Fma naruto crossover chapter six cont..

"That's...! Squad Leader!" Matsuri hears over the radio in her ear, and lowers her brows as she takes in a startled breath. "Squad Leader..!"

"Go."

"Food court! He's in food court!"

"What that close..? The hell..?" Matsuri silently agrees with the sentiment as she glowers at the lifeless alley she is watching. Just the street over..? What kind of jonin does that..? "Team check in at position one! Now."

"Where?" Matsuri hears and shakes her head in disbelief. Even though she is a lowly genin, she knows where position one is at least. Gaara, the kage himself, had assigned numbers to all the basic landmarks of Sand years ago, for the betterment of organised defense of the village, and those same numbers were drilled into all Sand academy students.

"Sigh. Hospital roof.. " Came the reply, and Matsuri thought she could hear the speaker's eyes rolling. "Newbies.."

"Oh.. Shut it.. Just say what it is next time ok.!? Enroute."

"Enroute." Matsuri says and gathers her chakra to the bottoms of her feet. As she sprints to the top of the hospital wall as quickly as she can, she frowns. Too slow, again! she thinks as she sees the dark forms of the hastily assigned squad squat low on the flat surface, stark against the orange light of the setting sun. She wonders briefly if they have been there for hours, and counts three: two males, one female. One of the males, curiously, wears a dark green Leaf flak jacket and forehead protector.

"Explains much." Remembering the odd question. Leaf nins certainly wouldn't know Sand's defensive arrangements any more than Sand knew Leaf's. She wonders why this Leaf nin is even here, considering that Leaf was destroyed a few weeks ago. Didn't they recall all their people to help rebuild?

The woman leans low by the edge, elbow on her knees with a pair of binoculars affixed to her face. Matsuri is startled to find she wears a porcelyn mask, shaped to resemble a green, snarling, saw-toothed demon with a pair of sharp horns draping down from the forehead. Such a mask, she knows, is assigned to those who specialise in the violent disposing of people. Matsuri swallows a sudden lump in her throat.

She dispises violence. Greatly.

"That him..? Is that the target..?" Matsuri hears the leader say over the radio as she winds the rope of her weapon, a johyo, back into place.

"Standy by." Replies the masked woman. "The light show's definitely like what was on the vid, but.."

"But what?"

"Could be nothing. It's from that soup wagon that had the explosion this morning... The one from Leaf. The merchant might just be making repairs."

"Copy." the leader squaws over the radio. "Don't want an international incident. Get a firm visual before proceeding."

"Copy." The masked woman says, "that's makes this difficult." She turns the horrible mask Matsuri's way, and Matsuri swears she is being judged under her weighty gaze. She struggles to school her face into the sturdy expression a nin should have, regardless of rank.
"Matsuri!" The woman calls out.

"Hai.!"

"You were the last to see him.." The masked woman begins as she rises to her feet. Matsuri tries not to look at the unnerving porcelin mask too closely, an focuses her eyes upon the woman's forehead protector tied about her neck.

"Yes." She says.

"You reported that he called you by another name, then turned away, correct?" Before Matsuri can nod, the woman says,
"Good. We have to do this quiet."

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Fma-naruto chapter six..

A/n-- got stuck with a long boring shift, so I decided to begin working on this a bit sooner.. More to come..
--oo--
Ed scowls as a meaty hand grasps his right shoulder, then jerks his head up off the wall. He lifts his heavy eyelids and sees a low table before him, and frowns in his confusion. When did he ever sit down? He slides his eyes to the helpful wall that had supported his head, dully recognizing its composition as wood.

He hears a male voice grumble nearby, but fumbles the meaning of the words. Groggily, he traces the sound to its source: a man dressed in a white apron and paper hat standing before the awsomest stove he has ever seen.

Overall humanoid in form, its hunched shoulders tower over the vendor. Many spikes protruded from the back, and Ed surmises they were functional smoke stacks. He watches the vendor tentatively turn one of the ten eye-like dials on the sculpted face looming above his head, moving with care to avoid touching the jagged teeth within the gaping mouth, and sharply tap a ladle against the side of a great pot. The corners of Ed's mouth tug upwards as his foggy brain recalls that the demonic metal box is his handiwork.

His hands are still free. He is still free. He let's his shoulders relax. His brother Al..

He recalls golden eyes trapped in a bony thin frame. Golden hair shifts to bright red and back, and he squeezes his eyes closed. Brother.. No..

Before he can yawn, a great steaming bowl filled to the brim with slices of meat, long noodles, and a delicious smelling thin broth is set before his nose.

His gamble has paid off.

He owlishly drools in delight as his stomach roars in eagerness, and, hands on either side of the soup, darts his eyes around for silverware. Finding none, his brows meet at the bridge of his nose.

"Are you supposed to eat this with your hands..?" Ed says softly at the tasty looking puzzle. Unsurprisingly, the great bowl does not reply.

Impatiently, he picks up a slice of hot! meat with his fingertips, and just as he brings the morsel to his lips, the man loudly yells out. Ed glares at the thin pair of sticks roughly shoved into his free hand, and turns the gaze to the scowl of the vendor.

