Private&#x27;s Journal

Northern Solitude

PTSD. That was Alex’s diagnosis. Roy lacked the energy to deny it. He never put a label on what ailed him–what weighed on him. The word monster only came up in his mind again and again. He never saw himself as a victim of circumstance. He refused to excuse himself from the atrocities he committed as a soldier.

He knew he would never follow orders blindly again. At this northern outpost, he was free to waste away by himself. The job required little interaction with people. It freed him from judgment and support at the same time. He preferred to keep his life this way. His flame alchemy–what he was known for–made him into the military’s personal weapon of mass destruction. He refused to murder on a massive scale again, but his refusal now didn’t bring back any of the Ishbalans that died at his hands during the war.

When Alex stole the bite off his plate, Roy looked up. His good eye looked devoid of all hope, and he frowned. He pushed the plate towards her without saying anything, inviting her to eat the remainder of his eggs. He no longer had an appetite.

PTSD. Survivor’s guilt. The labels sounded appropriate, but they failed to take away the blame he put on himself. While Alex sympathized and told him he deserved none of this, he couldn’t agree with her. But he listened, making no move to speak. Making eye contact with her proved challenging enough. He could tell she wasn’t patronizing him–that her care rang true and sincere. He saw how serious she looked. But he couldn’t believe her. He deserved this hell. He wished an Ishbalan would have brought him down early in the war. He never would have become a “hero” if history played out that way.

Climbing the ranks to make a difference had been foolishness. Arrogance. He would never become führer now.

The swear from Alex prompted the faintest smirk to twitch onto his lips. It disappeared the next instant, and Roy shook his head. “You may have a point, but I can’t divorce myself from that title,” he said. “I am a monster. Denying it would be an insult to all the lives I took.” He glanced down at his hands, grimacing. “I don’t want help. I’ll never be able to atone for what I’ve done. If I wasn’t such a coward, I would’ve taken myself out of this game a long time ago.”

Roy emitted a tired sigh. He looked out the window towards the white abyss. “You don’t need to be here, Rivers. And you can’t help me since I’m refusing your help. It’s not a failure on your part but mine.” He focused on her with his good eye. “So where does that leave me? Discharged from the military? Destined to become destitute?” Dying on the streets didn’t even scare him anymore.

#ic #verse: fma: emptier now;#thread: northern solitude;#enlistedman #long post/

Focusing her gaze on the plates between them, Alex let her somber expression sit. A soft sigh brought pause to a moment or two of silence, and she pulled his dish reluctantly toward her side of the table. Lifting and tilting the plate to scoop his eggs ontop of hers, she used the time to think.

“No, Corporal,” she settled. “Not yet, at least.”

The cabin seemed so quiet, now. With nothing but their intermittent conversation and the clatter of kitchenware to contrast the cold winds outside, it seemed suddenly much emptier than it had before. They weren’t fighting, and so the frustration Alex carried had begun to fade -- but as it left, it only left behind a sadness, an atmosphere that hung too heavy, seeping into skin and bone and weighing down all it touched.

It felt... slow. Like this was a place where time came to end. Where people came to die.

Several moments passed, where Alex did nothing but stare as her fork pushed the eggs around on her plate. Her lips pursed, tighter, and tighter, and eventually, she closed her eyes and slowly stood, releasing a breath through her nose.

“It’s hard, I guess,” she murmured, picking up both plates and carrying them to the kitchen, to sit the empty one by the sink and leave the now cold eggs on the counter, for later. Rations were rations, even if both of them had lost their appetites.

“It’s your right to refuse my help, but if I left it at that, I think that would be my fault,” she said, making as little noise as she could while moving around the kitchen, finding and pouring herself a drink of water.

The water, finally, washed away all that was left of the blood from her throat. Two full glasses worth disappeared, before she poured one just to sip from, and let it sit on the counter, her hands cupped around it, elbows on the counter’s edge. Gazing down into it, her reflection rippled with every little movement. She breathed slow.

“I think...” she began, just loud enough for him to hear, where he was. “I think, when you’re in a position like this, where it seems like... like you know death more intimately than most others, like -- it’s let you go once before, or you’re waiting for it now, or-- whatever. I think there’s a reason it doesn’t take you. I think there’s a purpose to that; not just a twist of fate, or a cruel joke.

“I think it means there’s something left for you. Not like-- ‘you still have work to do,’ necessarily, but. Like this isn’t it. There’s more, just around the corner; something that will give a reason to why you aren’t dead. Something you couldn’t even imagine, for you to see and go, ‘oh, this was it, this is what I was staying alive for.’”

The snow outside buffeted the walls, and for a moment or two, she closed her eyes just to listen. Tilting her head forward, she ran a hand through her hair, and sighed, holding her head up with that hand. She lifted her water the short distance to her lips.

