(And I swear that I really am working on "Alchemy's Child"!)

Act Six

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Just as it had been only chance that had led Roy Mustang to first reading the Book of Truth, naturally it was also by chance that he should meet its’ authors for the first time. Of course, he didn’t immediately recognize them for who they were.

He had been on one of his “municipal inspections”. It was not a date, as Breda said; he had escorted a helpless young woman home, and if she happened to have tickets to the theatre and no-one to go with, and happened to give him one out of gratitude – for helping her home, you see – then there wasn’t anything wrong with accepting them and seeing the play – no sense in waste, you see – she had no-one else, and she had arrived at home safely, at least.

Yes, indeed: another good deed done in the day of one Roy Mustang.

The only thing that even vaguely put a damper on his evening – literally – was the horrendous weather. As they said, it was “raining cats and dogs.” Or, as was more likely the case, drowning them. Luckily, this dog had remembered to bring his military-issued – but stylish – black umbrella.

“Excuse me, sir.” Said a voice, politely, quiet over the continuous sound of the rain. Roy had just been on his way home himself, seeing how it was several hours past dark, and so he was surprised to turn and see two children. He frowned. It was rather late for kids that young to be out on the streets of Central, especially in this weather. As a city with a prominent military base, it was safer than many in Amestris, but it was still a large city. There had been reports of a serial killer that worked at night.

But once he turned around, he disapprovingly noted that these children, huddling under a scraggly, shared umbrella, were very young. Ten years old at the eldest; and dragging suitcases as well. One had a cane, and was not so discretely leaning – heavily – on it. So, children, crippled children, traveling alone, in a big city, at night, in heavy rain, with a serial killer running around.

Not a good combination.

At least the serial killer had only gone for grown women – so far. He wasn’t about to bet anyone’s lives on it.

“Sir,” the boy continued – dark blonde, likely the elder of the two. They looked just alike enough for their relation to show. They were probably brothers, or even sisters – the other had long hair and a rather pretty face. One could never tell with certain preteens. The lack of light and the fact that they were soaking wet (what a shameful thing to call an umbrella) wasn’t helping. “We’re new to Central, and we’re sort of lost. Could you help us?” He began unfolding a map, looking hopeful.

Why not? They looked very tired, soaked, and not a bit desperate. Let it never be said that Roy Mustang passed helpless people by.

“We don’t need his help, Al,” the other protested. “We’re just fine! We can find it on our own!” Okay, he was definitely male, with that kind of voice, and attitude.

“You’ve been saying that for the last three hours, Nii-san!” The other countered, still unfolding their map, hopping from beneath their umbrella to Roy’s.

“Visiting relatives?” Roy asked as he took one end of the map.

“Not really,” was the reply. “Just friends. But we’ve never been here before, so the address is kind of useless.”

Roy nodded in agreement. The city’s streets were the furthest things from a grid-system in which a city could get, short of an all-out jumble. The city itself, as one could see on any map, was star-shaped, with the military headquarters in the direct center. The sides of the star were the largest and widest streets in the city, used for military parades and as a way to deploy troops from the city with quick ease. Popular rumor had it based on an alchemical formula – but of course no one could activate a circle that large.

Anything along the sides of the star or within them was easy to locate (East Point North, North Point West, etc. gave the general location), but anything outside of that was fair game for the obscure name free-for-all.

“What was the address?” Roy asked.

“Ah –“ The taller one fumbled in the pockets of his long red coat and withdrew a crumpled piece of paper, which he consulted before continuing: “Berto – Borrow? Borough? I hope I’m saying that right…”

Roy nodded – fairly simple to find. It was a larger street fairly far from the “main star” portion of the city, and had been named after one of the many small towns Central City had grown around. In fact, Maes lived on that street.

Luckily, it wasn’t too far off, so Mustang didn’t feel too bad about just giving directions and walking away, especially after cautioning them about the serial killer. Honestly, a man tries to do a good deed, gives them directions, gives them warnings, and the kid just blew up at him!

“Who’s so short and petite that even a psychopath can’t tell he’s not a woman?!”

