2 Alphabet Drabbles (Mustang/Hughes, friendship) M and N
Title: M is for Match
Author: SeaweedOtter
Characters: Roy Mustang, Maes Hughes
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Angsty and sad. Has Episode 51 spoilers and spoilers from one scene in the movie (but not really movie based)
Match.
Stationed way out in the North, there was little that Roy Mustang could do when he wasn't on patrol other than try to stay warm. He was very grateful that there was a large fireplace against the wall in the middle of the tiny one room shack, and he tried as hard as he could to make sure that the fire was always going.
On the rare occasion that it did manage to go out, he had a large supply of matches on hand to relight it. He needed to stay as warm as possible, so he wore as many layers of clothing as he could. He learned quickly that the less skin that was exposed to the elements, the better.
Because of that, he continued to wear his white alchemic gloves, even though it had been close to two years now since he had last snapped his fingers to make a flame. He would always take a match out of the book and look at it carefully, and look at the glove that held it- with the red salamander array embroidered on the back. He would tell himself, 'Just this once' and raise his fingers to snap, then all the memories of the Ishbal Rebellion came rushing back to him. All of the innocent people that died at his hands, those salamander gloves, those killer's hands of his.
Then he would light the match.
He smiled inwardly, a sour, bitter smile, as he sipped on some scotch to help him keep warm. He used that excuse- the alcohol warmed his system. And he believed it, for a little while. He knew he really drank to make himself forget, but it was taking more and more alcohol to get to that point, the longer he was out here. The pain was harder and harder to get rid off, and he feared for the day that nothing would ever take the pain away.
The day the fire would consume him.
Roy wondered, what would Maes think about him now, a broken and bitter man who resorted to cheap matches to light a simple fire, when it would take one heartbeat, one snap of his fingers, to do the same thing? As he was thinking about that, he uncons1ciously raised his fingers, the thumb and the middle finger pressed closely together. He saw the barest, tiniest hint of the beginning of a spark being raised from the friction of cloth against cloth.
Roy chuckled and brought his hand back down to the arm of the old, beaten up chair, relaxing his fingers. Somehow this chair seemed appropriate here, where everything was old and broken down and falling apart.
"Maes, I wish you were here, now. I hate all of this. I am alone, broken, a shell of my former self. Hell, I'm not even the Flame Alchemist any more. My flame has died out."
He sighed and took another long sip of scotch and glanced out the small window that sat about halfway up the wall. A fierce snowstorm was whipping up, blowing snowdrifts as high as the bottom of the windows. He could hear the wind howling through the thin wooden walls, causing the boards to rattle slightly, and bow and warp.
"I miss you, old friend." Right then, a particularly bad gust of wind blew the rickety door open and sent a blast of chilly air throughout the small room, extinguishing the small flame that he had just lit a couple of minutes ago in the fireplace. He groaned.
The ex-alchemist shook his head and raised his fist up towards the sky as he walked over to the door that was now rattling against the inner wall of the shack. "That wasn't funny, Maes." He grumbled. "Even after you are dead, you still can't resist annoying me one last time, huh?"
People would have called him crazy if he had admitted it, but he could have sworn that he heard a low chuckle on the wind and he braced his body and used all of his weight against the wind to close and bolt the door shut, and grabbed the box of matches, pulling a singular, red-tipped match out to re-light the fire.
Title: N is for Nap
Author: SeaweedOtter
Characters: Roy Mustang, Maes Hughes
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Really silly. And oh so terribly toungue in cheek for the first part of it.
Nap.
There was little more that Roy Mustang liked better in this world more than a nice, long nap. He worked hard, getting up at the crack of dawn to be the first one there, so he could make sure that all of his subordinates made it to work on time. He knew how important punctuality was.
And he was usually the last one there to leave, after everyone else had already gone home. Often, that slave driver of a secretary, Hawkeye, would give him last minute papers to sign, even though his hand was already tired from vigorously signing papers all day, that would keep in at work well into the evening hours.
But, of course, there was his busy social schedule as well. If he wasn't schmoozing with some of the higher ups in Central Command, then he had the ladies who attracted his interest as well. And of course, he was a liaison of the Amestris Army, and of alchemists everywhere, and in the interest of good politics and good will, he could not let these ladies feel like they had been mistreated by a government official. Oh heavens, no. He had to attend to these fine women's needs, to attend to these duties, as tough as they were at time. He couldn't stand to let his government or his country down.