The vendor says an incomprehensible mouthful as he jabs his finger at Ed's chest. Ed frowns, turns his gaze to the sticks in his hand, and narrows his eyes.

Of course. I'm in Xing. Xingese eat with sticks. Somehow. Ed thinks, and nods once at the angry vendor as he awkwardly arranges the sticks between his clumsy fingers. I wish I learned how to use these stupid things earlier.

"Ah well." Ed muttered in a grumble of his own. "Can't be helped."

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Wax paper.. Chapter 3

This story hasn't vanished! It's now available for purchase at Amazon.com at the Kindle store (7, 2011) in the book: Llothcat's Fictional Portal, by Debra Colvin. You don't even need a Kindle device to download the book, as you can download the free program to any pc. I happen to have the free application on my blackberry phone. Any questions, comments,etc.can be e-mailed to directly at: llothcat@sbcglobal.net

Today's piece...kittens will cure most anything

A/n: Is delayed. Sorry. This will be replaced as soon as I manage to finish it.
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--oo--

I heard the heavy thump above me as I took my first tentative step into the lowest stairwell. I knew it could only be one thing, and stooped to grap the nearest of the kittens from the sagging cat tree as I went by. Noisly clomping up the steps, scatching the fuzzball behind her ears as I pressed her small body against mine, it wasn't long before I could hear the high whine of the computer screen. And another thump.


"Are you ok..?" I called, rising to my toes to peer past the false wall.


"..fine." Came the reply from my roomate. "fine."


Thump!


I felt my brows nearly touch. The voice of my roommate sounded quite muffled. Another step up, and I had a clear view of the computer chair. Upon it was my roomate, but he did not look at all comfortable: the ankles of both feet touched the back of his neck. Another step up and I saw an arm pinned to the small of his back. I swallowed, and glanced at the flickering screen.


I could easily see he had surfed to a messege board, where a newssite declared in bold letters: "Osama Bin Laden is Dead". It explained much to me. Only events that big could possibly tie my friend into such knots.


"meow..?" I looked down at the fuzzball, and saw the wide frightened eyes looking right back. I scatched her head absently, and approached my knotted up roomie. For a few moments, I looked on in amazement as he rabidly typed several paragraphs with his one free hand.


I took in a breath, and let it out. I had to wait. Things like this had to be timed just right.


I watched as he angrily jabbed the return key, sending off whatever message he had written. I held the kitten firmly with both hands.


Just as he managed to turn his head my way, I lifted both hands, and balanced the fuzzball between them. When he slid his eyes towards me, said fuzzball squirmed. I saw the corners of his mouth lift slightly when the kitten squeeked in protest to the awkward handling of her form.


He scritched her head with his free hand, turning away at last from the blasted screen. The hand behind his back came out next, taking hold of her round furred belly. I turned away and desended the stairs before the legs came down from his neck with a pair of much softer "thumps'.

tuesday's poetry

a/n: another bad poem...

--oo--

putting things into words
is awfully hard
when buzzed by a bird.

Fma naruto chapter five continued...

Matsuri adjusts the ear piece of her radio as she half jogs down the street just beyond the hospital's entrance. Eyes darting about searchingly for the unkempt long brown tunic moving amongst the milling civilians, she then grips the rope of her only weapon. The golden eyed boy is a jonin, she reminds herself, and chews her bottom lip. What chance do I have against the likes of him? I'm only a genin...

As she expected, she sees nothing out of the ordinary. Her eyes dart upwards to the tops of the surrounding buildings and she sighs at the leaping nins that walk up and down the walls in such a casual ease. And waste of chakra. She knew well that her own pool of chakra was pathetically low, and her chakra control wasn't exactly considered adequate.

If I were a jonin...why would I ever bother staying on the ground. She thinks bitterly, and let her eyes sweep the street in defeat.

A glint low to the ground catches her eye, and she lowers her brows. She rushes over to the spot, staring in disbelief.

Oh..

A nin's forehead protector, and rather than being folded properly at all, it drapes on the ground like a discarded rag. She darts here eyes about, knowing it could only be very forehead protector the boy jonin had on when she had last seen him. An empty glass bottle of sake slowly rolls out from the dark alley she is standing in front of, clinking to a stop against a wall.

So he went this way? She thinks, and peers into the alley. Nothing moves amongst the strewn garbage for several heartbeats. Or this way..? She looks up and down the street. Did he use a time-space justu or maybe used a jutsu to jump...

As her thoughts whir through all the jonin jutsu possibilities, she carefully scoops up the discarded forehead protector, and attaches it to her belt. She then hurries off down the street to a corner where she could eye the alley entrance.

...or is this a genjutsu he cast and I'm caught in..?

With that horrifying thought, she squints her eyes closed and concentrates, focusing on the flow of chakra through her body. She takes a deep breath, and says, "Release!"

She feels her muscles shudder in protest from the disrupted chakra, but nothing changes. The street remains a street. The garbage strewn alley remains a lifeless garbage strewn alley.

