Yeah, I realize I should be working on the multi-chapter story I just started, but one-shots are so much easier to churn out. So here's another one for you.

Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock


He was slumped over the counter of the little roadside food-stop after a long day of hauling wood all around while they tried to help this sorry excuse for a day to patch itself up. Ha! as if he could care less about these people. He'd given the mustached man behind the counter nearly all of his meager savings, just for this cool glass of water he held pressed to an overheated forehead. Shouldn't that be enough for these peons?

He tried to lose himself in thoughts of happier times, as he always had since beginning this arduous journey with a murderer. The group had now expanded to more people than he cared to remember; though one new name burned angrily in his memory.

Yoki remembered when he was able to lounge around, looking like the proper military officer of course, and watch those poor, filthy miners do all the work. And why shouldn't they? He had worked hard to obtain his lofty position. After many painstaking years of groveling and bribing he had built himself a little castle in the rural wilderness.

And then a child had knocked it all down.

He leveled a tired glare at the hulking suit of armor unaffected by the weather and work. Alphonse. In his mind, the very willing accomplice to his older brother. Edward Elric. The boy was chatting happily with the father he had quite literally bumped into, even though said parent hadn't even recognized his own son. Some father, Yoki thought, no wonder the Elric Brothers had grown up to be hooligans.

Nevertheless, memory seemed to be a fallible trait in that family line. It had only been a few freezing months ago that Yoki had finally come face to face with his worst enemy. The Boy Alchemist, Edward Elric. Elric, however, hadn't been quite as small as he had thought. The boy had been replaced with a young man, with harsher, narrower eyes, a taller, straighter back, and an air of absolute confidence that somehow managed to keep from total arrogance.

Perhaps stooping Yoki, a trait acquired from slinking behind Scar through filthy slums, had been intimidated. It hadn't stopped him from confronting the other.

It had all been in vain; his indignant declaration of blame upon the younger had been met with a blank stare and a barely interested, "Who are you?"

What a harsh slap to the face, to think that that one night in which Yoki had plummeted from wealth to scrounger had merely been a passing blur in his adversaries' mind. Hardly worth mentioning in a military report. Maybe he was just another name in the strange, practically fictional world of Fullmetal's mission files.

Yoki, weak, destined to be nothing but an office pencil-pusher, had wanted to be rich, famous, and loved. To stick in the minds of not just one, but millions. He just wasn't willing to risk, to do what it took to be a People's Hero. Not yet.

So there you go. I figured these might be some of the things Yoki brooded on during the trip southward towards Central. Maybe that's what made him decide to hit Pride with a car. I love that part. Other than that, I really don't like this character, so it's odd I wrote a whole one-shot about him…but whatever I get an idea for, I write. If you liked this, review! And check out my other one-shots, they're mostly like this. If you want a change of pace, you can even look at other fandoms I've written for, such as Harry Potter, Hetalia, and even a Lord of the Rings parody from years ago! Thanks for your time!