fic post
Cat's Cradle.
A short bit of Bido introspective fic.
Only a few spoilers if you don't know about the chimeras yet.
I don't own FMA and make no profit from this.
Cross-posted to fma_chimeras
Over the thumb.
Around the third finger and…
…under the second strand from the right.
Or was it the forth from the left?
Bido sighed as he looked at the half tangled mess of string between his fingers. He should be able to do this. He knew he should be able to do this. He began the long, careful process of untangling the twists and knots, fingers sliding over each length of string to test for places it might catch or unravel. If he closed his eyes, he could almost remember what it felt like.
…larger hands cradling his, long and knotted fingers brushing against his own with the familiar scrape of calluses. Her hands had always felt just slightly too cool, terribly thin for all their strength…
A knot caught and stopped his motions, bringing his eyes back open with a start as the scrap of memory slipped away. He began to pick at the too tight threads with the tips of his nails, glad his hands had retained all the limberness he thought they should have. He doubted he could have managed even this much if they had not.
The others believed he didn’t remember much of anything from the time before the labs. And in a way they were right. In another way though, they couldn’t have been more wrong. It was all there. It had to be. He refused to believe that thirty odd years of his life had simply vanished. It was there… but he couldn't get to it. Threads of memories that had once, he could only assume, been spooled up neatly and flowing one into another in orderly succession were torn and tangled. Mixed in with others that he could barely interpret, odd mixtures of scent, vibration and taste.
He worked the knot loose and resumed his attempt to return the string to a somewhat pristine state. It was a hobby of his, he could tell any of the others that asked. Not that many asked anymore. Martel had offered to teach him a better way to do it, once. Dorchette had offered more then once, confused by his constant failures and his refusal to change any part of the child's game.
The alchemist had only watched him briefly, then laughed and walked off. But then, he was interested only in things whole enough to break.
The threads moved smoothly between his fingers again, unwinding more easily now. He was getting to be an expert at untangling. A hundred and more failures. Perhaps his fingers were even more nimble now that his mind was so much less so or maybe one needed the other and he was only learning to make up what was lost. Still, it came easier then it once had.
Twist here. Slide the string over and to the left to free up more of its length. He could almost remember a scent. Dye and musty cloth. A hint of harsh soap and the oil she had to put on her hands in winter. If he looked up, he would see brown hair threaded with white.
His fingers stumbled again and he sighed, pausing to work over another knot. With each failure, he got a little better at untangling. He might never finish his game and make the strings take the shape he wanted them to have. But maybe someday, he'd be able to untangle the shape of her face. Smooth out the sound of her name.
A short bit of Bido introspective fic.
Only a few spoilers if you don't know about the chimeras yet.
I don't own FMA and make no profit from this.
Cross-posted to fma_chimeras
Over the thumb.
Around the third finger and…
…under the second strand from the right.
Or was it the forth from the left?
Bido sighed as he looked at the half tangled mess of string between his fingers. He should be able to do this. He knew he should be able to do this. He began the long, careful process of untangling the twists and knots, fingers sliding over each length of string to test for places it might catch or unravel. If he closed his eyes, he could almost remember what it felt like.
…larger hands cradling his, long and knotted fingers brushing against his own with the familiar scrape of calluses. Her hands had always felt just slightly too cool, terribly thin for all their strength…
A knot caught and stopped his motions, bringing his eyes back open with a start as the scrap of memory slipped away. He began to pick at the too tight threads with the tips of his nails, glad his hands had retained all the limberness he thought they should have. He doubted he could have managed even this much if they had not.
The others believed he didn’t remember much of anything from the time before the labs. And in a way they were right. In another way though, they couldn’t have been more wrong. It was all there. It had to be. He refused to believe that thirty odd years of his life had simply vanished. It was there… but he couldn't get to it. Threads of memories that had once, he could only assume, been spooled up neatly and flowing one into another in orderly succession were torn and tangled. Mixed in with others that he could barely interpret, odd mixtures of scent, vibration and taste.
He worked the knot loose and resumed his attempt to return the string to a somewhat pristine state. It was a hobby of his, he could tell any of the others that asked. Not that many asked anymore. Martel had offered to teach him a better way to do it, once. Dorchette had offered more then once, confused by his constant failures and his refusal to change any part of the child's game.
The alchemist had only watched him briefly, then laughed and walked off. But then, he was interested only in things whole enough to break.
The threads moved smoothly between his fingers again, unwinding more easily now. He was getting to be an expert at untangling. A hundred and more failures. Perhaps his fingers were even more nimble now that his mind was so much less so or maybe one needed the other and he was only learning to make up what was lost. Still, it came easier then it once had.
Twist here. Slide the string over and to the left to free up more of its length. He could almost remember a scent. Dye and musty cloth. A hint of harsh soap and the oil she had to put on her hands in winter. If he looked up, he would see brown hair threaded with white.
His fingers stumbled again and he sighed, pausing to work over another knot. With each failure, he got a little better at untangling. He might never finish his game and make the strings take the shape he wanted them to have. But maybe someday, he'd be able to untangle the shape of her face. Smooth out the sound of her name.