#He keeps bringing killers from across dimensions into his little pocket dimension

[kakusu-shipping]

I was looking for a WIP I wanted to work on again and found a bunch of Slasher Orphanage (by @echoes-lighthouse) doodles I just?? Never posted??

So here are those I guess. The slasher Orphanage is a Slapstick Comedy to Me <3

[jgroffdaily]

Little Shop of Horrors review roundup

The Hollywood Reporter:

While it's become something of a classic, this remains at heart a scrappy little pastiche musical whose charms thrive most vibrantly in an intimate house.

In this case, that puts us closer to a never-better Jonathan Groff as Seymour Krelborn, the Skid Row florist shop worker who makes a Faustian pact with the carnivorous succulent. With his preppy, all-American handsomeness hidden beneath greasy hair, nerdy glasses and baggy costumes — a droll running joke has agents, photographers and TV producers recoiling when they see the eyes beneath the specs once the "strange and unusual plant" brings Seymour success and fame — Groff disappears into a role he was born to play. He's entirely credible as a klutzy nebbish, an orphan so hopelessly besotted with his co-worker Audrey that he names his weird botanical discovery after her.

From his first pratfall entrance to his final heart-wrenching sacrifice — a visual nod to Creature from the Black Lagoon — Groff is hilarious, endearing and in tremendous voice, letting loose with a forceful passion that takes timid Seymour by surprise, or dialing it down to a hushed sweetness in keeping with the aching intensity of his feelings. The humor embedded in his deliberately clumsy execution of Ellenore Scott's choreography alone is irresistible, nowhere more so than when he joins the show's girl-group Greek chorus of street urchins in some formation moves on "Ya Never Know."

The New York Times:

A certain carnivorous plant has been repotted in Hell’s Kitchen, and I am delighted to report that it’s thriving there. This hot showbiz shrub of yesteryear, which goes by the name of Audrey II, has found a new dance partner, a performer who can coax the tendril-stretching star quality out of a freakish botanical specimen.

That would be Jonathan Groff, who is generating major nerd charisma in Michael Mayer’s delicious revival of “Little Shop of Horrors,” which opened Thursday at the Westside Theater/Upstairs.

A bouncy, wide-eyed veteran of Broadway musicals (“Spring Awakening,” “Hamilton”), Groff has more recently found streaming celebrity as an impressionable, serial-killer-stalking F.B.I. agent in “Mindhunter” on Netflix. As Seymour, the dorky hero of “Little Shop,” the 1982 musical by Howard Ashman and Alan Menken, he scents his ingratiating persona as a song-and-dance kid with a creepy whiff of rankly corruptible innocence.

This Seymour — a flower shop assistant catapulted to fame as the caretaker of the man-eating Audrey II — is sweeter and scarier than earlier incarnations. As such, Groff is of a piece with a production, which also features a winningly cast Tammy Blanchard and Christian Borle, that understands that camp is most successful when it’s played with straight-faced sincerity, instead of a wink and a smirk.

[...]

Watch the expression on Groff’s face as he sidles across the stage, cradling an early, snapping hand puppet version of his truest soul mate, which tries to nibble on the front row. Attention is new to Seymour; he likes it. And when, surrounded by frisky Urchins, he does an involuntary hip bump, his face glows with a subtle, gratified surprise.

“Hey, this feels good,” he seems to be saying. And without ever entirely abandoning Seymour’s initial deadpan mien or milquetoast voice, Groff charts a precise evolution of a man becoming drunk on the prospect of world renown. Which, this being a musical comedy, happily parallels a performer unbending into the liberation of good old, show-off showbiz.

Deadline:

This time around, Seymour is played by Groff, the musical stage actor (Spring Awakening, Hamilton) turned TV star (Netflix’s Mindhunter, HBO’s Looking) who here reminds anyone who needs it just what combination of charisma and vocal chops brought him that initial success. Yes, he’s too handsome for a Mr. Cellophane like Seymour, but his boyish reticence makes up for it (along with a funny recurring bit that has one character after another lift Seymour’s oversize spectacles only to recoil in something like repugnance).

Vulture:

Groff has to anchor the show, playing straight man to his crooked plant, so for the most part he does a tidily milquetoast performance, deliberately letting other voices and players dominate him. Suddenly, though, he’ll open the sluice. At one point, provoked by Audrey II — the big growling plant (Kingsley Leggs) is really getting hungry — Seymour sings, “I have so, so many strong reservations!” and he swings through the Mushnik & Son flower shop’s door. He steps out into an entirely new voice: twice as loud, twice as strong. You get a sense of what kind of power he’s leashing.

Variety:

Groff and his Audrey, Tammy Blanchard (who won an Emmy for “Life with Judy Garland: Me and My Shadows”), are both subtle comic presences and supple, dramatic vocalists, ensuring that in this new production there’s something lovely at work, something devoid of the usual camp, schmaltz and quirk of “Little Shop.” Without the big, stagey “New Yawk” accents and broad interactions of yore, the humor comes more naturally, and neither Groff nor Blanchard have to chase the laughs. [...] And Groff, a Tony nominee for “Spring Awakening” and “Hamilton,” sings his own role with sweetness and light as his guideposts. This doesn’t mean that he lays off on the angst and desire needed for his paean to a plant (“Grow for Me”), or the rat-tat-tat rhythms of personal success in “Call Back in the Morning.” He just makes like Sinatra and takes it all nice and easy.

NY1:

What may seem like miscasting with the hunky Groff as the meekly innocuous Seymour was a stroke of genius. He's both endearing and dreamy, which adds a deeper dimension to his romantic pairing with Tammy Blanchard’s Audrey.

TheaterMania:

The three leads offer distinct takes on well-known roles: Groff portrays a Seymour who never becomes comfortable in his own skin, as if all the world's a stage and he suffers from crippling stage fright. I particularly enjoyed his determination to make his Seymour rhythmically challenged, bopping just off the beat and performing the most goyishe Tevye dance ever during "Mushnik & Son."

The Guardian:

Killer performances from Jonathan Groff and Tammy Blanchard bring a revival of the 1982 tale of a bloodthirsty plant to vibrant life. [...] [T]he script is daffy and capacious enough to allow performances as emotionally grounded as Blanchard’s, as blithely comic as Groff’s, as bananas as Borle’s, who plays Scrivello with the precision of a Swiss wristwatch and the derangement of a candidate for exorcism.

Chicago Tribune:

Groff throws out all the nomenclature of pocket-protector nerd-dom, which I’ve seen kill off many a Seymour, in favor of a three-dimensional young striver, decent at the core but tempted, as are we all, by the tickle of fame and fortune.

Time Out:

Mayer has wrangled a marvelous cast. Dressed in hilariously lumpy clothes, Groff’s Seymour is a likable klutz with just a hint of deadpan creepiness.

New York Post:

Those familiar with Rick Moranis’ neurotic Seymour from the film may be surprised by Groff’s more subdued take. He doesn’t play up eccentricity or geekiness: He’s just one of those sweet guys society ignores.