"Squad leader, I think I have something." She says into the radio.

"Copy." Came the brisk reply.

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Fma-naruto crossover chapter 5

Ed feels his stomach gnaw incessantly on his spine, rousing his nose to search past the miasma of old piss, puke, rotting food, and stale alcohol filling his hiding place. Wafting in with that breath, something delicious and brimming with salt and grease and oh..my..

...is that beef?

His mouth waters in eagerness as he shifts his weight. He pauses as he hears the pounding of sandled feet, and glances behind him. A girl runs off along the street in the normal sort of way, but he waits an uncertain moment. His mind spins through the many many unknown variables to this Xing place-- that gravity defying mode of transport likely the just the tip of what he hasn't seen of what his new owners are capable of -- two, no three, hazy figures he is sure are from this Xing, whose faces linger beyond the grasp of his memory, would find him with maddening ease.

His stomach grinds painfully about his middle enough that he presses his right down to quiet it. He has to eat. He has to eat. He grits his teeth and frowns. It may mean a chance of recapture, but he has to eat.

The sky glows a cheery orange when he shifts woozily back to his bandaged feet, and leaning one hand against the curved wall to hold himself properly upright, he shuffles further down the corridor. He hopes it is away from possible view.

With each step, the noise of joyful chatter fill his ears, and he widens his eyes at the crossroads of sorts that the alley's end. Brightly colored flags with bold blocky print drape over wheeled carts and wagons lined up on either side of the wide curving street. One man dressed in what looks to be a blue bathrobe hands over colorful paper notes, and a heaping plate of steaming dumplings graces his empty hands from the one with a white apron standing within the spare shelter offered by a wagon.

It is an ordinary and familiar pattern: the way of the world. Ed sighs out a breath quickly works out what is happening; equivalent exchange in action. This must be a merchant district, he reasons, and watches the thick crowd of people as the bumble past.

"Fast food." Ed breathes hungrily and quickly checks the buildings for the "weird" walkers before stumbling forward into the press of bodies.

One vendor drops something on his left with a harsh tone of phrase. He hears the distinct sizzling of fat on hot grills, and eyes the sudden flames flaring up, and the hateful scowl of the man as he shakes his reddening hand. He mentally notes those words down, not entire sure just what they are but liking sentiment alone.

He eyes the lettering on the flapping fabric around him and, although it is completely unfamiliar, finds he can read it.

"Shibu shibu.." He says as he stumbles to a halt, and the sizzling beef smell jumbles the words' meaning. He wonders a moment if his frequent trips through.. Something dark. Horrible. he can't.. won't ...recall.. He shakes his head and stumbles on. Maybe he's screwed. Maybe he scrambled up his mind so much that language is beyond him now. Not that it matters much.. His palms pat the no pockets at his hips, the thin hospital bloomers hiding nothing.

The fingers of his left twitch as if expecting something heavy to be chained there.. But the fact is fact: no money means he can't buy any food. Which brings up a whole new problem.

The crowd pushes him along, and he scowls up at them, noticing for the first time that most tower over him by at least a foot. He pushes past at group of such freakishly tall girls at a hearty stumble, and finds himself at wagon sagging to one side. He works out that one wheeled wooden rim shattered on a rock on the furthest side.

Ed narrows his eyes at the signs which proclaim "first comfort famous ramen", and then watches the sullen looking balding vendor, in a white apron and paper hat, pull down a shade that says "closed. please come again".

Wheels are broken. His mind echoes, swirling about the fluctuations of equivalent exchange and by his calculations, he may be able to make a trade for a single serving of whatever this "ramen" is. He stumbles to the wagon to stand at the vendor's side. The vendor glares down in displeasure.

The vendor says something.

Ed points to a big bowl, supposing "ramen" is a sort of soup.

The vendor repeats the same something. Ed folds his arms and makes sure he glares right back, then darts his eyes to the crowd flowing by with a raised eyebrow.

The vendor reaches for the second blind and Ed reaches up to stop him. Then peers over into the open flat. This close to the inside of the wagon, he can see another-- yet bigger problem-- likely the true reason the vendor is closing. The boxy metal stove, much like the ones each of the other wagons sport, sits away in the corner, only its shape bows outward in a no longer quite boxy manner. An obvious, gaping wound on the roundest bit splays jagged metal, and finger like shards stick into the wood just below his gaze.

Ed thins his lips and slides his eyes slyly back to the vendor, jutting his chin once more towards the large bowl.

The vendor lowers his face so that his nose touches Ed's, and he growls that same phrase that Ed is now sure means "go away you fool idiot".

Ed lowers his brows, and says in a low voice.

"Alchemy."

He clamors into the wagon, squirming past the vendor's reaching hands. Kneeling before the former stove, hands pressed together as if in prayer, he juts his chin firmly again towards the bowl.

The vendor's brows press together as Ed splays his fingers before the blasted metal. And rise to his hairline as the light of the reaction sparks a furious blue.

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