Long version of Prompt 47
Prompt 47 "Freak" from fma_fic_contest
fandom: FMA
char: Roy
Uh, PG 13 for 1 swear word and the setting being a place of 'adult concepts'.
He was bored. The kind of boredom that comes from too many rainy days in a row. The kind of boredom that comes from not having a pet to play with. The kind of boredom that comes from not being able to enjoy the company of a friend (because whose mother is going to let her young son go and play at a brothel?). It was the kind of boredom that he was sure would, never, never end.
He had read and re-read his books. He had done his homework and checked it over--twice. He had played 'spy' in the reception area, and was good at it, too--his mother would kill him if she knew he was compromising the privacy of their clients. He'd had breakfast, a mid-morning snack, lunch, and even a quick little catnap behind his desk, in-between reviewing that homework of his.
He peered out the window. He was never going to be able to play again. Miniature lakes riddled his backyard, and they were only growing. He decided then that he was going to permanently hate the rain. His stomach rumbled, and he contemplated going down to the kitchen.
The first part of the three story journey was always a breeze. There was a flight of servant's stairs in the back of the home to get down to the second floor. Reaching the landing there, he knew he just had to make it down the hallway passing two bedrooms and a bathroom, make it to the second set of servant's stairs. Then he would be home free to enter the kitchen. He peered out from the alcove, saw the backs of one of his 'sisters' and a client as they headed in the opposite direction towards the main stairs, and relaxed as he pulled his head back out of sight. He couldn't even play spy some more! The further bedroom door was propped open by a bundle of sheets. One of his other 'sisters' must be tidying that room. He had no adversaries.
Stoic but sullen he made his way down the hallway. The first bedroom's door had been left open, and a strong floral scent met his nose. Candles! His sister left the candles burning! Knowing he had to remain quiet kept him from expressing his joy. He took inventory of the items atop the dresser. Three candles, lit. A book of matches. The tray with toiletries: a perfume atomizer, some mints, a brush and a comb, mustache wax.
He gently shook the perfume and found it to be nearly full. He aimed at the candles, and gave the bladder a quick squeeze. The candles spit a small flash of fire into the air. He gave a few quick squeezes in succession, and a mildly bigger fireball flared up for half a second. He varied his technique, to see how big of a fireball he could get, only to find that the lone perfume bottle only really had one setting. He put the perfume down and got eye level with the flame, moving his hand up and down over the candle to see just how close it could get to it without burning. It is a shame, he thought as he moved his finger rapidly back and forth through the candle's flame, that he couldn't make the bottle spray continuously. Then he would have a real flame . . . gun? He picked up the perfume to continue his experimentation, and smiled at each fireball.
"Roy Mustang!"
Oh. Shit. His sister was back to clean up the room. In about two giant paces she closed the space between them and had his ear in her grip.
"You. Little. Freak. Your Mom is going to kill you, Roy."
He stared placidly back at her, trying to keep the smirk from his lips. He certainly was not going to be bored for a time.
fandom: FMA
char: Roy
Uh, PG 13 for 1 swear word and the setting being a place of 'adult concepts'.
He was bored. The kind of boredom that comes from too many rainy days in a row. The kind of boredom that comes from not having a pet to play with. The kind of boredom that comes from not being able to enjoy the company of a friend (because whose mother is going to let her young son go and play at a brothel?). It was the kind of boredom that he was sure would, never, never end.
He had read and re-read his books. He had done his homework and checked it over--twice. He had played 'spy' in the reception area, and was good at it, too--his mother would kill him if she knew he was compromising the privacy of their clients. He'd had breakfast, a mid-morning snack, lunch, and even a quick little catnap behind his desk, in-between reviewing that homework of his.
He peered out the window. He was never going to be able to play again. Miniature lakes riddled his backyard, and they were only growing. He decided then that he was going to permanently hate the rain. His stomach rumbled, and he contemplated going down to the kitchen.
The first part of the three story journey was always a breeze. There was a flight of servant's stairs in the back of the home to get down to the second floor. Reaching the landing there, he knew he just had to make it down the hallway passing two bedrooms and a bathroom, make it to the second set of servant's stairs. Then he would be home free to enter the kitchen. He peered out from the alcove, saw the backs of one of his 'sisters' and a client as they headed in the opposite direction towards the main stairs, and relaxed as he pulled his head back out of sight. He couldn't even play spy some more! The further bedroom door was propped open by a bundle of sheets. One of his other 'sisters' must be tidying that room. He had no adversaries.
Stoic but sullen he made his way down the hallway. The first bedroom's door had been left open, and a strong floral scent met his nose. Candles! His sister left the candles burning! Knowing he had to remain quiet kept him from expressing his joy. He took inventory of the items atop the dresser. Three candles, lit. A book of matches. The tray with toiletries: a perfume atomizer, some mints, a brush and a comb, mustache wax.
He gently shook the perfume and found it to be nearly full. He aimed at the candles, and gave the bladder a quick squeeze. The candles spit a small flash of fire into the air. He gave a few quick squeezes in succession, and a mildly bigger fireball flared up for half a second. He varied his technique, to see how big of a fireball he could get, only to find that the lone perfume bottle only really had one setting. He put the perfume down and got eye level with the flame, moving his hand up and down over the candle to see just how close it could get to it without burning. It is a shame, he thought as he moved his finger rapidly back and forth through the candle's flame, that he couldn't make the bottle spray continuously. Then he would have a real flame . . . gun? He picked up the perfume to continue his experimentation, and smiled at each fireball.
"Roy Mustang!"
Oh. Shit. His sister was back to clean up the room. In about two giant paces she closed the space between them and had his ear in her grip.
"You. Little. Freak. Your Mom is going to kill you, Roy."
He stared placidly back at her, trying to keep the smirk from his lips. He certainly was not going to be bored for a time.