NewNowNext:

Jonathan Groff is such a good actor, he almost convinced me that he’s a nerd. He brings levels to Seymour, who was saved as a tyke by the store owner, Mr. Mushnik, though it was only to be brought into a dead-end life that Seymour longs to escape. Groff brings real poignancy to the frustration of “Skid Row (Downtown),” not to mention his affection for coworker Audrey, who sports a black eye from her manic boyfriend, but seems ever hopeful.

The BroadwayBlog:

Ashman, in the script’s author note, states that “I can vouch for the fact that when Little Shop is at its most honest, it is also its funniest and most enjoyable.” In its current incarnation, much of this can be attributed to Groff’s performance, which delicately balances gravitas and physical humor. He deftly handles Nicholas Mahon’s puppet design, as Audrey II grows from a hand-held house plant into a colorfully carnivorous monster. And while his chemistry with Ballard isn’t heart-palpitating, its nurturing quality is enough to tug at the heartstrings for the pair’s famous Act II ballad, “Suddenly, Seymour.”

TheaterNewsOnline.com:

Somewhat remarkably, a pair of eyeglasses, an unattractive shirt and, above all, a committed attitude prove to be all that the sublime, golden-throated Jonathan Groff needs to make us forget his leading-man looks and transform himself completely into the nerdy, clumsy amateur botanist Seymour Krelborn.

New York Stage Review (#1):

Anyone who’s been wondering if Jonathan Groff is too handsome to play the schlubby Seymour in Little Shop of Horrors can stop worrying right now.

Ludicrous as it sounds, naysayers thought that Groff’s leading-man looks—which served him so well as the 19th-century bad boy Melchior in the Tony-winning Spring Awakening, as the show tune–singing bad boy Jesse St. James on TV’s Glee, and currently as the bad boy–obsessed FBI agent Holden Ford on the Netflix series Mindhunter—would hamper his portrayal of theater’s most famous green-thumbed geek. But he’s actually ideally cast: Naturally, he sings like a dream, whether serenading the bruised and broken Audrey (Tammy Blanchard) in “Suddenly Seymour” or her blood-thirsty namesake potted plant, Audrey II (voiced by Kingsley Leggs, brought to life by Nicholas Mahon and Monkey Boys Productions), in “Grow for Me.” More important, he’s immensely sincere—even when doing outrageous things like feeding his flower-shop boss/surrogate father Mr. Mushnik (Tom Alan Robbins) to the carnivorous Audrey II. Wait…you knew this was a musical about a man-eating vegetable, right?

New York Stage Review (#2):

Of course, this lo-fi production has the benefit of top-tier performers. When this new Little Shop was announced, there was some theater-Twitter consternation about the cast. Hunky Jonathan Groff plays nebbishy Seymour, and thus the conversation was about the Hot Seymour problem. (Jake Gyllenhaal portrayed the forlorn flower-seller in the previous New York version, a triumphant Encores! Off Center production co-starring the original Audrey, Ellen Greene, a few years back.) Groff wears glasses here and flat hair; his costumes fit poorly and he never quite seems to stand up straight. He also seems somewhat lumpier than usual, whether through padding or layers or time away from Equinox I don’t know. He’s also got ace comic timing, a lovely singing voice, and two Tony nominations; he is, hotness notwithstanding, a superlative Seymour.

[fate-hates-faraday]

Close Your Eyes: The Host

Mostly because I’m planning a story, I decided to go back over CYE and pay attention to its characters, particularly Marshmallow Monk and the Host. 

Marshmallow Monk is surprisingly straightforward in a sense. Where they come from, what they are, that’s a mystery. What they do and why, and their overall feelings, while tweakable by the player, is still fairly clear: they are a murderer to help their sister, and they are loyal to her, somewhat blind to their own nature, willing to go forth to survive, and childlike/childish in some aspects. Also afraid of heights. 

The Host, though, is another story entirely. Not helping is the role he plays in not one, but three different games (I won’t count his appearance in Take the Dream IX, because I feel that’s more of a cameo than an example of his nature) and his goals remaining ambiguous in each game. 

tl;dr:

To all people, the Host presents as affable and focused on his ‘game’ at a basic level. He is also, however, brutally honest in his opinions about people’s lives, and is not above trolling them. He may desire to genuinely help people while letting them fall victim to their true natures, or he just may want a ‘challenge’ in working with people and ensnaring them.

The Host’s true goals and his method of picking contestants is unknown. His standards for these contestants is also unknown.

Not everyone who meets him is a contestant. He can manifest due to being summoned for a deal. The limits of these deals are unknown, although of the two deals known, one involved future sight, and the other seemed to involve manipulating the afterlife of the person (or three people. It’s not clear).

The Host’s abilities are not clear. Potential possibilities include reality warping, the formation of a pocket dimension under his control, or teleportation/clairvoyance/immortality/manipulation of perception. Regardless of the answer, the Host is incredibly dangerous.

Whatever the Host is, he is NOT human.

As for the extended take, I’m going to start with his very first game, Close Your Eyes. For any followers who just decided to read this, Close Your Eyes is a free RPGMaker horror game following the adventure of one small creature known as Marshmallow Monk, who escapes their own execution and runs into a subway station to hide. It becomes rapidly clear, however, that the station is something else entirely, and what lies at the end of this road may be even worse than death.

The Host is the first character we actually meet - standing onstage, introducing himself and announcing his ‘contestant’, Marshmallow Monk (let’s call them MM from now on). We don’t see a similar-looking stage until well into the game and far from the station’s entrance. This raises a number of questions. Is this opening scene happening in a pocket dimension at the same time as the execution? Is the station a part of it? Come to think of it, how is the host related to the station? Is the Host the one choosing the contestants and directing the station to them, or does the station collect these people and the Host just rolls with it? The two are clearly linked, as the Host is able to quiz MM in the station and hear their answers despite not having a visible presence. Further lending credence to this is the sheer number of outright BIZARRE locations you will meet the Host at as you continue the game, with no evidence of how he could’ve arrived before you.

Now, the Host is not nice. He wants something from you - to close your eyes, whatever that means - and he gets mad when you don’t play along the way he wants you to, his voice deepening and making fewer jokes. However, he never lies to MM and seems to be trying to make MM recognize their situation. He points out the obvious issues MM’s sister had, keeps asking if you know where you are or where you’re going and, in a first ending, half-hysterically asks “YOU STILL HAVEN’T FIGURED IT OUT YET?” (This ending, incidentally, provides some of the least information about MM and what’s going on). Another ending has him remark, “Everything has happened, and is going to happen”, which suggests he’s aware of every outcome the game can have - so perhaps he knows, at one point, he will succeed.

Most of the harm that befalls MM is not from the Host - rather, he tries to give advice. For example, he mentions he doesn’t trust the sister; if you choose to stay with her, you get a second ending where MM doesn’t escape their execution. The exception is a third ending where MM shoots the Host in the head - wherein not only does the Host laugh it off, MM is teleported into a small bathroom with a monstrous Host coming out of the darkness and MM desperately aware of their inability to flee. As I said, the Host is not nice.

