So I wrote this last night, on my iPhone. Just typed away at like two in the freaking morning. It was pretty crazy, but also, that is my excuse for all the things that are probably wrong with it. Don't you love the way I just make excuses instead of making sure it's better? ... :) Love you guys.


Alien.

.

Inquisition


Alfons rolled over to his other side, his back pressed firmly against the couch and his gaze settled on Edward. He was at the kitchen table, a mug of what Alfons deduced consisted mainly of sugar - and maybe a bit of coffee - forgotten beside him. His golden eyes were focused intently on the paper before him, where he was drawing complicated circles that Alfons knew he would never understand, no matter how many times Edward would attempt to explain it to him.

The pen he was using scratched away at the paper at an almost alarming rate. And despite the ink being permanent to the soft white sheet that lay upon their table, Alfons knew this made no difference. Edward never made anything less than perfect circles. Sometimes his single minded determination daunted Alfons. It was something about Edward - one of many things actually - that he just couldn't seem to get a grasp on. He could shut out everything around him for increasingly long periods of time, even forgetting to eat or sleep until his goal was reached. Alfons considered this very important information to include, as eating and sleeping were things that his roommate very much enjoyed partaking in.

There was something of an anomaly that he had been noticing lately. And he figured that he would not be ill advised to make an experiment out of it. It was difficult to find things out about his friend in any other way. Additionally, if asked directly, there was also the possibility that Edward would provide you with an entirely improbable answer, and yet believe it to be truth. He tried to avoid those moments as often as he could. Which was less and less often every day.

Anyway, the day had been a terrible bore so far. The weather was too bad for any escapades, and although the shopping needed desperately to be done he wasn't going to brave the storm out there just for milk and bread. He and the lads had decided to take a break on work today, as research had been progressing quite well as of late and no one particularly felt like being whisked away by the intensity of the winds. Edward was completely and helplessly absorbed in this "new theory" he had shouted about in excitement approximately four hours ago, and had not moved since he sat down.

A good a time as any, Alfons thought.

"I was wondering..." he began, watching as Edward resolutely ignored the hell out of him, not even showing any sign of hearing him at all. He turned to look at the ceiling, attempting to appear nonchalant. It was more of an attempt to be inconspicuous for his own pesky qualms, rather than an actual concern that Edward would be suspicious he is up to something. He just can't help being a little paranoid when addressing someone with that massive of an intellect and attempting subterfuge. Though most likely Edward's current attention span held no space for Alfons' body language. He probably would even glance his way.

"It was just a passing thought, not that you're going to be interested or anything. Probably wouldn't even know the answer," Alfons trailed off for a moment, glancing at Edward from the corner of his eye. Precisely as he had expected, the man hadn't moved a muscle, at least one that wasn't in his left hand, still detailing the circles spanning his notes. He wasn't paying a lick of attention. Maybe this wouldn't work after all.

Alfons pitched his tone lower, into a baritone that would serve to disguise his voice to any sleeping person. And perhaps enable him to worm his way into the distracted psyche of his dear, strange friend.

"Whats the chemical make up of..." he has to pause for a moment. He wanted to think up something a bit unusual, at least to start. "... Of the Earth." he finally finished, feeling a bit smug.

"Thirty-two point one percent iron. Thirty point one percent oxygen. Fifteen point one percent silicon. Thirteen point nine percent magnesium." He rattled off the numbers like a machine, and didn't look up once. Alfons was sure too, as he had abandoned his guileful casual pose in favor of staring unabashed at Edward with more than a bit of shock.

So, his experiment was going according to his hypothesis so far. But there was no way for him to immediately check if Edward's calculations were true, which he doubted very much. Which would mean that the man had to be listening to him rather than functioning on autopilot, because otherwise he wouldn't have answered him at all, right? If he was going to joke!

"Electronegativity of Yttrium?"

"1.22"

"Atomic mass of Nobium?"

"92.90638."

Alfons pursed his lips, and although this one was considerably more childish, he took a second to figure out a basic math question on a piece of paper lying atop the coffee table. One that at least had numbers someone would actually have to take a moment to put together. "1278926002 multiplied by 2678 and then divided by 1.002?"

There wasn't even a pause, "3.4181275781996 times 10 to the 12th power. "

Alfons frowned, scientific notation and everything. What a crazy smart ass. He found himself warring between an extreme feeling of irritation and a fond adoration for his friend. After the small internal conflict, he just decided to feel like asking more questions.

"What's the chemical composition of the cotton fibers in of my shirt?"

"Ninety-five percent cellulose One point three percent protein. One point two percent ash. Point six percent wax. Point three percent sugar. Point eight percent organic acids. Three point one percent various other chemical
The non-cellulose chemicals of cotton consist of protein, ash, wax, sugar and organic acids. Found in the cuticle of the fiber. Cotton wax is found on the outer surface of the fiber. The more wax found on the cotton, the greater the surface area of the cotton, the finer the cotton."

Well that was... Extremely detailed. Alfons took a moment to finger the slightly frayed collar of his shirt. Well, he was certainly lacking a certain amount of surface area, that was for sure. He hadn't worn fine cotton since he was a child.

