Categories > Anime/Manga > Full Metal Alchemist > Come
Disclaimer- dont own. just borrowing. no profit made.
It was a frightening fascination, an utterly obsessed desperation, that kept his mind on the pencils in front of him, arranged with the severity of soldiers at attention: each the same length, pointed the same way, dressed in office yellow paint with tips sharpened to a business-like point. The pencils were a momentary distraction, a relaxation from he knot his mind had tangled itself into.
The pencils stood in their line a few inches from a contrastingly messy pile of scrawled papers. Here and there, scattered amongst the more civilian notes were pieces of paper that appeared to have endured some sort of forced march, tattered and weather worn, ink running, pulled from one hastily penned letter to another, forming inarticulate blurs.
He never thought to have a desk job, never thought to be organizing pencils as opposed to plotting, scrambling through the dark, pretending every frantic step was planned...he was not made for waiting, was not a patient person. Yet somehow...somehow when it came down to it, he was doing what he had been ordered. And he had been ordered to try and make sense of the papers before him. The handwriting was almost as good as having the writer in the room, thankfully expressive. Here, when this 'a' had been written, the writer had been in a bit of a hurry, the flourish at the end of this 'y' implied lazy satisfaction...
It was a code only he was familiar with, only he knew to pry out of a vast assortment of reports. A secret he had learned through long nights and frustrating days, of dealing with someone who rarely thought to place their emotions on their face for easy interpretation.
Yet he had seen that face runs its gamut of expression, from anger, to awkwardness, to a quiet sort of adoration. He had heard the fine shifts in enunciation that possessed a vast world of shifting emotion. A corner of his mind whispered he ought to work harder, think faster, lest he be unable to watch that beautifully subtle shifting ever again.
"Damn it, Ling..."
The answer had to be in there somewhere...where Ling was, what the hell he was doing... He had been clever with his reports, including just enough information to keep Ed from charging off after him in some sort of heroic rage, neglecting enough so that should Ed try he would have no inkling as to where to start.
Brilliant really. As always.
And really...it wasn't his fault Ed was too stubborn to give up. Hell, he was most likely holed up wherever he had gotten himself into trouble waiting for Ed to figure it out already and come dashing to the rescue. He would have that damn smile on his face, the cocky grin that said he had planned it all, that everything had worked out perfectly.
The smile that was more full of shit than Roy at his finest.
Plowing pencils out of the way Ed glared at the papers in front of him. Ling had better have a good excuse for vanishing like he had, months ago. And if he didn't, well... A toothy, mirthless smile cracked across Ed's face. Ed was going to find the bastard and beat answers out of him or contrition into him.
It was a frightening fascination, an utterly obsessed desperation, that kept his mind on the pencils in front of him, arranged with the severity of soldiers at attention: each the same length, pointed the same way, dressed in office yellow paint with tips sharpened to a business-like point. The pencils were a momentary distraction, a relaxation from he knot his mind had tangled itself into.
The pencils stood in their line a few inches from a contrastingly messy pile of scrawled papers. Here and there, scattered amongst the more civilian notes were pieces of paper that appeared to have endured some sort of forced march, tattered and weather worn, ink running, pulled from one hastily penned letter to another, forming inarticulate blurs.
He never thought to have a desk job, never thought to be organizing pencils as opposed to plotting, scrambling through the dark, pretending every frantic step was planned...he was not made for waiting, was not a patient person. Yet somehow...somehow when it came down to it, he was doing what he had been ordered. And he had been ordered to try and make sense of the papers before him. The handwriting was almost as good as having the writer in the room, thankfully expressive. Here, when this 'a' had been written, the writer had been in a bit of a hurry, the flourish at the end of this 'y' implied lazy satisfaction...
It was a code only he was familiar with, only he knew to pry out of a vast assortment of reports. A secret he had learned through long nights and frustrating days, of dealing with someone who rarely thought to place their emotions on their face for easy interpretation.
Yet he had seen that face runs its gamut of expression, from anger, to awkwardness, to a quiet sort of adoration. He had heard the fine shifts in enunciation that possessed a vast world of shifting emotion. A corner of his mind whispered he ought to work harder, think faster, lest he be unable to watch that beautifully subtle shifting ever again.
"Damn it, Ling..."
The answer had to be in there somewhere...where Ling was, what the hell he was doing... He had been clever with his reports, including just enough information to keep Ed from charging off after him in some sort of heroic rage, neglecting enough so that should Ed try he would have no inkling as to where to start.
Brilliant really. As always.
And really...it wasn't his fault Ed was too stubborn to give up. Hell, he was most likely holed up wherever he had gotten himself into trouble waiting for Ed to figure it out already and come dashing to the rescue. He would have that damn smile on his face, the cocky grin that said he had planned it all, that everything had worked out perfectly.
The smile that was more full of shit than Roy at his finest.
Plowing pencils out of the way Ed glared at the papers in front of him. Ling had better have a good excuse for vanishing like he had, months ago. And if he didn't, well... A toothy, mirthless smile cracked across Ed's face. Ed was going to find the bastard and beat answers out of him or contrition into him.
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