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Right. Ficbittery.
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beeblebabe and geekerypokery write the best smut ever and everyone should read it. This is my public service announcement of the day.
Back in dorm. Psych test went well. Love the city. I get an immature giggle out of seeing a big sign that's supposed to say "Canal Jewelry" and would, if it weren't missing the "C". I was actually born in the city, though you wouldn't guess it. Only say that because mom started pointing out where we used to live in the village, my preschool, the clock on the library my dad walked me by every day--yeah, nostalgia. It's grand. But it was a nice feeling. Always is. I want to live in the city again someday. If only because it would mean I'd never have to drive. Ever. No, seriously, the idea of being supposedly in control of a big hunk of metal and explosive fluids is surprisingly unappealing to a spazz like me. I'm all for getting lost on the subway as an alternative.
That or horses. I'm all for reinstating horses as a standard mode of transportation.
Also. Unfinished ficbittery. This is a ficjournal, believe it or not. Mostly because my life is wholly standard and uninteresting barring you know fires my dorm and guys marching my roommate off to the supermarket at three in the morning because she's never had strawberries. Which um was obviously rectified.
Fullmetal Alchemist. Elric brother antics. Very much in progress. (Also. MONKEYS. Er. demi monkeys anyway. Alchemy's funny like that. Also. Al is cutest soul trapped in a suit of armor in existance....quit pouting 66.)
The chimera must have been watching him from the moment he stepped into the room, but Alphonse didn’t notice it until it leapt onto the chair from the desk, and sent the papers flying. With a round face, pricked ears, and covered in downy fur, he would have mistaken it for just a plain white kitten, if it weren’t for the fact that its tail was twined twice through the carvings of the chair’s backing, and tiny grey fingers were curled about the edge of it, thumbs included, flexing restlessly.
“Oh,” Alphonse said. “Hello.”
“Miao,” said the chimera as though in reply. It reared up on its hindquarters, and flicked its whiskers thoughtfully. He offered it his hand, and its ears flattened against its skull—it gave a small, suspicious yowl.
“I won’t hurt you,” he assured. It didn’t look terribly convinced, or like it had understood much either, but it leaned forward anyway, to take a cautious sniff. Its pink nose brushed the metal, and it jerked back. “It’s sort of strange, I know…”
Black beady eyes stared up at him in complete bafflement. Its face was a little flatter than a cat’s, on closer observation.
“I’m just a little different,” Alphonse murmured.
“Miao,” said the chimera again, and after a moment unwound its tail from the chair and crawled up his arm. Alphonse laughed softly, and it paused halfway up to blink before, with purely feline boldness, it made the leap to his shoulder, where it curled itself around one of the spikes and settled down. It let him stroke its chin, and the sound it made couldn’t quite be called a purr. Its fur looked very soft.
“Did you escape from one of those cages?”
There was, of course, no ready answer.
“I’m sorry. You don’t understand me.” He stood carefully and shifted to get a good scan of the room, keeping his fingers still enough for the chimera to rub its head. His shadow looked like some hulking beast on the wall, in the guttering light of the lamp he’d brought with him. “But it’s all right. We’ll take care of you. Please don’t worry too much.”
There wasn’t really much to find in that room, a lot of empty cages, one chimera, and a few musty old sheets of parchment that looked more like unfinished letters than research notes. Still, Alphonse collected what he could find, brushing the cobwebs off and doing his best to carry them carefully; so nothing crumbled to dust. The script was small and neat—controlled and intelligible. If the man who’d written them had been the late owner of the castle, then clearly, they’d been written a long time ago indeed. The chimera stayed on his shoulder the whole time, observing with little sound; save the faint mewl of protest when he’d pulled his hand away. It seemed mostly content with its new perch.
“It’s all right,” Alphonse told it again gently as he pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped back into the hall.
It must have been impressive once, with the red carpet on the floor, tapestries and sculptures along the walls. It looked as though the old alchemist Dietrich had had a taste for grandeur even in his younger days, but if it had gone sour or if he had just gone too mad to care, Alphonse would never know. The carpet was faded and slashed in places, the tapestries hung more like heavy spider webs; eaten away. Many of the sculptures were headless, limbless—cut cleanly, the bared innards of the stone far younger looking than the weathered surfaces. There was something almost gruesome about it, especially when some of those missing appendages had simply been left lying around at the feet of their owners or kicked into the walls, which rose wide and black above all else. It somehow suited. He could almost hear the old man’s voice from the dark beyond his lamplight. Like his last laugh; echoing high and proud and mad from off the window of his main study as he’d thrown himself back, still echoing even long after the ground had cut him off.
Something would have to be done about the body later.
Edward was still in the study when Alphonse returned, sitting under the window—shut now, with the curtains drawn closed—cross legged with a pile of books scattered across the floor in front of him, torn down from every shelf in the room. He was flipping through one the newer bound texts with a lazy disgust, eyes narrowed as he surveyed the ragged, crooked handwriting. He didn’t look up from it.
