. Immediately he leaps into a backwards flip onto his hands and away from the shallow crater, landing into a series of hops onto his living foot.
He darts his gaze down at his metal toes a moment. He carefully flexes the heel of false limb, rotates the flange and eyes for damage.
A breath later the angry shouting around him registers in his brain. He allows his gaze to drift towards the sources, and a corner of his mouth twitches upward at the impossible sight of the people standing on the walls in defiance of gravity.
Several point at the warped sandstone wall he just rode down. He pats the air in their general direction and smiles wide.
"Yeah yeah. I get it." He says loudly, and slaps his hands together.
Blue lightning dances throughout the alley, and the blue glow of the reaction engulfs the wall. He is strolling down the street beyond, hands causally tucked into his pockets, before the transmutation even finishes. He whistles tunelessly as he thinks of the saw toothed bat winged bee he created and placed at the very top.
Listening to the shouts of astonished surprise, he believes, yes, the addition of such a sculpture is a vast improvement to this place.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
He leaps off one roof and dives into a roll as he lands on another. He rises smoothly back onto feet, runs full tilt with furious pumping legs, and leaps onto the next roof. The next, which proves to be a bit tricky to land, is a round sort of beehive much like the building his quarry exited.
His right foot slips even as his left cracks uselessly against the sandstone.
Thinking fast, he manages to turn the flying fumble into an ungraceful lunge, giving him a chance to slap his palms together before his left elbow so much as bangs the rough surface of the rock.
Silicon. Oxygen. Matrix of two by one. 3 percent magnesium, aluminum. Point 2 percent gold..
Equation shining bright in his mind, he slaps his hand down as the bruising force of his fall jars his bones. Blue lightning flashes beneath his fingertips, and the rock erupts into a gentle wave, responding to his will. Gravity pulls him down, but with his hand so near stone, the alchemical reaction effectively slows his fall. It is a near thing: The building towers over the narrow alley by at least fifty feet.
He pushes away from the curved wall a heartbeat before impact, and tucks in his false limb to absorb the brunt of the fall. The pavement loudly cracks at the impact. Immediately he leaps into a backwards flip onto his hands and away from the shallow crater, landing into a series of hops onto his living foot.
He darts his gaze down at his metal toes a moment. He carefully flexes the heel of false limb, rotates the flange and eyes for damage.
A breath later the angry shouting around him registers in his brain. He allows his gaze to drift towards the sources, and a corner of his mouth twitches upward at the impossible sight of the people standing on the walls in defiance of gravity.
Several point at the warped sandstone wall he just rode down. He pats the air in their general direction and smiles wide.
"Yeah yeah. I get it." He says loudly, and slaps his hands together.
Blue lightning dances throughout the alley, and the blue glow of the reaction engulfs the wall. He is strolling down the street beyond, hands causally tucked into his pockets, before the transmutation even finishes. He whistles tunelessly as he thinks of the saw toothed bat winged bee he created and placed at the very top.
Listening to the shouts of astonished surprise, he believes, yes, the addition of such a sculpture is a vast improvement to this place.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Friday, July 22, 2011
Bear and the dogfood continued...
Whatever was beyond the kitchen walls, it sounded big, and there was only one beast in the mountains that size that could be remotely interested in the metal garbage container located there: Bears. Whatever flavor of hulking furball had taken interest she hadn't the foggiest, but she was well aware that they were the reason both padlocks and thick bars secured down the metal lids.
One nine year-old in blue jeans, with brown hair cut in the shape of a down turned bowl, darted around and behind her outstretched fingers. She hissed her displeasure and took in a breath to properly snarl at the wayward child. She turned her head, only instead of seeing a living body, her stomanch dropped to the floor as she saw the renewed swinging of the kitchen door.
Gale did the only thing that sprang to mind: she turned to first child before her.
"Who was that?" She hissed
"Who?"
"Tell me who just went by me."
"I think that was Joey." Another answered.
Gale rose her voice and swept her arms in a grand gesture.
"Right. All of you. Listen up. Stay put." She was amazed that she kept both the snarl and the panic out of her voice. She turned about, confident that the children would obey her by how wide their eyes had opened at her sharp tone, and swept past the swinging door.
She hear a loud pig like grunt as soon as she entered the kitchen, and the flimsy brick wall felt far too thin a barrier to keep a child safe from a bear's hungry jaws.
Said child crouched low by the door, clutching a brightly colored paper bag to his? her? chest. The unfortunate choice of haircut made gender difficult to figure. One tiny hand fisted tight and hovered over a small pile: To Gale it looked suspiciously like it was made up of the dull brown kibble they fed the old mutt.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
One nine year-old in blue jeans, with brown hair cut in the shape of a down turned bowl, darted around and behind her outstretched fingers. She hissed her displeasure and took in a breath to properly snarl at the wayward child. She turned her head, only instead of seeing a living body, her stomanch dropped to the floor as she saw the renewed swinging of the kitchen door.
Gale did the only thing that sprang to mind: she turned to first child before her.
"Who was that?" She hissed
"Who?"
"Tell me who just went by me."
"I think that was Joey." Another answered.
Gale rose her voice and swept her arms in a grand gesture.
"Right. All of you. Listen up. Stay put." She was amazed that she kept both the snarl and the panic out of her voice. She turned about, confident that the children would obey her by how wide their eyes had opened at her sharp tone, and swept past the swinging door.
She hear a loud pig like grunt as soon as she entered the kitchen, and the flimsy brick wall felt far too thin a barrier to keep a child safe from a bear's hungry jaws.
Said child crouched low by the door, clutching a brightly colored paper bag to his? her? chest. The unfortunate choice of haircut made gender difficult to figure. One tiny hand fisted tight and hovered over a small pile: To Gale it looked suspiciously like it was made up of the dull brown kibble they fed the old mutt.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Harry potter fan fiction contest entry..
True psionics do not exist in Harry Potter's universe. Everybody knows this as a fact. Or do they..?
oooooo
"Of all people! A breech of the statute of secrecy by an Auror?!"
Neville winced at the biting tone of the aged and let the old leather boot he clutched in his hands drop. The dull thump echoed within the chamber as he glanced upwards.
Many displeased looking wizards and witches dressed in ornate gray robes glared down from the balcony above, and he knew he'd be lucky to avoid serving time in Azkaban, much less keep his new job. If anyone bothered to ask him before portkeying him into the Ministry's lower chambers, he would've happily said he thought everything was going rather well. It was only his very first day serving the wizarding community, after all.
"That's not at all what happened, sir." Neville said softly in a firm voice, idly twiddling his thumbs as he studied the wandering cracks in the round chamber's floor. After a few breaths he dared to dart his eyes upwards.
The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, sat regally in the front row of the balcony, and a single brow rose on his otherwise expressionless face.
"Then by all means explain yourself, Mr... " Minister Shacklebolt looked down a moment, as if consulting a note in his hand. "Ah yes. Mr. Longbottom."
Neville took a deep breath, and began.
He knew it the moment he reached into his volumous pocket for his wand: Trevor the toad escaped. Again.
Neville frowned.
He was here with several dark detectors stuffed into said pocket, all of which, thus far failed to go off, but Neville was reasonably certain the rotting skeleton of a fellow, currently lounging in the armchair by the door, was the dark wizard the Ministry was seeking. Dust choked spider webs draped over the remains, and he narrowed his eyes as he swept them over the small room.
Trevor was a clever one, constantly slipping past his owner's clutches. Only now, instead of hopping off to Merlin knows where within Hogwarts, he did it here in this supposed dark wizard's old house.
The heat of embarrassment soon vanished as Neville rushed about, eyes sweeping the decaying floor for any splatter of toady dampness.
"Trevor!" He called in a low hush of a whisper, which never seemed to work very well while in school. He always hoped the toad would deem to answer to his given name, at least once in a while.
"Trevor! Come here boy..!"
The house cloaked itself in somber silence as he searched for his beloved familiar with creaking footsteps, and although he had to bat a few doxies back into a neglected closet, no toad revealed itself. He did find a few broken windows on his search, sharp jagged thankfully bloodless, and the back door past the kitchen had a rather neat foot shaped hole in its lower half.
Neville smiled. The hole was definitely large enough for a squat toad to slip through. He recalled the summoning charm, and judged it wouldn't hurt his precious beast at all if performed outdoors: there certainly would be less things to bang into out there.
He took in a breath, opened the door and was about to raise his wand, when he sa w him.
"So of course he puts his wand away." Neville heard someone mutter in the balcony above him.
"No, I never really had it out at all." Neville replied, and demonstrated the awkward cupping hold he had used to hide the slender bit of wood from view. He was rewarded with many heated whispers that the Minister somehow silenced with a glance.
"Go on." The Minister intoned.
Laying the ground, beneath a hulking chunk of metal, was a large bald man. He was dressed in a tough sort of trousers that were horribly stained, but once might've been blue, and had on white sort of half robe with short sleeves -- much like the muggle garments his half-blooded friend..
"Objection! He's attempting to sway the judgment of the court by naming his well know acquaintances!"
"Sustained. Find another way to phrase it, if you please, Mr. Longbottom."
Nelville understood them as muggle clothes. The dripping black stuff from the maching looked disturbingly like blood, actually. This working on a car, as the muggle called it, he never saw it before. He wasn't fascinated exactly. He just couldn't look away.
As he watched, the muggle squirmed his way around and, without looking, groped with his arm for something around the wheel. He thought it's likely a small silver cylinder that was laid out with others of its like on the ground. The hand swiped once. The forefinger twitched as Neville heard the man wheeze and grumble, but the cylinder was just out of the man's reach no matter how much he stretched.
Neville widened his eyes.
He saw the cylinder roll, moving on its own into the apparent muggle's hand.
"He's a wizard!" Neville thought in wonder. Perhaps a half-blood.
"Only a half-blood would wear such dreadful garments." Neville heard someone whisper above him, a comment that gave rise quite a few snickers.
However grisly he looked, Neville decided to approach the fellow beneath the maching. He worked out where his head was easily enough and squatted a few feet away as he loudly cleared his throat. The man looked up at him with raised non-existant brows, and a big grin spread slowly upon his lined face.
"Help you?"
"You wouldn't have, by any chance, seen a toad hopping by here, have you?" Neville asked hopefully.
"Toad? Uh. No I haven't." The man had an American accent. Neville supposed the man was either visiting family, or perhaps on holiday. "Been futzing with this heap. So where's the ren faire?"
"Renfair?"
The man eyes drifted back to the maching, hands doing whatever this "futzing" was.