With a start and stifling an I characteristic giggle that threatened to escape his mouth in response to his manipulation of Edward, he realized that perhaps the elongated answer was a product of being questioned multiple times. Or maybe the subject had just required a more thorough explanation. Why Edward would even find a reason to keep information like the exact percentage of chemicals making up the fibers of a cotton shirt in his brain was beyond him. He'd flirted once with the idea that Edward had a photographic memory, and he'd read all these strange factual snippets somewhere and they'd been forever ingrained into his memory. This theory had been disproved, however, when Edward consistently forgot about things that he should rather remember. Things that shouldn't be THAT difficult to keep track of; like proper social behavior and going out to do the shopping once in a god damn while. Additionally, the fact that he had replaced many of his recent and dated memories with farce information was telling of something far more psychological than a brilliant memory.

Alfons wondered if being that crazy was just the only path to being that intelligent. A trade off of sorts. What was Edward always preaching about?

Oh, that's right: equivalent exchange.

"Uh... The first all metal plane, Junkers D-I. Care to explain it to me?"

Edward once again did not hesitate a moment, yet his eyebrows did, however subconsciously, knit downward in confusion, "We don't have planes yet."

Alfons, sensing a bit of psychosis creeping up, thought over whether or not it was good to continue. He figured maybe he could just try again, maybe reword it. But not now, right now he didn't want to deal with a deluded friend, desperately seeking a world that didn't exist. Right now he didn't think he could handle that.

Alfons felt this put a damper on his mischievous mood. At least a bit.

It was three nights later that he resumed his experiment. Best not try everything at once anyway, he hypothesized, as he snuck into Edward's room once he was sure the young man was properly asleep. It was four in the morning, as it had been an interested-in-everything day for Edward, and this tended to mean he wouldn't make his way into bed until the beginning hours of what would be, essentially, tomorrow.

Except it was today. And - god be damned Alfons was so tired he was rambling in his OWN head. Interested-in-everything days didn't just wear the physical being out of Edward (this would be evident tomorrow when he continued to sleep like a rock throughout their entire Thursday) it downright put Alfons in a short mood as well.

Stifling a yawn that probably wouldn't give him away even if he had felt the need to scream in the middle of it, that's how soundly he was sure Edward was sleeping, he creeped up to his friends bedside. Watching the steady rise and fall of this odd fellows chest, the gentle exhalation of his breath, and the soft fall of his hair against his tanned, slightly exotic features was endlessly strange. To see him so without motion was a shock, for Edward was always moving, always animated, even in stillness you could see his thoughts running sprints around his skull as if he stopped thinking for a moment the world would explode. Maybe both of them.

Squashing the thought of Edward's imaginary world before it could deter him, Alfons nudged his friend hard in the side a few time until he got him muttering feeble protests in his whiny, complaintive voice, the one he used when he wanted to annoy Alfons the most. The he pitched his voice low once more, easily stating the predetermined revisal of his previous question.

"Junkers D-I. All metal plane. Invented by Hugo Junkers in 1918," Alfons paused, then frowned a bit at the strangeness of his new strategy, "on Earth. Performance data?"

That seemed to stir the right response, it seemed Edward's brain just needed to categorize things a bit. His voice was a garbled grumble of half snores and half tired sighs, but it was understandable all the same. "Type: fighter. Engine: 180 hp BMW. Wing Span: 9 meters. Length: 7.25 meters. Height: 2.25 meters. Maximum Speed: 185 kilometers per hour. Maximum Height: 6,000 meters. Endurance: 1 hour 30 minutes. Armament: 2 machine-guns."

That was spectacular.

So this checked out at least. It now stood to reason that a sleeping Edward was susceptible to the same stimuli to elicit this strange response as a the following: drunk Edward (though this was considerably scarier, as it was hard to make him stop, and much of it was terrifying subject matter), beyond-normality single-mindedly focused Edward, fevered Edward (once again a bit disconcerting, though not quite as stressful as when he took to drink), extremely cold Edward, groggy, just-woke-up Edward, and high Edward (on an occasion when a man from the lab challenged his intelligence and somehow got him to shoot up cocaine, the whole experience, particularly the aftermath, was not one he liked to recall.).

Alfons kept up his experiments for a long time. Though by now it was a just a long going inside joke that he thoroughly enjoyed with himself, thiugh he expected that occasionally Edward would catch on, and continue simply to humor him. There was no soubt in his mind, however, that upon catching Edward at exactly the right time he would simply answer any question with any predetermined thought.

Once, attempting to push the limits and asking Edward one day - when he was helplessly absorbed in a book of algorithms that he had informed Alfons earlier he found boring, but was looking especially enamored with the text despite this admonishment - if he knew the exact calculations of the number pi. After mindlessly repeating a litany of numbers for just under a half an hour he trailed off, looking understandably confused, and proceeded to glare at a still snickering Alfons.

"What the fuck are you giggling about?" Edward snapped, but his mouth twitched as it he wanted to smile as well. When Alfons finally collapsed into full out guffaws, Edward was quick to follow.

"Did you seriously ask me... How long ago...?" his questions were short, a bit bewildered, and choked with laughter.

Alfons just laughed harder, "Oh... Christ Edward! So long ago!"

Sensing he wasn't just talking about the last question, Edward blinked, "You've been doing this for a long time?"

Alfons smiled, "Of course, and just because you caught on, doesn't mean you'll be able to stop. I'm sure of it."

"I hate you so much."

"I feel smarter for it! I promise."

"Go to hell."

Alfons just smiled.


I have no idea where this one came from really...