Alphonse paused just inside the door, holding the lantern up helpfully. The chimera stirred on his shoulder. Its weight rattled against his plating.
“Brother--” he started.
Edward sat back turned the book upside down and squinted. His nose practically pressed into the page.
“--Anything?”
“…Al, I’m not even sure what /language/ this guy is writing in anymore.” He flipped it sideways, and pulled it back a few centimeters, straining his eyes. His expression was incredulous, almost impressed. “…He really did go crazy. These don’t even look like sentences. This is…” He finished with a frustrated snarl, dropped the book, and gave it a good irreverent kick. “Shit. This is shit. Completely useless.”
“Um.” Alphonse shuffled forward, offering the papers. “I found these in the east wing? The room wasn’t locked.”
His brother stopped swearing and looked up. “Ah? Let’s see…” He got up into a crouch, leaning over. He made a face. “…these are old. I don’t want his old research. I’ve /seen/ his old research, ten, twenty, thousand times before! It’s nothing special—and, huh, wait who’s he talking to here?” Edward scooted closer. “This is--”
He stopped. The chimera had crawled down Alphonse’s arm to get a look for itself.
“Al.”
“It’s not that, brother! I found it with the--”
“This isn’t a kitten.”
“No.”
“Miaoooo,” grumbled the chimera, as Edward reached over to scoop it up under its forelegs. It wriggled, but submitted peacefully enough. It was probably was used to being handled far worse. Its tail lashed like a metronome, its feet grasped ineffectually at the air. Edward tipped his head.
“Cat. Monkey—squirrel monkey if I had to guess. Coat’s all the same color and thickness.” He gave it a slight, sharp lift and it yelped. “Responsive. Doesn’t look like its blind, seems like its moving and breathing fine. Shows characteristics of both parent species, favors the cat, but what are you going to do. Looks healthy. Looks alive. Trying to gnaw my hand off. This is a well made chimera,” Edward recited dully. His lip curled. “Damn.”
“Brother…”
“It’s coming with us.” Edward’s jaw tightened, as he watched it chew on the fabric of his glove. Its fangs were fairly blunt, not that it could have done much damage to that hand anyway. “It has to. It’s under my jurisdiction. Hey, hey, you’ll break your teeth if you keep that up.” He ran his thumb over its head. “That Dietrich bastard didn’t make you too smart did he? Al.” He smiled tiredly. “How about one more look around the place, and we’ll call it a night?”
beeblebabe and geekerypokery write the best smut ever and everyone should read it. This is my public service announcement of the day.Back in dorm. Psych test went well. Love the city. I get an immature giggle out of seeing a big sign that's supposed to say "Canal Jewelry" and would, if it weren't missing the "C". I was actually born in the city, though you wouldn't guess it. Only say that because mom started pointing out where we used to live in the village, my preschool, the clock on the library my dad walked me by every day--yeah, nostalgia. It's grand. But it was a nice feeling. Always is. I want to live in the city again someday. If only because it would mean I'd never have to drive. Ever. No, seriously, the idea of being supposedly in control of a big hunk of metal and explosive fluids is surprisingly unappealing to a spazz like me. I'm all for getting lost on the subway as an alternative.
That or horses. I'm all for reinstating horses as a standard mode of transportation.
Also. Unfinished ficbittery. This is a ficjournal, believe it or not. Mostly because my life is wholly standard and uninteresting barring you know fires my dorm and guys marching my roommate off to the supermarket at three in the morning because she's never had strawberries. Which um was obviously rectified.
Fullmetal Alchemist. Elric brother antics. Very much in progress. (Also. MONKEYS. Er. demi monkeys anyway. Alchemy's funny like that. Also. Al is cutest soul trapped in a suit of armor in existance....quit pouting 66.)
The chimera must have been watching him from the moment he stepped into the room, but Alphonse didn’t notice it until it leapt onto the chair from the desk, and sent the papers flying. With a round face, pricked ears, and covered in downy fur, he would have mistaken it for just a plain white kitten, if it weren’t for the fact that its tail was twined twice through the carvings of the chair’s backing, and tiny grey fingers were curled about the edge of it, thumbs included, flexing restlessly.
“Oh,” Alphonse said. “Hello.”
“Miao,” said the chimera as though in reply. It reared up on its hindquarters, and flicked its whiskers thoughtfully. He offered it his hand, and its ears flattened against its skull—it gave a small, suspicious yowl.
“I won’t hurt you,” he assured. It didn’t look terribly convinced, or like it had understood much either, but it leaned forward anyway, to take a cautious sniff. Its pink nose brushed the metal, and it jerked back. “It’s sort of strange, I know…”
Black beady eyes stared up at him in complete bafflement. Its face was a little flatter than a cat’s, on closer observation.
“I’m just a little different,” Alphonse murmured.