"Yeee-ah. I didn't realize England had them too. I could use some fun, that is after I stop all the leaks in this thing. You English make great cars, but they leak oil like you wouldn't believe."
Neville raised his brows. Maybe Wizarding schools in the Americas weren't that good. He could think of several ways to magically repair things. He had plenty of practice repairing his own blunders.
"Would you show me where it is?" The man said, interrupting his thoughts.
"Where what is?"
"The ren faire? Awesome costume dude!"
"These are my normal clothes! Don't American wizards wear robes?"
"Huh? Wizards?"
"You mean you're not..? Aren't you a..."
The blank look the man directed his way said it all. A breath later, the man shrugged and muttered something about mad dogs and Englishmen.
Neville sighed and took out his wand, ready to adjust the man's memory as the Statue required. He only hesitated on account of another tool scooting its way into the reaching man's grasp. Neville's brows lowered as he let out a breath.
"How did you do that?" Neville pointed.
"Do what?" The man replied without looking his way. The man reached over to the tool pile, and another slipped into his grasp..
"That."
The man's eyes widened at his hand and he jerked up so quick that he banged his head. In moments, he scrambled out from beneath the car. Neville watched as he eyed the tool on the ground, then examined his muck covered hand. After he blinked a few times, the man again reached out.
The same tool quivered, just a bit. The man lurched to his feet and began to pace, shooting glares with every turn at the pile of tools as though they had somehow betrayed him.
Neville patted the air.
"It's ok.. It's alright..calm down. It's only spontaneous magic."
"What?!? No. No. That's not remotely.. What..?" The man turned his owlish gaze towards him.
"Spontaneous magic. It means you're a wizard. Like me. Watch." Neville pointed his wand upwards, as he had no idea where the toad had gone off to. "Accio Trevor."
As if a toad could fly, the bloated body shot eagerly around the corner of the dank alley down the way in response to the charm. Just before he could become a spattered mess in Neville's free outstretched hand, Trevor stopped all movement and hovered in midair. For several heartbeats, the toad had a nearly bored expression as he floated gently down into Neville's hand.
He then made a decidedly froggy croak.
The man shook his head in disbelief, and rubbed the heel of his hand at his forehead. Unfortunately, the movement dirtied up the man's face with the dark colored goop.
Neville mentally cursed the apparent oversight the North American Wizarding Council had with the poor man, and decided then to escort fellow to the Leaky Cauldron. He meant be kind and at least give the man a chance to wash up there before showing him the wonders of his neglected birthright in Diagon Alley.
He was surprised that the man couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron's sign, and had a light guiding hold of the man's arm when the shrill muggle alarms, left over from much darker times, went off.
He was bent in two with both hands holding his ears as he thought, What is he, muggle or wizard?
Neville froze as he heard the crack of apparition fill the air. With a glance, he saw his superior standing by his elbow. He turned his gaze down the deserted street and watched as a pair of wizards dully obliviated the hapless bald man.
Guess he's a muggle?
"And that's what happened." Neville finished. He gazed at the unreadable, ancient faces, one by one, and swallowed.
"Mr. Longbottom," Began his superior. "Didn't you think to check and see if another wizard was around jinxing the muggle?"
"Well. Um. No."
"Brillant. There you are. You are .."
"Hold on hold it. You were there too, Can you say if there was? Was there a jinx cast?"
His superior's face contorted and managed a remarkable impression of a fish. It then skewed upwards into a scowl, before finally settling into a disgruntled sort of unreadable stone.
The many aged eyes silently shifted away and drifted towards the dark skinned Minister, all watching in hushed expectation.
Shaklebolt Kingsley gave the slightest of nods, and Nelville only just had the time to squeeze his eyes shut before the oblivator's wordless charm struck.
Neville closed the heavy door to his office, and blinked owlishly about in the dim room. He looked down at the scroll in his hand, and unfurled it. After a quick read, Neville sighed and set it upon his desk amongst a growing pile of awaiting paperwork.
His Auror probationary period was extended to a year by Minister Shaklebolt, for additional training in security protocols. He was too beat by his tiring first day as an Auror to even bother with remembering why.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
oooooo
"Of all people! A breech of the statute of secrecy by an Auror?!"
Neville winced at the biting tone of the aged and let the old leather boot he clutched in his hands drop. The dull thump echoed within the chamber as he glanced upwards.
Many displeased looking wizards and witches dressed in ornate gray robes glared down from the balcony above, and he knew he'd be lucky to avoid serving time in Azkaban, much less keep his new job. If anyone bothered to ask him before portkeying him into the Ministry's lower chambers, he would've happily said he thought everything was going rather well. It was only his very first day serving the wizarding community, after all.
"That's not at all what happened, sir." Neville said softly in a firm voice, idly twiddling his thumbs as he studied the wandering cracks in the round chamber's floor. After a few breaths he dared to dart his eyes upwards.
The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, sat regally in the front row of the balcony, and a single brow rose on his otherwise expressionless face.
"Then by all means explain yourself, Mr... " Minister Shacklebolt looked down a moment, as if consulting a note in his hand. "Ah yes. Mr. Longbottom."
Neville took a deep breath, and began.
He knew it the moment he reached into his volumous pocket for his wand: Trevor the toad escaped. Again.
Neville frowned.
He was here with several dark detectors stuffed into said pocket, all of which, thus far failed to go off, but Neville was reasonably certain the rotting skeleton of a fellow, currently lounging in the armchair by the door, was the dark wizard the Ministry was seeking. Dust choked spider webs draped over the remains, and he narrowed his eyes as he swept them over the small room.
Trevor was a clever one, constantly slipping past his owner's clutches. Only now, instead of hopping off to Merlin knows where within Hogwarts, he did it here in this supposed dark wizard's old house.
The heat of embarrassment soon vanished as Neville rushed about, eyes sweeping the decaying floor for any splatter of toady dampness.
"Trevor!" He called in a low hush of a whisper, which never seemed to work very well while in school. He always hoped the toad would deem to answer to his given name, at least once in a while.
"Trevor! Come here boy..!"
The house cloaked itself in somber silence as he searched for his beloved familiar with creaking footsteps, and although he had to bat a few doxies back into a neglected closet, no toad revealed itself. He did find a few broken windows on his search, sharp jagged thankfully bloodless, and the back door past the kitchen had a rather neat foot shaped hole in its lower half.
Neville smiled. The hole was definitely large enough for a squat toad to slip through. He recalled the summoning charm, and judged it wouldn't hurt his precious beast at all if performed outdoors: there certainly would be less things to bang into out there.
He took in a breath, opened the door and was about to raise his wand, when he sa w him.
"So of course he puts his wand away." Neville heard someone mutter in the balcony above him.
"No, I never really had it out at all." Neville replied, and demonstrated the awkward cupping hold he had used to hide the slender bit of wood from view. He was rewarded with many heated whispers that the Minister somehow silenced with a glance.
"Go on." The Minister intoned.
Laying the ground, beneath a hulking chunk of metal, was a large bald man. He was dressed in a tough sort of trousers that were horribly stained, but once might've been blue, and had on white sort of half robe with short sleeves -- much like the muggle garments his half-blooded friend..
"Objection! He's attempting to sway the judgment of the court by naming his well know acquaintances!"
"Sustained. Find another way to phrase it, if you please, Mr. Longbottom."
Nelville understood them as muggle clothes. The dripping black stuff from the maching looked disturbingly like blood, actually. This working on a car, as the muggle called it, he never saw it before. He wasn't fascinated exactly. He just couldn't look away.
As he watched, the muggle squirmed his way around and, without looking, groped with his arm for something around the wheel. He thought it's likely a small silver cylinder that was laid out with others of its like on the ground. The hand swiped once. The forefinger twitched as Neville heard the man wheeze and grumble, but the cylinder was just out of the man's reach no matter how much he stretched.
Neville widened his eyes.
He saw the cylinder roll, moving on its own into the apparent muggle's hand.
"He's a wizard!" Neville thought in wonder. Perhaps a half-blood.
"Only a half-blood would wear such dreadful garments." Neville heard someone whisper above him, a comment that gave rise quite a few snickers.
However grisly he looked, Neville decided to approach the fellow beneath the maching. He worked out where his head was easily enough and squatted a few feet away as he loudly cleared his throat. The man looked up at him with raised non-existant brows, and a big grin spread slowly upon his lined face.
"Help you?"
"You wouldn't have, by any chance, seen a toad hopping by here, have you?" Neville asked hopefully.
"Toad? Uh. No I haven't." The man had an American accent. Neville supposed the man was either visiting family, or perhaps on holiday. "Been futzing with this heap. So where's the ren faire?"
"Renfair?"
The man eyes drifted back to the maching, hands doing whatever this "futzing" was.
"Yeee-ah. I didn't realize England had them too. I could use some fun, that is after I stop all the leaks in this thing. You English make great cars, but they leak oil like you wouldn't believe."
Neville raised his brows. Maybe Wizarding schools in the Americas weren't that good. He could think of several ways to magically repair things. He had plenty of practice repairing his own blunders.
"Would you show me where it is?" The man said, interrupting his thoughts.
"Where what is?"
"The ren faire? Awesome costume dude!"
"These are my normal clothes! Don't American wizards wear robes?"
"Huh? Wizards?"
"You mean you're not..? Aren't you a..."
The blank look the man directed his way said it all. A breath later, the man shrugged and muttered something about mad dogs and Englishmen.
Neville sighed and took out his wand, ready to adjust the man's memory as the Statue required. He only hesitated on account of another tool scooting its way into the reaching man's grasp. Neville's brows lowered as he let out a breath.
"How did you do that?" Neville pointed.
"Do what?" The man replied without looking his way. The man reached over to the tool pile, and another slipped into his grasp..
"That."
The man's eyes widened at his hand and he jerked up so quick that he banged his head. In moments, he scrambled out from beneath the car. Neville watched as he eyed the tool on the ground, then examined his muck covered hand. After he blinked a few times, the man again reached out.
The same tool quivered, just a bit. The man lurched to his feet and began to pace, shooting glares with every turn at the pile of tools as though they had somehow betrayed him.
Neville patted the air.
"It's ok.. It's alright..calm down. It's only spontaneous magic."
"What?!? No. No. That's not remotely.. What..?" The man turned his owlish gaze towards him.
"Spontaneous magic. It means you're a wizard. Like me. Watch." Neville pointed his wand upwards, as he had no idea where the toad had gone off to. "Accio Trevor."
