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31_days2011-04-09 03:11 pm
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2011-04-09 03:11 pm
[April 9] [Fullmetal Alchemist] Itemized
Title: Itemized
Day/Theme: April 9, 2011 "top 10"
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Character/Pairing: Solf J. Kimblee
Rating: PG
10. Flowers, with a particular partiality to red flowers. Red geraniums at home, grown by his mother; red gerbera daisies, the favorite of his brother, and, unlike these, rare and enchanting, the red lotus, a beautiful blossom, growing out of the muck. Also, a name he was happy to bear.
9. He flipped the sandwich neatly. The egg, sunny side up, did not burn, nor did he break it up, lifting it with the spatula to place it on top of the grilled cheese and bacon sandwich. “Ta-da,” Solf declared to the empty room. Breakfast looked perfect, but there was no one to admire his handiwork.
8. White. Pristine. Immaculate. Set off by every color, and in its untarnished state, a monument to his finesse. In his line of work, it would be all too easy to stain his suit, but his slip-ups came wonderfully infrequently (sometimes it just could not be helped). What else could he say? White was his color.
7. His mother hadn't wanted to cut his hair. That was what had started his wearing it long. By the time he was old enough to express his opinion, a ponytail (which his mother tied with a ribbon) had become his preference. He was not one to change habits that did not hold him back.
During his military service, his hair was commented on, but it was tied back and he was a State Alchemist, so he was allowed to do as he pleased.
6. Solf had always worn hats. As a little boy, it was mainly a large blue cap with a black brim. It slipped down and obscured his vision. His mother put hats on his brother too, but Lon was finicky and often took them off.
When Solf chose his first fedora, it felt like the beginning of his life as an alchemist, the start of the life that he had been born to lead. He was still young then, but every journey requires a first step.
5. The pocket watch was his prize, an emblem of where all his hard work had taken him. Even better, those years of study and innovation hadn't felt much like work at all. They had been fun. Alchemy was as much an art as a science to him. He wound his watch religiously. Inside, surreptitiously, he carried a picture.
4. He could not compose for an instrument. He did not know how to play. But he could read the music his brother created, and he could listen to the strains of waltz written just for him, and when that music was over, well, he could use his own talents to create a music all his own. One two three, one two three.
3. A way with words, a mask to hide his heretic self, a fine grasp of psychology. Whatever you wanted to call it, he had it. It was enjoyable to go secretly against his tide of society and do as he liked.
2. A brother, younger. Exactly what he desired, until he wasn't. A problem easily remedied. The memory, while not bothersome, might be another story.
1. An explosion. The force, the flames, the sound, the thrill. He gazed, enraptured, on what he and the stone had wrought together. One step closer to the pinnacle of perfection. His palms tingled with joy.
Day/Theme: April 9, 2011 "top 10"
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Character/Pairing: Solf J. Kimblee
Rating: PG
10. Flowers, with a particular partiality to red flowers. Red geraniums at home, grown by his mother; red gerbera daisies, the favorite of his brother, and, unlike these, rare and enchanting, the red lotus, a beautiful blossom, growing out of the muck. Also, a name he was happy to bear.
9. He flipped the sandwich neatly. The egg, sunny side up, did not burn, nor did he break it up, lifting it with the spatula to place it on top of the grilled cheese and bacon sandwich. “Ta-da,” Solf declared to the empty room. Breakfast looked perfect, but there was no one to admire his handiwork.
8. White. Pristine. Immaculate. Set off by every color, and in its untarnished state, a monument to his finesse. In his line of work, it would be all too easy to stain his suit, but his slip-ups came wonderfully infrequently (sometimes it just could not be helped). What else could he say? White was his color.
7. His mother hadn't wanted to cut his hair. That was what had started his wearing it long. By the time he was old enough to express his opinion, a ponytail (which his mother tied with a ribbon) had become his preference. He was not one to change habits that did not hold him back.
During his military service, his hair was commented on, but it was tied back and he was a State Alchemist, so he was allowed to do as he pleased.
6. Solf had always worn hats. As a little boy, it was mainly a large blue cap with a black brim. It slipped down and obscured his vision. His mother put hats on his brother too, but Lon was finicky and often took them off.
When Solf chose his first fedora, it felt like the beginning of his life as an alchemist, the start of the life that he had been born to lead. He was still young then, but every journey requires a first step.
5. The pocket watch was his prize, an emblem of where all his hard work had taken him. Even better, those years of study and innovation hadn't felt much like work at all. They had been fun. Alchemy was as much an art as a science to him. He wound his watch religiously. Inside, surreptitiously, he carried a picture.
4. He could not compose for an instrument. He did not know how to play. But he could read the music his brother created, and he could listen to the strains of waltz written just for him, and when that music was over, well, he could use his own talents to create a music all his own. One two three, one two three.
3. A way with words, a mask to hide his heretic self, a fine grasp of psychology. Whatever you wanted to call it, he had it. It was enjoyable to go secretly against his tide of society and do as he liked.
2. A brother, younger. Exactly what he desired, until he wasn't. A problem easily remedied. The memory, while not bothersome, might be another story.
1. An explosion. The force, the flames, the sound, the thrill. He gazed, enraptured, on what he and the stone had wrought together. One step closer to the pinnacle of perfection. His palms tingled with joy.