Baby won't you light my fi~yah~
May. 7th, 2004 09:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonsheenHappy Birthday ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chirachira!
And for you, as per request, I give you Elizafic of the, erm. Awkward variety! Eliza for those just tuning in, would be fromnekokoban and harukami's brilliant genderswitch AU. The universe with which I am probably playing fast and hard and the result is probably none too pretty, so apologies all around. Go read their fics already. It's good stuff.
Warnings for choppyness, weird tenses, and extreme Girl.
She comes in at one thirty-two sharp, with a panicked look and a sheet trailing behind her. Clutching the cloth, she speaks; in barely modulated tones, quick and desperate and utterly incomprehensible, and in the time it takes Roy to wake up completely she is at the foot of his bed, the cross-breeze from the open door behind her has made the room bitterly cold, and he realizes with a dumb, sleep-deprived amazement, that Edward Elric’s is close to hysterics. Her face is white, and her metal fingers twist hard enough into the sheet he’s sure it’s probably been torn at least three times already.
“…don’t tell Al…” She says. “Said I’m fine. Don’t tell him. Just /don’t/--”
Roy sits up, wincing as the draft hits his back. “What is it?” he asks, and when she tells him—with a knitted brow and the high notes of a thirteen year old girl about to start shouting—he leans over and sets a hand on her good shoulder to startle her out of it. “Calm down,” he murmurs, letting her compose herself for a moment before asking again and this time and she tells him, with less of an edge in her voice, slowly, truthfully, /graphically/—
“/Oh/,” he says, blanching—which turns out, in retrospect, not to be the best of reactions. It stops Edward colder than the room, a moment before her eyes go wider, long enough for her to take a breath, and long enough for her to completely panic.
“What do you mean ‘Oh?’ This is not…oh.” Her voice gains momentum, like a row of columns on the collapse. “This is serious isn’t it? Isn’t it? Oh fucking /hell/--“
“Fullmetal…” he begins.
“Stop looking at me like that.” She is not so easily shaken from it, this time. Her eyes are wild, and fixed on his face. “Stop that. What the hell am I supposed to do. I can’t. I can’t—fuck fuck this is /your fault/--”
“/Edward/.” He says, and that does the trick. Her pupils coming back into focus and her breath simply comes. Roy wonders briefly what would have happened if he’d used her real name, and is glad that he didn’t try. “There’s no point in panicking. Your brother will hear you.”
“…yeah…” The look she gives him is wretched. “…what am I supposed to do, though. I can’t /die/--”
“You won’t.”
“How do you know that?”
I don’t, he almost wants to say. How would I? This is not my jurisdiction-- the old tried and true and military excuse. But Edward lives under his roof and Roy is a gentleman and, under the circumstances, can’t be anything /but/--
“Because I am being rational,” he does end up saying, and when she shakes off his hand with an angry jerk of her arm. “Stay calm.” Repeated, it’s more for his benefit than hers.
“Yes?
Liza Hawkeye has a remarkable talent for never letting weariness show; not in her looks and not in her voice. The phone probably woke her, from the telltale sounds of a night robe being slipped on, and she answers in her usual cool, clear tones. The sort she used to report in with a General once, after forty-eight hours of dodging bullets with little more than three hours rest collectively snatched somewhere in between.
One of those things about her Roy’s always been able to count on.
“It’s an emergency,” he tells her, because it honestly is.
“Ah?” Roy /hears/ her eyes searching for the gun on her counter-- or on the kitchen table, or both, if there hadn’t been company. He’s quick to amend:
“Not /that/ sort of emergency.”
“Ah.” she says again and in her relief she lets a little bit of nearly-two-in-the-morning crankiness come through. She clicks her tongue, coming from her it sounds a little like a cocked weapon. “What sort of emergency, then?
Roy considers his answer very carefully, doesn’t look at Edward, slouching in a chair, with her knees pressed together and glaring into a mug.
