Renewed Encounter | Clapandtransmute
He pushed open the door to the small cabin, slowly stepping in as the snow fell from his shoulders. His expression was as dreary as the weather was outside; every day both downcast. Some that could see him – considering as he never got company – would say it was painful how much he has changed and how apparent his lack of care was. But to him, it was much easier this way. The snow kept him numb and it was easier to not focus on his emotions. He was done with living through the constant mistakes and if halting all moving forward would stop them, then so be it.
As he pulled off his winter coat and hung it at the door, he noticed that the fire was out. He would freeze to death if he didn’t get another one started. It was almost painfully ironic how he had to live off of fire out here, but he wouldn’t dare to dabble in those thoughts. Instead he simply kicked his boots off and moved over to the fireplace, shifting a few pieces of wood before adding another in when the phone rang. It was piercing loud in the near dead silence of the cabin. And it actually elicited a bit of emotion out of the man, that being surprise.
Roy slowly shifted to the phone that was on a nearby end table, eyeing it a moment before deciding to answer. “Mustang,” he muttered voice low and cracking slightly with the two simple syllables. It was almost as though his vocal cords were numb too since he hasn’t spoken to anyone or anything in weeks It made him realize how lonely he truly was from the fact that he had no purpose to even talk.
“You sound a mess.”
A voice that would normally make him crack at least some sort of a smile, did nothing to him now. He only tipped his head to the side to hold the phone up against his shoulder as he gave himself a little bit of slack from the cord so that he could continue what he was doing. “How did you get this number?”
He heard Madame Christmas give a short snicker before speaking, “I have my connections.” Roy nodded to himself. It was a stupid question to ask. All of his girls – some of which he grew up with being a foster kid and all – had their own surprising amount of resources. He even had relied on them from time to time. “Cutting straight to the point,” she continued without hesitation. “I think you should come back to Central.”
His hand froze in his pocket, fingers clutching around the small box of matches. His pause and hesitance spoke for itself. She knew him better than anyone and he didn’t have to speak his troubles for her to guess them. He sighed and loosened his grip as he pulled out the matches. “I can’t do that,” he said softly, trying to keep some evenness to his voice as he attempted to flick a match to life.
“You want to do some good, right?” she snapped, but Roy could easily hear the tender sub tones beneath the irritated ones. She didn’t like him in this state and only wanted what was best, Roy knew that. He finally managed to strike a match as she continued, “This kid with the metal prosthetics showed up here and--.”
Roy’s eye widened and he immediately cut her off midsentence. “You don’t mean…!” He couldn’t find himself to speak the name. Maybe it was just out of doubt or shock, but he couldn’t do it. As his mind was busying rushing, working way more than it has in a while, the lit match burned down to his fingers. It snapped him out of his disbelief, even if it did cause him to lose a match and the fire it provided in the process. He exhaled, this conversation proving to be the most exhausting thing he has done since he arrived here. “I’m sorry…I can’t.” And with that, he hung up the phone and put down the matches, easily forgetting about the much needed fire.