That all said, though, there’s a fourth ending where you’re given the option to not murder someone and instead realize all the awful things you’ve done. If you pick that ending, the Host claims you aren’t really sorry at all - but you’re still “exactly what we’ve been looking for”and drags MM off to god-knows-where. What does he want? A killer with a conscience and sense of guilt? Someone who has nothing left for them? I don’t really know. The Intermission and Close Your Eyes 2 will be out eventually, and maybe they’ll shed some light on his motivations?

Next game I’ll discuss is the paid DLC for CYE: Girl Graveyard, a difficult maze sort of game that rapidly descends into hell. Most of the game isn’t important - the Host makes no appearance after all. The only detail that needs to be known is that the protagonist killed her best friend and in turn was killed by her boyfriend (who she’d been trying to seduce).

At the end, the girl has a monologue where she talks about ancient forces manipulating people to this day and a legend: The Face. The Smiling One. The Grinning Demon.

Yeah, look at the picture of the Host and you tell me if you don’t think it’s him.

Anyways, following a “tough and painful ritual”, you can make a deal with this being. The protagonist’s grandmother apparently made a deal with him, able to see the future in return for talking with him and, at the end, allowing him to take her away. The protagonist goes on to say how she plans to also make a deal so she and her best friend’s boyfriend can be together forever. Judging by the game, she made the deal and the Host followed through. She just didn’t tell him HOW she wanted it done and so even in death is left to suffer.

After giving this some thought, I wondered if maybe MM and their sister made a deal with the Host, and that’s how MM became a contestant. She brought up a book and a need for sacrifice, which was likely why MM was killing people. However, looking at Red Haze brings that into doubt.

Minor disclaimer: as of this writing, I haven’t finished Red Haze and have been trying to avoid spoilers mostly. Things may be inaccurate. Nonetheless: Red Haze follows the story of a teenager named Rockette who arrives at a dilapidated apartment building seeking drugs from someone called Auntie G. She’s rough around the edges, to say the least, and very capable of mistreating one of the few NPCs you can interact with. During your exploration of the building, you’ll come across a ‘construction worker’ - in fact, obviously the Host. It takes two meetings before the Host brings Rockette into his ‘game’ (complete with a contestant podium) and, based on her outfit, will start talking about some very significant character flaws of hers. On the fourth game, he goes into her backstory a little, says she’s too ‘easy’ for him and he’s not here to fix her problems, and points out she can fix this on her own.

The apartment building doesn’t seem to be the equivalent of the station in CYE - it’s acknowledged as existing independently of the protagonist - and the Host is confined to appearing in one room. His powers may be limited - or maybe he just isn’t that interested in Rockette and therefore doesn’t see the need to flex his powers. However, this casts an interesting light on his treatment of Rockette. He encourages her to show up for the game and, though his analysis of her is downright cruel at times, it’s never indicated that he’s mistaken: Rockette really does have these issues, driven by her addiction, that she needs to confront and deal with at some point. While he tells her she’s too easy for him, he also points out that, while it may not feel like it, she has choices and she can turn things around if she recognizes that fact. Rockette doesn’t seem to realize who or what he is, so it’s doubtful she actively summoned him to the building, so he’s not here because she called him. Did he see a prospective contestant but turn her away when it was clear her problems were fixable without his work? Was he just scouting the area and decided to have some fun? Is he in the habit of seeking out people who aren’t entirely gone and giving them a kick in the rear to try to fix their own issues?

Regardless, he never refers to Rockette as a contestant, nor does he ever offer her a deal, so his role in Red Haze is much different from that in Close Your Eyes or Girl Graveyard - and yet the character feels consistent across all three, so it’s hard to just chalk it up to bad writing or something like that. Without knowledge of his goals, it’s hard to explain the differences in his roles. Without knowledge of his abilities, it’s hard to even determine what the scope of his goals could even be. Doing this analysis just raised further questions about the Host’s nature. In conclusion, to quote a friend:

“This lore is deep as fuck, yo.”

[urbancuntemporary]

iris and cynthia being friends and just how you think they meet and an expansion on there dynamic. throw some cisco in and i will literally give you my first paycheck when i get a job and a lovely fruit basic with a personal masseuse.

So, this wasn’t originally gonna be a tag to 3.18, but I waited so long to write it that I thought it fit. But basically this is what I’d see their first meeting as if the writers wanted to be great. Also find it on ao3

Cindy’s feet touch the ground on Earth Prime, and it’s about one more than one million times too many. This year alone. “Alright, Cisco, what’s…”

Okay. Weird. This is not Star Labs. 

“Oh–wow it worked. Hi!” A woman’s voice, not Cisco’s. Cindy whips around and it’s–

“Iris. Iris West. We haven’t formally met.” She’s holding out her hand in a way that says she’s gonna keep it up until Cindy takes it.  

So Cindy takes it. “Um. Cynthia.” 

“’Cynthia’,” Iris echoes, slight frown between her eyes even though she’s smiling. 

“The other one’s a nickname,” Cindy shrugs, “I didn’t pick it. How did you contact me? I thought Cisco…”

Iris’s eyes widen, then she huffs out a small laugh,“Right, I uh,” she reaches into her pocket. “I swiped this off of him.”  

She’s holding an interdimensional beacon. Which Cindy only knows because she’s got one just like it in her pocket. Cisco built them, in case they ever needed to contact each other. For work, of course. Though, she didn’t expect him to be hitting her up anytime soon, ‘way things went down. 

The memory puts her on the defensive, and she regard Iris warily, “I’m not bringing Kadabra back if that’s what this is about.” 

An emotion flickers across Iris’s face, but it’s gone before Cindy can really see it. Then she smiles again, small and a little sad, “No…no, I don’t suppose you should.”  

“Okay…” Cindy says slowly. 

“Like, I said: We haven’t formally met,” Iris starts, voice taking a steadier tone. Professional, almost. She takes a seat at the edge of a nearby desk, folds her hands in her lap.“You’ve crossed paths with the team enough times. I was hoping our last meeting didn’t makes us enemies.”   

Cindy snorts, “So–what you thought you’d talk to me? Woman to woman?” 

“Something like that,” Iris shrugs. 

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one putting a match to that bridge.” Because, yeah she’s still a little annoyed. 

Iris nods, “Maybe not. But you can put out the fire out before it spreads.” Her eyes drift away, studying a blank computer monitor on the desk next to her as if it’ll help her collect her thoughts. When she meets Cindy’s eyes again, her expression is soft. “I know things got complicated with Kadabra. You did the right thing, taking him back.” 

You’re goddamn right I did, Cindy thinks but doesn’t say, because she’s not a total jackass. 

“But Savitar isn’t just a threat to me,” Iris continues, “he’s exactly the kind of threat you would want to eliminate. He’s a speedster. So, time travel, interdimensional travel, the whole shebang. And he thinks he’s a god.” She tosses her hands up in a shrug, and they make a smacking sound when they land against her thighs again. “I don’t think I have to spell out how dangerous that can be.”