“Or,” she muttered around the rim of her glass, “I could stop waxing poetic and we could play cards.”

zodiacmind

Fun facts about your sign here

#lion's teeth;#rp relevant;

// things i need to do:

> greet people > interact > be active

things i’m not doing:

#ooc #[[ things i am doing: procrastinating.#like this post if you want a starter??? ]]

astrolocherry

leos never quite forget the world and person they dreamed of becoming as children. even for their monstrous self doubts, there is an inherent sense of pride and spirit for achievement in the leo. it’s like they are always writing a letter to their inner child, promising them for better. leos cease to truly exist when they stop listening to the music of that little child’s heartbeat inside

#lion's teeth;

Northern Solitude

Roy maintained the silence. For a while, he wondered if Alex would answer him. They had already gotten off to such a turbulent start this morning. His mind flashed back to the events of the prior night, and he wondered what had been worse. He had been anything but kind to Alex last night. He knew that rationally. But he had to protect himself. He couldn’t bring himself to trust her fully, especially since it was her job to analyze his psyche like a scientist would analyze a lab rat under a microscope.

He looked up from his eggs when Alex answered his question. Anything seemed like a fair and accurate answer. He thought he might have seen her reading in the library back in Central. It seemed like a likely scene considering that scrap of information he’d just received, but he wasn’t sure of anything. He knew he really never had taken the time to know Alex at all. His own memories weren’t the most reliable.

Roy had been expecting the conversation to die after that point, but then Alex spoke again. Made a proposition, actually. She had Roy’s full attention at that point. She didn’t break eye contact either. This new side of her was so bold compared to how meek she behaved for most of yesterday. This morning was different. This morning she was full of fire.

He continued to stare at her. The proposition she had in mind, sharing information for information, sounded a lot like equivalent exchange. Thoughts of Edward Elric naturally popped back into his mind, though he quickly made efforts to bury them. It was far too early to be beating himself up over that. He tried to save that guilt for the night, even if it usually was an impossible task.

Some of the information Alex shared confirmed what Roy already knew, but some of it was news to him. He raised his eyebrows. What did she have to gain for suddenly getting so personal with him? Was it all to only get information back in return? There was no way she could truly want to know him. What was he to her? A “hero” who had died a long time ago? A former flame alchemist with not even any embers remaining in his arsenal?

“Despite your outside, you’re very resilient. But you’ve already proven that,” Roy finally said. The thought of her being homeless honestly pained him, so he didn’t dwell on it for too long. The only thing that seemed to matter was she pulled herself out of such dark places. She didn’t roll over and die. “Indeed you are a solider, Rivers. I was wrong to ever overlook you.”

He averted his gaze, the man feeling ironically small right now in the petite woman’s presence.

“I have nightmares. About Ishbal. About killing the former führer. About him strangling his own son and not being able to do a damn thing,” Roy admitted, not looking up even once. “About Fullmetal.” He paused, putting his fork down. He couldn’t bring himself to finish the small bit of eggs on his plate. “And I held you last night.” The last of it was muttered so faintly that it was doubtful Alex would have been able to hear him.

#enlistedman #ic #long post/#thread: northern solitude;#verse: fma: emptier now;

She didn’t.

She was relieved, though, when he began to speak -- when he didn’t immediately take offense, start playing defense, when she didn’t have to endure his spite and harsh words, cold flames that slid from his lips and burned slow.

It wasn’t quite an apology, no -- but he admitted his fault, and that alone was more progress than she had even been hoping to make.

So she listened, when he began to bare himself, and she listened carefully, breathing slow and chewing softly. She kept her own gaze down, as much as she could, always drawn to look at him, to examine his face, to try and see the way he felt -- but knowing that she had to lend him her respect, as well, and she knew that he didn’t want to be looked at, not in this moment.

She supposed it could be considered ironic: the way that the tension in her own body gradually faded, while the corporal seemed to sink into his chair, silverware clinking uselessly against a still-occupied plate. She closed her eyes at the end of it, and took a deep breath in through her nose, finishing up the last bit of her eggs and tucking them into her cheek.

Even with all that, though, she didn’t hear the last of what he said. She knew it was about her, but... the relevance of it was lost on her. She didn’t fit with the talk of nightmares, unless that was what he thought of her presence -- but she didn’t hear that in his voice, what little she could hear of it, anyway. Still... she knew better than to press.

“You have PTSD,” she murmured. It was plain, simple; her volume was low and her tone was careful, but there was something matter-of-fact about it, too. She supposed she knew this already -- from the way he held himself, the way he talked about himself -- but to hear him almost admit it was... good, in a way.

She tried not to lend too much emphasis to it -- not to treat him like a special case. She could offer sympathy, yes; understanding, yes; respect, yes; pity? No.

“Survivor’s guilt, too,” she added, lifting her eyes so she could reach, calmly, across the table and steal a bit of egg off of his plate. She hoped it would get him to meet her eyes, and she glanced up at him just in case, while she swallowed down what she already had, and popped in the bit on her fork.

“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” she defined. “You’ve probably never seen a therapist for it, and I wouldn’t blame you. In this day and age, they are... sometimes not the best of ideas.”

She swallowed again, sparing one hand to scratch at a place just shy of her collarbone.

“Still, you’ve isolated yourself from any possible avenue of support, and that’s... well, it’s not good. I understand it, of course; I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same. It is easier to hide a problem than it is to admit it, and particularly given the nature of it, it-- probably feels like a weakness, or something you deserve.

“It’s not.”

She held her gaze on him, jaw tight. She wanted him to know how serious she was.

“Human beings are shit.” The swear, unladylike and socially unacceptable, fell off her tongue easily. “We do shit things, we get in shit situations, we make shit choices, and oftentimes, it’s really all out of our hands. But the really shitty ones, the real monsters of the world, don’t care.