As if a toad could fly, the bloated body shot eagerly around the corner of the dank alley down the way in response to the charm. Just before he could become a spattered mess in Neville's free outstretched hand, Trevor stopped all movement and hovered in midair. For several heartbeats, the toad had a nearly bored expression as he floated gently down into Neville's hand.
He then made a decidedly froggy croak.
The man shook his head in disbelief, and rubbed the heel of his hand at his forehead. Unfortunately, the movement dirtied up the man's face with the dark colored goop.
Neville mentally cursed the apparent oversight the North American Wizarding Council had with the poor man, and decided then to escort fellow to the Leaky Cauldron. He meant be kind and at least give the man a chance to wash up there before showing him the wonders of his neglected birthright in Diagon Alley.
He was surprised that the man couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron's sign, and had a light guiding hold of the man's arm when the shrill muggle alarms, left over from much darker times, went off.
He was bent in two with both hands holding his ears as he thought, What is he, muggle or wizard?
Neville froze as he heard the crack of apparition fill the air. With a glance, he saw his superior standing by his elbow. He turned his gaze down the deserted street and watched as a pair of wizards dully obliviated the hapless bald man.
Guess he's a muggle?
"And that's what happened." Neville finished. He gazed at the unreadable, ancient faces, one by one, and swallowed.
"Mr. Longbottom," Began his superior. "Didn't you think to check and see if another wizard was around jinxing the muggle?"
"Well. Um. No."
"Brillant. There you are. You are .."
"Hold on hold it. You were there too, Can you say if there was? Was there a jinx cast?"
His superior's face contorted and managed a remarkable impression of a fish. It then skewed upwards into a scowl, before finally settling into a disgruntled sort of unreadable stone.
The many aged eyes silently shifted away and drifted towards the dark skinned Minister, all watching in hushed expectation.
Shaklebolt Kingsley gave the slightest of nods, and Nelville only just had the time to squeeze his eyes shut before the oblivator's wordless charm struck.
Neville closed the heavy door to his office, and blinked owlishly about in the dim room. He looked down at the scroll in his hand, and unfurled it. After a quick read, Neville sighed and set it upon his desk amongst a growing pile of awaiting paperwork.
His Auror probationary period was extended to a year by Minister Shaklebolt, for additional training in security protocols. He was too beat by his tiring first day as an Auror to even bother with remembering why.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Monday, July 18, 2011
Daily writing...
Some awful poetry tonight as I am working on a harry potter fan fiction contest entry instead of the bear prompt like I promised myself I would do this morning.
oooooo
As I patrol at night
With a weak wavering light
I find it fun
Frightening "bun-buns"
See them flee
in the slight breeze
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
oooooo
As I patrol at night
With a weak wavering light
I find it fun
Frightening "bun-buns"
See them flee
in the slight breeze
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Prompt: bear in the dog dish
She narrowed her eyes.
"All right, now. Settle down."
Gale had to repeat herself many times. The swishing sound of shifting feet followed quite a few high whines of not being able to see. She sighed as she strode purposely towards the windows, and gently pried the taller ones away from where they had seemly plastered themselves.
She gazed out to the grey deck beyond as she shooed the children back, and saw nothing but empty planks of old wood. Whatever it was, it certainly had had their fullest attention.
Bang!!
She jumped at the tinny crash. It was like a cross of an overgrown bucket striking against the largest kettle drum she had ever seen in band class while in high school. Worse was the metal making a screeching complaint that had the hairs on her arms raising. She turned, eyes wide. It came from the room she had just left: the kitchen.
Without looking away from the slowly swinging door, she waved the children towards the fireplace, where a semblance of protection lay. Old Joe lazed there to defrost his bones and usually thumped his dusty tail against the hearth. In many ways, the task was like herding a bunch cats along.
A/n: still working on it. Some pieces just aren't easy.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
"All right, now. Settle down."
Gale had to repeat herself many times. The swishing sound of shifting feet followed quite a few high whines of not being able to see. She sighed as she strode purposely towards the windows, and gently pried the taller ones away from where they had seemly plastered themselves.
She gazed out to the grey deck beyond as she shooed the children back, and saw nothing but empty planks of old wood. Whatever it was, it certainly had had their fullest attention.
Bang!!
She jumped at the tinny crash. It was like a cross of an overgrown bucket striking against the largest kettle drum she had ever seen in band class while in high school. Worse was the metal making a screeching complaint that had the hairs on her arms raising. She turned, eyes wide. It came from the room she had just left: the kitchen.
Without looking away from the slowly swinging door, she waved the children towards the fireplace, where a semblance of protection lay. Old Joe lazed there to defrost his bones and usually thumped his dusty tail against the hearth. In many ways, the task was like herding a bunch cats along.
A/n: still working on it. Some pieces just aren't easy.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Fma-naruto crossover chapter 15 continued
He aches to open the gate to somehow exchange himself for his brother, but the weight of the watch's message reminds him: He did promise Al to stay alive long enough to learn as much Alchemy as he could in order to find the right answer. He hopes Al will forgive him for the delay, but this form of Alchemy he sees practiced around him is so weird it may actually be helpful.
As the sun rose that morning, he got to thinking, and steadily, the well of anger in his gut rose a notch with every noxious conclusion he found tested true. Right now he feels positively boiling with satisfying rage.
Ed tastes the trace minerals in water from the fountain, and swallows the sweet liquid down before he raises his head from the basin.
His outfit is itchy, rough threads seeking out and prickling at his scars. He warily eyes the thin crowd milling the street as he straightens the open collar of his transmuted white shirt, and then, from long habit, tugs the long sleeves down before smoothing down the front of his transmuted gray vest. It took the majority of the morning, gathering together enough rags, but he feels more like himself.
He is well aware he stands out amongst these desert weirdos who choose to publically walk about in colorful bathrobes, and runs his fingers through his long unruly bangs. They settle mostly down his cheeks and nearly pass his chin. His long single braid drapes down as far as his lower back.
He could take the time to transmute himself a mirror, but he is in a hurry. He glances at the faint reflection he sees from a storefront window, and with a snort, judges himself somewhat presentable.
Good. Even if she's deep undercover, maybe Hawkeye won't shoot him dead on sight.
Ed pockets his hands and narrows his eyes as he scans the crowd. A few dart their eyes away from his gaze as he fumes. All this time. Locked up. In chains. Beaten, and yelled at in this.. this gibberish!
All while they knew that Al was trapped wholly in the white. They all witnessed his brother's sacrifice in that stoopid battle!
Sure, he can see why they'd do that to him. But. How could they do that to his innocent and precious baby brother?!?
Ed lowers his brows, determined to ferret out the freaky mess. Sure, he stumbled upon it only after he was pulled through the damn gate by that thing in the container called "Father". Whatever's going on, it's such a convoluted puzzle, he figures the manipulative bastard himself has to be involved.
Somehow.
He just knows it.
"..and whatever shit Cornell Bastard with-a-god-complex, Roy frekken Mustang, has ordered Hawkeye to do here in the ass end of Xing..." He growls to himself as he clenches the pocket watch in a tight grip.
He doesn't finish the thought aloud, but grins a feral grin as he visualizes quite a few well placed explosions in the Bastard's office. Those equations should be more than sufficient to wipe the smirk off his smug face.
He figures this place doesn't seem that big. He stands in a big courtyard that he estimates to be near the center of the settlement, and it's more like tiny Youswell than bustling Arquoia. He figures all he has to do is find Riza: Ask her straight what the deal is.
He admits that she may not be able to give him real answers, exactly, her orders being whatever they are, but he feels he can trust her.
Well.
More than the Cornell Bastard anyway.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
As the sun rose that morning, he got to thinking, and steadily, the well of anger in his gut rose a notch with every noxious conclusion he found tested true. Right now he feels positively boiling with satisfying rage.
Ed tastes the trace minerals in water from the fountain, and swallows the sweet liquid down before he raises his head from the basin.
His outfit is itchy, rough threads seeking out and prickling at his scars. He warily eyes the thin crowd milling the street as he straightens the open collar of his transmuted white shirt, and then, from long habit, tugs the long sleeves down before smoothing down the front of his transmuted gray vest. It took the majority of the morning, gathering together enough rags, but he feels more like himself.
He is well aware he stands out amongst these desert weirdos who choose to publically walk about in colorful bathrobes, and runs his fingers through his long unruly bangs. They settle mostly down his cheeks and nearly pass his chin. His long single braid drapes down as far as his lower back.
He could take the time to transmute himself a mirror, but he is in a hurry. He glances at the faint reflection he sees from a storefront window, and with a snort, judges himself somewhat presentable.
Good. Even if she's deep undercover, maybe Hawkeye won't shoot him dead on sight.
Ed pockets his hands and narrows his eyes as he scans the crowd. A few dart their eyes away from his gaze as he fumes. All this time. Locked up. In chains. Beaten, and yelled at in this.. this gibberish!
All while they knew that Al was trapped wholly in the white. They all witnessed his brother's sacrifice in that stoopid battle!
Sure, he can see why they'd do that to him. But. How could they do that to his innocent and precious baby brother?!?
Ed lowers his brows, determined to ferret out the freaky mess. Sure, he stumbled upon it only after he was pulled through the damn gate by that thing in the container called "Father". Whatever's going on, it's such a convoluted puzzle, he figures the manipulative bastard himself has to be involved.
Somehow.
He just knows it.
"..and whatever shit Cornell Bastard with-a-god-complex, Roy frekken Mustang, has ordered Hawkeye to do here in the ass end of Xing..." He growls to himself as he clenches the pocket watch in a tight grip.
He doesn't finish the thought aloud, but grins a feral grin as he visualizes quite a few well placed explosions in the Bastard's office. Those equations should be more than sufficient to wipe the smirk off his smug face.
He figures this place doesn't seem that big. He stands in a big courtyard that he estimates to be near the center of the settlement, and it's more like tiny Youswell than bustling Arquoia. He figures all he has to do is find Riza: Ask her straight what the deal is.
He admits that she may not be able to give him real answers, exactly, her orders being whatever they are, but he feels he can trust her.
Well.
More than the Cornell Bastard anyway.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Friday, July 15, 2011
Fma-naruto crossover chapter 15 continued...
Gaara stares out the window of his tower while he waits, and clasps his hands behind his back.
Dawn finds the boy Ed squatted against the wall of the alley, still in his impromptu camp amongst the garbage. He holds the silver watch in his bare hand, but stares blankly at the wall. He presses a finger down on the mechanism at the top which snaps open the watch, only to snap the thin lid closed again with his thumb.
