Title: Satisfaction un-guarantied
Rating: to yet be dermined but probably mature.
Disclaimer: I own none of the FMA characters in any way, shape, or form.
If any other characters appear in here (which they probably wont), then I made em up myself.
I think that covers it.
It was driving him mad. Completely and utterly mad.
He brought his sleve up to his mouth, wiping off the remaining residue from his recent meal -If he could even call it that. No, not even a meal.
When he looked back on when this problum started, he could call it a recent occurance. At first, it didn't bother him much. Probably wasn't getting enough in his system. Take a few more bites than usual, problum solved, right?
Wrong. Dead wrong.
It did quite the opposite. It grew, this feeling, this hunger. It grew like fire that refused to die. That was the best way to discribe it, he figured. Pure fire. And it sickened him.
He ran his toung along the white daggers in his mouth before they retreated back into their hidden caverns. Letting out what could either be called a growl or a groan, he pushed through a tavern door, completly forgetting the unconcious body that lay in the alley way a few blocks down the abandon road.
Maes Hughes walked down the stone steps from his office building. It had been a long day for the man; literally and figuratively speaking. Maes had been working on a case for, what was it, weeks? Months? He lost track some time ago. This case had been keeping him away from his lovely wife and daughter. Now that he was finally able to go home (at two in the morning, mind you), his said wife and daughter had went away for the weekend to visit Gracia's, his wife's, Mother-in-law; leaving him all by his lonesome self. Great. Just great.
Running a hand through his black hair, he decided to head to the local bar. It was Friday, and that was the best excuse he had. He was glad it was still open at this hour, though he wasn't really expecting for another fellow like himself to be occupying one of the bar stools that lined the counter. The bar tendent was flipping through that days newspaper, only glancing up once at the sound of the bell the corner of the door bounced against, then back down like nothing happened.
Giving a smile, he placed his coat upon the near-by rack and sat on the stool next to the dark haired man and ordered a drink, watching the bar tendent put the paper down and get to work.
Maes brought his attention to the man next to him, who seemed to have either not noticed him or ignored him all togeather. The man wore a long black trench coat, a white dress undershirt -the first two top buttons undone, black slacks and dress shoes. His hair layed on his head like it had been pouring down rain outside and he had just arrived. Judging by his expression, it didn't look like today was his best day either.
Hearing his drink being set down beside him, Maes turned his head, thanking the man, and took a sip. Placing the glass back down a moment later, he decided to see if he could get a conversation started. He couldn't do anything about being left at home, but he'd be dammed if he was going to be bored out of his mind after today.
"It looks like you haven't had the best of days." Maes stated, gently slapping the back of the other.
He had been currently focusing on controling on bringing that fire down to a mini spark. So far it had been going down slowly, but it was getting there. His focus had shattered, however, from a brief slap behind his right shoulder. His eyes widened alittle and he turned his head to the source.
When did that man arrive? How long had he been there? How long had he been there himself? ...And what was than man smiling about? The silence between them stretched for awhile longer. It looked like he was looking for something.
"What?" He stated, slightly annoyied that the said man was staring at him.
"Yep, just as I figured. Long day, right?" He replied, "Same here, but I guess it was more annoying than long." He reached for his glass again and took another drink.
He just stared at the man. How could he have not noticed him? Was willing down the hunger canceling out his other senses? He groaned, and brought his forehead down to rest on the edge of the counter. This was getting out of control.
A chuckle. That man just laughed at him, didn't he? He shot a glare at the man.
That only caused the man to start laughing harder. He let out a growl, "What the hell is so damn funny?", his head still resting on the counter.
The man brought up his hand to his mouth in a poor attempt to contain his laughter, which eventually did the trick. "Sorry, but that expression was priceless!" He brought his hand back on the counter and looked at him, and smile still remaining on his face.
"I wasn't attempting to be humorous." He spat back, sitting up back to his previous posistion and faced forward for a moment, then brought his attention back to the man, "Do you ever stop smiling?"
The man shrugged, "Didn't know it was a crime." He cut him off before a response came,
"Maes Hughes, and you?"
...The hell? He didn't get this man at all. He glanced at the clothes he was wearing. A purple to maroonish dress shirt -top button undone, black slacks and boots. The man's jacket was a similar black trench coat. He glanced back up to his face. He had a thin beard that lined his chin and traveled up to meet the hairlines that started by his ears. Aside from a few bangs, his hair was brushed back. He then glanced to his glasses that lay in front of his slitted eyes, which were stairing strait at -no, through his eyes.
He whipped his head to the front and shut his eyes, stopping his eyes from traveling from his head to the man's neck. He cleared his throat, "Um...Roy Mustang.." This was going to get dangerous if he wasn't careful.
Roy had to catch himself again from going face forward in his own drink, the slap to the back catching him off guard. Again. Then he heard Maes start laughing.
"Nice to meet ya, Roy!" Maes continued laughing after Roy shot another glare at him. His expression softened, after a moment. This man's voice, though he didn't know why, made it so he couldn't stay mad at him.
He decided to blame this wierd night on his inner fire. It fitted right into it's own damn category.