With his ultra busy lifestyle, it was hard for Roy to find enough hours in the day to get the amount of sleep that could sustain that type of high energy life.
That is where the naps came in.
Mostly, he attempted to nap during and right after lunch. He usually ate fairly light at work, and he tended not to need the entire hour to down the.. stuff that the mess hall called food. Those extra minutes, when he wasn't eating, were normally well spent at his desk, leaning back in his chair with his eyes shut and his feet propped up on his immaculate desk.
Often, those naps would extend well past his appointed lunch hour and far into the next hour beyond, usually until the annoying Hawkeye would attempt to give him a heart attack by firing her gun at him to wake him up.
But, as scary as that was to be woken up to, there was something- one thing- far worse that would occasionally rouse the peaceful, serene alchemist from his deep, well deserved slumber.
Maes Hughes.
One particular afternoon, after Roy had been up quite late the night before teaching a rather beautiful recent medical graduate the practicalities of human anatomy, he was awakened suddenly by a high, excited voice.
"Hey, Roy! Take a look at this!"
He sputtered awake, immediately forgetting the rather amorous dream that he had been having and almost falling backwards out of his chair. The newest photograph of Maes' daughter, Elysia, who has just turned three a few weeks before, was thrust at his face- threatening to push into the end of his nose.
"Hughes." He said sleepily, rubbing his eyes.
"Isn't she just the cutest darn thing? She has been working in the garden with her mommy. She's going to have the greenest green thumb anyone has ever seen, I just know it!"
"Hughes.." Roy said, much more annoyed, his eye twitching lightly.
"And just today, she was counting. Counting, Roy! She got all the way up to 20! I am so proud of her!"
"Maes!" the alchemist yelled, finally stopping Maes in mid breath, when the was about to start speaking again. He immediately calmed down. "What is it, Roy?" he said calmly, quietly.
"I was sleeping." He replied, matter of factly.
"Well, you aren't now!" His voice grew more excited again, and he pushed another picture in front of Roy's face. "Look, here she is in the pool! I know she still has to wear the water wings for now, but she's going to be a swim star, definitly! Look at that form! She..."
Roy rubbed his eyes with his index fingers and tried to tune his best friend out. He knew there was no way that he was going to get back to that nap now.
Author: SeaweedOtter
Characters: Roy Mustang, Maes Hughes
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Angsty and sad. Has Episode 51 spoilers and spoilers from one scene in the movie (but not really movie based)
Match.
Stationed way out in the North, there was little that Roy Mustang could do when he wasn't on patrol other than try to stay warm. He was very grateful that there was a large fireplace against the wall in the middle of the tiny one room shack, and he tried as hard as he could to make sure that the fire was always going.
On the rare occasion that it did manage to go out, he had a large supply of matches on hand to relight it. He needed to stay as warm as possible, so he wore as many layers of clothing as he could. He learned quickly that the less skin that was exposed to the elements, the better.
Because of that, he continued to wear his white alchemic gloves, even though it had been close to two years now since he had last snapped his fingers to make a flame. He would always take a match out of the book and look at it carefully, and look at the glove that held it- with the red salamander array embroidered on the back. He would tell himself, 'Just this once' and raise his fingers to snap, then all the memories of the Ishbal Rebellion came rushing back to him. All of the innocent people that died at his hands, those salamander gloves, those killer's hands of his.
Then he would light the match.
He smiled inwardly, a sour, bitter smile, as he sipped on some scotch to help him keep warm. He used that excuse- the alcohol warmed his system. And he believed it, for a little while. He knew he really drank to make himself forget, but it was taking more and more alcohol to get to that point, the longer he was out here. The pain was harder and harder to get rid off, and he feared for the day that nothing would ever take the pain away.
The day the fire would consume him.
Roy wondered, what would Maes think about him now, a broken and bitter man who resorted to cheap matches to light a simple fire, when it would take one heartbeat, one snap of his fingers, to do the same thing? As he was thinking about that, he uncons1ciously raised his fingers, the thumb and the middle finger pressed closely together. He saw the barest, tiniest hint of the beginning of a spark being raised from the friction of cloth against cloth.
Roy chuckled and brought his hand back down to the arm of the old, beaten up chair, relaxing his fingers. Somehow this chair seemed appropriate here, where everything was old and broken down and falling apart.
"Maes, I wish you were here, now. I hate all of this. I am alone, broken, a shell of my former self. Hell, I'm not even the Flame Alchemist any more. My flame has died out."