End Act Six

Inter-act: Okay, so here you can see what one might call a “deleted scene”. I was originally going to write the above scene, not in the rain, but with Roy slightly drunk (to make the fact that he didn’t recognize the Elrics from the cover of their book slightly more plausible). I even had him come to a realization that perhaps they were the serial killer (AKA Barry the Chopper), as Roy catches a glimpse of metal up Ed’s sleeve (automail, of course). But then I realized I couldn’t write Roy drunk… and having him think that two children were serial killers was a bit of a stretch... and that rain would be so much easier an excuse. But… I really, really liked this paragraph. So… here it is! An alternate universe scene from an alternate universe fanfiction based upon an anime based in an alternate universe! XD

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Wait a minute… that address had sounded so familiar… Why was that? After a moment, he realized. Hughes. That glint of metal. Serial killer. Shit. In his not-quite sober state of mind, this was a perfectly logical conclusion. Without a moment’s hesitation, he spun around, his coattails flaring dramatically in his wake, and ran towards his oldest friend’s house… not in a straight line, mind you, but the intent was there.

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Further author’s notes for Act Six: My description of Central City is based on several things. The first is a few shots from the anime of the military headquarters that actually do show that there’s a star-shape to the streets. My little explanation – that the sides of the star are large streets used for deploying troops/military parades is based upon Paris – the Champs-Élyséss (I’ve been there, although I didn’t see a parade, but it was so huge it was certainly possible). Those streets are so large that occupying and liberating forces in Paris in the Second World War could drive tanks down them! Anyway, continuing onwards...

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Act Seven

“Roy!” The door was thrown open by an enthusiastic Hughes. The sound of several dozen voices chattering within filtered out onto the street. “Good you could make it!”

“Yes, well…” Mustang said modestly, adjusting the collar his civilian (for once) dress outfit. “I couldn’t well leave my best friend all without male company at his wife’s baby shower.”

“Oh, no, I’m not completely without men, here,” Hughes protested as they entered. “There are a few kicking around.” And indeed there were a few men sulking about in the fringes of the rooms, as if they were afraid pregnancy was something that they could catch. Roy nodded to Havoc, slouching in a corner, chewing on an unlit cigarette, who nodded back. He was likely here with his latest girlfriend.

The rest of the crowd was composed of women. All were either encircling Gracia, cooing, politely asking to touch her swelling belly, and so forth, or were otherwise engaged doing tasks about the house (because when one became that pregnant, one was automatically helpless in the presence of others). Notably, they were organizing the lunch buffet table and a tottering pile of wrapped gifts on a side table.

Roy, as a close friend of her husband, was given the right to squeeze through the crowd of pre-baby admirers for a personal greeting. He presented his wrapped gift, and it was immediately whisked away to the gift table by one of the surrounding women. Mustang was then relegated to utensil-polishing duties (as a man, the women tittered, and, of course, the famed Flame Alchemist, all the cooking he was good for were flambés, which were completely inappropriate for a lunch-time party such as this), and was directed to the kitchen.

The kitchen wasn’t as crowded, and was blessedly free of females – with the exception of the usual hustle and bustle in and out of the place, fetching napkins, dumping used glasses in the sink, and so on and so forth. Action seemed to flow around the kitchen, however, and less through it – it was never a good idea to have a steady flow of traffic through a place with hot ovens and/or sharp utensils in use.

From what he could tell, there were two people on cooking duty, a pair of children – a pair of strikingly familiar children. The only reason Roy didn’t point and gasp immediately upon espying them was because they were facing away from him, working at the stove, and so he couldn’t see their faces. They also weren’t soaking wet. All of these factors delayed recognition for a few brief moments. In addition, he was a military officer: such displays were frowned upon.

The shorter one, a blond, was sitting on a tall stool about the height of the counter, and was stirring what looked to be soup in a large cauldron-like pot on the stove, occasionally adding various spices and vegetables from a series of plates beside him. The other had eschewed a stool and was leaning against the counter, carefully making dozens of small, elegant finger sandwiches: stereotypical lunch food for such functions.

“Oi, Al, pass me that wooden ladle, would you?” called the blond at the stove.

“Why can’t you get it yourself?” asked the other, irritated. But even as he said this he was handing the ladle over. “You’re such a bother, Nii-san.”

“You know it, Al!” The sitting person turned his head and stuck out his tongue playfully at the other. The aforementioned ladle-passer, too, turned and stuck out his tongue as well.

That being done, they both cheerfully turned back to their respective tasks.

Now, Roy had known that he’d meet the authors of the Book of Truth eventually. He had connections, after all; his best friend’s wife and, indeed, his best friend himself were acquaintances of them. Maes, of course, as head of the State Investigations Department, would see that Roy, as a State Alchemist extremely interested in the book, would want to meet the authors (with enough hinting), and would hopefully… eventually… set up a meeting for him. Oh, Maes would tease him about it – finally he could do something related to alchemy that Roy couldn’t – but he’d likely do it.

