storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2006-08-23 02:16 pm
storypaint) wrote2006-08-23 02:16 pm
[Fullmetal Alchemist] Photograph (Elicia gen)
Title:Photograph
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Length: 894 words
Prompt: n/a
Pairing: Elicia gen
Other: Future-fic. Spoilers for significant death.
Excerpt: Occasionally when Mustang was drunk he railed on about a man who had been a colleague of her father's, a man known as the Fullmetal Alchemist, who had disappeared after the war. His voice was angry, but his eyes were fond, and Elicia knew that he missed this friend. Thirteen-year-olds realized more than most people thought.
She wished that she could remember her father, but she couldn't. Ten years had blurred his smiling face in her mind. All she recalled was one large hand enveloping her own, a rough hand that promised safety and affection.
She couldn't remember, so when her mother had visitors from the military, she found a way to listen to their conversations. The most frequent were a dark-haired man and a blonde woman. The man would drink, and the women talk in low tones. When the man--Mr. Mustang, she heard her mother call him once--was drunk enough he would talk about her father. Mustang's ramblings, though fascinating, never told her what she wanted to know. He was a weepy drunk and would alternate between ranting at her father for leaving his service and praising the man for his loyalty. He had died in service to the military, Mustang said, and her mother always spat and said, "The dogs!"
Elicia wanted to know who her dad was, beyond the blurred smile and the big warm hands. She had a picture in a frame in her room. Sometimes she would look at it for hours, trying to remember the people in it. Her dad was holding her up on his shoulder, and she was laughing. Had he always been a good father, or had his military work consumed him? Had he changed her diapers and taken some of the baby photos in the albums her mother had? Who was this man that a high-ranking military officer spoke of with such familiarity, that he both praised and cursed?
Sometimes she studied the other people in the picture, a young blonde woman who seemed very nice, and her mother, who looked so young, a small boy with a stupid grin and a determined air, and someone, who of all things, was wearing a suit of armor. In the middle of summer! He had to scrunch down to fit into the picture and had somehow managed to have a sheepish look on his face.
Occasionally when Mustang was drunk he railed on about a man who had been a colleague of her father's, a man known as the Fullmetal Alchemist, who had disappeared after the war. His voice was angry, but his eyes were fond, and Elicia knew that he missed this friend. Thirteen-year-olds realized more than most people thought. She wondered if the man in armor in her photo, scrunched down to fit but still nearly as tall as her father, was Fullmetal. It would certainly be an apt nickname. He seemed kind, she thought, and she wanted to meet him and hear what he had to say about her father. Certainly he wouldn't be as silent as her mother was, or as drunk as her mother's friend.
One night when she was listening to them, Mustang's dull anger grew too much and he rose, scraping the chair back against the floor harshly. The blonde woman--his wife, Elicia assumed, for she had such a familiar relationship with him--grabbed his arm and tried to apologize to her mother at the same time.
"He gets like this sometimes when the week is hard--someone reported seeing the Elrics this week and it turned out to be a false lead--I'm so sor--"
That was the last that Elicia heard, because the kitchen door swung open with a bang and she fell back away from the wall, afraid. Her listening device was still fixed there, a small horn-shaped thing made from some of her old jewelry. Dad's books said that the cardinal rule was that to get something else you had to give something up. Once she figured out how to draw the circle, making the eavesdropper had been easy. It had been her secret until now, but here the scary Mr. Mustang stood, studying it and her with the most awful smile on his face.
Her mother and Mrs. Mustang came into the room and looked curiously in the direction Mr. Mustang was looking. Mrs. Mustang betrayed a hint of surprise, but her mother's look of horror was easy to see.
"Budding alchemist, I see," Mustang said, his voice no longer betraying his drunkeness. "Self taught, I assume?" he asked, looking at her mother, who found composure enough to nod. He smiled a smile that she'd seen in the old storybooks her father used to read to her, the wolf's smile, and Elicia felt unsettled.
"Not bad for self-taught!" he said drunkenly, clapping her shoulder like she was a much larger man, and she nearly fell over. "Hawkeye, remind me to send a recruitment officer here in a few years!"
"Yes, sir," the blonde woman said,looking at Elicia's mother with a trace of pity. "Are you ready to leave? You have to make a train in the morning, sir."
"Right, right," Mustang said, and let her escort him out. Elicia's mother didn't say anything about the listening device, simply watched as she unattached it from the wall and took it to her room. Mother acted like nothing was wrong, but that night Elicia could hear the bedroom door shut. That always meant she was crying.