It’s a pitch, Cindy knows it’s a pitch. But it doesn’t mean it’s not a good one. And dammit if she doesn’t respect the hell out of her for it. Speedsters are at the top of the list of the most dangerous beings out there, next to vibers like Cisco and herself. They can be anywhere at any time in the blink of an eye. She’s hunted enough to know that they’re a pain in the ass. 

“What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing,” Iris says, small smile playing at her lips. “Not yet anyway. But I’d like to be able to consider you an ally. Someone we could call in this fight. There’s so much more at stake here than my life. Than my world.” 

Cindy hums and looks away, let’s her eyes flit around the room. They fall on big red letters: Central City Picture News. “You work here?”

Iris’s brow crinkles at the change, but she says, “I do.” 

Cindy nods, tracing her finger across the desk to her right. And she considers Iris. Considers her life here on Earth 1. In this archaic, bassackwards dimension, she’s carved out a life that she seems to be pretty fond of. A life that she was willing to let take a back seat in order for a murderer to be brought to justice. 

But she had all these people willing to do the opposite. A bevy of heroes–amateurs, really–willing to let a killer go free for her. A police detective, her father, willing to break his oath. Iris West, clearly the glue holding that whole little Peanut’s gang together. 

She doesn’t deserve to die. 

Shit. 

Cindy knew, she fucking knew as soon as Cisco showed up on her Earth to ask for her help with Grodd that it was gonna bite her in the ass. This, this right here, is why she doesn’t get involved with people from other Earths. Their shit becomes her shit. There’s no reason at all, not one in the whole goddamn multiverse, that she should be concerning herself with what happens to Iris West. 

But, oh look, here she is. About to do exactly that. And definitely going to regret it. 

“Fuck, alright,” Cindy groans. 

Iris blinks, “Wait-what?” 

“Yeah, I’ll help,” she shrugs, adds, “or whatever,” so she doesn’t seem particularly invested. “Maybe I can…I dunno, see if I can squeeze something out of Kadabra before they kill his ass.”  

“Oh! That’s good, that’s great!” Iris beams. The calm tactician from like, ten seconds ago is gone completely. And Cindy almost smiles, too, despite herself. Almost. 

“The Council is always out for speedster blood anyway, so…” Cindy points to the beacon in Iris’s hands, “Keep that. That’s yours now. Cisco can think he lost it and make another one. Or not. If he…”she trails off, shakes that thought away. “But you can keep me updated on this whole thing.”

Iris nods. “Will do.” 

Cindy nods back, spreads her fingers, a breach flickering into formation, and turns to disappear back to her Earth.

“Cynthia?” She looks back, and Iris is smiling, warm and genuine, when she says, “Thank you.” 

Cindy, finally, allows a smile in return. “See you around, West.” 

Then she steps into the undulating waves, and let’s them close around her. 

this was loooonger than I intended but I hope you liked it. Cynthia being begrudgingly fond of Iris is my bread and buttah

[bluebookbadger-blog]

The Price of a Life - Chapter 9

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance to modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong. Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc. Rating: PG-13

A/N: I will be referring to Envy, regardless of his form, as a male, simply to avoid confusion.

After kicking Hughes out and reminding myself to ask him about the knife he had given me when I got the chance, things went on as they had been before his interruption. I spent about four whole hours talking to Albert and helping him with the ciphers I made.

They were pretty easy and he got through the first set of equations pretty quickly and discovered the first line of the letter I had prepared was 'Fourscore and seven years ago...'. I admit it was pretty humorous that he didn't recognize the line, though the Gettysburg Address probably didn't exist in this world. I didn't think I would never forgive Mr. Starks for making us memorize and recite the speech.

Around noon I decided to head over to the Store and see if Miss. Reich had any work for me to do. However, upon arrival, I only found Albert, alone and manning the cash register.

"Good afternoon," I said with a sigh as I threw my bag into the back room, "Where's Miss. Reich?"

"Out sick, you think she'd be more careful after the last time," Albert responded as he handed me a spare apron to put on.

"The last time?" I asked quizzically, tying the apron around my waist. I had to look presentable for the customers, even if the store was completely empty at the moment and I worked in the back.

"Yeah, the illness a few years ago. She wasn't her best for a while, still isn't, I guess," Albert said, wiping down the counter. I furrowed my brow. Did he mean the sickness that killed Tricia Elric?

"That was a while ago, and here I thought you were the new guy here," I said as I rearranged the newspapers so that they were in order from newest to oldest. One of the most recent articles said that it was believed that the serial killer, 'Scar', was dead.

"I am, Miss. Reich is my aunt, I've been living with her since as long as I can remember though," He said, looking everywhere but at my wide eyes that were forced to look away from the back of his head. I wanted to say something...consoling? But it came out more like this:

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry," I managed to stutter before slipping into the back room and clutching my nearby broom tightly. I felt embarrassed, especially since I had no idea how to respond to such a statement. Albert had said it so casually, but why did it make me so nervous and anxious? I chocked it up to pure exhaustion.

I worked in the backroom until after dark, leaving just before Albert came in to tell me he was closing the Store. Gracia was so relieved to see me well, reminding me that she hadn't seen me since I asked to leave the night before. I explained the fiasco and that I simply wanted to get in a few hours of work before coming home.

"Miss. Reich is sick," I mentioned, trying to gauge Gracia's reaction. The way she had referenced Miss. Reich made it seem as if the two were, or had been, friends at some point. Alas, she gave no note of recognition.

"Oh, that's too bad. Maybe we can get her some flowers at the store tomorrow?" She said, keeping her voice low as she took the chilled soup out of the ice box and placed it before me. It was well past Elicia's bed time, and Gracia was already wearing a pair of night clothes.

"Why are we going to the store tomorrow again?" I asked in between spoonfuls of cold soup. It may have not been too tasty cold if I wasn't starving from a day devoid of much food. I made a note to restart a regular eating schedule, as some of the clothes Gracia had bought me were starting to get too big. The woman's face lit up like a string of brand new Christmas lights.

"Elicia's party is Sunday night, remember? I just need to pick up some last minute stuff while she's at her friend's house for a play date. You don't have to come if you don't want to-"

"No way! I wouldn't miss it for the world," I said, though the enthusiasm was partially forced. I needed to do something besides moping around the house or the hospital all day, and it would give me an opportunity to buy another notebook.

The next morning we headed to the shopping center after walking Elicia to the park to meet with a friend of her's. He was a little older than her, and he shared his mother's bright green eyes. I kept an eye out for Johann, in case he was still in town. I didn't see him anywhere, but we managed to get everything on our rather short list: flowers, streamers, some rosemary and garlic, and one beautiful leather bound notebook for me.

That night I opened it up to write in it, and in my desperation for a writing utensil in my room, I used the one Lucha - or rather, Truth, - had used to communicate with me. I felt a pang of sadness at the memory, the scribbles now sewed shut with Alphonse.