Roy had imagined his first meeting with them: perhaps at a trendy café in Central, or even at his impressive State Alchemist office. He would serve them some wine – or whisky, even – to be polite (because they couldn’t be as young as Maes said they were – the subject matter of the book was too advanced, the code too intricate, for it to have been written by children, honestly, how gullible did Maes think he was?). And then they could “talk shop”, as they said. It would be a nice intellectual discussion regarding complex circles, particle theory, and the like. They would be a pair of people to challenge his alchemical intellect for the first time since he took the State Alchemist entrance exam.

And here they were: cooking. At a baby shower. The one sitting at the stove had a streak of sauce on his cheek.

Roy felt his dreams shatter – just a little bit. But he was a man, damn it, and quickly pulled himself together.

“Are you –“ he began, then stopped. He knew that they had written the Book of Truth, but what could he ask? Just demand, “Did you write the book I’ve been obsessing about for months?!” No, that would be rude. And would make any attempts at starting up a civilized conversation unlikely, at least.

But it was too late: he had said something. They had both turned to stare at him curiously. The blond was the first to recognize him. He pointed a finger of his right hand at him.

“You – you’re that military guy, aren’t you?” He said, as if remembering as he spoke.

“Ah, yes?” Roy cursed, internally. State Alchemists shouldn’t phrase statements as questions. He must be assertive!

The other, at least, was more polite (only children pointed fingers at people). “Thank you very much, again, sir for the directions.” He bobbed a short bow. “My name is Alphonse Elric, and this is my older brother –“

“Edward.” Said older brother provided as he stood up from his stool.

Now, Mustang knew what to say; introductions were automatic. “Roy Mustang – the Flame Alchemist.”

“You’re a state alchemist?” Alphonse’s eyes lit up, taking a step closer, and simultaneously reaching for his cane to steady himself. “That’s amazing! I’ve always wondered –“

“What’s so amazing?” Edward interrupted with a scowl. “He’s just a dog of the military. I can’t think of any reason why I’d want to become a human weapon.”

“Nii-san! Stop being rude!” Alphonse snapped, then quickly turned to give Roy an almost rueful smile. “Sorry, sir. If I may ask, what are you doing here?”

This, Roy knew how to answer. “Maes is an old friend of mine, and I’ve known Gracia almost as long as he has.”

Nothing more could really be said, for the moment.

“So are you going to make yourself useful, or what?” Edward asked as he returned to his place by the stove.

Roy frowned. So rude! Apparently Edward’s brother agreed because before Alphonse went back to his sandwich making, he made a detour to deliver a swift smack to the back of Edward’s head. The boy rubbed the back of his head with his left hand and scowled, but didn’t retaliate.

Yes, Roy’s dreams were definitely and quite thoroughly shattered.

Dutifully, though, he busied himself with his assigned task, menial as it was to simply polish silverware.

Luckily for him, Alphonse was too polite to ignore both people in the room for any length of time, and so attempted to engage in conversation as the three worked.

“So, Mr. Mustang, what kind of alchemy do you specialize in?” The boy asked, genuinely curious.

“Well,” Roy replied, pausing dramatically, “I have made a name for myself with atmospheric transmutations.”

“Atmospheric? As in, what, altering gas combinations in mines so that they’re no longer toxic? Stuff like that?” The older brother asked, almost absently, as he stirred.

“No, no. I create flames.” Roy corrected him.

“Eh? What use is that?” Edward turned to look at him.

Roy gave him a look. “I’m military.”

“Ah.” Edward turned back to the stove, disapproval radiating from his figure.

Alphonse sighed. “Don’t worry about Nii-san, Mr. Mustang. He’s a hypocrite. He likes flashy transmutations just as much as anybody.”

“Hey-!” Edward protested.

“Yes, you should have seen some of the statues he would make! Our teacher always tried to pound practicality and frugality into our heads, but Nii-san hardly ever listens.” From Alphonse’s smile, Roy could tell that the boy was just trying to rile the other boy up.

The Flame alchemist did feel a bit put out that his science was apparently labeled “flashy” and dismissed by these two alchemists.

“Yeah, Al, but I can still build bridges and fix things and stuff - even if I make them more artistic than before. What good’s fire? I mean, it’s not even all that refined an art. Is it true that you guys deliberately make your arrays inefficient to make the transmutation hotter?”

