ourselvesalone: (in motion)
ourselvesalone ([personal profile] ourselvesalone) wrote in [community profile] all_inclusive2014-07-02 08:12 pm

Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart?

Here it is. Everything.

His own words come back to haunt Victor when he closes the door to his workshop behind him, his subject's body cooling in the bath of ice that will be her new home until he can harvest healthier parts to replace the diseased and decayed ones that plagued her in life, ones that he knows intimately well from his past. When he lifts his eyes to search his rough and abused quarters, he finds himself struck by the impossible. Though morphine is in his blood, it merely dulls the pain and not the awareness. Still, by all accounts, he has managed to find himself in the approximation of Sir Malcolm's library.

Chilled, he thinks of the weeks he had spent in this library, trapped while a demon held them hostage upstairs and another demon lurked outside his door. It takes Victor only a brief moment to realise that this is not Malcolm's home and Victor has found himself transported as if on the wings of some temporal being into a place of such wonder and such advancement that he can hardly say.

The lights, the lights, they burn with electricity unlike any he has ever seen and he wonders if this is how Proteus felt, if this is how his creations looked upon the world with such wonder, at seeing things for the first time and discovering in them the newness and potential of being.

"Fairy lights," he echoes to himself with bitter remorse, reaching out towards their luminescent glow before he retracts his fingers tight to his chest and thinks of all the heartbreak and the happiness that Proteus had not experienced because of his past sins and shames and mistakes.

Swallowing back that regret, Victor turns towards the door to summon forth courage of being, knowing there must be more to this world than a mere echo of a library he has come to know so intimately and with such despair. Still he searches each crevasse and corner, beholding wonders hidden in plain sight that he cannot rightly account for. Eventually, he strays far enough until he finds himself gaping upwards at the most wondrous chandelier powered by such electricity that he could power his laboratory a dozen times over with the power it seemingly contains.

"Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile," he murmurs Shakespeare's words to himself as he cranes his neck and turns his gaze upward, having already decided he must learn everything of this strange world that lurks behind the door of his laboratory. He very stubbornly does not think of the lines that come next.
fullmetal_alchemy: (Default)

[personal profile] fullmetal_alchemy 2014-07-13 04:00 am (UTC)(link)
Ed blinks at the comeback. The name doesn't mean much to him. Sure, he considers himself well-educated. If the subject is alchemy. He knows that his knowledge is fleeting on almost any other subject. But he's gotten along well enough on that. His response reflects that: He shrugs.

This level of curiosity about his arm is a bit off-putting and only having gotten here before keeps him from retreating altogether. He doesn't come any closer, but he does pull his sleeve out of the way entirely, revealing where the metal meets the thick chunk of scar tissue that covers his shoulder.

"Connects to the nerves," Ed says. His knowledge of his automail limbs leave a lot to be desired. But that's what he has Winry for. (Being here weeks without his mechanic has made him tetchy though, aware that if anything goes wrong, he's in trouble.) But the nerves he does know all too well -- feels that jolt each time his arm or leg is put back on.
fullmetal_alchemy: (Default)

[personal profile] fullmetal_alchemy 2014-07-14 02:30 am (UTC)(link)
Where is his flesh and blood arm? The question fills Ed with a familiar ache. I traded it to some guy who guards a gate that exists in between worlds so that I could seal my brother's soul to a suit of armor. He knows it's no use trying to explain where it is to this man -- not that he would bother with a stranger anyway. As it is, the notion's usually too much for people who know alchemy, let alone those who don't know how the exchanges work.

"Gone," Ed settles for. Doesn't see why it matters anyway.

"1905," Ed supplies, knowing that's earlier than when most of the others come from. "And I don't really know all the specifics," he shrugs, "There's ports in my arm and leg and it connects into there."
fullmetal_alchemy: (Default)

[personal profile] fullmetal_alchemy 2014-07-20 01:40 am (UTC)(link)
"It's probably not," Ed answers, shrugging. "Most worlds don't seem to have automail."

He doesn't know if it's somehow linked in with them not having alchemy, but he does wonder why they don't. Most of the people who have seen his arm and leg have been intrigued by it, seem to think it's a wonderful use of technology. But he's only heard a few people who have seen something comparable.

"I can't really explain it," Ed says. "My mechanic is the one who built it. She knows it."
fullmetal_alchemy: (Default)

[personal profile] fullmetal_alchemy 2014-07-23 03:59 am (UTC)(link)
"What automail is?" Ed blinks, because he's never had such a request before. It's weird, this place, to constantly be explaining things he's always just known -- things in his world are taken for absolute granted.

"Uh, well," Ed starts, gesturing to his metal arm with his flesh. "It's metal prosthetics, usually steel. Connects to the nervous system, so it's powered by, you know, the body and stuff. Some people really upgrade them for more weaponized versions," he tacks on. Of course, his is easy to manipulate with his alchemy, but it's not like he's got a gun or chainsaw on his like some people.
fullmetal_alchemy: (01;embargo)

[personal profile] fullmetal_alchemy 2014-08-15 02:13 am (UTC)(link)
Ed felt a prickle of warning along the back of his neck as Victor looked him over again. Not exactly danger, but something alongside it. A sense that, finally, Ed had learned not to ignore.

He scoffs when Victor asks, as if the answer is obvious. He crosses his arms almost defensively in front of his chest.

He might be labeled as a dog of the military, but well. He's not. He's different. He might officially work for them, but he's never been one to remake himself into something else just to please his superiors. Hates that word even. Superior. As if there's anything superior about Mustang.

"I don't need to," is what Ed settles for as an answer. Winry's work has always been clean and efficient, and that's always been what's suited Ed.
fullmetal_alchemy: (15)

[personal profile] fullmetal_alchemy 2014-08-16 02:09 am (UTC)(link)
He feels a tug that's become familiar since he's arrived here. He shouldn't show off his alchemy. There are a thousand and one responsible reasons in the hotel. He doesn't know these people. He doesn't know what they can do. He doesn't know why they would be interested in his alchemy.

Unfortunately, it's not like his humble side has ever won out much. Especially not here.

He claps his hands and a familiar blue glow crackles around his automail arm. He slides his flesh hand over the metal and the familiar jut of a blade appears over his wrist.

"I don't need to," Ed repeats.
fullmetal_alchemy: (Default)

[personal profile] fullmetal_alchemy 2014-09-02 08:01 pm (UTC)(link)
He still can't get used to the reactions his alchemy and automail inspire here. Sure, he's used to people being surprised at seeing it. But those reactions were always more surprise at seeing something rare. Here, it was shock at seeing something that was considered impossible.

And this is even something a little more than that. It isn't danger sparking up his spine, but maybe ... wariness? Certainly not a feeling Ed is used to. He keeps the arm blade out in any case.

"No," Ed answers bluntly. It's maybe even stranger to hear him reference Winry so casually. She's never seemed so far away. Amusing, he admits, for anyone to think the alchemy is Winry's work if only because of how irritated she would be.

"It's called alchemy," Ed tacks on, but without any explanation.