“You care. You’re bleeding it, Corporal, try as you might not to.

“And you deserve help. I don’t need to know every detail to know that, I don’t need to be in your head -- in fact, I think, in your head would be the worst place to be right now.”

Taking a deep breath, she settled back in her chair, closed her eyes, and waited for him to deny everything she’d just said.

“That’s what I think.”

suffocated-dreamer

#liar liar;

#[[ I'd write up a fancy starter call but really i just want to make it obvious that I'm still kicking and looking for partners.#No need to be fancy for that. ]]#ooc

[[ Like this post for a starter ]]

lenny-tree

○◯　○　○　　◯　○

#journal;

Northern Solitude

Roy hadn’t been anticipating silence after the way Alex chewed him out back in the bedroom. The fact that he couldn’t usually gage her response reminded him of how he didn’t know her at all. He kept his back to her as he cracked the eggs first in a small bowl, seasoning them with a little salt and pepper—the only spices he had on hand. Only the essentials were in his kitchen. Once they were seasoned, he whisked them some with a fork before pouring them into the frying pan, deliberately ignoring Alex and trying not to think too much about her.

He didn’t need to sympathize with the enemy.

Roy sighed, knowing the “us or them” mentality wasn’t good for him. It wasn’t good for anyone. That way of thinking was how wars started. But it didn’t change the fact that he had the propensity to feel threatened by Alex most of the time despite how she claimed she only wanted to help. He imagined a lot of doctors told soldiers like him that they wanted to help. Those soldiers ended up in an asylum. If they weren’t stuck there forever, they were shipped back off to war. They only “got better” so they could die for their country again. In reality, there was no “getting better.”

The only thing that mattered was whether a soldier was fit or not to be the military’s tool. If not, the soldier was cast out like yesterday’s garbage.

The sizzling of the eggs in the frying pan reminded him of the breakfast he was supposed to be preparing. The harsh coughs from Alex reminded him of the tirade he’d been expecting. As he started scrambling the eggs, he looked back at the girl from over his shoulder.

Her eyes smoldered, and he could tell she was trying to slap a smile on over her anger. Repression he knew all too well. As a soldier, he often did whatever he could to mask his true feelings most of the time. Even now, he tried to repress the immense guilt he felt during the day when he had his patrol duty. However, the isolated, frozen environment of Northern Amestris was conducive for focusing on his heaviest sins. Was he trying to torture himself? Or was this just what he deserved?

As Alex attempted polite conversation, he turned away to tend to the eggs again. They were nearly ready. “There may be a deck lying around here somewhere. I’ll look after breakfast.” Honestly, he hadn’t played cards in ages. The last time had to be back with Havoc and Breda when he was still colonel in Central on one of their nights off. “Usually, I read.” Only when he wasn’t drinking or thinking. Of course, he neglected to tell Alex any details. He abstained from books on alchemy now. Recently, he had been reading about the philosophy of metaphysics. Currently, he was attempting to get through Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz’s Discourse on Metaphysics.

The theory of there being other possible worlds intrigued Roy to no end. Maybe it was easier to try to comprehend than coming to terms with the idea of Edward Elric being dead.

Roy turned off the stove’s heat and plated the eggs, dividing them equally in half. He set Alex’s plate down in front of her, along with a fork, before taking his place across from her. He didn’t offer any side dishes to their breakfast (maybe there were none) and began eating in silence. After a little while, he asked, “What do you read, lance corporal? Besides books on alchemy, I mean.”

#ic #enlistedman #verse: fma: emptier now;#thread: northern solitude;#long post/#[[ apologies for the delay -- holidays and travel! ]]

Alex was quick to eat.

That’s not to say she ate quickly; no, she was more composed than that, despite all that had happened. She was hungry, yes, and after trekking through so much snow and wind the previous night, anyone would be -- but she still seemed to shift into a mentality fit for table manners, like flipping a coin. Her eyes were sharp, though -- attentive, like this, portioning out forkfuls; chewing slowly; and keeping her mouth closed, was a series of trained behaviours. A soldier first, and a lady second, it seemed. It was a distant second.

At the least, however, it seemed to distract her from her simmering anger. She was eager, certainly, to mask the blood on her tongue, under eggs and not quite enough salt. Still, she kept glancing up, across the table to her host, and at times, it would seem she was about to open her mouth again -- and at others, it would seem she was still gauging the look on his face, searching, curious, even now. Then she would return to her eggs, same as before.

When he finally spoke, however, she lifted her eyebrows, not just her eyes. In fact, she glanced up only briefly before looking back down, giving a small shrug. She plucked a fluffy bit of egg off her fork tine with her teeth.

“Anything,” she said, pushing it into her cheek. She tried not to seem like she noticed, that he was asking about her again. She wondered if he did that in lieu of admitting fault. “History. Fantasy. Historical fantasy, rarely. Culture books. Anything that seems... novel, I think, is a good way to put it.”

Swallowing, she lifted her eyes to meet his, again. The look in hers was hard -- stubborn, now, like she’d made her mind up about something. She lifted her chin.

“For everything I share, I think it’s only fair that you share something as well,” she stated. “Of course, you don’t have to. You can do whatever you want. Sir.” Despite her words, it didn’t sound like a request -- and she didn’t break eye contact, either.

