Ed Elric (notabeansprout) wrote in bearandbarnacle, @ 2010-01-16 14:56:00 |
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Current mood: | melancholy |
Edward Elric: Topic: Not here
Used to walking everywhere no matter how long it takes, drawn into solitude by the grating of not-belonging in his gut, he arrives. He's seen it in the shiny, colored leaflets scattered about town, been there in the day more than once, and though he's more a creature of farmland, or even desert, he craves the relief of cool-aired silence and a place to just exist for a few moments.
He slips through the closed, darkened shop. Never mind how. He may not be a pro at this, but he manages well enough when motivated. Ed finally lets out a long breath as the familiar dimensions of the spiral stair stretch out beneath the soles of his boots and he lets one hand guide his careful way downward through the blackness. It's not until he's reached the bottom and gone a short way along the main passage that he clicks on the spare electric torch he borrowed from Jack's workshop. Strange patterns shine at him from the walls and ceiling in the slanting beam of light: whorls and starbursts and varied other shapes fit elaborately together in complex combinations. They remind him of bizarrely organic alchemical arrays and as always, he can't resist pulling the glove off his left hand so he can feel the cool-bumpy-rough-smooth-gritty surface of the nearest mosaic against his fingertips. The beautiful symmetry makes him smile. He slowly moves further along the passage, his hand lightly brushing the shelled wall at his left.
After a time, mind calmed, heart steady, he stops, turns off the torch and and lowers himself to his knees. It's here, halfway between the entrance and the open air of the dome that he draws breath and lightly claps his hand together.
Nothing.
OK. Fine. Breathe. Again.
Nothing. No- wait.
He felt something that time.
OK. C'mon. Again.
YES!
He has to swallow a cry of triumph at the blue arc of power that's just left an afterimage in his vision. It's exhilarating - and infuriating - to feel it coming back. It's like relearning how to walk. Like when Winry fitted him with his first set of automail and he had to remaster his own body. "No." He shoves these thoughts out of his head and closes his eyes. The slap of his hands is sharp in the quiet air and-
"Damnit!"
Shake it off. Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.