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Home now. Dorms closed for the night.
Some genius lit a couch on fire.
And then I ficced. More Fullmetal Alchemist. Sinfic, at that. Mostly taken from the anime, but based on a certain scene in volume 6.
Excuse me Miss, men say when she wants them to, when they see her on the streets with an umbrella shadowing her face. Excuse me Miss, are you looking for someone?
Yes, actually. A boy about this high, a bit of a bold little creature, gold hair, gold eyes—ah? No? A pity. He’s a special one to see. No matter. Have a nice day, sir. And a simple smile makes them flush, even in the cold wet rain there is still warmth to be spared for as useless of a reaction.
They see her on the battlefield, bullets flying past her hair like little birds through the trees. In the din and roar of dead and dying she is straight shouldered and perfectly comfortable tiptoeing through the ruins of a broken church, among the bones of the old parishioners and the bodies of the new not quite joined with the congregation. Heaven receive me, they gasp eyes cast skywards and bodies broken. Heaven help me. She presses a white hand to a cheek or a heart and shakes her head.
You’re looking in the wrong place. He’s not up there. Poor thing. Poor pathetic thing. You have to pay a little more than that, to talk to the right people.
She finds it funny humans still make their trades in paper and stone. Miss, they ask when they see her in the market. Would you like to buy something?
Why yes I would.
She never tells them what.
Sometimes when she feels bored she lets a man sit next to her on the train. They sit in silence and then she lets him notice her and cough in that charmingly obnoxious human way. Lady, where you headed?
To meet an old acquaintance.
They make their assumptions. Pity he let a thing like you go.
It really is.
Blood is a far more viable currency, she’s always believed. There’s so much more of it to be found. No one sees her leave the hotel.
Excuse me, say the old men to her on a pier when she is black against the golden waters, gazing up at her with tired red eyes and cracked dusky skin. There is the wisdom of the aged and the soon to die there. She’s heard the question before. Humans are hopelessly repetitive for creatures that know very little of eternity. Are you looking for someone?
Yes, actually.
Some people call him God.
And then I ficced. More Fullmetal Alchemist. Sinfic, at that. Mostly taken from the anime, but based on a certain scene in volume 6.
Excuse me Miss, men say when she wants them to, when they see her on the streets with an umbrella shadowing her face. Excuse me Miss, are you looking for someone?
Yes, actually. A boy about this high, a bit of a bold little creature, gold hair, gold eyes—ah? No? A pity. He’s a special one to see. No matter. Have a nice day, sir. And a simple smile makes them flush, even in the cold wet rain there is still warmth to be spared for as useless of a reaction.
They see her on the battlefield, bullets flying past her hair like little birds through the trees. In the din and roar of dead and dying she is straight shouldered and perfectly comfortable tiptoeing through the ruins of a broken church, among the bones of the old parishioners and the bodies of the new not quite joined with the congregation. Heaven receive me, they gasp eyes cast skywards and bodies broken. Heaven help me. She presses a white hand to a cheek or a heart and shakes her head.
You’re looking in the wrong place. He’s not up there. Poor thing. Poor pathetic thing. You have to pay a little more than that, to talk to the right people.
She finds it funny humans still make their trades in paper and stone. Miss, they ask when they see her in the market. Would you like to buy something?
Why yes I would.
She never tells them what.
Sometimes when she feels bored she lets a man sit next to her on the train. They sit in silence and then she lets him notice her and cough in that charmingly obnoxious human way. Lady, where you headed?
To meet an old acquaintance.
They make their assumptions. Pity he let a thing like you go.
It really is.
Blood is a far more viable currency, she’s always believed. There’s so much more of it to be found. No one sees her leave the hotel.
Excuse me, say the old men to her on a pier when she is black against the golden waters, gazing up at her with tired red eyes and cracked dusky skin. There is the wisdom of the aged and the soon to die there. She’s heard the question before. Humans are hopelessly repetitive for creatures that know very little of eternity. Are you looking for someone?
Yes, actually.
Some people call him God.
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I'm so glad to be living in a HOUSE again. Even with two small, destructive children running amok, it's not nearly so bad.
Fic: LOVE. I don't know FMA, but I absolutely adored this. *_*
Ah, off to bed for me. Here's hoping your dorm isn't thrashed upon your return.
just curious...
(Anonymous) 2004-06-25 02:29 pm (UTC)(link)Where DID you get volume six? off the internet by any chance?
care to share...?
heh..heh..*sweatdrops*
Keep up the good work.