After sitting in the dim room for a moment and feeling something crushingly depressing in my chest, I finally began to continue my journal, copying down what I remembered about 'Ire' and all of the episodes ahead of me. I realized that there were actually three days, not two that Ed technically spent in the hospital from my perception of the flow of time.

I recalled that Winry only arrived after he had spent two days in the hospital, then she spent the night with the Hughes family at Elicia's party. It actually excited me to meet her. I knew a lot of people didn't particularly think she was that awesome of a character in the series, but I always thought she was pretty cool. I mean, I can barely put a pen back together after taking it apart, and she could make those automail miracles from scratch. I wanted to ask her how they figured out how to connect the nerves, it could have been useful when and if I returned to my world.

Despite my excitement in writing down my future plans, my exhaustion from the past sleepless 24 hours forced me to stop and enjoy the empty void of sleep while it lasted.

I got up early that morning to help Gracia and Elicia get ready for the party that night. Even though Gracia and I were up before dawn, it seemed Hughes had left even earlier than us. Did the guy ever sleep? Later we hung streamers, set up other decorations and started to make the cake when I accidentally decided to show Gracia how much cooking and baking hated me.

Upon putting the finished cake batter in the oven, just was we had time to sit down for the first time all morning, smoke began to fill the apartment as if on cue. I, not really thinking properly, opened the stove and took the pan of blackened cake batter out with my bare hands. After a brief moment of panic, I turned on the ice cold faucet and stood there pouting until Gracia had opened all of the windows and fanned out most of the smoke.

"Let me see," She said after distracting Elicia with the task of arranging the party hats the table, which was unsurprisingly difficult for such a small girl. I sheepishly held out my stinging hands, causing Gracia to click her tongue at me. "These are bad, maybe I should take you to the hospital,"

I pulled back my hand and observed the damage. It wasn't that bad considering a stunt like that would probably have given anyone else third degree burns. But, as I was coming to realize, the laws of my world didn't apply to me here. My hands were bright pink, probably a first degree burn at most, and the pain had all but disappeared.

"Weirdness," I mumbled as Elicia shrieked with excitement as she stood on top of the dinning table, drawing Gracia's attention away from my singed hands.

"Elicia, you know better!" The mother chided, taking the girl down from her perch.

"I could go by myself, you have a lot of work to get done still," I said, looking at the pile of ash that may have once been cake batter. "I could drop Elicia off at her friend's house, his name was Mike, correct? You wanted to drop her off earlier, remember? So I could just bring her over on my way to the hospital," Gracia shot me a look of gratitude.

"Thank you," She mouthed as she looked down to her daughter, "Elicia, would you like to go on play date with Mike for a little bit? Then you can come home and we'll have your party," The shining glee in the little girl's eyes said it all.

Mike's house, or rather, Mr. and Mrs. Weber's apartment, was in a complex across the street from the hospital. Which was convenient for them, as Mike always seemed to have broken something. This time a cast resided on his hand and wrist, suggesting he had tried and failed to do a handstand like the ones Elicia had been showing off to Gracia and I whenever we were home with her.

I opened my mouth to apologize to Mrs. Weber, but she gave a smile and a wink of her sharp brown eyes before nodding.

"I figured Gracia would send her over eventually, the poor woman has too many things on her mind," She whispered as Mike and Elicia giggled at nothing, as young children often do. I gave a grin of relief. One less thing to worry about.

"Could you bring her over for the party?" I asked, glancing down, my hands hidden in the pockets of the overcoat I was wearing, "I probably won't be back until late,"

"Mike," Mrs. Weber called sternly as her son attempted to show Elicia a new game he had learned, in which the floor could not be touched and the children had to jump across the pieces of furniture. That was the most relatable moment I ever had with a child from another dimension of space and time. "Yes, it's fine. I was going to bring Mike over anyway, it really isn't any trouble at all."

Nodding my head, I whispered a quick thank you and began to walk down the stairs to the lobby. They were carpeted in an ugly green fabric, reminding me of the stairs in my own home. The banister to my left, the white wallpaper to right, just like the staircase that led from the front hallway of my house to the upstairs. As I approached the bottom, I half expected to find Jimmy lying in the perfect spot to be tripped over.

Jimmy had been the family dog, a part Chow Chow part Labrador part Doberman Pinscher all American mut brought up from Louisiana after a tropical storm left the shelters down there flooded with abandoned and sick dogs. Jimmy had been on death row for his size, nine years old with two dislocated knee-caps, early cataracts, and beginning to go deaf.

But, I was eight years old, had three younger, impressionable siblings at the time, and wanted a dog. After driving an hour to the shelter he had been transferred to, we took him out of the kennel, and immediately knew he was the relaxed, mild tempered dog we wanted.

And he was that dog until he turn fourteen, and died of old age despite the numerous fatty tumors, lack of appetite, and dementia he had developed in his later years. It was heartbreaking for little twelve year old me, who had come to know the dog as the chicken herding, huggable, pet that had been with me for the entirety of my conscious life.

It was then my parents decided to buy my oldest younger brother and I ferrets, resulting in Lucha, Nippers, and Tonka the white and brindled fuzzy slinkies that filled that hole in our lives, though they were awful chicken herders.

I stopped the train of thought as I headed into the cold twilight air, aware of the tears beginning to well in my eyes. The night was warm despite the cool breeze, the hum of insects in the early autumn and the sounds of the bustling city seeping through the buildings to this quiet corner of Central almost led me believe all of this was normal. The government was normal, the town was normal, normal things happened - good and bad - to normal people.

The stillness of that moment passed, and I was on the other side of the street opening the door to the reception area of the hospital. I gingerly opened the hospital door, wincing at the pain as the blisters pressed against the cold metal of the handle. Okay, so maybe it was little more than a first degree burn.

"Good evening," I said to the lady at the reception desk, the same older woman from the other day. She glanced up through thick lenses, "I burned my hand cooking, is there anything you can do for that here?" I asked, feeling that it sounded too formal, but at the same time didn't want to scream 'Fix this! I has a boo-boo!' at the old woman. She called over a nurse who gave a nod at the sight of my blistered hands.

"Yes, just follow Miss. Becker please," I did as I was told, following the nurse to a small room with curtains on either side of a bench. It clearly wasn't the wing that held long term patients.

"Name?" She inquired, writing some notes down on a clipboard. The nurse had curly strawberry blonde hair that framed her pale, freckled face as if she was some actor who just walked out of the makeup booth. In short - she was really pretty.

"Irish, just Irish," The nurse - Miss. Becker - squinted at me suspiciously. I took my Certificate of Honorary Citizenship from my bag with pained, shaking hands.

The woman barely glanced at it before taking it and attaching it to the clipboard and setting it on the tabled near the bench. She then caught a nurse walking by and asked for some supplies as I zoned out, wondering why all of the nurses weren't married. I was aware that most of them were young girls, and working full time took away from courtship or whatever ridiculous practice they had here as a precursor to a marriage.