Elicia herself lay in bed and ran her thumb across the tattered photograph. She hoped that she got to meet Fullmetal when she became a state alchemist, just like Daddy had been.
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Length: 894 words
Prompt: n/a
Pairing: Elicia gen
Other: Future-fic. Spoilers for significant death.
Excerpt: Occasionally when Mustang was drunk he railed on about a man who had been a colleague of her father's, a man known as the Fullmetal Alchemist, who had disappeared after the war. His voice was angry, but his eyes were fond, and Elicia knew that he missed this friend. Thirteen-year-olds realized more than most people thought.
She wished that she could remember her father, but she couldn't. Ten years had blurred his smiling face in her mind. All she recalled was one large hand enveloping her own, a rough hand that promised safety and affection.
She couldn't remember, so when her mother had visitors from the military, she found a way to listen to their conversations. The most frequent were a dark-haired man and a blonde woman. The man would drink, and the women talk in low tones. When the man--Mr. Mustang, she heard her mother call him once--was drunk enough he would talk about her father. Mustang's ramblings, though fascinating, never told her what she wanted to know. He was a weepy drunk and would alternate between ranting at her father for leaving his service and praising the man for his loyalty. He had died in service to the military, Mustang said, and her mother always spat and said, "The dogs!"
Elicia wanted to know who her dad was, beyond the blurred smile and the big warm hands. She had a picture in a frame in her room. Sometimes she would look at it for hours, trying to remember the people in it. Her dad was holding her up on his shoulder, and she was laughing. Had he always been a good father, or had his military work consumed him? Had he changed her diapers and taken some of the baby photos in the albums her mother had? Who was this man that a high-ranking military officer spoke of with such familiarity, that he both praised and cursed?
Sometimes she studied the other people in the picture, a young blonde woman who seemed very nice, and her mother, who looked so young, a small boy with a stupid grin and a determined air, and someone, who of all things, was wearing a suit of armor. In the middle of summer! He had to scrunch down to fit into the picture and had somehow managed to have a sheepish look on his face.
Occasionally when Mustang was drunk he railed on about a man who had been a colleague of her father's, a man known as the Fullmetal Alchemist, who had disappeared after the war. His voice was angry, but his eyes were fond, and Elicia knew that he missed this friend. Thirteen-year-olds realized more than most people thought. She wondered if the man in armor in her photo, scrunched down to fit but still nearly as tall as her father, was Fullmetal. It would certainly be an apt nickname. He seemed kind, she thought, and she wanted to meet him and hear what he had to say about her father. Certainly he wouldn't be as silent as her mother was, or as drunk as her mother's friend.
One night when she was listening to them, Mustang's dull anger grew too much and he rose, scraping the chair back against the floor harshly. The blonde woman--his wife, Elicia assumed, for she had such a familiar relationship with him--grabbed his arm and tried to apologize to her mother at the same time.
"He gets like this sometimes when the week is hard--someone reported seeing the Elrics this week and it turned out to be a false lead--I'm so sor--"
That was the last that Elicia heard, because the kitchen door swung open with a bang and she fell back away from the wall, afraid. Her listening device was still fixed there, a small horn-shaped thing made from some of her old jewelry. Dad's books said that the cardinal rule was that to get something else you had to give something up. Once she figured out how to draw the circle, making the eavesdropper had been easy. It had been her secret until now, but here the scary Mr. Mustang stood, studying it and her with the most awful smile on his face.
Her mother and Mrs. Mustang came into the room and looked curiously in the direction Mr. Mustang was looking. Mrs. Mustang betrayed a hint of surprise, but her mother's look of horror was easy to see.
"Budding alchemist, I see," Mustang said, his voice no longer betraying his drunkeness. "Self taught, I assume?" he asked, looking at her mother, who found composure enough to nod. He smiled a smile that she'd seen in the old storybooks her father used to read to her, the wolf's smile, and Elicia felt unsettled.
"Not bad for self-taught!" he said drunkenly, clapping her shoulder like she was a much larger man, and she nearly fell over. "Hawkeye, remind me to send a recruitment officer here in a few years!"
"Yes, sir," the blonde woman said,looking at Elicia's mother with a trace of pity. "Are you ready to leave? You have to make a train in the morning, sir."
"Right, right," Mustang said, and let her escort him out. Elicia's mother didn't say anything about the listening device, simply watched as she unattached it from the wall and took it to her room. Mother acted like nothing was wrong, but that night Elicia could hear the bedroom door shut. That always meant she was crying.
Elicia herself lay in bed and ran her thumb across the tattered photograph. She hoped that she got to meet Fullmetal when she became a state alchemist, just like Daddy had been.
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