In her chest, however, her pulse quickened. ‘No stress.’ Yeah, right.

“Counting that, you owe me one,” she barreled on. “But that wasn’t terribly interesting, was it? I’ll go again.

“I’ve been shot. I’ve been deathly ill. I spent two years homeless. I’ve gone without food for days. When I shipped off to boot camp, I was malnourished. I passed anyway.” She swallowed again. She felt very pale -- but the more uncomfortable the situation was, she hoped, the more social pressure he’d feel -- and maybe she’d get something out of him. Respect, empathy -- or just some facts, fuck, she didn’t care.

“I’ve seen the written portion of the State Alchemy Exam, and know I would pass. I support myself, down to the last coin. I work with your old team, regularly. I volunteered for this assignment, I walked through a blizzard to accomplish it, and I still made you coffee this morning.”

She cleared her throat, and, scooping up a last forkful of scrambled eggs, leaned back in her seat. She closed her eyes while she chewed, and calmed herself again.

“I am a soldier, and I am quite happy with myself. If I may.

“Your turn, Corporal.”

aseaofquotes

Courtney Summers, Cracked Up to Be

#journal;

nighttimeastrology

“You can’t hold a grudge forever.”

“…I know”: gemini, cancer, virgo, libra, sagittarius, pisces

“Watch me”: aries, taurus, leo, scorpio, capricorn, aquarius

#lion's teeth;

Northern Solitude

The look on Alex’s face spoke volumes, but she quickly filled in the rest when she began to speak. Roy had never heard the lance corporal speak so flippantly or with such scathing sarcasm. Ironically, insulting her hadn’t been his aim this time around. Really, he’d been thinking aloud, and he knew his diagnosis wasn’t fleshed out by any means. But he was at a loss as to why Alex remained incapable of performing alchemy. She couldn’t have been a homunculus. Really, what kind of sense would that make?

Or did it make perfect sense? A small, young woman who generally appeared so unassuming most of the time? She aged like Bradley had, too, which would make her different from the average homunculus. And she—

No. Roy felt even worse pursuing that dark avenue. The thoughts were just too paranoid in nature. The military already questioned his mental state. They didn’t need to see him being delusional and considering the possibility of Rivers being an enemy not just to him but to the entire state. It was madness.

Alex assuring him not to worry snapped him out of his thoughts, but he caught on to how frustrated she felt with the remark of being unable to heat water with alchemy. Even if she had calmed some, the anger still seemed present. The demand for him to walk with her caught him off guard, too. This was the first time she had ever had the nerve to give him an order.

“Fortunately for you, alchemy isn’t the answer to mundane, everyday tasks,” Roy scolded, rising to his feet and towering over Alex’s petite frame. He narrowed his good eye at her. “So many become dependent on that damned science. I understand your frustration, but really think about it. You should consider yourself lucky.” She would never be given the chance to become a fully mechanized tool of the state. Roy assumed she never got her hands dirty as a soldier. Perhaps that was ignorant of him, but she seemed to him a girl with a desk job for the most part. This stint out in Northern Amestris was probably the most action she ever got outside of bootcamp.

Roy begrudgingly followed Alex into the kitchen. The way she chewed him out turned his mood sour. “Sit down,” he commanded, perhaps in an attempt to regain the usual authority he had over her as her superior. Wordlessly, he turned his back to her and took a carton of eggs and butter from the fridge. Ten out of twelve remained, and he planned on cooking each of them a couple of scrambled eggs, which left six for their rations. He removed a frying pan from a nearby cupboard, placing it on the antiquated looking gas stove. Once he lit it, Roy used about a tablespoon of butter to grease the pan before he started cooking.

#[[ just cough out your feelings... that's normal...... ]]#ic #enlistedman #thread: northern solitude;#verse: fma: emptier now;#long post/

Lucky, he said.

Lucky!

If Alex had been angry before, she was seething now. She could hardly believe his gall, and she stared at him accordingly, shocked, but icing over fast. She knew better than to speak, even if she had been able to. As it was, the words didn’t come anyway; he struck her speechless. Her jaw clenched, and there was a fire in her chest that seemed to cause everything to seize and stop.

She focused on her breathing. In through the mouth, out through the nose, slow, controlled, and she avoided the corporal’s gaze while they settled in the kitchen. She slid into her seat silently, set both coffee cups down, and waited until his back had turned before balling her hands into tight, white-knuckled fists.

Son of a bitch.

Breathe, she reminded herself.

She sat back straight, shoulders back, head up, and breathed in the cold air. She watched her host as he moved around the kitchen, her gaze focused somewhere between his shoulder blades while she talked herself down. It was nice of him to make breakfast. She couldn’t-- think of much else that was very nice about him at the moment, but there had to be something. She tried to convince herself of that, anyway. Yes, she had expected a little better; yes, she was getting tired of being talked down to; yes, she hated that he used his authority to shut her down; and yes, he was abrasive, unsympathetic, disrespectful, downright rude, but--

It started as a jump in her throat.

Fuck.

She gritted her teeth together, ducking her head and cupping a hand over her mouth. She’d worked herself up, or maybe it was the cold air, or maybe just the physical exertion she’d been putting herself through; whatever it was, it manifested as a tightness in her throat, and then a cough.