“Miao,” said the chimera again, and after a moment unwound its tail from the chair and crawled up his arm. Alphonse laughed softly, and it paused halfway up to blink before, with purely feline boldness, it made the leap to his shoulder, where it curled itself around one of the spikes and settled down. It let him stroke its chin, and the sound it made couldn’t quite be called a purr. Its fur looked very soft.
“Did you escape from one of those cages?”
There was, of course, no ready answer.
“I’m sorry. You don’t understand me.” He stood carefully and shifted to get a good scan of the room, keeping his fingers still enough for the chimera to rub its head. His shadow looked like some hulking beast on the wall, in the guttering light of the lamp he’d brought with him. “But it’s all right. We’ll take care of you. Please don’t worry too much.”
There wasn’t really much to find in that room, a lot of empty cages, one chimera, and a few musty old sheets of parchment that looked more like unfinished letters than research notes. Still, Alphonse collected what he could find, brushing the cobwebs off and doing his best to carry them carefully; so nothing crumbled to dust. The script was small and neat—controlled and intelligible. If the man who’d written them had been the late owner of the castle, then clearly, they’d been written a long time ago indeed. The chimera stayed on his shoulder the whole time, observing with little sound; save the faint mewl of protest when he’d pulled his hand away. It seemed mostly content with its new perch.
“It’s all right,” Alphonse told it again gently as he pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped back into the hall.
It must have been impressive once, with the red carpet on the floor, tapestries and sculptures along the walls. It looked as though the old alchemist Dietrich had had a taste for grandeur even in his younger days, but if it had gone sour or if he had just gone too mad to care, Alphonse would never know. The carpet was faded and slashed in places, the tapestries hung more like heavy spider webs; eaten away. Many of the sculptures were headless, limbless—cut cleanly, the bared innards of the stone far younger looking than the weathered surfaces. There was something almost gruesome about it, especially when some of those missing appendages had simply been left lying around at the feet of their owners or kicked into the walls, which rose wide and black above all else. It somehow suited. He could almost hear the old man’s voice from the dark beyond his lamplight. Like his last laugh; echoing high and proud and mad from off the window of his main study as he’d thrown himself back, still echoing even long after the ground had cut him off.
Something would have to be done about the body later.
Edward was still in the study when Alphonse returned, sitting under the window—shut now, with the curtains drawn closed—cross legged with a pile of books scattered across the floor in front of him, torn down from every shelf in the room. He was flipping through one the newer bound texts with a lazy disgust, eyes narrowed as he surveyed the ragged, crooked handwriting. He didn’t look up from it.
Alphonse paused just inside the door, holding the lantern up helpfully. The chimera stirred on his shoulder. Its weight rattled against his plating.
“Brother--” he started.
Edward sat back turned the book upside down and squinted. His nose practically pressed into the page.
“--Anything?”
“…Al, I’m not even sure what /language/ this guy is writing in anymore.” He flipped it sideways, and pulled it back a few centimeters, straining his eyes. His expression was incredulous, almost impressed. “…He really did go crazy. These don’t even look like sentences. This is…” He finished with a frustrated snarl, dropped the book, and gave it a good irreverent kick. “Shit. This is shit. Completely useless.”
“Um.” Alphonse shuffled forward, offering the papers. “I found these in the east wing? The room wasn’t locked.”
His brother stopped swearing and looked up. “Ah? Let’s see…” He got up into a crouch, leaning over. He made a face. “…these are old. I don’t want his old research. I’ve /seen/ his old research, ten, twenty, thousand times before! It’s nothing special—and, huh, wait who’s he talking to here?” Edward scooted closer. “This is--”
He stopped. The chimera had crawled down Alphonse’s arm to get a look for itself.
“Al.”
“It’s not that, brother! I found it with the--”
“This isn’t a kitten.”
“No.”
“Miaoooo,” grumbled the chimera, as Edward reached over to scoop it up under its forelegs. It wriggled, but submitted peacefully enough. It was probably was used to being handled far worse. Its tail lashed like a metronome, its feet grasped ineffectually at the air. Edward tipped his head.
“Cat. Monkey—squirrel monkey if I had to guess. Coat’s all the same color and thickness.” He gave it a slight, sharp lift and it yelped. “Responsive. Doesn’t look like its blind, seems like its moving and breathing fine. Shows characteristics of both parent species, favors the cat, but what are you going to do. Looks healthy. Looks alive. Trying to gnaw my hand off. This is a well made chimera,” Edward recited dully. His lip curled. “Damn.”
“Brother…”
“It’s coming with us.” Edward’s jaw tightened, as he watched it chew on the fabric of his glove. Its fangs were fairly blunt, not that it could have done much damage to that hand anyway. “It has to. It’s under my jurisdiction. Hey, hey, you’ll break your teeth if you keep that up.” He ran his thumb over its head. “That Dietrich bastard didn’t make you too smart did he? Al.” He smiled tiredly. “How about one more look around the place, and we’ll call it a night?”