Gaara notes the golden irises haven't actually glanced down at the rough carved thing on the interior since he first saw it open. Some sort of message had been passed to the boy.
Gaara narrows his eyes. (Blue lighting flashing between outstretched fingers, and the crease line formed in the glowing metal... )He doesn't recognize the hacked-in letters any more than those he watched the boy scrawl so fluidly into the dust with his fingers.
There is much at risk is this war. With the feudal lords bogged down and arguing whether or not the five village alliance should be allowed to happen, he wonders if he should share what intelligence he has on this strange boy with the others at all.
"You wanted to see me, Gaara?" Temari says from the door.
"Yes. Is there any more on the Akatsuki?"
"Leaf's files on them just arrived...but I.."
"That's... not exactly what I meant." Gaara says guardedly as he glances over his shoulder at his older sister.
"This is about the golden one, isn't it?"
Gaara keeps his gaze steady a moment longer than necessary, but turns back to the window.
"On that matter, no one has yet determined a solid connection. However, there is something very important in Leaf's information you should know right now." Temari pauses, and takes a deep breath. "The Hokage, Danzo, is dead."
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Dawn finds the boy Ed squatted against the wall of the alley, still in his impromptu camp amongst the garbage. He holds the silver watch in his bare hand, but stares blankly at the wall. He presses a finger down on the mechanism at the top which snaps open the watch, only to snap the thin lid closed again with his thumb.
Gaara notes the golden irises haven't actually glanced down at the rough carved thing on the interior since he first saw it open. Some sort of message had been passed to the boy.
Gaara narrows his eyes. (Blue lighting flashing between outstretched fingers, and the crease line formed in the glowing metal... )He doesn't recognize the hacked-in letters any more than those he watched the boy scrawl so fluidly into the dust with his fingers.
There is much at risk is this war. With the feudal lords bogged down and arguing whether or not the five village alliance should be allowed to happen, he wonders if he should share what intelligence he has on this strange boy with the others at all.
"You wanted to see me, Gaara?" Temari says from the door.
"Yes. Is there any more on the Akatsuki?"
"Leaf's files on them just arrived...but I.."
"That's... not exactly what I meant." Gaara says guardedly as he glances over his shoulder at his older sister.
"This is about the golden one, isn't it?"
Gaara keeps his gaze steady a moment longer than necessary, but turns back to the window.
"On that matter, no one has yet determined a solid connection. However, there is something very important in Leaf's information you should know right now." Temari pauses, and takes a deep breath. "The Hokage, Danzo, is dead."
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Prompt: bear in the dog bowl.. Cont..
She jerked her head up at the shrill screech echoing in the room, and lurched to the swinging door by the time the thunderous pounding of tiny feet began. Her stomach dropped to icy depths as her mind whirled through one nightmare scenario to another.
Did someone jab another's eye and was the ball of meat now rolling along the floor?
Was someone scratched all bloody and was the red liquid joining said eye in a morbid sort of soup?
(Served cold of course.)
She hated when her mind clunked into such sharp corners, but went with the morbid flow.
Then she remembered the dog.
The saggy thing barely reached her calf, and had a mottled colored coat which could've once been brown. He was owned by the ground's keeper, and walked about all stiff legged along trails that had the gentlest of slopes. Dust usually billowed off his toothless head if anyone bothered to pat it. She even joked "old Joe" was half mummified whenever she saw him.
Had that ancient mutt snapped?
Gale stood breathless witness in the old wooden door jam as some twenty young faces pressed themselves to peer beyond dirt shrouded windows. Her gaze darted over their heads. The world beyond the room was drenched gray and white, and the thick trunks of towering pine trees blocked from sight anything of interest in the distance.
A/n: still working on this.. Will be continued as I get the time to write.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Did someone jab another's eye and was the ball of meat now rolling along the floor?
Was someone scratched all bloody and was the red liquid joining said eye in a morbid sort of soup?
(Served cold of course.)
She hated when her mind clunked into such sharp corners, but went with the morbid flow.
Then she remembered the dog.
The saggy thing barely reached her calf, and had a mottled colored coat which could've once been brown. He was owned by the ground's keeper, and walked about all stiff legged along trails that had the gentlest of slopes. Dust usually billowed off his toothless head if anyone bothered to pat it. She even joked "old Joe" was half mummified whenever she saw him.
Had that ancient mutt snapped?
Gale stood breathless witness in the old wooden door jam as some twenty young faces pressed themselves to peer beyond dirt shrouded windows. Her gaze darted over their heads. The world beyond the room was drenched gray and white, and the thick trunks of towering pine trees blocked from sight anything of interest in the distance.
A/n: still working on this.. Will be continued as I get the time to write.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Fma-naruto chapter fifteen
Ed leans back against the rough sandstone wall of the narrow alley, and flares his nostrils as he breathes in a deep cleansing breath. The sky glows a deep crimson hue high above his head, and he allows himself a precious moment to marvel at the wispy clouds there which he knows are really glorified ice particles scattered high in the stratosphere.
A quick half second later, he turns his gaze low blaze before him, and swallows down the not-so-tastey morsel he chews in his mouth. He pushes down the quiver of guilt he feels as he licks at the meaty juices, for the rabbit he roasts in the small metal can is likely someone's, (or more likely, some child's), lost pet. He muses that would be as good an explanation as any; it was easy enough to catch. His stomach roars and gnaws at his middle, and the next hearty bite he takes banishes any further concerns in his mind of the weighty matter.
His first day of freedom did not go as well as he hoped.
His exit from the hospital doors was simple enough, even after emerging dizzy and breathless from the stairwell. He knew that brief malady was simply caused by general dehydration and sheer lack of food; he had suffered from both before after all.
That. And. He is flabby. He swallows down the morsel and crinkles his eyes as he recalls the happy days he spent alone with his brother on an island.
Training for Alchemy... His eyes drift to the mass of rags on his left, then sweep over his bare legs and arms. They are definitely thinner than they should be. A the skin is pale. He scratches at the odd marks tattooed on his forearm as he recalls the angry glares of the street vendors, then snorts at the only garment he has on. The hospital issued boxers are soiled with dark, caked mud, and odd smears of green.
He judges he looks like a slightly cleaner version of the beggars he often passed by on the streets in Liore. With the local language being beyond him, he tried his best, all day long, to make trades. He felt like a lowly street performer doing it at the time. Mostly, he pointed like a monkey to basic things like food and clothing, and make grand sweeping gestures while saying "alchemy" quite loud and slow. It was no wonder to him why the merchants didn't really want him around.
Scant glimpses he made that afternoon of panic filled, darting eyes also said loads of another possible motive: the merchants didn't want to upset the guys with metal on their headbands.
Less than a week ago, those guys had been in a public scuffle with himself, and they happened to walk up and down walls.
He gnaws another chunk out of the rabbit.
They didn't want to see another such spectacle any time soon, nor suffer from the loss to their business it would cause. It simply wasn't equivalent to do business with someone those in authority had issues with. He understood that.
Sizzling fat spatters and the fire flares, lighting up the growing shadows. He shifts his seating and scrawls additional computations onto the dirt by the rag pile, and narrows his eyes into a squint as he adjusts his estimate of the mass with his left forefinger. With his right, he tosses the naked bones at the far wall.
That pocket watch spoiled me. He thinks. Even my hard earned reputation, of being the Alchemist of the People? Way logical to be completely meaningless here.
(where ever here is. Xing? Maybe?)
He swallows the last morsel and licks at the juices at the corners of his mouth as he carefully checks his raw equations. He then shifts himself comfortably before the rags, and slaps his palms together. The blue lightening leaping off the discarded fabric far outshines the blaze.
Brief discharge snaps into the air as he steps into the transmuted black trousers. He hooks his thumb through a sturdy loop at the hip, and frowns as he pulls. He's eying the gap as he hears the crisp snap of his noise making trap down the way.
He kicks the can over and douses the fire with the pile of sand--(Hey it's everywhere)-- and crouches low beside a rough shelter of metal pipes and more cans.
He hears a wailing coo of a baby echoing off the alley walls, but the chime of metal striking a the far wall, followed by a soft thunk in the dirt nearby catches his immediate attention. He jumps away to the side and back pedals.
He enters his stance as he peers into the shadows.
"We eben." He hears a familiar sounding voice call out of the shadows. The words are garbled and barely recognizable as xingese, but the baritone is definitely male.
"Who are you?" Ed replies in the same language.
A heartbeat passes, and the baby giggles.
"We eben." The voice in the dark insists robotically. Ed lowers his brows as his heart hammers against his ribs.
How long has it been since he's actually spoken with anyone? Reluctantly, he breaks his stance and stands. He scrubs his mind for the scant xingese words he knows, and cobbles together a sentence he hopes makes sense.
"I'm.. Not that good in xingese. Can you...Do you understand me?" Ed calls again, darting his eyes in the dark.
"HEY!! Talk to me!?" Ed calls out, wincing at the lilting whine tainting his voice. He almost bolts after the speaker, but the baby sounds he tracks vanish at his first lunging step. Ed turns about to use both ears, and tilts his head listening to the silence. Was that a scrambling of scraping sandals? He lifts his eyes up, tracing the inky shadows of the walls.
He thinks he hears the faint echoes of a baby's coo wafting down from the very top. He thinks it's not exactly an easy climb. He skews his brows and darts his eyes back to the object that thunked in the dirt.
Something small, round, and metallic glints in the moon light.
He takes in a sharp breath. After a few thunderous heartbeats, he strides over, and crouches low.
His diamond hard, gauntlets fingers hover just shy of touching the silvery surface of what appears to him to be the back of a very dented up pocket watch.
He decides he's being ridiculous, and grimly grips the cool metal surface. It flips over with a little toss. He sees the thin chain whipping about, and then widens his eyes.
Emblazoned on the other side is a roaring lion caged within the hexagram: the great crest of the Amestrian military.
Ed swallows and looks closely at the edge. He frowns deeply when he sees the telltale transmutation marks that solidly seals the metal. It takes him less than an eye blink to confirm the watch as his own.
Dawn finds him squatted against the wall, watch cupped in one hand, staring blankly at the wall. He snaps open the watch glances again at the rough memento he once carved into the interior that reads:
Don't forget.
Then, with a gentle clap, Ed seals it up once more.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
A quick half second later, he turns his gaze low blaze before him, and swallows down the not-so-tastey morsel he chews in his mouth. He pushes down the quiver of guilt he feels as he licks at the meaty juices, for the rabbit he roasts in the small metal can is likely someone's, (or more likely, some child's), lost pet. He muses that would be as good an explanation as any; it was easy enough to catch. His stomach roars and gnaws at his middle, and the next hearty bite he takes banishes any further concerns in his mind of the weighty matter.
