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31_days2012-07-11 08:32 pm
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2012-07-11 08:32 pm
[July 11] [Fullmetal Alchemist] Hardly a Cenz to be Had
Title: Hardly a Cenz to be Had (or: 3 Things Scar Couldn't Afford to Purchase while on the Run in Amestris and 1 Thing He Could)
Day/Theme: July 11, 2012 "Brother, can you spare a dime?"
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Character/Pairing: Scar
Rating: PG
1. Bread
He was hungry and toward the end of the work day, an hour before the bakery closed, the bread went on sale, first for half price, then for increasingly larger increments as the time ticked by.
Urchins came in off the street at the last minute to haggle with the baker's wife and assistants over every last cenz. The Ishvalan man groped his fingers into the deepest corners of his pockets. He found loose thread. He was tired; his wounds weren't fully healed; he didn't have one cenz to his name.
The morning's bread had already taken a turn toward the hard and unenjoyable by the time the urchins bought theirs. When the nameless man opened the dumpster a cautious ten minutes after the bakery had been shut down and locked up, the last loaves were cold and stiff, but at least they were free.
2. Mittens or Gloves
The north was colder than he had capable of imagining. The ragged clothes he had arrived in weren't enough to shield him from the worst of the weather and there wasn't even snow on the ground. He had found a few coins by keeping his eyes down and checking at pay phones. It was enough to buy him a bowl of soup in the cheapest establishment in North's uncomfortably silent foreign quarter (Ishvalans were unwanted now, Drachmans were probably the enemy, Xingese were just different).
There was enough left over for a cup of coffee the following morning.
He would have to wrap his red, raw fingers in scraps picked from the trash or tear strips from his own clothing. The plentiful mittens and gloves hanging in every shop trafficking in garments would have cost him everything he'd eaten here and more.
He wrapped one hand- his brother's- in his ceremonial sash. The other- his own- had to settle for a frayed bit of beige cloth. He could not bear to pull apart his heritage.
3. A Desperately Desired Drink
Back home he had rarely partaken of alcohol. Three days ago he had killed his third alchemist. He had spent the night in her empty apartment, but risen and fled before the dawn.
It was a tiring day that took him out of Kolde. He slept in the hayloft of a barn and woke stiff and feverish. Where would he head to next? The nightmares were worse than ever.
Afraid to have appeared to have established a pattern of southward travel (he was becoming known by now; they were calling him Scar), he cut northwest, eschewing the railroads. He stumbled out of the hills into Ienna nervous and ill. A quiet tavern rose up to meet him at the edge of town. He sat down in the plaza and counted his change. Not enough for drink; not enough for medicine.
Perhaps it was for the best that there was no way he could choose between them. He felt cautious toward Amestrian medicine when he couldn't trust asking a physician for a proper prescription. The alcohol at the tavern would hardly have been the hard stuff from home that he longed for.
He spent three days in and around Ienna nursing himself back to something roughly resembling health. By then all his money was spent.
4. Camaraderie
There were Ishvalans in Haluna he was quick to learn and, though he hadn't met a man or woman or child among them back in their homeland, all Ishvalans were of one holy family.
They knew him by his reputation (he was infamous now), but there was hardly a shadow across a face that hinted at a thought of turning him away. The shelter was passable, the food modest, but the welcome they gave him was nearly overwhelming.
For three days, he felt like a real human being again.
When he went away, he carried with him blessings and hopes and dreams and even a handful of cenz to ease his way.
Day/Theme: July 11, 2012 "Brother, can you spare a dime?"
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Character/Pairing: Scar
Rating: PG
1. Bread
He was hungry and toward the end of the work day, an hour before the bakery closed, the bread went on sale, first for half price, then for increasingly larger increments as the time ticked by.
Urchins came in off the street at the last minute to haggle with the baker's wife and assistants over every last cenz. The Ishvalan man groped his fingers into the deepest corners of his pockets. He found loose thread. He was tired; his wounds weren't fully healed; he didn't have one cenz to his name.
The morning's bread had already taken a turn toward the hard and unenjoyable by the time the urchins bought theirs. When the nameless man opened the dumpster a cautious ten minutes after the bakery had been shut down and locked up, the last loaves were cold and stiff, but at least they were free.
2. Mittens or Gloves
The north was colder than he had capable of imagining. The ragged clothes he had arrived in weren't enough to shield him from the worst of the weather and there wasn't even snow on the ground. He had found a few coins by keeping his eyes down and checking at pay phones. It was enough to buy him a bowl of soup in the cheapest establishment in North's uncomfortably silent foreign quarter (Ishvalans were unwanted now, Drachmans were probably the enemy, Xingese were just different).
There was enough left over for a cup of coffee the following morning.
He would have to wrap his red, raw fingers in scraps picked from the trash or tear strips from his own clothing. The plentiful mittens and gloves hanging in every shop trafficking in garments would have cost him everything he'd eaten here and more.
He wrapped one hand- his brother's- in his ceremonial sash. The other- his own- had to settle for a frayed bit of beige cloth. He could not bear to pull apart his heritage.
3. A Desperately Desired Drink
Back home he had rarely partaken of alcohol. Three days ago he had killed his third alchemist. He had spent the night in her empty apartment, but risen and fled before the dawn.
It was a tiring day that took him out of Kolde. He slept in the hayloft of a barn and woke stiff and feverish. Where would he head to next? The nightmares were worse than ever.
Afraid to have appeared to have established a pattern of southward travel (he was becoming known by now; they were calling him Scar), he cut northwest, eschewing the railroads. He stumbled out of the hills into Ienna nervous and ill. A quiet tavern rose up to meet him at the edge of town. He sat down in the plaza and counted his change. Not enough for drink; not enough for medicine.
Perhaps it was for the best that there was no way he could choose between them. He felt cautious toward Amestrian medicine when he couldn't trust asking a physician for a proper prescription. The alcohol at the tavern would hardly have been the hard stuff from home that he longed for.
He spent three days in and around Ienna nursing himself back to something roughly resembling health. By then all his money was spent.
4. Camaraderie
There were Ishvalans in Haluna he was quick to learn and, though he hadn't met a man or woman or child among them back in their homeland, all Ishvalans were of one holy family.
They knew him by his reputation (he was infamous now), but there was hardly a shadow across a face that hinted at a thought of turning him away. The shelter was passable, the food modest, but the welcome they gave him was nearly overwhelming.
For three days, he felt like a real human being again.
When he went away, he carried with him blessings and hopes and dreams and even a handful of cenz to ease his way.