“One that requires a certain…Expertise.”
The next morning Edward calls in sick with her commanding officer over coffee, which accepted. It’s just as well; Havoc is the first to get wind of the happenings, it’s the source of much amusement and snickering, and no one particularly wants to clean up a murder in the office. Hawkeye is unusually lax with reprimand—her own form of divine justice, Roy supposes. The day is tiring; he works late, and is home late. The small detour he takes doesn’t help. It’s dark when he returns.
The Elrics have turned the lights on and spilled books over the living room table. Edward is dressed and more or less a boy again, not looking quite comfortable but coping stubbornly. She doesn’t look up and the flat ‘Welcome back’ seems directed more towards the text. He drops the bag in her lap. She jumps, grimaces, checks the contents, and blinks.
“What’s this?” she asks. He has to smile, he rather thought it obvious.
“Chocolate, Fullmetal,” he says. The good, expensive kind that’s not so much a gift but appeasement; advice taken, necessary measures-- Roy Mustang if nothing else is quick to adapt, and quick to learn from the near-disasters, or awkwardness that shouldn’t have to be brought up in conversation ever again. He adds no more as he turns and pads away, down the hall.
“Chocolate?” He hears Alphonse Elric echo behind him. “Erm. Brother…”
Roy doesn’t hear Edward’s sputter or her reply. He is in his room, he is turning in early, and though he happens on chance to hear her footsteps later in house some time past midnight that, at least, is familiar and the night passes in relative peace.
chirachira!And for you, as per request, I give you Elizafic of the, erm. Awkward variety! Eliza for those just tuning in, would be from
nekokoban and harukami's brilliant genderswitch AU. The universe with which I am probably playing fast and hard and the result is probably none too pretty, so apologies all around. Go read their fics already. It's good stuff.Warnings for choppyness, weird tenses, and extreme Girl.
She comes in at one thirty-two sharp, with a panicked look and a sheet trailing behind her. Clutching the cloth, she speaks; in barely modulated tones, quick and desperate and utterly incomprehensible, and in the time it takes Roy to wake up completely she is at the foot of his bed, the cross-breeze from the open door behind her has made the room bitterly cold, and he realizes with a dumb, sleep-deprived amazement, that Edward Elric’s is close to hysterics. Her face is white, and her metal fingers twist hard enough into the sheet he’s sure it’s probably been torn at least three times already.
“…don’t tell Al…” She says. “Said I’m fine. Don’t tell him. Just /don’t/--”
Roy sits up, wincing as the draft hits his back. “What is it?” he asks, and when she tells him—with a knitted brow and the high notes of a thirteen year old girl about to start shouting—he leans over and sets a hand on her good shoulder to startle her out of it. “Calm down,” he murmurs, letting her compose herself for a moment before asking again and this time and she tells him, with less of an edge in her voice, slowly, truthfully, /graphically/—
“/Oh/,” he says, blanching—which turns out, in retrospect, not to be the best of reactions. It stops Edward colder than the room, a moment before her eyes go wider, long enough for her to take a breath, and long enough for her to completely panic.
“What do you mean ‘Oh?’ This is not…oh.” Her voice gains momentum, like a row of columns on the collapse. “This is serious isn’t it? Isn’t it? Oh fucking /hell/--“
“Fullmetal…” he begins.
“Stop looking at me like that.” She is not so easily shaken from it, this time. Her eyes are wild, and fixed on his face. “Stop that. What the hell am I supposed to do. I can’t. I can’t—fuck fuck this is /your fault/--”
“/Edward/.” He says, and that does the trick. Her pupils coming back into focus and her breath simply comes. Roy wonders briefly what would have happened if he’d used her real name, and is glad that he didn’t try. “There’s no point in panicking. Your brother will hear you.”
“…yeah…” The look she gives him is wretched. “…what am I supposed to do, though. I can’t /die/--”
“You won’t.”
“How do you know that?”