It was a small one, at first, easy enough to write off. The second one, though, was a little rougher, and Alex was fishing inside her jacket, so that when the third one came, she already had a handkerchief up over her mouth.

“Hhk--!”

Licking her lips, she pulled the handkerchief away and folded it quickly, trying not to think about the soft wet yield of it under her fingers as she put it back into her jacket. Immediately after, her eyes flicked up to the man across from her, checking for a reaction.

Okay, no more stress.

(Yeah, that would be real easy.)

Pushing back in her seat as a way to distance herself from Roy, she took a very careful breath in, and forced herself to-- if not smile, then at least... calm.

“So, uh,” she exhaled, “what do you do for fun, up here? Do you have any cards? I’d rather not sit in uncomfortable silence, if I can help it, and I think I have a few cens to spare in a poker game....”

Northern Solitude

Roy continued to stare at Alex in an attempt to gather clues that she might not say with her words. Unfortunately, the little smile that found its place on her lips proved to be a mystery to him. Was she indulging him? Was she going to tell him what he really wanted to know? Or was she just being polite to her superior? Roy could not be certain, but he paid attention when she began to speak, his good eye naturally taking a notice in the journal she looked at.

When Alex offered it to him, Roy accepted the small research journal, listening all the while. Five years of alchemical study seemed like plenty of time to him. Upon first inspection, nothing appeared to be wrong with the transmutation circles that Alex had drawn on the opened pages. In fact, they were drawn with great care and done painstakingly well. He had never seen someone use a compass to make the circles before, and his index finger traced the perfect outline of one of the circles where the ink had dried.

He thumbed through the pages with care as Alex spoke. Even when he examined some closer, he realized most were correct. Mistakes were seldom and minor. He almost had a compulsion to fix the few mistakes, but he quickly reminded himself that alchemy was a thing of the past. Alchemy had caused him to sin in the most horrible ways. Still, as it stood, most of Alex’s transmutation circles should have been able to produce accurate transmutations.

Roy glanced at Alex, noticing the sullen look of disappointment in her eyes when she admitted to trying her hardest with no results. While he felt sympathetic in a sense, he told himself it was for the best that she failed. She appeared so delicate and small, and he still pictured her getting through bootcamp by the skin of her teeth, as he so rudely asserted last night. He told himself she wouldn’t have been able to survive the horrible burden of being a state alchemist. Their country may have been different now without Bradley in the picture, but Roy knew for a fact the state alchemists would be used to kill again one day. Their country may have been heading in a democratic, peaceful direction, but war could never fully be a thing of the past.

“Perhaps you’re delving into too advanced alchemy too soon,” Roy offered, looking directly at Alex again. It seemed like a poor excuse. If he put himself in her shoes and pictured himself as a naive young man again, he would be beyond frustrated that none of his studying had paid off. But it was all he could offer her. He did not want his mind to start pursuing dark avenues.

It was impossible for Alex to be a homunculus. Roy refused to let his paranoia take him there.

“There is plenty of alchemy you can do without ever having to set foot into the sections of the library that are restricted to all but state alchemists.” He shut her research journal and passed it back to her. “Have you ever tried transmuting anything with the most base transmutation circle and only using one element? Say making something entirely out of carbon?” Roy asked, trying to keep the diagnosis of Alex’s lack of success logical. “You know, transmutations involving air particles consist of many complicated chemical compounds.”

He doubted that was the problem, but it was the best he could come up with from what he observed and what he allowed himself to think. However, if Alex studied as much as it seemed, she likely was familiar with all of the known elements and various molecular makeups of materials for basic transmutations.

Roy folded his arms across his chest and sighed. “In any event, you’re better off keeping alchemy strictly as a hobby. Even if you do manage to transmute someday, don’t rush off to apply to be a state alchemist. Understood?”

#enlistedman #ic #thread: northern solitude;#verse: fma: emptier now;#long post/

The smile that twisted across Alex’s lips was polite, bemused, and incredulous.

She gave him a look that she could only hope expressed her position before her words could. She tilted her head, opposite to the way her wry smile turned up, and gave him a look that she knew was probably disrespectful. She justified it to herself, of course; he’d been terribly rude to her, already, and though she’d long-since grown tired of grudges, that didn’t mean she didn’t believe in tit for tat.

Equivalent exchange, after all.

Besides that, she wasn’t sure how he could believe that she could possibly be that stupid.

“Yes, you must be right,” she said; she couldn’t stop herself. Her words dripped with sarcasm as she took her journal, regarding it almost fondly with eyes and fingers, and slipped it, along with the rest of her instruments, back into the inside of her uniform jacket. “Perhaps I should have studied Introduction to Alchemy for two years, instead of just one. Surely I missed a vital building block along the way, sir; my progress thus far must have all been a fluke.”

Inside, she knew that he knew as well as she did that she couldn’t have gotten to where she was without a deep understanding. He wasn’t all blind. As easy as it was to imagine him as the arrogant, condescending sort, she doubted he was really trying to be that man now. He was probably just at a loss, and she considered that she might have been being too hard on him, but it was hard to stop once she began.

She probably needed something to eat, she decided, and sighed as she stood, dusting herself off and picking up both cups of coffee. Low blood sugar was a killer, she mused.

“You have nothing to worry about, Corporal,” she said, a little calmer now. “I really can’t even heat water, and children can do that. I’ll remain a theorist.”