His first day of freedom did not go as well as he hoped.
His exit from the hospital doors was simple enough, even after emerging dizzy and breathless from the stairwell. He knew that brief malady was simply caused by general dehydration and sheer lack of food; he had suffered from both before after all.
That. And. He is flabby. He swallows down the morsel and crinkles his eyes as he recalls the happy days he spent alone with his brother on an island.
Training for Alchemy... His eyes drift to the mass of rags on his left, then sweep over his bare legs and arms. They are definitely thinner than they should be. A the skin is pale. He scratches at the odd marks tattooed on his forearm as he recalls the angry glares of the street vendors, then snorts at the only garment he has on. The hospital issued boxers are soiled with dark, caked mud, and odd smears of green.
He judges he looks like a slightly cleaner version of the beggars he often passed by on the streets in Liore. With the local language being beyond him, he tried his best, all day long, to make trades. He felt like a lowly street performer doing it at the time. Mostly, he pointed like a monkey to basic things like food and clothing, and make grand sweeping gestures while saying "alchemy" quite loud and slow. It was no wonder to him why the merchants didn't really want him around.
Scant glimpses he made that afternoon of panic filled, darting eyes also said loads of another possible motive: the merchants didn't want to upset the guys with metal on their headbands.
Less than a week ago, those guys had been in a public scuffle with himself, and they happened to walk up and down walls.
He gnaws another chunk out of the rabbit.
They didn't want to see another such spectacle any time soon, nor suffer from the loss to their business it would cause. It simply wasn't equivalent to do business with someone those in authority had issues with. He understood that.
Sizzling fat spatters and the fire flares, lighting up the growing shadows. He shifts his seating and scrawls additional computations onto the dirt by the rag pile, and narrows his eyes into a squint as he adjusts his estimate of the mass with his left forefinger. With his right, he tosses the naked bones at the far wall.
That pocket watch spoiled me. He thinks. Even my hard earned reputation, of being the Alchemist of the People? Way logical to be completely meaningless here.
(where ever here is. Xing? Maybe?)
He swallows the last morsel and licks at the juices at the corners of his mouth as he carefully checks his raw equations. He then shifts himself comfortably before the rags, and slaps his palms together. The blue lightening leaping off the discarded fabric far outshines the blaze.
Brief discharge snaps into the air as he steps into the transmuted black trousers. He hooks his thumb through a sturdy loop at the hip, and frowns as he pulls. He's eying the gap as he hears the crisp snap of his noise making trap down the way.
He kicks the can over and douses the fire with the pile of sand--(Hey it's everywhere)-- and crouches low beside a rough shelter of metal pipes and more cans.
He hears a wailing coo of a baby echoing off the alley walls, but the chime of metal striking a the far wall, followed by a soft thunk in the dirt nearby catches his immediate attention. He jumps away to the side and back pedals.
He enters his stance as he peers into the shadows.
"We eben." He hears a familiar sounding voice call out of the shadows. The words are garbled and barely recognizable as xingese, but the baritone is definitely male.
"Who are you?" Ed replies in the same language.
A heartbeat passes, and the baby giggles.
"We eben." The voice in the dark insists robotically. Ed lowers his brows as his heart hammers against his ribs.
How long has it been since he's actually spoken with anyone? Reluctantly, he breaks his stance and stands. He scrubs his mind for the scant xingese words he knows, and cobbles together a sentence he hopes makes sense.
"I'm.. Not that good in xingese. Can you...Do you understand me?" Ed calls again, darting his eyes in the dark.
"HEY!! Talk to me!?" Ed calls out, wincing at the lilting whine tainting his voice. He almost bolts after the speaker, but the baby sounds he tracks vanish at his first lunging step. Ed turns about to use both ears, and tilts his head listening to the silence. Was that a scrambling of scraping sandals? He lifts his eyes up, tracing the inky shadows of the walls.
He thinks he hears the faint echoes of a baby's coo wafting down from the very top. He thinks it's not exactly an easy climb. He skews his brows and darts his eyes back to the object that thunked in the dirt.
Something small, round, and metallic glints in the moon light.
He takes in a sharp breath. After a few thunderous heartbeats, he strides over, and crouches low.
His diamond hard, gauntlets fingers hover just shy of touching the silvery surface of what appears to him to be the back of a very dented up pocket watch.
He decides he's being ridiculous, and grimly grips the cool metal surface. It flips over with a little toss. He sees the thin chain whipping about, and then widens his eyes.
Emblazoned on the other side is a roaring lion caged within the hexagram: the great crest of the Amestrian military.
Ed swallows and looks closely at the edge. He frowns deeply when he sees the telltale transmutation marks that solidly seals the metal. It takes him less than an eye blink to confirm the watch as his own.
Dawn finds him squatted against the wall, watch cupped in one hand, staring blankly at the wall. He snaps open the watch glances again at the rough memento he once carved into the interior that reads:
Don't forget.
Then, with a gentle clap, Ed seals it up once more.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Prompt:Bear eating from the dog food bowl
Bear eating from the dog food bowl
A/n: I did once run into a bear while working in the mountains. Now trying to capture an actual event that happened, but also make a twist..maybe a zombie? Thanks in part to the creepy jerusalem crickets I keep running into.
oooooo
The door to the old cupboard likely creaked, but she certainly didn't hear it. The cavernous room beyond was filled to the brim with the shouts of impatience in the guise many young children's voices, and Gale smiled thinly as she bent to the shadows to retrieve batteries. Thick layers of dust choked the cobwebs that cloaked the small metallic cylinders, and she skewed her brows as she clung to the hope that they were still good inspite of appearances otherwise.
A/n I will continue to work on this--brain farting in my effort to get this just right-- I did post something in another blog today, so the hour a day writing challenge is met. Woot!
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
A/n: I did once run into a bear while working in the mountains. Now trying to capture an actual event that happened, but also make a twist..maybe a zombie? Thanks in part to the creepy jerusalem crickets I keep running into.
oooooo
The door to the old cupboard likely creaked, but she certainly didn't hear it. The cavernous room beyond was filled to the brim with the shouts of impatience in the guise many young children's voices, and Gale smiled thinly as she bent to the shadows to retrieve batteries. Thick layers of dust choked the cobwebs that cloaked the small metallic cylinders, and she skewed her brows as she clung to the hope that they were still good inspite of appearances otherwise.
A/n I will continue to work on this--brain farting in my effort to get this just right-- I did post something in another blog today, so the hour a day writing challenge is met. Woot!
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Prompt: To be honest, he expected more chaos and less bunnies...
OoooooO
Stan jerked awake, and by the clatter dropping pens he heard around him, he knew he wasn't the only one dozing off. He sat behind his great box of a monitor and, though the thing completely dominated his tiny desk, he attempted to again dart his eyes to the board at the far end of the room.
Mr. Smith, the teacher, gestured widely, and the flat his long pointy stick noisily struck a sloping line drawn beneath the neat scrawl.
Stan pushed his thick glasses back up his nose, and read the instructions written there before Mr. Smith even finished speaking.
"... an example of the cx)1 code." Mr. Smith droned in a near hypnotic monotone. "Under no circumstances shall there be a reason to use this code in an actual program."
He nodded, and narrowed his eyes.
"Do not.. I repeat.. Do not..EVER.. Use this. Especially not to..."
By that point Stan had turned back to the mammoth of a monitor, and stared owlishly at the screen. He eyed the white cursor a good while, and as it coyly winked at him, the monotone lecture blithely continued on. And on. And on.
Stan took in a great bored breath and chewed on the inside of his cheek. He didn't dare shift around again, just to see what the clock above the board had to say. A dizzy snail had to crawl along faster than the time he spent in here so far.
He didn't have the room to lean his elbow onto the surface, nor the space to cradle his head in one palm.
He shifted his arms slightly, carefully draping them on either side of the great plastic box, and tapped his fingers, one by one, down on what little desk was left for him to do so.
The lecture didn't stop, though. Nope. The monotone dragged ever onward.
Stan exhaled and pulled back his right to his lap. He then hovered his hand over the tiny keyboard, and curled his fingers back. With his extended index finder, he typed, quietly, one key at a time. He never looked at the screen really, because with this particular programming language he didn't need to.
Near to the end of his bored little project, he heard Mr. Smith take in a deep breath. The sound of it drew his eyes around the hulking heap that always blocked his view.
"..You may now begin the assign..."
But he never got to finish that particular sentence, for that was about the time the pad of Stan's finger pressed firmly down upon the return key.
If he would have to describe it, Stan would say that the world exploded. Not violently, mind you. More like how a disembowled pillow would during a particularly vigorous pillow fight.
Stan raised his brows at the leaping fuzzy balls of fluff, complete with tiny wiggling noses and long drooping. Ears. To be honest, he expected more chaos and less bunnies out of a programming language that was said to be so innovative, that it would change the world.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Stan jerked awake, and by the clatter dropping pens he heard around him, he knew he wasn't the only one dozing off. He sat behind his great box of a monitor and, though the thing completely dominated his tiny desk, he attempted to again dart his eyes to the board at the far end of the room.
Mr. Smith, the teacher, gestured widely, and the flat his long pointy stick noisily struck a sloping line drawn beneath the neat scrawl.
Stan pushed his thick glasses back up his nose, and read the instructions written there before Mr. Smith even finished speaking.
"... an example of the cx)1 code." Mr. Smith droned in a near hypnotic monotone. "Under no circumstances shall there be a reason to use this code in an actual program."
He nodded, and narrowed his eyes.
"Do not.. I repeat.. Do not..EVER.. Use this. Especially not to..."
By that point Stan had turned back to the mammoth of a monitor, and stared owlishly at the screen. He eyed the white cursor a good while, and as it coyly winked at him, the monotone lecture blithely continued on. And on. And on.
Stan took in a great bored breath and chewed on the inside of his cheek. He didn't dare shift around again, just to see what the clock above the board had to say. A dizzy snail had to crawl along faster than the time he spent in here so far.
He didn't have the room to lean his elbow onto the surface, nor the space to cradle his head in one palm.
He shifted his arms slightly, carefully draping them on either side of the great plastic box, and tapped his fingers, one by one, down on what little desk was left for him to do so.
The lecture didn't stop, though. Nope. The monotone dragged ever onward.