My wondering was broken by a sting as my hands were placed in lukewarm water, mild soap causing any broken blisters to sting even more than they already did. After drying my hands with a clean gauze, Miss. Becker began to bandage them, first lathering the worst of the burns - my fingers and the tip of my thumb - with what I could only assume was some kind of antibiotic ointment before loosely wrapping a bandage around first my palm then each individual finger.

After this painfully tedious process was completed, she advised me to continue moving my hands as I would if they were not burned, to prevent the skin from healing too tightly.

"Thank you, ma'am," I said as I was dismissed, she murmured a quiet word of welcome before stalking down the hallway back to the reception desk. Left to my own devices, I took my Certificate from the clipboard and decided to find Reggie's room and see if he had gotten any progress on the Gettysburg Address. It wasn't nearly that difficult, the familiar staircase from hell soon looming in front of me. Trekking up it only took a few minutes, but after what felt like hours I finally arrived at his door.

"Reggie," I sighed, plopping myself down in the nearest chair, "You won't believe the luck I've been having..." It was near the end of this statement I realized a confused old man with a feeding tube and an oxygen tank was in the bed, not an amputee soldier. "S-Sorry," I stuttered before exiting and quickly discovering I had gone into the door on the wrong side of the hallway.

"Reggie, you won't believe the luck I've been having..."

We talked for a while, smoothing out the details of his trip to Rush Valley and what I'd be up to if I wasn't going with him. The sinking realization that it depended on the outcome of the my choices in the next 24 hours quieted me so much that Reginald changed the subject without my input and showed me that he had decoded the second line of the cipher, 'our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation'.

I fell asleep at some point, but was pleasantly surprised when I woke up to find not much time had passed according the wall clock, and that Reggie had fallen asleep as well. Soon, a nurse came and told me to leave, as Reggie needed his bandages changed. Recalling that this was olden times back in the horrible ole' 1910s, I decided not to protest and instead see if I could find Ed's room. I asked the nurse, a Miss. Messenger, if she knew where he was, but she wholly ignored my question and simply shooed me out of the room.

After sometime of searching the empty halls of the floor, I discovered a more friendly looking nurse who told me to check with the receptionist. I first headed gaily to the hallway, before realizing that going to the secretary meant confronting my greatest enemy in this world: stairs. I muffled a groan of annoyance but limped down the steps slowly. The boots I wore were starting to seem too tight and chaff at my ankles.

After some time trudging through the maze, I found the front office of the ER and spotted the secretary. Her glasses precariously perched atop her dainty nose as she sat behind the counter, shuffling paperwork.

"Good morning, I was just wondering if I could visit Edward Elric? He checked in not too long ago," Her grey eyes narrowed at me suspiciously before she brightened suddenly, as if a light bulb went off over her head. To my disappointment, it didn't seem that such a thing actually happened in this realistic universe.

"You're that strange girl from yesterday, yes? 2nd Lieutenant Ross told me that if you wanted to see him he'd be in the room just down the hall. 45 B." Strange girl? That was a new one.

"Thank you, ma'am." I rushed as I stepped quickly down the hall. I wasn't necessarily in a hurry to see the Elrics - well, I wasn't in a hurry to be in the same room as Alphonse and his brother after what I had told him. Nevertheless, I made a beeline for the end of the hall, keeping an eye out for the Babysitting Duo.

"Where is he? Has Fuhrer Bradley been through here?" Two soldiers called just a head of me, notifying me of the time of the episode. I followed them until a streamer of blonde hair caught my eye. Turning around, I changed direction to follow the girl.

She was about my height, though possibly slightly taller in her heeled boots. Her hair was quite blonde, a vibrant and shiny gold that even in a pony tail nearly reached her waist. A clean white tang top hugged her frame, and a short blue skirt rustled above her knees. My anxious pace soon caught up to her own, and we walked side by side for a few awkward steps.

"You going to see Ed?" I finally asked, breaking the silence. Winry Rockbell glanced at me, almost in apprehension, or possibly wariness. Her eyes wear a very bright blue, but in this world, they were not unrealistically so. They looked me up and down, from my bag to my reused outfit to my untamed pale locks that were beginning to curl in the afternoon humidity.

"Yes, are you a friend of his?" She asked invitingly, though I could hear a hint of suspicion in her voice. I shrugged, noticing that Denny and Maria had yet to come into our sight.

"I met the Elric brothers a few times, they seem like some good kids. I was here for another friend of mine and figured I'd stop by and see what those two had gotten themselves into again." I said, noting she wasn't carrying around any tools or automail repair parts. It seemed strange considering she was Winry Rockbell. "I'm Irish by the way, just Irish." She gave a small, restrained smirk.

"Nice to meet you 'just Irish'." I rolled my eyes, but gave a small chuckle nonetheless. Dad jokes were the best jokes. "I'm sorry, I never properly introduced myself, I'm Winry, Winry Rockbell. I'm just here to give Ed some tickets he asked for." I nodded, seeing Denny and Maria ahead of us as they guarded a room with two doors instead of the standard one.

I noticed Winry's earrings made from what appeared to be pieces of scrap metal, washers, and other various automail parts. So cool.

"I wouldn't go in there right now," Denny advised as I went to open the door for Winry. "The Fuhrer's in there," I shrugged and flew the doors open with abandon.

"Edward, your knight in automail armor is here to rescue you from your uselessness!" I announced dramatically at the four men staring out the window. Winry followed close behind, unfazed.

"Hey Ed..." She then noticed the gathering that had formed near the window. "What the... What's going on? Did I miss something?" Ed looked as if he had seen a ghost.

"Not really, just a tornado passing by." He stated simply, staring at the blonde girl blankly. Unsure how to respond to the sarcasm, Winry awkwardly closed the door behind her.

"Well, I don't think there's anything I can do about that. But I did go and buy those train tickets you asked for," She said, producing the tickets from thin air, or at least it seemed that way to me as her pleated skirt offered no visible pockets. Maybe that was just the physics of this world. Ed seemed to get some color back to his face and returned to normal, his shiny gold eyes blinking with recognition.

"Thanks, just in time," It then occurred to me that Winry had been here before, Ed's arm free of its sling. That meant that Hughes was going to be murdered tonight, so long as I didn't intervene.

"You okay Mac?" Hughes asked, distracting me from my internal conflict. It was nice not to think about death for the past day or so, but now I had a choice to make, an important choice. I realized he was talking about my hands, not my look of sheer and utter terror that had followed my thoughts.

"I'm bad at cooking," I said, holding up the bandaged hands. "I tried to help with the cake...it ended badly for both the cake and I," Hughes shook his head and clapped my shoulder.

"It's okay," He leaned down to whisper, "Believe it or not, when I first married Gracia I'd almost rather eat army rations," My eyes widened.

"No way,"

"Yes way, but, she practiced and look at her now! I wouldn't trade a four course meal from a master chef for that grub." He turned to Winry, having a wider attention than I did, "Where are you headed off to this time?" Winry held up the ticket, allowing Hughes to read it, "What's in Dublith?" Ed smiled, possibly one of the first times I personally had seen him smile in my memory.