I don’t, he almost wants to say. How would I? This is not my jurisdiction-- the old tried and true and military excuse. But Edward lives under his roof and Roy is a gentleman and, under the circumstances, can’t be anything /but/--
“Because I am being rational,” he does end up saying, and when she shakes off his hand with an angry jerk of her arm. “Stay calm.” Repeated, it’s more for his benefit than hers.
“Yes?
Liza Hawkeye has a remarkable talent for never letting weariness show; not in her looks and not in her voice. The phone probably woke her, from the telltale sounds of a night robe being slipped on, and she answers in her usual cool, clear tones. The sort she used to report in with a General once, after forty-eight hours of dodging bullets with little more than three hours rest collectively snatched somewhere in between.
One of those things about her Roy’s always been able to count on.
“It’s an emergency,” he tells her, because it honestly is.
“Ah?” Roy /hears/ her eyes searching for the gun on her counter-- or on the kitchen table, or both, if there hadn’t been company. He’s quick to amend:
“Not /that/ sort of emergency.”
“Ah.” she says again and in her relief she lets a little bit of nearly-two-in-the-morning crankiness come through. She clicks her tongue, coming from her it sounds a little like a cocked weapon. “What sort of emergency, then?
Roy considers his answer very carefully, doesn’t look at Edward, slouching in a chair, with her knees pressed together and glaring into a mug.
“One that requires a certain…Expertise.”
The next morning Edward calls in sick with her commanding officer over coffee, which accepted. It’s just as well; Havoc is the first to get wind of the happenings, it’s the source of much amusement and snickering, and no one particularly wants to clean up a murder in the office. Hawkeye is unusually lax with reprimand—her own form of divine justice, Roy supposes. The day is tiring; he works late, and is home late. The small detour he takes doesn’t help. It’s dark when he returns.
The Elrics have turned the lights on and spilled books over the living room table. Edward is dressed and more or less a boy again, not looking quite comfortable but coping stubbornly. She doesn’t look up and the flat ‘Welcome back’ seems directed more towards the text. He drops the bag in her lap. She jumps, grimaces, checks the contents, and blinks.
“What’s this?” she asks. He has to smile, he rather thought it obvious.
“Chocolate, Fullmetal,” he says. The good, expensive kind that’s not so much a gift but appeasement; advice taken, necessary measures-- Roy Mustang if nothing else is quick to adapt, and quick to learn from the near-disasters, or awkwardness that shouldn’t have to be brought up in conversation ever again. He adds no more as he turns and pads away, down the hall.
“Chocolate?” He hears Alphonse Elric echo behind him. “Erm. Brother…”
Roy doesn’t hear Edward’s sputter or her reply. He is in his room, he is turning in early, and though he happens on chance to hear her footsteps later in house some time past midnight that, at least, is familiar and the night passes in relative peace.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-05-07 06:42 pm (UTC)Oh.
...ouch.
That would really suck for Edward. Hell, they suck for every female, but especially for someone who has noooo idea what's going on. *sympathetic pat for Ed*
Loved your description of Hawkeye's actions, also. “Ah?” Roy /hears/ her eyes searching for the gun on her counter-- or on the kitchen table, or both, if there hadn’t been company. Sharp and efficient, so much that even the writing sounds like her, not just what's being written about.
What a wondeful birthday gift. I'm sure
(no subject)
Date: 2004-05-07 07:13 pm (UTC)Strangely, Kitty and I recently spent a few hours discussing Eliza's period, how it would affect her, how regular it was, etc. XD Things you never expect to be relevant. I'm PRETTY sure in genderswitch canon she starts it while they're living with TUCKER omgwtf, XD but you'll have to ask youer; I'm not entirely sure on the details. But... wow. NICE.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-01-22 07:34 am (UTC)Two: Accept
being stalkedgoing onto my flist with a smile. XD(no subject)
Date: 2005-01-22 07:59 am (UTC)