FMA FIC: Drained by the Desert Sands
Mar. 26th, 2011 09:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonjajadeTitle: Drained by the Desert Sands
Author: Sonja Jade
Series: Brotherhood
Word Count: 2,503
Rating: T for language
Character(s): Maes, Roy, Kimblee, Riza, Havoc
Summary: A songfic for the Ishvallan war ‘heroes’.
Warnings: none
Author's Notes: If you haven’t seen or read anything about Ishval, I’d skip this. Heard this song on the radio and thought first of Ed and Al and all the travelling and alchemy stuff they did on the road, and then thought it would fit better with this group.
Song is “Turn the Page” by Bob Segar.
On a long and lonesome highway, east of Omaha,
You can listen to the engine moanin' out his one note song.
You can think about the woman or the girl you knew the night before.
Maes kept his eyes on the toes of his boots, trying to lose himself in the blackness of them, trying to get lost in the sound of the vehicle that was hauling his squad of troops to the Ishvallan front… trying to forget her face and the sound of his cracking voice when he told her that if he didn’t make it back he wanted her to live on and find someone else. If he looked up, he could see in the faces around him that he was not the only one who wasn’t thrilled about coming out here. Knowing that he wasn’t alone made it that much harder, so he stared at his toes and clutched his forearms so they wouldn’t see him shaking.
But your thoughts will soon be wandering the way they always do,
When you're ridin' sixteen hours and there's nothin' much to do,
And you don't feel much like ridin', you just wish the trip was through.
He couldn’t comprehend the uneasy tension inside the truck. Didn’t they understand that this was the opportunity of a lifetime? Didn’t they get that this was probably the only time their mystical science could be of any use besides household repair and children’s party tricks? Zolf rolled the window down, much to the driver’s dismay, and climbed halfway out and sat on the door’s edge. His hair whipped in the wind, and he smiled wide despite the sand and dust flying into his face. He could taste the honor in being ordered to the front, at being ordered to execute the commands of the Führer. He could smell the fear and death just waiting to be tapped… Kimblee raised his fist in the air, crying out in excitement, his voice lost in the gusts surrounding him. He slithered back inside the cab and rolled his window back up. He was as giddy as a child on Midwinter’s Eve, and the driver was startled when the Crimson Lotus Alchemist balled up his hand and punched the interior’s ceiling and let out a whoop. Kimblee turned and asked, “How much longer?”
Here I am On the road again.
There I am Up on the stage.
Here I go Playin' star again.
There I go, Turn the page.
When he’d first begun tinkering with alchemy, his mother and father hadn’t approved at all. He’d run away, only to be caught by a policeman and returned home. The second time he ran away, he was gone for three days before he was returned, and the whipping his father had given him for causing his mother such panic and distress kept him for sitting down for nearly a week. Then his mother took ill, and she passed away much too quickly. He spent the rest of his life regretting ever running away, for ever losing the time he could have had with her. It wasn’t long after that when hen his father followed her into the grave via a bottle of whiskey and a .45.
It had taken four days by horse drawn cart to get to his aunt, the longest journey he’d ever made. She encouraged him to stick with the alchemy, encouraged him to join the military, encouraged him to do whatever he wanted to do, because as he well knew, life was too short to sit on your ass and dream.
Roy took his aunt’s advice and finally found someone who would apprentice him. When he started getting really good at what he practiced, his aunt beamed and doted just like a loving mother would have. “You’re gonna be such a fine man, Roy-boy. You’re my shining star in all this dimness,” she had said as she gestured to the bar around her.
He was half paying attention as he and several other alchemists were being briefed on the situation in this desert hell hole. He watched as some commander paced and wove a tale of Ishvallan rebels and brutality, and then explained what was expected of every man standing in rank before him. Kill everything with white hair and red eyes that moves. Leave no survivors. Take what you want from the bodies. Infrastructural damage is permissible.
Roy saluted with the rest of them when the man stopped talking and he wondered to himself how a hero was supposed to murder someone who was already running in fear.