"Well, with the way things have gone lately, Al and I decided we should go back and visit our old teacher," Alphonse was shaking at the mention, his armor rattling quietly in fear. To be honest, I'd probably be just as scared of the woman if I didn't admire her so much.

If my life was going as planned, I'd be screaming, 'I'm a housewife!' at anyone who bothered me. But, if it wasn't made obvious by the anime characters, my life was derailed and flipped into a river full of bull sharks and the train of my life was on fire.

"I think I'm too scared brother," The armored spirit said, holding his hands up, "There's no way she's not going to kill us," The brothers joined hands as if in a nervous plea to the God they didn't believe in, it was quite a comical sight.

"L-look, don't you chicken out on me now," Ed responded, shivering in fear, "I'm scared too, okay?" Winry slumped, though no comical sweat dropped appeared on the back of her head.

"What exactly does this person teach?" She asked in concern, though her voice conveyed a sense of jest. Armstrong placed his hand on his chin, glaring at the floor from my point of view.

"It appears you have a rather lengthy journey ahead of you," He noted, Winry turning her serious attention back to the brothers.

"How far is Dublith?" She asked, breaking the boys free from their impending nervous breakdown.

They actually seemed to be genuinely terrified of Izumi, which made my admiration for the teacher falter in doubt of her actual ability to teach - especially since the Elrics were so scared of her. Not to mention they did the one thing they should have never done, especially with her as their mentor.

"Well, let's see," Alphonse said, his childish voice echoing without any eeriness or solemnity for once as he unfurled a map he had hidden somewhere in his armor. Upsides to being a soul in an empty suit of armor: your body is a storage compartment and you never had to worry about pockets. "There it is," He said pointing to the dot on the map of railway lines, "All the way down here," Winry observed the map for a moment and I tensely held my hands over my ears as she gave a screech of delight.

"Wha..What is it?" Ed asked, as if he was afraid to hear what caused the outburst. The blonde girl excitedly pointed to one of the dots with its unreadable name beside it, not that I needed to know what she was so worked up about.

"That! Right there! Right before Dublith!" She stepped away from the map, gazing into space with wide, starry eyes, "It's the Holy Land of automail engineering! It's Rush Valley!" I smiled at her theatrics, when a thought hit me.

"What's the Holy Land here?" I said aloud, though I hadn't meant to and, thankfully, it seemed no one had noticed with Winry's enthusiasm.

"We have to go, we have to go, we have to go, you have to take me!" She exclaimed repeatedly, waving her arms like a child who had seen the ice cream truck and wanted their parents to buy them some sugary cavity makers. Ed was not amused.

"Yeah, whatever, I don't have to take you anywhere-" He was cut short - quite literally as Winry was taller than him - as the blonde girl glared over him.

"Well somebody has to pay for my travel fare," Ed only glared up at her.

"Then why does it have to be me?" He growled, Alphonse stepping in as the peacekeeper he was.

"Come on brother, what's the big deal? It's on our way," Ed crossed his arms and turned away from Winry, admitting defeat.

"Only if you want to Al," This sent Winry into another fit of happiness, as expected.

"Yay!" She squealed, spinning in circles with her arms in the air. Winry was surprisingly easy to please in person. She stopped her spinning and opened the door. "I've got to call and tell grandma," And with that she left the room, the five of us staring after her with a sense of bewilderment and relief. Hughes put a hand on Ed's shoulder.

"She'll make you a fine wife someday," Ed bristled with annoyance.

"Don't start that again," Hughes merely chuckled in response, putting a hand on his head.

"I would rather talk about my wife anyway," Something dreadful then occurred to me, something I hadn't realized until today. The clerk lady said I was the 'strange girl from yesterday'? And since Ed's arm was healed and this was most certainly Episode 10, how had I missed Episode 9 completely?

"Wait, is Elicia's party tonight?" I asked Hughes in my sudden panic, aware of how strange I seemed. He looked at me with nervous eyes.

"No, it was last night Irish, you were there, remember?" No. I didn't remember, I didn't even leave the hospital from what I remembered. I looked around me in fear for the first time in days. How had I forgotten an entire day?

"Sorry, I...I guess I was just a little tired," Armstrong shot me a concerned glance, as we began to leave the room. "I'm fine," No. No I was not.

Instead of seeing off the Elrics and Winry, or heading home to hear Hughes say that one last goodbye to Elicia, I choose to find the library (a branch of the military library meant for public use) and see if there were any books about memory loss. Most of what I found reflected on injury, dementia, or family history but none of those applied to me.

I hadn't hurt my head, unless this really was all a dream which I wasn't ready to reconsider with the events that were going to occur that night. And dementia, considering my past medical records and age, was very unlikely. I had a family history of sleep disorders - Truth knew Matt sleep walked, Mary sleep spoke, and Brian sleep ate of all things! I, on the other hand, had never had a problem with the sleep walking that my siblings were plagued with, it wouldn't explain my complete lapse of memory.

And if I had been asleep, somebody would have noticed.

I laid down on the table I had spread my research over and moaned in surrender. This world couldn't give me a break. Anxious not to fall asleep, I looked out the window of the library to notice the sun starting to set.

Seeing that I hadn't boarded the train with those headed to Dublith, my fate was sealed along with the fate of the chimeras and Greed. Leaving the books as they were, I headed out of the building and walked quickly through the crowds to find the Central Park. The lights began to glow, signaling Hughes' time would end soon.

My heart thumping like car piston, I quickly flashed my all access Certificate of Fanciness to Adele who barely had time to acknowledge me as I sped past on my way to the archive room. Having memorized the path from my notes, I found myself in the comforting confines of the room, the scent of the books and ink calming me as my breathing deepened.

I found the table with the map of Amestris spread out on it and I slipped into the bookshelf just two rows behind it. Far enough away to not be noticed, close enough to grab Hughes before he could leave and get him to safety.

I slumped to the ground and pulled my knees to my chest, listening to the blood pumping through my ears. To say what I was about to do was nerve racking, terrifying, or even crazy was an understatement. It was downright delusional. I wasn't some super powered girl with different colored eyes and natural neon blue hair, I had no extensive training in how to stop a person from killing another, I had little knowledge of how to talk my way out of a difficult situations.

I wasn't a cop or a hero or even a fictional Mary-Sue. I was just a scared girl trying to do the impossible, trying to change a man's fate that was literally written in black and white, ink and paper in books and printed in vibrant colors and animated for an entire planet to see. I couldn't do this.

I knew I was crying loudly, tears creating spots on the floor and my face red with embarrassment. I was so stupid for thinking I was capable of this, I could barely stand to see an animal I wasn't hunting for food die, let alone stop a death or a human being when one was about to occur. My breathing hitched in my throat, and stopped.

In my panic I finally realized I wasn't breathing despite my lungs' attempts to draw some breath back into me. The world began to blur, as did my worries and thoughts. None of it mattered if I died anyway.

