Categories > Anime/Manga > Full Metal Alchemist > An Appropriate Profession
An Inopportune Introduction
0 reviewsHe could safely say that the last place he ever could have expected to find this world's version of Jean Havoc was behind the piano of a Parisian bar.
1Original
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All things considered, the crud in the gutter tasted rather like the cheap wine he had been drinking all evening. That might be explained by the fact he had, if he remembered correctly, added a considerable amount of wine into the gutter, along with bile, the water he had ingested in an inevitably late attempt to soothe the nausea and vertigo swamping him, and a bit of blood from where he had bit his lip.
Not really one of his best moments.
It was a good thing he had most likely broken his nose when he had fumbled his way to an accidentally prone position outside the bar. It meant he didn't have to smell the distressingly sluggishly thick liquids his head rested in. It was bad enough that he was pretty sure he tasted something that might have been urine. Between the headache, nose ache, and awe inspiring level of inebriation, Ed was pretty sure he wasn't going anywhere soon. Which was almost depressing. Or would be, as soon as he was done being fascinated with the little bloody bubbles his nose was making in the gutter sludge.
At least he couldn't hear the piano anymore. Or that damn woman's yowling.
And by yowling he meant well trained, cultured crooning. It went absolutely perfectly with the stylishly delighted sound not-Havoc's fingers made as they danced along the piano keys. They made a perfect harmony, the bar entertainer and his classy woman. If he hadn't already been sick with unprecedented vigor Ed would have puked his displeasure and disgust onto the sidewalk in a sort of rebellious insult to the cute couple.
It wasn't that he was jealous. It was just...hell, Havoc always had time for him. A woman was just going to mess things up.
Ok, maybe he was jealous. Just a little. He wanted to be the one Havoc grinned up at at the end of a song. He wanted to be the one sharing drinks with the victorious balladeer at the end of the evening. He wanted that prissy little harlot long gone.
Ed was so busy trying to defend his ire that he didn't notice the shoe until it was almost on the abused and throbbing remnants of his nose.
"Shit!"
A hand reached down to roll him over an instant after that familiar, unfamiliarly accented voice exclaimed its surprise. Ed wanted nothing more than to tell the sot to leave him the hell alone, stewing in his misery, which was by now mixed with the misery of a handful of other curbside drunks, but had no choice to submit to the indignity of being rolled over.
He felt something slide down his cheek, but only had that initial second to feel disgusted before his nose decided to remind him it was in fact broken. It throbbed fiercely as the pressure in his head shifted around from being rolled and he emitted a rather depressing moan of pain.
"Hell, kid. You're a damn mess."
As if he couldn't tell. Ed tried to glower his best hint to leave at the man crouching over him, but must have bollixed it right well, seeing as the bastard only looked more concerned.
"Well, no helping it then, is there? C'mon, let me help you up."
Up was not where he wanted to be. Not at all. if he were up, his stomach would remember it hurt, his head would throb in tune with his nose, and he would be all too tempted to dry heave his way to sobriety.
"You got anywhere to go?"
Upright was just as bad as he thought, and Ed frowned in sullen misery. Sludge dripped from his bangs, trailing down his face like some sort of pestilent tear. If he could just calm down the whirling in his head he could figure out a way to dislodge this unwelcome sympathy and stumble his way to his rented room.
"Your eyes aren't tracking right, kid. Must have cracked your head along with your nose."
Ed's cross-eyed ire apparently amused the pianist, for his face relaxed into a languid sort of smile. It was an expression Ed recognized, one that was amused, and was determined in deceptively polite sort of way. There would be no arguing with whatever the man had just decided.
And not-Havoc had apparently decided he was going to play the hero. As always. Ed was supported against not-Havoc's rangy form, and hobbled forward, in the opposite direction one would take to reach his rented room.
"The names Jean." Ed's knight in cotton and linen introduced himself.
"Edward."
"Well, Edward, let me tell you, you are going to hate yourself in the morning."
"I know."
All things considered, the crud in the gutter tasted rather like the cheap wine he had been drinking all evening. That might be explained by the fact he had, if he remembered correctly, added a considerable amount of wine into the gutter, along with bile, the water he had ingested in an inevitably late attempt to soothe the nausea and vertigo swamping him, and a bit of blood from where he had bit his lip.
Not really one of his best moments.
It was a good thing he had most likely broken his nose when he had fumbled his way to an accidentally prone position outside the bar. It meant he didn't have to smell the distressingly sluggishly thick liquids his head rested in. It was bad enough that he was pretty sure he tasted something that might have been urine. Between the headache, nose ache, and awe inspiring level of inebriation, Ed was pretty sure he wasn't going anywhere soon. Which was almost depressing. Or would be, as soon as he was done being fascinated with the little bloody bubbles his nose was making in the gutter sludge.
At least he couldn't hear the piano anymore. Or that damn woman's yowling.
And by yowling he meant well trained, cultured crooning. It went absolutely perfectly with the stylishly delighted sound not-Havoc's fingers made as they danced along the piano keys. They made a perfect harmony, the bar entertainer and his classy woman. If he hadn't already been sick with unprecedented vigor Ed would have puked his displeasure and disgust onto the sidewalk in a sort of rebellious insult to the cute couple.
It wasn't that he was jealous. It was just...hell, Havoc always had time for him. A woman was just going to mess things up.
Ok, maybe he was jealous. Just a little. He wanted to be the one Havoc grinned up at at the end of a song. He wanted to be the one sharing drinks with the victorious balladeer at the end of the evening. He wanted that prissy little harlot long gone.
Ed was so busy trying to defend his ire that he didn't notice the shoe until it was almost on the abused and throbbing remnants of his nose.
"Shit!"
A hand reached down to roll him over an instant after that familiar, unfamiliarly accented voice exclaimed its surprise. Ed wanted nothing more than to tell the sot to leave him the hell alone, stewing in his misery, which was by now mixed with the misery of a handful of other curbside drunks, but had no choice to submit to the indignity of being rolled over.
He felt something slide down his cheek, but only had that initial second to feel disgusted before his nose decided to remind him it was in fact broken. It throbbed fiercely as the pressure in his head shifted around from being rolled and he emitted a rather depressing moan of pain.
"Hell, kid. You're a damn mess."
As if he couldn't tell. Ed tried to glower his best hint to leave at the man crouching over him, but must have bollixed it right well, seeing as the bastard only looked more concerned.
"Well, no helping it then, is there? C'mon, let me help you up."
Up was not where he wanted to be. Not at all. if he were up, his stomach would remember it hurt, his head would throb in tune with his nose, and he would be all too tempted to dry heave his way to sobriety.
"You got anywhere to go?"
Upright was just as bad as he thought, and Ed frowned in sullen misery. Sludge dripped from his bangs, trailing down his face like some sort of pestilent tear. If he could just calm down the whirling in his head he could figure out a way to dislodge this unwelcome sympathy and stumble his way to his rented room.
"Your eyes aren't tracking right, kid. Must have cracked your head along with your nose."
Ed's cross-eyed ire apparently amused the pianist, for his face relaxed into a languid sort of smile. It was an expression Ed recognized, one that was amused, and was determined in deceptively polite sort of way. There would be no arguing with whatever the man had just decided.
And not-Havoc had apparently decided he was going to play the hero. As always. Ed was supported against not-Havoc's rangy form, and hobbled forward, in the opposite direction one would take to reach his rented room.
"The names Jean." Ed's knight in cotton and linen introduced himself.
"Edward."
"Well, Edward, let me tell you, you are going to hate yourself in the morning."
"I know."
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