Stan exhaled and pulled back his right to his lap. He then hovered his hand over the tiny keyboard, and curled his fingers back. With his extended index finder, he typed, quietly, one key at a time. He never looked at the screen really, because with this particular programming language he didn't need to.
Near to the end of his bored little project, he heard Mr. Smith take in a deep breath. The sound of it drew his eyes around the hulking heap that always blocked his view.
"..You may now begin the assign..."
But he never got to finish that particular sentence, for that was about the time the pad of Stan's finger pressed firmly down upon the return key.
If he would have to describe it, Stan would say that the world exploded. Not violently, mind you. More like how a disembowled pillow would during a particularly vigorous pillow fight.
Stan raised his brows at the leaping fuzzy balls of fluff, complete with tiny wiggling noses and long drooping. Ears. To be honest, he expected more chaos and less bunnies out of a programming language that was said to be so innovative, that it would change the world.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Fma-naruto crossover chapter 14 continued.
Ed nearly spins about in his haste for the stairs behind him. His stomach lurches and its meager contents pop and bubble their burning way back up. As his left toes grace the sandstone of the next landing, he has time to take in a queasy breath.
His spear clatters uselessly against the stone as he lunges for the sturdy wall and hurls. He turns away from the mess he made, pooling wetly below him, and by long habit brushes his flushed face against his right arm. The surprising softness reminds him that it's made of flesh now, and with a grimace, he brings up his hand. Although the gauntlet there is made of carbon, it's cool against his cheek.
The dumplings of the soup he had in the room couldn't agree with him in this place. No. Not at all. In an effort to get the organ in his middle to settle faster, he presses his left hand to his abdomen, and lets his fingers trace the ominous scar there: the one that is the living record of how close to death he once was.
"Thought it tasted off." He breathes ruefully, and listens to the echoing sound. Heartbeats later, he lifts his head. With skewed brows, he darts his eyes around, listening to the surrounding silence.
After all this time, perhaps months of being chained, poked, prodded, beat, and generally screamed at in a language he didn't know, could it be?
No creaking of doors. No pounding foot falls. No puffs of smoke. No knives or other large pointy things thrown at his skull or any other part of his body.
With Hawkeye looking so annoyed in the hall above he knows she would have drawn her favored weapon, but ..Not even a single muffled gunshot? He looks up and hates to admit how greatly he misses the often deadly, startling sound.
Was no one pursing him then?
He swallows down the bitter tasting spittle, and pushes himself more upright. He wobbles slightly each time he steps down, and uses the wall to guide him. At the next landing, he squints up at the glyph looking thing hanging above the door and scrubs his mind for the meaning.
The mysterious squiggle resembles box with a set of whiskers, and proves to be just beyond his grasp. He shakes his head and, as there are more stairs, continues on.
The world whirls at the next door, and the sign has three horizontal slashes that jiggle much if he looks away too quickly. He closes his eyes and leans his back against the wall. He sees more stairs heading down and staggers on.
His lungs seem to wheeze as he steps to next door, and two horizontal slashes swim before his gaze. He slaps his hand on the wall, willing it to stay still as he breathes. More stairs go down, and he darts his eyes back as he thinks.
Two. Then maybe..That was three? So the next is..
The world tilts oddly as he drags his shoulder heavily against the wall. He steps down to the next landing, and his right leg feels like it's made of rubber. There are no further stairs going down, and the door has a single horizontal scratch. He squeezes his eyes shut, and breathes deep.
"One" he says in relief and waits for the twirling sensation to stop. It takes forever. He lifts his head from the wall, not completely sure how it got there, and impatiently, cracks his lids open. He reaches a heavy hand for the knob, and as the door opens, squints against the shining white.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
His spear clatters uselessly against the stone as he lunges for the sturdy wall and hurls. He turns away from the mess he made, pooling wetly below him, and by long habit brushes his flushed face against his right arm. The surprising softness reminds him that it's made of flesh now, and with a grimace, he brings up his hand. Although the gauntlet there is made of carbon, it's cool against his cheek.
The dumplings of the soup he had in the room couldn't agree with him in this place. No. Not at all. In an effort to get the organ in his middle to settle faster, he presses his left hand to his abdomen, and lets his fingers trace the ominous scar there: the one that is the living record of how close to death he once was.
"Thought it tasted off." He breathes ruefully, and listens to the echoing sound. Heartbeats later, he lifts his head. With skewed brows, he darts his eyes around, listening to the surrounding silence.
After all this time, perhaps months of being chained, poked, prodded, beat, and generally screamed at in a language he didn't know, could it be?
No creaking of doors. No pounding foot falls. No puffs of smoke. No knives or other large pointy things thrown at his skull or any other part of his body.
With Hawkeye looking so annoyed in the hall above he knows she would have drawn her favored weapon, but ..Not even a single muffled gunshot? He looks up and hates to admit how greatly he misses the often deadly, startling sound.
Was no one pursing him then?
He swallows down the bitter tasting spittle, and pushes himself more upright. He wobbles slightly each time he steps down, and uses the wall to guide him. At the next landing, he squints up at the glyph looking thing hanging above the door and scrubs his mind for the meaning.
The mysterious squiggle resembles box with a set of whiskers, and proves to be just beyond his grasp. He shakes his head and, as there are more stairs, continues on.
The world whirls at the next door, and the sign has three horizontal slashes that jiggle much if he looks away too quickly. He closes his eyes and leans his back against the wall. He sees more stairs heading down and staggers on.
His lungs seem to wheeze as he steps to next door, and two horizontal slashes swim before his gaze. He slaps his hand on the wall, willing it to stay still as he breathes. More stairs go down, and he darts his eyes back as he thinks.
Two. Then maybe..That was three? So the next is..
The world tilts oddly as he drags his shoulder heavily against the wall. He steps down to the next landing, and his right leg feels like it's made of rubber. There are no further stairs going down, and the door has a single horizontal scratch. He squeezes his eyes shut, and breathes deep.
"One" he says in relief and waits for the twirling sensation to stop. It takes forever. He lifts his head from the wall, not completely sure how it got there, and impatiently, cracks his lids open. He reaches a heavy hand for the knob, and as the door opens, squints against the shining white.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Friday, July 8, 2011
Fma-naruto crossover chapter 14
The low relief in the metal forms a highly detailed snake which winds its hypnotic way around, beginning from where the metal connects with wood, and on up. At some point it flares grandly outwards into a pair of outstretched bat wings that guard either side of the blade's base.
If it were not for the tested might of his sand armor, Gaara may have been concerned at the sight of such a spear pointed directly at his chest.
As it is, he raises a nonexistent brow at the messy gray glop that replaced his sand upon the floor. What kind of substitution technique.. No. This one has no chakra flowing to do such things. What could he have possibly..
"FLIEND?!" Roars the boy expertly holding the summoned weapon, the one who calls himself "Ed". Though the word is mispronouced badly, Gaara narrows his eyes and listens.
Gaara watches one corner of the pale mouth pull upward, and hears the boy snicker. The bitter sound bubbles into loud noxious laughter that threatens to bend the pale tattooed form over in two.
"Fliend." Is said again, mockingly, and is followed by a harsh phrase with rough constants. Gaara's nonexistent brows nearly meet, and he frowns.
The spear becomes a blur. Gaara jerks his head back in an instinctive flinch. The sudden movement stops and he eyes the ornate blade hovering a mere inch before his nose. He muses that had the tailed beast, Shukaku, resided within him still, the consequences of such an action would surely have been disastrous. For the hospital and all within, that is, but never himself.
A glaring flaw in the perfection of the weapon draws his eyes forward. A short length of chain barely hangs upon the cunning tip, and Gaara follows the length coolly back to the transformed bed rail of the once-bed containing one of the village's med-nins.
He finds it strange, but for some reason, she still lives.
He sees three more such chains, unsurprisingly, at each of the morphed corners, and slides his eyes back as the pointy metal bit makes a slight grating sound. The ten inch blade slowly withdraws from his face as the boy sniffs derisively, pale face a stony mask.
He watches as Ed shifts his feet into a powerful looking stance suitable for such a weapon. The false left leg makes a whirring sort of noise as it settles solidly beneath his slight form, and molten gold eyes hold Gaara's gaze as he lowers his head below his scarred and tattooed shoulders.
Gaara sweeps his gaze over the sweat drenched brow, noting the slight trembling of muscles, but knows well that the shivers he views before him are certainly not from fear. Ed's high fever had broken just that morning, and without a proper chakra flow, logically, the boy's muscles should be completely overtaxed. He watches Ed's chin juts out in a stubborn, determined line, and a firm glint of distrust flares within his golden hued gaze.
He can barely stand. Does he really think he can fight his way out? Gaara thinks. Such a foolhardy move reminds me.. Of "him".
"You may go, friend." Gaara tries again with an open sweeping hand towards the open door. He darts his eyes behind him to the hunter nin, and counts far too many bodies. "Let him out. Do not bother him, for as of this moment onwards, he is an honored guest of the village."
"Kazekage..! I advise against this! Tracking this golden one with chakra sensor nin will be useless.. He's like a ghost to them." Red demon says.
"I said let him go. Do not pursue him."
"Akatsuki is the priority now. Continue on with your surveillance of the slavers area's activities." Temari says down the hall.
Gaara nods slightly to show his approval and silently thanks his quick witted older sister for ending a pointless argument before it begins. He is aware of certain aspects of this boy, and needs not to be reminded.
"Hai!" The hunter nin say as one. A puff of smoke later, the only person remaining in that end of the hall is the Honored Sibling.
Gaara looks to the ancient fellow, before facing the blond once more. With a frown, he drops his hands to either side, dips into a slight bow, and backs carefully out of the room with exaggerated care. Fierce golden eyes watch him the entire way behind the pathetic threat of a single spear.
"You see now. He doesn't understand a word." Gaara says in a low voice as he settles by the Elder near the wall. He has full view of Ed's cautious creep forward. The boy moves with practiced ease, one foot smoothly crossing over the other.
"It proves very little. He may simply lack the honor to trust the word of the Kazekage." Ebizu replies. Gaara blinks at the aged one's point. He finds it a good one.
Ed hesitates at the door jam, and leans the back of his head against the solid wood. He darts his eyes about the corner and his gaze again lingers a bit too long on Temari down the hall. After a breath, he quickly shifts himself around to bare his weapon at them all.
Gaara is well aware that his older sister does not tell him everything. He folds his arms, an action which he regrets as the spear shifts his way. He remains motionless and stares back at the golden orbs.