She still felt sore, hearing her work referred to strictly as a ‘hobby,’ but as she crossed to the door, it was easy to let herself forget it under the painful soreness from yesterday -- from the train, the carriage, and the blizzard.

“Walk with me,” she said, making a gesture for him to follow her to the kitchen. He may not have been great company, but she’d rather have his presence than not. That much, at least, hadn’t changed over the years.

Northern Solitude

Roy was a little surprised that he had managed to scare Alex. She had been so engrossed in her alchemical research. It was a rarity to see someone with such dedication, and her embarrassment about it struck him as somewhat endearing. He couldn’t help but be dully amused as she tried to recover. Such sentiments rarely warmed his frozen heart.

Anyone getting so lost in the world of alchemy always reminded him of Edward Elric. The fact brought a small, pained smile to his lips. He remembered the moments where he would let the boy loose in a library. Once a book had been in Ed’s hand, everything else ceased to matter. The happiness from the memory quickly faded, though, as did the other warm sentiments. He knew Edward was gone, and Roy considered it a personal failure on his part. It was his fault that young Alphonse no longer had his older brother in this world.

The bud of a smile wilted from his lips before it got the chance to bloom.

Alex began to speak, which snapped Roy out of the world of his own head. He stared back into her gaze with his good eye, listening rather intently. At the mention of coffee, he glanced at the mug. Really, she was considerate. Roy had to give her that. He had been an absolute ogre towards the young woman last night, yet she had taken the time to prepare him a cup of coffee in the morning. He couldn’t exactly figure Alex out, but he intended to somehow before she could peg him.

“In a while, Rivers,” Roy answered, shifting his focus back to her. “I want you to tell me about your pursuits in alchemy and why you’ve never been able to transmute.”

The demand came naturally to him, and it echoed traces of the former colonel that once was. He was used to speaking in such a way to his subordinates despite his deduction in rank. It ironically probably wouldn’t be long now until the lance corporal surpassed the corporal. Roy wondered if Alex would receive a promotion if she had success here. He supposed it shouldn’t matter much to him either way. He got little of the outside world at this outpost, and it wouldn’t be long before Alex resumed her life in Amestris.

He ignored the sinking feeling he got in his stomach then and kept staring at Alex, expecting an answer.

#[[ i was half asleep and in your tags i read 'she has' as 'the bae has' and tbh isn't it true #cute bae. ]]#enlistedman #long post/#thread: northern solitude;#verse: fma: emptier now;#ic

The question caught her off-guard.

That’s not to say that she flinched; she blinked, maybe, but she’d grown careful over the years. She’d learned how to respond to questions she didn’t want to answer, or in some cases didn’t know how to, and maybe that was the real lesson that the military had taught her: how to keep a poker face, whether being snapped at, yelled at, lectured, directed, or simply asked.

What caught her most off-guard wasn’t the question, though, not really; she’d been asked numerous times. What caught her off-guard was that he asked. She supposed, in retrospect, it made sense, given the kind of man he was, or perhaps moreso the kind of man he used to be. Curious wasn’t the right word for it -- he investigated. It’s the sort of trait found commonly in alchemists: that thirst for knowledge; the urge to find answers for unanswered questions.

But, of course, he’d said he wasn’t an alchemist any longer.

He still knew the tone of voice, though, she noticed -- and as, in the brief moment before she’d be forced to reply or let an uncomfortable silence hang, her eyes swept over his face again, she noticed it still fit him, in the strangest of ways. She wondered how he would have acted if she’d been just one rank above him. She wondered if he’d have trouble. Authority suited him, after all.

That moment of silence came and went, and Alex switched from analytic mode to a mode that was more art than science. The best poker face, she found, was a smile, sheepish, and coupled with a little shrug as she pushed her chair back.

“I guess it’s just one of those things,” she offered, gently. She reached for her journal, pulling it back to her and breaking eye contact to look at the open pages. She touched the ink, carefully, and then blew on it, before picking up the book.

“Here,” she said, closing it and extending the volume toward him. “It’s a bit easier to show than tell, I think. I’ve been studying as much as possible for five years, and I like to think that’s reflected, but you’d be a better judge of my proficiency than I would. I’m sure I would be more advanced if I could learn practically, but, of course, I am working with a handicap.

“I can try my hardest, but nothing happens,” she clarified, finally. It was a fact that became easier to handle with time, but there was still a slight dimness in her eyes as she said it; a disappointment.

Naturally, she tried to get rid of it as quickly as possible. “Last few years, I’ve been working on transmutations involving air particles, mostly; I’m sure you’re aware it’s a complicated field, and the research that is available is unfortunately scarce, particularly to find in public access. The libraries in Central have great selections of all kinds of texts -- if you’re a state alchemist. And therein lies the problem. So, there’s been a bit of guesswork, but, it’s coming along.”

It was hard to keep her excitement down, once it bubbled up. When she was younger, she would have loved this. Her, her research, and the Flame Alchemist. It didn’t seem as special now, but... it was nice, anyway.

Yeah. It was nice.