Well you walk into a restaurant, strung out from the road,
And you feel the eyes upon you as you're shakin' off the cold.
You pretend it doesn't bother you but you just want to explode.
He took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose, biting back bitter tears that he could not let fall under any circumstances. This first day had been a fucking nightmare, and he couldn’t believe he’d done what he did.
“The orders are shoot to kill, Private! Do it!” he yelled.
“B-b-but Capt. Hughes-” the young man stammered, staring at two little girls running down a dusty street.
“Goddamn it!” he yelled, and jerked the pistol from his hip and picked them off with hardly any effort at all. The soldiers he was hunkered down with turned and glared at him with open mouths. “Your orders are to kill any Ishvallan you see, got that! ANY Ishvallan!” At the time, he didn’t know that a single tear had escaped his eyes, and when he saw the frightened and angry gaze of his men suddenly soften, he knew he had to get away and hide such weakness lest it spread.
He sat down heavily in the mess tent, trying to now also ignore the stares and the whispers from those who had heard about what happened.
Most times you can't hear 'em talk, other times you can.
All the same old cliches, "Is that a woman or a man?"
And you always seem outnumbered; you don't dare make a stand.
The decision to keep her hair short had been one of practicality: you never have to tie it back, never have to style it, it never gets in the way or needs any fussing… But when she enrolled in the academy, she didn’t realize how much it benefitted her to wear in such a way. The bulky uniform his her breasts pretty well, and as long as she didn’t speak, those who didn’t know her most of the time treated her just like she was one of the men, which is how she wanted it. It kept her anonymity well preserved, allowed her to blend in with the woodwork, and kept her somewhat detached from the hell that was raining down around her.
Then one day she heard a couple of the men talking, a couple who knew she was a she, and she was nearly sick at what she’d heard.
“I heard she’s a lesbian.”
“I heard she’s trying to become a man in every sense of the word. I mean, that one broad, Lt. Armstrong, she’s tough as nails but she’s beautiful. Wears her hair long and keeps it looking nice and feminine. Even uses a little lip gloss. That Hawkeye… she even walks like a man.”
“I know! How does she take the natural sway out of her hips? How can she do that unless she’s practiced for years to walk that way!?”
“There’s still hope for her, maybe she’d like a guy with long hair who looks like a broad.”
“You mean like that Kimblee freak? He probably takes in the ass, so if she bought a strap on it could be a wonderful relationship!”
“Ha! A butch woman making fruity Kimblee her bitch!”
She’d contemplated putting her rifle on the ground and pulling the trigger with her toes, and she still might do it later. But first, she had a certain Flame Alchemist to assassinate.
Out there in the spotlight you're a million miles away…
Every ounce of energy you try to give away,
As the sweat pours out your body Like the music that you play.
Standing on the tallest building he could find in the Daliha area, he held the red stone up to the sun and watched the light refracting inside. Crimson. Red. Like blood… Grinning, he slipped it into his mouth, biting down on it with his front teeth. Kimblee could feel the power of the philosopher’s stone immediately, and he slowly raised his hands, saying, “I couldn’t dream of a more fulfilling job!” He clapped his hands, brought his tattooed palms together and completed the alchemical array between them. Hundreds of explosions went out from him, down the side of the building he topped and into the street below, intensifying in strength and power as it went and sending the mob below him into scattered, bloody chunks flying into the air. What blood wasn’t fried and congealed immediately was sprayed all over the dusty street. Kimblee threw his sweaty head back and roared, “SUCH A BEAUTIFUL SOUND!!! LIKE A SYMPHONY!!!” Full of adrenaline and high on seeing the result of his augmented craft, he smiled as he cried out, “THIS STONE IS AMAZING!!!”
Later in the evening as you lie awake in bed,
With the echoes from the amplifiers ringin' in your head,
You smoke the day's last cigarette, rememberin' what she said.
The letter had made it to him, though it was much too late to do anything about it now. He was feeling all kinds of things all at once, and it was hard for him to determine whether or not he was upset or relieved by what had happened.