After a few heartbeats, Ed darts his eyes about once more and creeps slowly along. Backwards. Gaara wonders at the boy's strategy. It's as if he wants to have the thick sandstone wall nearby, or guarding his back.
Very un-nin like.
Clad in only some skimpy white shorts and ill fitting stolen sandals, the boy called Ed eyes Ebizu suspiciously before he finally backs his way out of sight and down the stairwell.
The ancient nin takes in a wheeze of a breath and turns.
"Tell me why." Ebizu says with lowered brows. "Why let a possible weapon, and a possible threat to the village, go? Are we not at war?!"
"He had ample opportunity, but didn't kill." Gaara replies evenly, and looks as Temari steps up with folded arms. A small sand orb, no wider than his the first knuckle of his index finger, floats down from the ceiling of the boy's hospital room.
"He's a weakling." Temari narrows her eyes at stairwell door. "Are you going to pursue him?"
"I'm watching him for the moment.." Gaara says and lifts his palm to retrieve his sand "eyeball". "Strange. He looked at you like he knew you."
"I noticed." Temari tilts her head at the door. "So. The Akatsuki. Wonder if there's a connection."
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
If it were not for the tested might of his sand armor, Gaara may have been concerned at the sight of such a spear pointed directly at his chest.
As it is, he raises a nonexistent brow at the messy gray glop that replaced his sand upon the floor. What kind of substitution technique.. No. This one has no chakra flowing to do such things. What could he have possibly..
"FLIEND?!" Roars the boy expertly holding the summoned weapon, the one who calls himself "Ed". Though the word is mispronouced badly, Gaara narrows his eyes and listens.
Gaara watches one corner of the pale mouth pull upward, and hears the boy snicker. The bitter sound bubbles into loud noxious laughter that threatens to bend the pale tattooed form over in two.
"Fliend." Is said again, mockingly, and is followed by a harsh phrase with rough constants. Gaara's nonexistent brows nearly meet, and he frowns.
The spear becomes a blur. Gaara jerks his head back in an instinctive flinch. The sudden movement stops and he eyes the ornate blade hovering a mere inch before his nose. He muses that had the tailed beast, Shukaku, resided within him still, the consequences of such an action would surely have been disastrous. For the hospital and all within, that is, but never himself.
A glaring flaw in the perfection of the weapon draws his eyes forward. A short length of chain barely hangs upon the cunning tip, and Gaara follows the length coolly back to the transformed bed rail of the once-bed containing one of the village's med-nins.
He finds it strange, but for some reason, she still lives.
He sees three more such chains, unsurprisingly, at each of the morphed corners, and slides his eyes back as the pointy metal bit makes a slight grating sound. The ten inch blade slowly withdraws from his face as the boy sniffs derisively, pale face a stony mask.
He watches as Ed shifts his feet into a powerful looking stance suitable for such a weapon. The false left leg makes a whirring sort of noise as it settles solidly beneath his slight form, and molten gold eyes hold Gaara's gaze as he lowers his head below his scarred and tattooed shoulders.
Gaara sweeps his gaze over the sweat drenched brow, noting the slight trembling of muscles, but knows well that the shivers he views before him are certainly not from fear. Ed's high fever had broken just that morning, and without a proper chakra flow, logically, the boy's muscles should be completely overtaxed. He watches Ed's chin juts out in a stubborn, determined line, and a firm glint of distrust flares within his golden hued gaze.
He can barely stand. Does he really think he can fight his way out? Gaara thinks. Such a foolhardy move reminds me.. Of "him".
"You may go, friend." Gaara tries again with an open sweeping hand towards the open door. He darts his eyes behind him to the hunter nin, and counts far too many bodies. "Let him out. Do not bother him, for as of this moment onwards, he is an honored guest of the village."
"Kazekage..! I advise against this! Tracking this golden one with chakra sensor nin will be useless.. He's like a ghost to them." Red demon says.
"I said let him go. Do not pursue him."
"Akatsuki is the priority now. Continue on with your surveillance of the slavers area's activities." Temari says down the hall.
Gaara nods slightly to show his approval and silently thanks his quick witted older sister for ending a pointless argument before it begins. He is aware of certain aspects of this boy, and needs not to be reminded.
"Hai!" The hunter nin say as one. A puff of smoke later, the only person remaining in that end of the hall is the Honored Sibling.
Gaara looks to the ancient fellow, before facing the blond once more. With a frown, he drops his hands to either side, dips into a slight bow, and backs carefully out of the room with exaggerated care. Fierce golden eyes watch him the entire way behind the pathetic threat of a single spear.
"You see now. He doesn't understand a word." Gaara says in a low voice as he settles by the Elder near the wall. He has full view of Ed's cautious creep forward. The boy moves with practiced ease, one foot smoothly crossing over the other.
"It proves very little. He may simply lack the honor to trust the word of the Kazekage." Ebizu replies. Gaara blinks at the aged one's point. He finds it a good one.
Ed hesitates at the door jam, and leans the back of his head against the solid wood. He darts his eyes about the corner and his gaze again lingers a bit too long on Temari down the hall. After a breath, he quickly shifts himself around to bare his weapon at them all.
Gaara is well aware that his older sister does not tell him everything. He folds his arms, an action which he regrets as the spear shifts his way. He remains motionless and stares back at the golden orbs.
After a few heartbeats, Ed darts his eyes about once more and creeps slowly along. Backwards. Gaara wonders at the boy's strategy. It's as if he wants to have the thick sandstone wall nearby, or guarding his back.
Very un-nin like.
Clad in only some skimpy white shorts and ill fitting stolen sandals, the boy called Ed eyes Ebizu suspiciously before he finally backs his way out of sight and down the stairwell.
The ancient nin takes in a wheeze of a breath and turns.
"Tell me why." Ebizu says with lowered brows. "Why let a possible weapon, and a possible threat to the village, go? Are we not at war?!"
"He had ample opportunity, but didn't kill." Gaara replies evenly, and looks as Temari steps up with folded arms. A small sand orb, no wider than his the first knuckle of his index finger, floats down from the ceiling of the boy's hospital room.
"He's a weakling." Temari narrows her eyes at stairwell door. "Are you going to pursue him?"
"I'm watching him for the moment.." Gaara says and lifts his palm to retrieve his sand "eyeball". "Strange. He looked at you like he knew you."
"I noticed." Temari tilts her head at the door. "So. The Akatsuki. Wonder if there's a connection."
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Prompt: blue baboon
A/N: Blue blood is needed to make the legendary blue rose, which is science's gift in lieu of a fountain of youth. However, there are unintended consequences for such activities.
ooooo
The man called Spade brought his septure before his chin and rested his wrinkled hands at the large glittering jewel embedded at the tip. It was all that remained of his rather hefty predecessor, and science had provided the rather spectacular means of disposal. The process used was still murky in his mind after all this time, but he was pretty sure it involved roasting the body for a good long while.
The eyes of the pair of burly thugs dragging in the latest piece of filth past the thick doors quickly slid their eyes to the ground. He carefully schooled his features. That scuffle had happened years back when he still could not grow a respectable beard, and thinking of it always brought an unpleasant looking smile to his face.
Even if the skin is now as shriveled up as the skin of a dried fruit, he thought, watching his servants toss the battered form to the cracked concrete floor,
Spade knew he was getting too old for this kind of work as he dredged up his best glare to throw toward the young man in chains sprawled before him. Still, business was what it was, and had been so for the past five decades in his turf.
He shifted is aching hip in the overtly padded seat, and heard plastic deep within the withered muscles of his groin make an little pop. He liked to think of the ornately carved contraption his throne, as it greatly helped along the inner argument he often had regarding whether the hefty stick he carried with him was more a regal scepter than wooden cane with delusions of grandeur.
"We had an agreement, boy. I gave you the goods. Now." He said aloud without preamble. "Where is my money."
The young man's breath filled the silence. Wide eyes darted about the shadow draped chamber that served as the judgment room, and Spade saw with much satisfaction that the hope for escape died.
Spade frowned his displeasure. The trash rose his gaze his way, and dared to smile. Granted, it was a weak and watery smile, but it still showed teeth.
"G-gone. But..."
"GONE?!?" Spade roared.
The trash shrank down into a shaking little ball, and the chains rattled rather noisily.
"I swear I'll get the money, Spade. I swear it..!"
"Really."
Spade tone was flat as he pushed himself to his feet. His left knee creaked, and the sound of it echoed throughout the room.
"And how much of did you use?" He stated as he limped along at a sedate pace, idly examining his yellowing nails on his right. "Instead of selling it as we agreed."
The trash made a squeaking sort of noise and the quivering seemed to increase about the shoulders. Spade snorted in disgust as he peered down his nose at terrified glassy eyes.
"Spade I.. I.." The trash stammered. Like they always did. Spade turned his gaze pointedly towards a large man standing beside a lever, and gave a slight bob of his head.
"You are fortunate. And have a final deal with me." Spade said airily. "Take him to my island."
"Sir?"
"You heard me." Spade said. "Drop him off somewhere in the jungle."
Spade turned and settled back into his chair.
"It's my private island, which happens to be in the middle of the poisonous lake at the heart of this city.. If you manage to find and capture the blue baboon, alive, you will be allowed live. If not, well.. no great loss to the world."
ooooo
A/n: And I had plotted out more, but got too ambitious for my own good.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
ooooo
The man called Spade brought his septure before his chin and rested his wrinkled hands at the large glittering jewel embedded at the tip. It was all that remained of his rather hefty predecessor, and science had provided the rather spectacular means of disposal. The process used was still murky in his mind after all this time, but he was pretty sure it involved roasting the body for a good long while.
The eyes of the pair of burly thugs dragging in the latest piece of filth past the thick doors quickly slid their eyes to the ground. He carefully schooled his features. That scuffle had happened years back when he still could not grow a respectable beard, and thinking of it always brought an unpleasant looking smile to his face.
Even if the skin is now as shriveled up as the skin of a dried fruit, he thought, watching his servants toss the battered form to the cracked concrete floor,
Spade knew he was getting too old for this kind of work as he dredged up his best glare to throw toward the young man in chains sprawled before him. Still, business was what it was, and had been so for the past five decades in his turf.
He shifted is aching hip in the overtly padded seat, and heard plastic deep within the withered muscles of his groin make an little pop. He liked to think of the ornately carved contraption his throne, as it greatly helped along the inner argument he often had regarding whether the hefty stick he carried with him was more a regal scepter than wooden cane with delusions of grandeur.
