Things to read before you read: Holy crap, I'm sorry for the five months it took me to get this up. ::hides face in shame::
Michael Jackson says this story may be disclaimed, but he would like to claim Ed.
Colonel Roy Mustang's Observations. Subject: Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist
Tuesday, October 13th – Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, cannot cook.
8:24 am – Alarm clock goes off.
8:48 am – Roy Mustang wakes up and hits the alarm clock until it shuts up.
9:10 am – The neighbor's obnoxious barking dog forces Roy Mustang from his bed to the window to scream vulgar things.
9:13 am – Now awake, Roy Mustang stumbles to the bathroom.
9:20 am – Roy Mustang looks in the mirror.
9:29 am – Roy Mustang's tired mind registers that there are obscene expressions and little stick figures drawn all over his face in black marker.
9:30 am – Subject A is locked outside in the pouring rain.
9:30 and 4 seconds – Subject A transmutes his way through the back door and proceeds to shake himself like a dog, splattering water everywhere.
"Thanks a lot." Subject A sulks, wringing out his soaked braid and getting water all over Roy Mustang's impeccable kitchen floor. His pajamas are in a similar state. "Are we having breakfast? What are you making? I'm starving. Pancakes?" Subject A sticks his face into the bowl of tan goop Roy had been mixing before his personal space was violated. "It looks like pancake mix. Can I have some?"
"It's waffle mix, shrimp. Hence the presence of the waffle iron on the counter."
Subject A's face turns a very peculiar shade of red. "WHO ARE YOU CALLING A TINY PIECE OF FISH THAT- oooh, wait! I have an idea!"
Momentarily derailed at the change of topic, Roy Mustang does not attempt to stop Subject A from pouring chocolate chips into the batter. He will later regret it.
After fifteen minutes of listening to a hyperactive child whine about how long it's taking for the waffles to cook (1), Roy Mustang sits down at the table and stares with slight apprehension at the brown blob on his plate. "Edward... how many chocolate chips did you put in these things?"
"Um." Subject A shoves half a waffle in his mouth, "Most of the bag."
Tentatively, Roy Mustang takes a bite of waffle.
Roy Mustang then chugs an entire cup of coffee to get the overwhelmingly sugary flavor of semi-sweet chocolate chips from his mouth. "How in the world do you eat those things?!" he sputters, making a face at the remainder of the lump of chocolate Subject A calls a 'waffle'.
"They're good!" Subject A looks insulted at Roy Mustang's degradation of his cooking skills. "Plain waffles are disgusting."
"Speaking of things that are disgusting," Roy Mustang leans against the sink and smirks at the still-damp Subject A, "There's about half a gallon of milk in that mix." (2) Subject A's fork stops an inch from his open mouth, then clatters to the plate. Roy Mustang sacrifices the waffles to the garbage disposal and listens to Subject A loudly retch into the toilet. Whether he's faking it or is actually throwing up, Roy Mustang has exacted his revenge.
As proven by the episode above, Subject A's tastes in food are not exactly what Roy Mustang would consider normal. The above event and the one chronicled below are proof that Subject A should never, ever be allowed in or near a kitchen.
Around noon, while Roy Mustang is completing a report for his higher-ups at the dining room table, Subject A wanders into the kitchen. His posture and expression clearly show he is hunting for food. Thinking back to the Waffle Incident, Roy Mustang quietly sets down his pen and walks over to the doorway.
Subject A creeps silently towards the cabinet Roy Mustang unwittingly left open earlier. The Subject's eyes zero in on the only reachable item – a cup of noodles. He craftily stalks the noodles, keeping low to the ground, so his prey doesn't catch sight of him and flee. If Subject A had a tail, it would be twitching like mad. Finally, he gets close enough to pounce.
Having caught his prey, Subject A smiles greedily, using his teeth to tear off the cover of the cup. Roy Mustang makes the mistake of returning to his work.
"Whatcha doing?" Subject A's head is suddenly invading his personal space once again.
"A report. Go away."
"But my noodles aren't done yet."
Roy Mustang sighs and pulls a sheet of paper covered in scribbles, scrawls, and a doodle that looks suspiciously like a stick figure with a braid hitting another stick figure labeled 'bastard' over the head with a mallet (3), out of his briefcase. "Here. It's your report from the reconstruction of Liore. Rewrite it so it's actually legible." Subject A grumbles but does as he's told. Two minutes pass and Roy Mustang realizes that the noodles should be finished. He looks up to see smoke billowing from the microwave.
"HOLY SHIT!" Subject A screeches, jumping up so fast he knocks over the chair. Roy Mustang follows him into the kitchen and yanks open the microwave, getting a face full of black smoke. The plastic cup of noodles is on fire. "Fullmetal!" he yells, coughing, "What the hell did you do?!"
"I don't know!" Subject A yells back, shoving the window over the stove open and trying to wave the smoke out. "I opened it and put it in the microwave for two minutes like it said!"
Roy Mustang raises an eyebrow, getting a glass and putting it under the faucet. "Did you put the water in it first?"
Subject A looks dumbfounded. "...I thought you were supposed to do that after you cook it." (4)
After Subject A's inability to comprehend even the most basic of instructions nearly burns down Roy Mustang's gorgeous and high-priced house, when it comes time to cook dinner Subject A is demoted to the most un-food-related job his benefactor can think of.
"Go walk the dog."
Subject A blinks. "What?"
"Dog. Walk. Now."
"You don't even have a-"
6:29 pm – Subject A is once again locked outside in the pouring rain. Roy Mustang hums and makes chicken.
(1) Roy Mustang is unaware of the circumstances surrounding Subject A's hyperactivity. Too much sugar in that lollypop for the Subject's tiny body, perhaps.
(2) Which is not true. Even Roy Mustang finds that kind of nasty.
(3) Were this grade school, Subject A would receive an 'F' and a letter to be taken home to his parents about the proper way to write a report. But it is not, so Roy Mustang will content himself with writing synonyms for 'short' in the margins.
Guess what?! I have another SAT tomorrow, because my guidance counselor thinks I am totally capable of getting higher than an 1830!!! ...Whoop-dee-frickin-doo.
Let's see if we can make it to 100 reviews, my public!