Northern Solitude

The amount of sleep Roy got truly was a rarity to him. Even more incredible, he had managed to do so without the help of alcohol. It was funny to think that a little bit of companionship from Alex had made all the difference. Not that he wanted that kind of closeness or codependency. Truly, Roy felt he deserved no such thing. Plus, he had a difficult time tolerating most people these days. Most remembered him for who he was—not what he was now. Nobody wanted to accept the fact that the Flame Alchemist was no more. All that remained was a ghost—a whisper—of his former self. He had no plans on ever going back, and that wasn’t enough for most people.

He slept through when Alex adjusted the eyepatch back to its proper place. Honestly, it was a kind thing for her to do. Roy avoided letting people see the marred skin that lurked beneath at all costs. He wouldn’t have wanted to talk about it. He wasn’t ready to even after these past few years. That eye served as a physical reminder off all the horror he’d bore witness to. The sights of the former führer strangling his ignorant son could never be forgotten, nor could the fact that Roy failed to make a difference that day. Sure, he had succeeded in killing Bradley, but at what cost? Was the country really on its way to being a better place without that homunculus in the picture? At the very least, Amestris had stopped waging wars to make the philosopher’s stone.

Fortunately, the dreamless sleep persisted. Alex’s coat was no true substitute for her warm, physical body, but it proved to be enough of a comfort for Roy. He slowly started to stir about a half hour later. His ears detected the sound of faint pen scratchings, and his nose detected the aroma of coffee. They were the sounds and scent of another person being there in the cabin with him. Usually, he was the only one there to fill out paperwork or brew coffee. Even before he opened his eyes, he was reminded of what he had been assuring himself of before nodding off: Alex had indeed returned, and she was still there.

Roy’s good eye fluttered open and took in the sights. He found Alex sitting at his desk. His first suspicion was that she had to be writing a report on him. It reminded him of the fact that he had considered the young woman a threat last night despite her claims of wanting to help him. The truth remained that she had the power to get him discharged from the military—from all he knew. He remembered how she said that was the last thing she wanted, but was it? Truly? What if she only wanted to make him well so he could go back to it all? Go back to climbing the ranks and the military’s chain of command. Climb the ladder all the way to führer. That had always been the plan—the dream. But dreams changed. Dreams died when reality came crashing in.

Did Alex have dreams? Had hers changed? These questions reminded him of the poignant fact that he knew next to nothing about this young woman, the young woman who had been so unassuming in the past, just another cute face around the office. Funny. If he had still been on the track to becoming führer, he likely would have never gotten to learn what he had last night about her. Now, it seemed, he may have been slowly beginning to know her as a real person.

The irony never ceased to amaze him. A man who wanted to know no one was getting to know someone, compared to a man who wanted to know those he had to know in order to serve his goals. Who truly was the selfish one? The Flame Alchemist or the Enlisted Man?

He shook his head, tiring of his own thoughts, and shifted in the bed some, Alex’s jacket falling away from him. She must have thought that had been a pathetic sight—a grown man clinging to her jacket like a needy child with a security blanket. If he had the energy to, he’d probably laugh at himself. As it stood, he just wanted to get out of his own head, and he did so by observing Alex closely at the desk.

The notion of her writing a report flitted away. Why would she need a compass to write a report? Unless she was drawing one meticulous Venn diagram comparing his mental state from what it had been two years ago to now. But come on. That was crazy. Roy knew better than to think he was the center of the world and tried to counter the paranoia with what he remembered about the previous night. Alex had mentioned having an interest in alchemy despite never being able to physically perform it. He wondered why. She seemed intelligent enough.

Shifting some more in the bed, Roy forced himself to sit up. An involuntary groan passed from his lips. The springy mattress had the power to make him achey, but he refused to seek out more comfortable furniture or lodgings. This frozen hell had become home.

“Working on alchemical research?” he finally asked to break the silence. He had done no such thing in years, and he hadn’t used alchemy since that day. The secrets of Flame Alchemy would likely die with him. Who could he really pass such a grievous burden on to? He had no interest in teaching either, as that would require practice. That would require re-living the nightmares that came with Flame Alchemy.

#enlistedman #ic #[[ 'but alex why don't you just draw a circle yourself and--'#'because shut up. shut up is why.' ]]#long post/#verse: fma: emptier now;#thread: northern solitude;

Alex hadn’t noticed him waking up.

She was lost in her own mind. The scratching of her pen on the paper wasn’t continuous; more often, she had the end of it pressed thoughtfully against her bottom lip, dark, sharp eyes analyzing the page in front of her. It was more frequent for her to turn the pages, back and forth, reading and rereading what had already been written, double-checking complicated calculations done in pencil, and outlining what was important in careful ink. Still, the noise in her head was the loudest -- loud enough to drown out the sound of the jacket hitting the floor with a flump, and loud enough that any other sound, be it a squeaky mattress or even a groan, was dismissed without another thought.

She was engrossed so much so, in fact, that when he did make a noise loud enough and coherent enough, speaking suddenly out of the silence-- she jumped.

Her back straightened and her shoulders tensed, even if just for a fraction of a second, head lifting up and turning to look at him with eyes that were momentarily owl-like. The pen slipped from her fingers, hitting the desk with a clatter, and she cringed. Her eyes squeezed shut.

Embarrassing.

Taking a slow breath in, and letting it out just as slowly, she turned back to her work, picked up her pen, and tucked it gently inside the binding of the journal. She pushed the journal back for now, though not closing it; there was ink that still needed to dry.