He sighed and took another long sip of scotch and glanced out the small window that sat about halfway up the wall. A fierce snowstorm was whipping up, blowing snowdrifts as high as the bottom of the windows. He could hear the wind howling through the thin wooden walls, causing the boards to rattle slightly, and bow and warp.
"I miss you, old friend." Right then, a particularly bad gust of wind blew the rickety door open and sent a blast of chilly air throughout the small room, extinguishing the small flame that he had just lit a couple of minutes ago in the fireplace. He groaned.
The ex-alchemist shook his head and raised his fist up towards the sky as he walked over to the door that was now rattling against the inner wall of the shack. "That wasn't funny, Maes." He grumbled. "Even after you are dead, you still can't resist annoying me one last time, huh?"
People would have called him crazy if he had admitted it, but he could have sworn that he heard a low chuckle on the wind and he braced his body and used all of his weight against the wind to close and bolt the door shut, and grabbed the box of matches, pulling a singular, red-tipped match out to re-light the fire.
Title: N is for Nap
Author: SeaweedOtter
Characters: Roy Mustang, Maes Hughes
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Really silly. And oh so terribly toungue in cheek for the first part of it.
Nap.
There was little more that Roy Mustang liked better in this world more than a nice, long nap. He worked hard, getting up at the crack of dawn to be the first one there, so he could make sure that all of his subordinates made it to work on time. He knew how important punctuality was.
And he was usually the last one there to leave, after everyone else had already gone home. Often, that slave driver of a secretary, Hawkeye, would give him last minute papers to sign, even though his hand was already tired from vigorously signing papers all day, that would keep in at work well into the evening hours.
But, of course, there was his busy social schedule as well. If he wasn't schmoozing with some of the higher ups in Central Command, then he had the ladies who attracted his interest as well. And of course, he was a liaison of the Amestris Army, and of alchemists everywhere, and in the interest of good politics and good will, he could not let these ladies feel like they had been mistreated by a government official. Oh heavens, no. He had to attend to these fine women's needs, to attend to these duties, as tough as they were at time. He couldn't stand to let his government or his country down.
With his ultra busy lifestyle, it was hard for Roy to find enough hours in the day to get the amount of sleep that could sustain that type of high energy life.
That is where the naps came in.
Mostly, he attempted to nap during and right after lunch. He usually ate fairly light at work, and he tended not to need the entire hour to down the.. stuff that the mess hall called food. Those extra minutes, when he wasn't eating, were normally well spent at his desk, leaning back in his chair with his eyes shut and his feet propped up on his immaculate desk.
Often, those naps would extend well past his appointed lunch hour and far into the next hour beyond, usually until the annoying Hawkeye would attempt to give him a heart attack by firing her gun at him to wake him up.
But, as scary as that was to be woken up to, there was something- one thing- far worse that would occasionally rouse the peaceful, serene alchemist from his deep, well deserved slumber.
Maes Hughes.
One particular afternoon, after Roy had been up quite late the night before teaching a rather beautiful recent medical graduate the practicalities of human anatomy, he was awakened suddenly by a high, excited voice.
"Hey, Roy! Take a look at this!"
He sputtered awake, immediately forgetting the rather amorous dream that he had been having and almost falling backwards out of his chair. The newest photograph of Maes' daughter, Elysia, who has just turned three a few weeks before, was thrust at his face- threatening to push into the end of his nose.
"Hughes." He said sleepily, rubbing his eyes.
"Isn't she just the cutest darn thing? She has been working in the garden with her mommy. She's going to have the greenest green thumb anyone has ever seen, I just know it!"
"Hughes.." Roy said, much more annoyed, his eye twitching lightly.
"And just today, she was counting. Counting, Roy! She got all the way up to 20! I am so proud of her!"
"Maes!" the alchemist yelled, finally stopping Maes in mid breath, when the was about to start speaking again. He immediately calmed down. "What is it, Roy?" he said calmly, quietly.
"I was sleeping." He replied, matter of factly.
"Well, you aren't now!" His voice grew more excited again, and he pushed another picture in front of Roy's face. "Look, here she is in the pool! I know she still has to wear the water wings for now, but she's going to be a swim star, definitly! Look at that form! She..."
Roy rubbed his eyes with his index fingers and tried to tune his best friend out. He knew there was no way that he was going to get back to that nap now.