Can Olive Oil Burn Horses Skin

[Fullmetal Alchemist] Not only an Alchemist - a soldier

Title: Not only an Alchemist - a soldier
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Characters: Roy Mustang
Pairing: None
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1094 ( Fidipù )
Challenge: COW-T @ maridichallenge
Prompt: [The Week - Missoni 1] War
Summary: live, right to miracle. Saved by the same symbol that just before he picked up with pride, the symbol that would demonstrate to the world that he had offered his Alchemy Army for the good of his country - its people , the same people who every day saw writhe and burn in the flames that had worked so so, so much that he desired.
"What bullshit."
Notes: Set in tent scene OVI 4 of the Brotherhood after Heiss Cliff or as we call Roy shoots. Comnuque, I knew the time would come when Endless Waltz would have penetrated to the other fandom. It was only a matter of time. u_u (Who does not know Gundam Wing * spits * does not understand the quote MANIFEST ET unworthy of the final but insommaeccouffa. ;__;) Was a party, but I could not write about Ishbar. Should I plant them to try to write introspection, it is clear that I am not able ... XD
Spoiler: FMAB OVA 4
Disclaimer: Cow-san no. ♥
Warning: Angst, Introspective


Blind. Silence. In the ears, only the echo of the deafening roar of the shot and the memory of a voice all too well known that rises to the heavens, beyond the barriers of forgetfulness and screaming his name, once, twice - but come to think Perhaps if it was just imagined, that, because it was too far, too insubstantial, too light. Too want to be real.
not raise his head, because the hood came down over his forehead to cover his eyes really seems too heavy, and remains perfectly still, her arms dropped to his knees gathered chest, feet firmly planted on clay because, you know , nothing's enough for a slide back into oblivion. And anyway, does not need to raise his head, to know what surrounds him - the walls of a dark and oppressive military tent, crates of weapons thrown together on the floor and left on the table as if it were any junk, its silver clock, the clock of MA State of which the center was broken because Instead of that bullet that was intended for his heart. If
remain a bit of strength in the chest, a little will to live, you probably would laugh. He never puts his watch in his pocket: it usually attaches to a belt and sticks it in his trouser pockets, because that is easier to find, it's more comfortable. I honestly do not even know how it is done, the jacket - maybe they caught by surprise, that morning, perhaps attracted to the attentive when he was not yet ready, perhaps in the rush to take out of the tent and jump on the field of battle has left them where they would slip the watch, right there, above his heart.
and I do not know, come to think, do not care. What I know is that he is still alive, if only for one more day, quite alive to be able to get up on his legs and as soon as the sun had risen, out again through the rubble and dust to kill men and women who, After all, they had only the fault of being born in the wrong place in the country.
Live, naturally, by a miracle. Saved by the same symbol that just before he picked up with pride, a symbol that would demonstrate to the world that he had offered his Alchemy Army for the good of his country - its people , the same people every day that saw squirm and burn in the flames for which had worked so hard, so much that he desired.
"What bullshit."
It's a waste to teach someone who dishonor with his own hands by becoming a dog also the only Army basic rules of that art.
grits his teeth and stiffens his jaw, just for a moment, when the words of its master echo between the tent and his ears, peremptory as if spoken by someone who was right there beside him. Now really understood all the way as he had reason to want to deter from taking that road, from the beginning.
"But it is not right."
No, it was not. But on the other hand, knows that it is not only an alchemist in his country - is a soldier, a soldier who put their lives and their talents to serve the nation, the same nation that now has every right to expect him to fight a senseless war and kill so only because he had been ordered to do.
tightens the eyelids, even more, and mouth, and squirts a gush of bile along the esophagus, making it tremble and shiver in disgust. There must be something you can do. It is possible that all the hopes nurtured and cultivated, and that led him to that point they are intended to entangle him in the cul-de-sac, on that hole burning in Hell da cui sembra impossibile risalire per cercare il sole.
Una risposta.
Solleva un pochino la testa, quando sente le porte della tenda frusciare e il suo cuore si tende in uno spasmo quando la voce di Hughes – una voce vera, questa volta, non frutto dei suoi ricordi o di una fantasia che galleggia imperturbabile nel buio della sua mente – raggiunge le sue orecchie.
Una risposta, si ripete nella mente, mentre l'altro uomo gli comunica i suoi ordini, mentre lui gli risponde meccanicamente frasi senza senso, solo perché deve essere sicuro di poter ancora usare la sua voce.
Né quest'uniforme che indosso, né quell'orologio che porto sono in grado di dirmi perché I'm doing.
Hughes screaming, throwing all his frustrations directly in the face, and his words seem to dig a hole directly in his chest, tearing the skin, meat, and down more and more, in depth, up to his heart, until to his soul. Roy looks away and goes back into hiding under the hood, trope tired to talk, too tired even to look into his eyes.
Give me an answer, Hughes. Tell me what's the fight for something where I can not believe.
Hughes gets up, turns his back, and this time the weight of her silence is worth many times more than the sound of his voice. Time. He needs only a little 'time. "We can wait thirty seconds? "His words
wander in the rarefied air for a long time before Hughes's answer. "Thirty seconds, then."
Roy leans his forehead against his hands folded, waiting. He feels the time is running on his skin, slow as a snail crawl, and the latter as they are concentrated in his hands its resolution grows, takes shape and comes back to fill her heart up to a moment before almost could no longer feel in my chest.
me just a word.
"Thirty seconds." Hughes's voice is strong, confident, peremptory when, after a wait that had seemed endless recalls it this way in the world that is more sucks. "Arise, Alchemist of Fire. Time to go. "
Roy raises her eyes, face, and then gets up, balance on the legs as he had not heard from when the massacre began, and though inwardly know that this war is completely devoid of sense, in some way is now ready to face it head on. My
just your word, and I'll be able to fight again.