“Yessir,” she said as she met his gaze again, trying to remind herself to be formal, official -- but it was hard not to crack a small smile, an amused, albeit awkward one, trying to shake off some of the embarrassment she felt. She leaned back in her seat, brushing herself off as if that would help. “I think I mentioned that’s how I spend most of my free time. I hope I didn’t wake you.

“Your coffee’s cold now, I’m afraid,” she added, nodding at the two mugs -- hers empty. “I can take it back to the kitchen and heat it up for you, if you want.”

At another time, it might have been a funny thought, she realized -- the Flame Alchemist having someone else heat his coffee for him. Right now, though, to her, it just seemed like a waste.

Northern Solitude

The quiet darkness of the night settled in. Usually, the silence that came in the night was accompanied by an ominous feeling. The deafening silence proved to be excellent fodder to feed Roy’s mind, which was guilty of going into overdrive with unwanted thoughts. The silence made his regrets come front and center. It made it easy for him to get lost in self-pity. It made sleep become next to impossible. His mind would go down dark avenues. He’d remember Ishbal. He’d remember how selfish and stupid he had been. He’d remember following orders blindly. He’d remember the faces of all of those he killed every time he closed his eyes. And he’d even remember the smell—the acrid smell of their burning flesh that nearly caused him to break down every time.

Back when he’d been so focused on climbing to his top, he could bury the sins he committed. He could repress them with ease. His ambition and dreams carried him forward. He became an excellent actor, most of his pain being hidden behind a smirk that exuded confidence. His smooth talk proved to be an excellent buffer. He didn’t have to remember the Ishbalan teen, who couldn’t have been much older than fifteen, that he had incinerated to ashes, hoping to provide a quick death. But there was nothing quick and honorable about burning an innocent civilian alive and leaving nothing but a charred corpse, the only identifying traces of the human that once remained being in the dentition.

In the night, the arm Roy elected to keep away from Alex found its way back to her small frame. The trauma made him forget about how unworthy he was. Even if he was unfit to touch another human being, another person was what he needed right now. Roy needed Alex’s humanity. He clung to Alex’s slumbering form as he relived the wounds inflicted upon his mind. What had they called this in the medical profession? Shell shock? War neurosis? Roy seemed to be suffering signs from the condition years after he’d walked away from the battlefield. Perhaps that was where repression had gotten him. Surely, Alex would come to notice sooner or later that these episodes were a part of why he could never sleep at night and why he had to depend so heavily on alcohol to relax himself.

But she wouldn’t have to see this tonight. As the fear and terror clutched at his trembling form, he calmed himself by being able to cling to Alex’s very real and tangible body. His good eye snapped open, seeing how she lied curled up on top of him—a beautiful, physical reminder of humanity. Tonight, she served as his anchor to reality. Her warm slumbering form provided more comfort than she would likely ever know. Roy took comfort at how alive she felt. He listened to each of her steady breaths. It calmed him. It made the horrifying memories of Ishbal ebb away like the sea, hopefully with a prolonged flow.

The trembling stopped, and he kept her close. He started running her fingers through her soft hair again in a rhythmic fashion. The tightness started to leave his chest as he concentrated on the sensation of each one of her tresses and the warmth her body emitted. After quite some time, Roy surprisingly relaxed enough to the point of dozing off, his hand still resting in Alex’s hair.

He slept like that on and off in short intervals. The morning light slowly came, though the sun could not fully pierce through the thickness of the gray overcast snow clouds. The constant flurries perpetuated throughout the night and continued in the morning, though they were not as fierce as they had been. The howling wind sounded, audible as ever through the cabin walls. It seemed to be able to chill the air inside as it hit against the window in a burst, leaving white flurries all over the frosted pane.

When Alex started to move, Roy had been in a light sleep. The gentle touches against his stomach had registered with him, and while he stirred some, it was not enough to cause him to fully wake. He had no desire to. The brief reprieves of rest Alex had provided him with had been a godsend. Roy was unused to have anything like sleep without copious amounts of alcohol these days. The fact that Alex had been like a natural sedative was something that the corporal found particularly amazing, though he likely would not have the gall to admit such out loud. He did not want to have that kind of codependency on another person. He found it unfair to put that kind of burden on Alex. She had a life outside of him; she couldn’t spend the rest of her days as his sleep aid.

The absence of Alex’s body finally caused Roy to open his eyes. He ran his hand over his face without realizing it, eyepatch becoming askew. The scarred skin and blinded, cloudy eye, parts of himself he considered ugly and usually kept hidden, were now on display. Without her, he shivered, and the haunted memories threatened to flow back to his mind. He watched as she padded out of the room with his good eye. He wanted to stop her, but he could not find his voice. He felt vulnerable and not ready to face the day. He knew this was not true solitude, though. Roy knew Alex would be back.

As she exited, he sunk deeper into the springy mattress, resting his head on the single pillow. He pulled her coat up rather than the blankets, finding solace in the fact that traces of her scent could be detected on it. He pulled it all the way up to his chin.

“Rivers…” Roy breathed out, hugging the fabric of her coat to his chest, dipping his head some, the tip of his nose brushing against her coat. He fell into a light, dreamless sleep again, aching for her presence but not having the courage to actually ask for it. He assured himself she would be back.