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So, uh. It WAS gonna be theme!fic, but I missed my deadline by nearly two hours. (This was after having another one in progress, and then scrapping it because holy hell, it sucked to high heaven. :D;;;;;)
Al <--> Winry cuteness, just a drabblet to see if I can kick myself out of my writing slump. Hope people like♥
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Memento
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He saw it in a marketplace of some city or other--one of a dozen, a hundred cities and villages they passed through in the course of a year. While his brother haggled with an old man for a set of yellowing manuscripts, he went on his own and bought it.
The doll fit easily into the palm of one hand, with large blue button eyes and a hand stitched smile. Its long hair had been tied back into a ponytail with a scrap of white ribbon. A young lady wrapped it in plain brown paper for him, and though she spoke politely, she never quite looked in his eyes, and kept as much distance between the two of them as possible.
He kept that doll tucked safely away, in the hollow of his left arm. They kept only one suitcase between them, and he wasn't quite sure he wanted his brother to know, just yet. When they returned to Central, he placed it in the small space between his pillow and the wall, still out of sight. At nights, when he knew his brother finally slept, he tried to write the letter that would accompany the doll to Rizenbul.
Once, he caught himself trying to write poetry--something about the warmth of summer and her smile as one. Embarrassed, he ripped the thing to shreds and crumbled it. When the noise woke his brother, he made up some halfhearted excuse about research and a dropped book.
Finally, one rainy afternoon, when his brother was holed up in the library, he got out paper and pen again, staring hard at the blank white expanse. The doll sat propped by a stack of books, and smiled blandly at him.
*It reminded me of you,* he thought, to star the letter. Or, *Isn't it cute, I thought you might like it.*
Neither of those made it out of his pen. He looked at the doll, and then at the window, where the rain lashed in fierce patterns against the glass. Briefly, he hoped his brother had the sense to remain in the library, rather than try to wade his way back.
And there, in the misted folds of his memory, a single clear moment tumbled out: the three of them, he, she, and his brother, wrapped together in a single large blanket, in a fort of pillows. The weight of her head on his shoulder had been comfortable, in the warm familiar dark.
With purpose, he set pen to paper and began to write.
***
Three weeks later, Winry Rockbell set the doll on her shelf, next to the old one, from so many years ago. She stood back, hands on her hips, and considered its posture. After a moment of consideration, she tucked Al's note into its lap, gently arranging its soft arms to hold the paper close.
"You can keep that, until he comes home," she said. "If he's going to tell me things like that, he can damn well do it in person."
I wanted to say a lot of things.
But the most important thing is this:
I still remember you.
--end--
Al <--> Winry cuteness, just a drabblet to see if I can kick myself out of my writing slump. Hope people like♥
********************
Memento
********************
He saw it in a marketplace of some city or other--one of a dozen, a hundred cities and villages they passed through in the course of a year. While his brother haggled with an old man for a set of yellowing manuscripts, he went on his own and bought it.
The doll fit easily into the palm of one hand, with large blue button eyes and a hand stitched smile. Its long hair had been tied back into a ponytail with a scrap of white ribbon. A young lady wrapped it in plain brown paper for him, and though she spoke politely, she never quite looked in his eyes, and kept as much distance between the two of them as possible.
He kept that doll tucked safely away, in the hollow of his left arm. They kept only one suitcase between them, and he wasn't quite sure he wanted his brother to know, just yet. When they returned to Central, he placed it in the small space between his pillow and the wall, still out of sight. At nights, when he knew his brother finally slept, he tried to write the letter that would accompany the doll to Rizenbul.
Once, he caught himself trying to write poetry--something about the warmth of summer and her smile as one. Embarrassed, he ripped the thing to shreds and crumbled it. When the noise woke his brother, he made up some halfhearted excuse about research and a dropped book.
Finally, one rainy afternoon, when his brother was holed up in the library, he got out paper and pen again, staring hard at the blank white expanse. The doll sat propped by a stack of books, and smiled blandly at him.
*It reminded me of you,* he thought, to star the letter. Or, *Isn't it cute, I thought you might like it.*
Neither of those made it out of his pen. He looked at the doll, and then at the window, where the rain lashed in fierce patterns against the glass. Briefly, he hoped his brother had the sense to remain in the library, rather than try to wade his way back.
And there, in the misted folds of his memory, a single clear moment tumbled out: the three of them, he, she, and his brother, wrapped together in a single large blanket, in a fort of pillows. The weight of her head on his shoulder had been comfortable, in the warm familiar dark.
With purpose, he set pen to paper and began to write.
***
Three weeks later, Winry Rockbell set the doll on her shelf, next to the old one, from so many years ago. She stood back, hands on her hips, and considered its posture. After a moment of consideration, she tucked Al's note into its lap, gently arranging its soft arms to hold the paper close.
"You can keep that, until he comes home," she said. "If he's going to tell me things like that, he can damn well do it in person."
I wanted to say a lot of things.
But the most important thing is this:
I still remember you.
--end--
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From:
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I particularly liked Winry's line. I can imagine her saying that exactly. Also:
Briefly, he hoped his brother had the sense to remain in the library, rather than try to wade his way back.
*snorts* Ed would do that too.
From:
Re:
Yeah, it's very likely me to make sure I'd spelled things right in the fic, and then mess up on the title. XD;;;; Thanks for pointing it out!
And come on, Ed's brilliant, but I think he occasionally lacks in common sense. :D I'm glad you liked!
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(So, now, you realize, I have the image of a fanging Ed clinging tenaciously to a lamppost or anything, because damnit, NO STUPID WIND IS GOING TO BEAT HIM even if they're galewinds that would give even a guy like Armstrong a pause. XD)
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no subject
Lovely~ You know I am so your fangirl, right~~~ This is such a wonderful piece of Al+Winry to counterbalance the bit of Ed+Winry/vice versa that was in ep18. Al's note is particularly impacting, because he remembers, and that, more than anything else, struck me as... oh, I don't remember the word. Something sad and nostalgic and lovely and romantic all rolled into one.
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Yeah--knowing that Al's been slowly forgetting his childhood and the people he knew, and knowing that apparently Ed and Al haven't been keeping much in touch, I felt it was signifigant that he's never had any issues remembering Winry's face♥
I'm glad you liked the fic! :D
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XD I was so totally your fangirl ever since Death Arc (and dang, I still wish I had thought to read your Xena and Hercules fics... >D)
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--and dude, no you DON'T wish you'd read those; they're my horrible dark evil secret that really should never see the light of day ever again. :D Woobity. XD
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no subject
YOU USED TO WRITE HERCULES XENA FIC???!!!
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They're such a family, the Elrics and the Rockbells.
-then I shall remember to mention them casually every once in a while~ >:D You'll neeeeever forget about your deep dark secret then~
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From:
no subject
I love it.