“What do you mean?” Roy asked, looking up from his polishing.

Edward looked pensive as he stirred the stew and spoke. “Yeah, like, that’s why the light from fire transmutations is red. For true efficiency, an alchemist should aim for white, but most can only manage yellow. Some people, like us, get blue, and there are green variants for use in botany – you know, less heat, more life, so as to not kill the plants.”

“Wait- you get blue light?” Roy had never heard of such a thing. He had only ever witnessed yellow and red-tinged transmutations.

Edward gave him a look, “What, you’ve never even achieved blue light? Aren’t you a state alchemist?” He seemed as if he was about to make another disparaging remark but was interrupted before he could voice anything.

“Nii-san! Don’t be rude!” Even as Alphonse said this, Roy could tell that the boy agreed with what his brother was saying, and was just trying to be polite and spare Roy’s feelings. Of course; the boys had written a whole book together, and had apparently been taught by the same teacher. They were bound to have similar opinions, then, professionally. “I’m sure that Mr. Mustang had a different focus in his studies. You need an inefficient array to make heat, you know. Just because our teacher had us focus on energy-saving transmutations doesn’t mean that it’s in everyone’s knowledge base.” The younger brother looked towards Roy once more and apologized earnestly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mustang. I’m sure that you’re very good in your field. Please ignore my brother’s comments.” He then gave another apologetic bow.

But something still had to be addressed. “You said that your transmutations produced… blue light?” He asked, to be absolutely clear.

“Yes. And what of it?” Edward drawled.

Without breaking his gaze – Edward had the strangest eye colour; he hadn’t seen gold irises in ages – Mustang picked up a plate beside him and casually held it over the ground. He let it go, sending it smashing to the floor, where it lay in several pieces.

“Oops. Well, isn’t it lucky that we have several alchemists in the room?” Roy spoke with obvious challenge.

Edward’s inner alchemist took up the call. He didn’t even get angry. Alphonse just rolled his eyes and went back to cutting up sandwiches. “Don’t show off too much, Nii-san.”

At these words, Edward, too, rolled his eyes, then paused, eyes calculating. He then began to reach for his pocket, presumably for chalk. After a moment of patting down his pockets, he came up empty. The blond turned his gaze beseechingly to Al. “Hey, Al-“

“Yes, Nii-san?”

“Er, do you have any chalk on you?” Edward asked, almost sheepishly.

“You know that I don’t, Nii-san.” What kind of alchemist didn’t carry chalk on them? Roy wondered. “You could just-“ Whatever Alphonse had been about to say was met by a shaking of the head from Edward, and a ‘look’ that Roy didn’t think he was supposed to see. Alphonse sighed. “Why don’t you just use some of that soup, then? Honestly, Nii-san, you call yourself an alchemist. Be innovative!”

At that, Edward ladled out a portion of creamy tomato soup into a cup. Dipping one gloved finger in the still steaming liquid, Edward limped over to kneel before the broken dish. He quickly sketched out a transmutation circle on the kitchen title. Admittedly, chalk wouldn’t have likely worked very well on such a slippery surface.

Roy was impressed at the speed that the boy drew the circle with. Apparently his expression gave him away, because the blond smirked and said, “Our teacher made us do speed drills. You can’t spend fifteen minutes drawing a perfect circle in a fight.” Roy nodded. There had been a similar training regime for the state alchemists to prepare for Ishval.

Without further ado, Edward framed his gloved hands around the circle drawn in red soup and concentrated. It took less than a second for the makeshift array to light up. The two boys had been right: it wasn’t yellow, but a serene shade of blue. The very air felt different than the charged atmosphere one normally got with transmutations. Was that a side effect of the blue light? Apparently blue was more efficient, so did that therefore mean that less energy was flowing…?

Apparently, Roy Mustang’s dreams weren’t so shattered after all. He had already learned something incredibly interesting within ten minutes of meeting the authors of the Book of Truth!

Within seconds, the blue light died down. It hadn’t remained unnoticed, though. “Don’t transmute things in the house!” Maes roared from the other room. The women tittered.

But Roy Mustang smiled. These boys were… intriguing. Wonderfully so.

Yes: he would definitely have to keep an eye on them… if only so that he could learn their secrets for himself. These were just the sorts of things a future furher had to be aware of, after all...

Act Seven: End