"We had an agreement, boy. I gave you the goods. Now." He said aloud without preamble. "Where is my money."
The young man's breath filled the silence. Wide eyes darted about the shadow draped chamber that served as the judgment room, and Spade saw with much satisfaction that the hope for escape died.
Spade frowned his displeasure. The trash rose his gaze his way, and dared to smile. Granted, it was a weak and watery smile, but it still showed teeth.
"G-gone. But..."
"GONE?!?" Spade roared.
The trash shrank down into a shaking little ball, and the chains rattled rather noisily.
"I swear I'll get the money, Spade. I swear it..!"
"Really."
Spade tone was flat as he pushed himself to his feet. His left knee creaked, and the sound of it echoed throughout the room.
"And how much of did you use?" He stated as he limped along at a sedate pace, idly examining his yellowing nails on his right. "Instead of selling it as we agreed."
The trash made a squeaking sort of noise and the quivering seemed to increase about the shoulders. Spade snorted in disgust as he peered down his nose at terrified glassy eyes.
"Spade I.. I.." The trash stammered. Like they always did. Spade turned his gaze pointedly towards a large man standing beside a lever, and gave a slight bob of his head.
"You are fortunate. And have a final deal with me." Spade said airily. "Take him to my island."
"Sir?"
"You heard me." Spade said. "Drop him off somewhere in the jungle."
Spade turned and settled back into his chair.
"It's my private island, which happens to be in the middle of the poisonous lake at the heart of this city.. If you manage to find and capture the blue baboon, alive, you will be allowed live. If not, well.. no great loss to the world."
ooooo
A/n: And I had plotted out more, but got too ambitious for my own good.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Prompt: ghastly was her favorite word.
A/N: and so the bad awful poems return..
OooooO
And so I write this little blurb
Of frilly clothes pecked by a bird
Regarding the girl upon the curb
All she met would be disturbed
That ghastly was her favorite word
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Monday, July 4, 2011
Prompt:Walking with a dead man over my shoulder..
A/N: A scene drabble more than a story. Apologies. It does have potential that I can build on, though.
OoooooO
Jim's skin felt as grimy as a rough boulder, and he hated the grit that crunched in his mouth. It couldn't be helped, he knew. The hot wind blowing in from the south brought dust and sand along with it.
He grumbled to himself as he wiped at his sweaty brow, and shouldered his duffle bag into a more comfortable spot on his aching back.
"Shuuut up already." Whined the fellow within, voice muffled by the bag's tough fabric.
"Oh. Quit your whining."
"Some of us deserve our rest!"
"Just keep it up." Jim squinted into the distance, and shifted his gaze about the horizon as he turned a full circle. Roasting boulders and sand as far as the eye could see, with the occasional dull dried brush to add a bit of cheery character to the wasteland. "I --could-- leave you here."
"Take me back this instant!"
Jim chuckled and gripped his lighter a little tighter. Out here, it was his lucky talisman. When the sun went down in a few, it would be the only light he could travel by.
"Only when I'm done with you. So which way now?"
He heard the zipper a moment before the bag shifted, and something bony jabbed painfully into his left kidney. Paper dry skin kissed his right shoulder, and Jim glanced up at the ancient wreck of a skeleton as it climbed atop him, emerging from the duffle bag at his back. It moved about of its own accord, empty eyes sockets somehow taking in the sights.
Such as they are, Jim thought dryly.
"That way. Fool."
Teeth clicked as the bony face settled somewhat east, and Jim picked out a rock between two large boulders as a landmark. He narrowed his eyes, and sucked in his cheek.
"Water, right?"
"Of course."
"Fresh, drinkable water, right? Near the surface?"
The skeleton sighed out an nonexistent breath.
"You think I'd want to have you die of thirst out here and sentence myself to an eternity of your foul company?"
"Yep. Can't be too careful when you dead reckon these days."
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
OoooooO
Jim's skin felt as grimy as a rough boulder, and he hated the grit that crunched in his mouth. It couldn't be helped, he knew. The hot wind blowing in from the south brought dust and sand along with it.
He grumbled to himself as he wiped at his sweaty brow, and shouldered his duffle bag into a more comfortable spot on his aching back.
"Shuuut up already." Whined the fellow within, voice muffled by the bag's tough fabric.
"Oh. Quit your whining."
"Some of us deserve our rest!"
"Just keep it up." Jim squinted into the distance, and shifted his gaze about the horizon as he turned a full circle. Roasting boulders and sand as far as the eye could see, with the occasional dull dried brush to add a bit of cheery character to the wasteland. "I --could-- leave you here."
"Take me back this instant!"
Jim chuckled and gripped his lighter a little tighter. Out here, it was his lucky talisman. When the sun went down in a few, it would be the only light he could travel by.
"Only when I'm done with you. So which way now?"
He heard the zipper a moment before the bag shifted, and something bony jabbed painfully into his left kidney. Paper dry skin kissed his right shoulder, and Jim glanced up at the ancient wreck of a skeleton as it climbed atop him, emerging from the duffle bag at his back. It moved about of its own accord, empty eyes sockets somehow taking in the sights.
Such as they are, Jim thought dryly.
"That way. Fool."
Teeth clicked as the bony face settled somewhat east, and Jim picked out a rock between two large boulders as a landmark. He narrowed his eyes, and sucked in his cheek.
"Water, right?"
"Of course."
"Fresh, drinkable water, right? Near the surface?"
The skeleton sighed out an nonexistent breath.
"You think I'd want to have you die of thirst out here and sentence myself to an eternity of your foul company?"
"Yep. Can't be too careful when you dead reckon these days."
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Fma-naruto chapter thirteen continued...
Ed smirks as his bare feet touch the floor. His timing, as ever, is flawless. It's shallow and on his upper left thigh, but the equation works well enough. The elemental components of bed smoothly shift from beneath him and swarm to wrap about the woman's body.
The bowl on the low table wobbles, and the woman has time to gasp in surprise before he steps behind her. The equation runs its course by the time he lightly taps the back of her skull with his diamond hard gauntlet.
Her head falls limp to the side of the transformed bed, and he checks her pulse at the neck just to be sure he didn't strike her too hard. The rhythm beats steadily beneath his left fingertips, and with a relieved sigh, he crouches low to take her sandals.
As he steps into them, he frowns.
"Dammit. I am NOT that SMALL." He snarls at the lying leather. He glares at the stupid straps that are certainly not as snug as they should be, and judges he has to make another hole on the strap for the buckle in order to walk about safely.
He pats the woman over carefully, searching for the hidden knives he knows are there. Somewhere. He blushes a few times but he finds them strapped in a neat row at her right thigh, beneath the loose tunic these people seem to favor. Just to be safe, he takes the entire set: he isn't sure how long the woman will be out.
He plops the bundle on the floor beside him and takes one blade out to do the job. It's quick work. He bounces experimentally on the balls of his feet a few times before a wave of dizziness forces him to stop.
That's right. Need food. He thinks as he turns to the low table with the bowl.
After fumbling about with the stupid sticks, he stabs one into something round and pasty floating in the warm brown broth. He narrows his eyes at the doughy thing for a few breaths and brings it to his lips for a small nibble.
The taste is mostly salty, and something odd about it makes his nose wrinkle up. It's not enough to be completely disgusting, so he obeys his grumbling belly and stabs another one with the stick a bit more enthusiastically. Chewing heartily on the dumpling-thing with the not-completely-useless stick jutting past his lips, he shuffles over and cracks the door open.
A pale eyed, redheaded boy with "love" carved into his forehead stands at one end of the hall with his arms folded. Gaahraaahh. Ed meets his icy gaze steadily, and narrows his eyes when the lid on the gourd on the boy's back pops off and clatters to the floor.
Guess a quiet exit is off the table. Ed thinks, and continues to chew the dumpling.
He notices the sand sliding out of the gourd, making a slithering noise much like a snake, and widens his eyes. He watches warily as the sand rises into the air and shoves the door wide open like a living thing.
He takes in a startled breath and smells blood. He wrinkles his nose in disgust as he takes a step back. He has no answers as to how the sand is being moved in such a way, and sweeps his eyes throughout the hall beyond the doorway.
Far beyond this "Gahrah", a bunch of faceless goons in cool looking demon masks crouch defensively about the old man he spent the morning ignoring.
At the other end he glimpses a tall blond woman and for a heartbeat, his gaze darts back.
Her hair is pulled back into four pony tails instead of the formal clip she usually prefers while on duty, but there is no doubt in his mind who it is that stands guarding that escape route: Riza Hawkeye. She moves smoothly in the flowing robes of these people, her dark eyes sniper sharp and fixated on him. He watches one arm reaching behind her back, likely for a gun, and Ed quickly swallows down what is in his mouth.
He knows with that cold look from Hawkeye, of all people, it is likely to be his last meal.
He feels the sand rush about him, and by instinct, Ed slaps his palms together. He knows well that sand is made of two elements.. Silicon and oxygen, arranged in a matrix of one. Most rocks are made from variations of the stuff, and if his had the time he could make use of it. Only. There is no time. No time at all to calculate a proper equation.
Alchemy is the science that is comprised of three steps: Understanding. Deconstruction and reconstruction. He learned long ago that you don't always have to advance to the final step.
In a flash of blue lightening, his will slices through the bonds binding silicon and oxygen together. Instead of sand, grey goo plops noisily to the hospital floor. By the smell earlier, Ed suspects a little dried rotten blood drips like rain along with it.
His heart races as he twists away from the door and into a roll, slapping his hands together on the way.
Ed completes the move and pulls out his signature staff from the wall. The effort leaves him sweaty and panting, but he stands at the ready, pointing the blade at the redhead entering the room. The boy's face is expressionless as he waves over his shoulder to the masked guys gathering behind him. Ed can see the look he gives Riza down the hall, which anyone would interpret to mean "back off", and spits the stick out of his mouth.
The boy toes the gray goo, and slides his pale gaze to the transformed bed's captive. Heartbeats pass before the icy stare returns to regard Ed.
An eternity passes in silence. Ed finds himself tempted to inch closer to the thick wall behind him. His entire being aches to chance another transmutation, but the fear of loosing consciousness doing so stops him. He doesn't want to die is such a stupid way! If only he had a chance to eat more food!
He watches the boy move aside, and wave grandly at the open door with an open palm. Whatever he says, Ed doesn't know.
The boy repeats the phrase, and Ed scrunches his brows together.
Then the boy says a word that he does know. One that causes him lower the spear slightly. One that he learned from a merchant just a few days before.
"Friend."
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
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