‘Dear Jean,
I hope you aren’t mad that your mother gave me your mailing address. Trust me, I wouldn’t have contacted you if it wasn’t important. I’m sure you remember the last time we were together, I certainly do. Though I can’t stand your cheating ass, I must admit, I’ve never been loved so thoroughly as I was that night. Evidently, it was more magical than I had previously thought, because I'm 8 weeks pregnant.’
At that point he’d nearly swallowed his cigarette. After recovering from the first panic attack he’d ever had, he grabbed the letter and read on:
‘I know you’re not interested in being a father at 19. I’m not interested in being a mother. Speaking of mothers, I haven’t said a word about this to yours or mine. And I’d like to keep it that way. I’ve made an appointment with a doctor in East City, one who will do the procedure confidentially and at a reasonable price, 5,000 Cenz. All I’m asking is that you pay for it, since you didn’t have the good sense to pay for a rubber. Just so you know, the rubber would have been much cheaper. I’d like for you to either authorize your mother to give me the money or for you to send a cheque that I can cash at the military bank in East City. The appointment is for exactly one month from the date of this letter, so please send it asap.
It’s a shame things didn’t work out between us, Jean. This could’ve been a happy letter to you instead of a shitty one. I do hope you’re alright out there. All your friends and family are worried about you, and truth be told, even I miss you a little. Maybe when you get back we can work things out, if you still want to.
Sincerely,
Karin (and the baby)’
Without a second’s delay, he dug out the box of cheques from his duffle bag and scrawled one out to her in the amount of 7,500 Cenz, along with a note that said to take the extra money as an apology, and that he would love to try and work things out when and if he came home, sealed it up in an envelope and scurried over to the commanders tent and put it in the outgoing mailbag. On the way back to his cot, he lit up another cigarette, the sound of gunfire and explosions still ringing out toward the south intruding into his thoughts. Jean Havoc, a father… preposterous.
Here I am on the road again.
There I am up on the stage.
Here I go playin' star again.
There I go turn the page.
The devastation and ruin lay all around them, and when utter silence fell, they knew it was over. It didn’t take long to haul the bodies to the mass graves (after being stripped of anything valuable) and after that the buildings were searched for spoils and survivors. There were a few holdouts hiding in underground cellars, but that didn’t matter after the demolitions unit went in brought everything down. Ishval was literally flattened, and those who may have been hiding in the cellars would surely starve if they hadn’t been killed already. The war was over.
The only thing that didn’t get demolished was the high temple, one that Führer Bradley used to address the soldiers. As Roy and Maes stood staring at him, it clicked in Roy’s head what had to be done. Bradley was a monster of the worst kind, an enemy that held no regard for life in any form.
“Now we know… We really are as expendable as garbage to them,” Maes said grimly.
Locking eyes with Bradley, Roy replied, “Yeah, the power of one man doesn’t amount to much. But that doesn’t matter. With what little strength I have, I’ll do whatever it takes to protect the people I love.”
Maes gave his support and backed him completely, and in time, so did Riza. Years later, when a blonde headed boy called the Fullmetal Alchemist found out, he gave his support as well (for a 520 Cenz fee)… Maes may not have been able to see it through with him, and maybe he never knew just how far Roy would go to protect his people, but the morning that Roy was to take the title of Führer, he stood with Riza before Maes’ grave and reminded him of that promise he’d made so long ago.
“I told you, old friend. I told you I would do whatever it took to protect those I love. I only regret that I couldn’t save you in the end.” He looked to his faithful Lieutenant (as he would always think of her, regardless of the fact she was now a Lt. Colonel) and smiled. “I think he’s at peace now.”
She offered him a gentle smile and reached for his hand. “It’s time to go, Führer Mustang.” She squeaked in surprise when he stole a kiss from her, and then giggled. After so much tragedy and so many lives lost, it was nice to enjoy a moment’s happiness, and to finally breathe a deep sigh of relief.
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Date: March 27th, 2011 03:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: March 27th, 2011 03:59 am (UTC)