But I wasn't dead. The world was black, and I couldn't feel my body. It was as if I had fallen asleep, except the void of darkness was not nearly as empty as I had thought. It wasn't cold, but it wasn't overly warm either, it was just right, like being under a warm blanket during a cold winter. I was no longer curled up against the book shelf but lying down, as if atop small pillars that shifted up and down and left and right. It was almost as if I was floating.

I wanted to open my eyes, but something urged me not to, like the primordial instinct to avert ones eyes from the sun. I, being an arrogant as I was to nature's advice, ignored that advice and opened my eyes. The blackness around me was writing, like a thousand insects. And of course, with that thought in mind, I screamed.

The black hands of the Gate dropped me to the ground of the white void and slithered back to their refuge of the slightly ajar Gate. I sat up slowly, still unnerved by the whole thing. Honestly, who wouldn't be slightly perturbed by waking to being swarmed by those creeps?

I took a deep breath through my nose, the air here clean and fresh. My back was to one Gate, and in front of the other there was a small, white lump, only discernible from the surroundings by the shadows it cast. I looked around for Truth, the entity not present at the moment it seemed.

"Truth!" I called, my voice echoing in the void. "Truth?" I looked back to the object in front of the Gate opposite to me. It stirred, taking the form of a snow white ferret that sat hunched over facing me. Its eyes were like those of the Gate, a pale violet with black rings around a small pupil. The figure sat there, unmoving. "Truth?" I tried again, as it seemed to move when I was calling for the entity.

I looked around again before turning to the ferret, only to discover it was gone.

"You have cheated me, human," An angry hiss of voices seethed from behind me, causing me to turn around and shuffled backwards in surprise. "How are you going to pay for the damages?"

Truth seemed absolutely pissed about something as it stood there, arms crossed and its characteristic smile now a frown filled with sharp teeth. Well, wasn't that just welcoming?

"Huh?" I responded, not really thinking due to the absolute blind panic that had overcome me. What did I do wrong? Was it because I told Alphonse what I knew, or was it because Lucha died?

"The creature you provided as my host was not as strong as it appeared, if you wish to return to your plane of existence intact, you will have to provide another host. Which, judging by your appearance, you have none," The Truth hissed, somehow right in my face. Wasn't it freaky how the Truth caught up to me?

But in all seriousness, I had no idea what it was referring to. I was aware it had possessed Lucha, but what made Truth believe Lucha was in the least bit 'strong'? If it was watching anything down there, it would be pretty clear that Lucha was an accident prone fluff ball that had a habit of doing unintelligent things.

"W-Wait! You never told me anything about this, isn't that unfair?" I stuttered as I scrambled to my feet and made some distance between myself and the humanoid. I didn't understand why it was so angry - it never intervened in the series, so why seek out a host like water in a desert?

The Truth folded its arms sat down cross legged in front of the Gate I had come from. It impatiently tapped its fingers against its porcelain arm.

"It was an unspoken agreement, you should have realized taking your pigmentation from you was a small price to pay, and that other payment had been given." It stated, irritated by my apparent ignorance. "It should have been clear that a host to accompany you was expected," I sighed, ironically happy I wasn't in the archive room panicking, at least for the time being.

"Well, it wasn't," I huffed, crossing my own arms to mirror Truth.

"You still have to pay, your ignorance to a law cannot excuse you of the crime," The Truth growled, seeming to have calmed down a bit despite its clear annoyance with my behavior.

I thought for a moment, considering what it could take from me that wouldn't cause me to bleed out before I reached the hospital. Then a thought struck me, an oddly relevant thought to my concerns about my missing memory.

"Why can't I be a host? Or is having a soul a problem?" I asked, recalling what the Truth told me about its limits to possessing a creature with a soul. A god with limits, now what kind of god was that? The Truth's shoulder's sagged, as if in defeat. It was a curious action for a being that claimed to be so powerful.

"A soul is not a problem. Any sentient creature has a unique amount of energy that one may consider a 'soul'. It is merely energy, and as such the energy cannot be destroyed or created, simply moved. In order to possess a human such as yourself, it would only be a matter of moving your energy and replacing it with my own - granted it does not destroy your body." Truth explained to my surprise. If it was telling me this, what would it require in return? It continued, unfazed by my look of wariness.

"To move your soul to and from the Gates is complicated, as time flows differently here. This was not a problem with the host you provided earlier, as it only had a small amount pf energy to traverse the Gate, and therefore I was only required to compensate that insignificant amount of energy with a small portion of my own. Because of your body's mass and your soul's friction with the ether, it would be too costly for me to expend my own energy..." The Truth trailed off, noticing my glazed over eyes. It was its own fault for turning this into a philosophical physics lesson.

"Perhaps you would rather simply make your payment and return to your realm,"

"No, no, I get what you're talking about," I said, jolted from my daze at the mention of payment. There was no way I was going to let this thing con me. I began pacing in clockwise circles between the two giant stone doors, allowing me to pull from my obscure and limited knowledge about physics. "So, say this version of earth is moving slower relative to the ether than my version of earth, as that would explain the time difference. Like the time traveling twins from that lecture," I was referencing the college lecture my Uncle Thomas had lent me. They made falling asleep on long car rides much easier than it would normally be.

"And the Gate, where we are now, is not moving relative to the ether. Now, if my soul - energy, whatever you call it, is still moving relative to the ether at the speed of my earth, that means I am dragging the ether of time on the other earth with me. Meaning there's a point in time when the speed of the ether I'm dragging and the friction that it creates with the time of the other earth puts me at a standstill relative to the ether in a perspective of time and space.

"This would explain why things don't physically effect me at all sometimes and other times take twice as long to have an impact. So if you can figure out the time when I'm not moving relative to the ether - much like how it is here at the Gate - then the energy you'd normally expend to catch up with time on this earth would be unnecessary, considering no time is passing for either me or you and we're both timeless relative to the ether," The Truth's chuckle distracted me, stopping my rant. I was no physics major, so it made sense if what I was saying had little to no relevance here.

"You are clever, for a human," Truth finally said, its smile back to its normal, creepy self. "I have been recording the times when your time stops for some time now actually, since it creates quite a disturbance here in the Gate. I just didn't know how to take advantage of it until recently-"

"You possessed me at the hospital and took me to Elicia's party?" I asked in shock. Sure, it would explain a lot and made sense considering my deduction about time and space here, but it was still unnerving to think an entity like Truth had control over my being for hours.

"Yes, actually, I did," Its many voices said happily, as if boastful of the accomplishment. "But it was only temporary, and I needed to confer with you the exact mechanisms of the exchange." I narrowed my eyes at the shadowy creature from where I stood at the other Gate.

"So, you are the one who cheated me and you just paid for it with that information. Then why go to the trouble to yell at me and see if I'd make a physical exchange with you instead of a theoretical one?" I asked, thinking there might be a catch to the exchange of information.

"Oh, I just wanted to see if you would accept." The Truth said with a childish giggle before its tone turned deathly serious. "I have no way of knowing what you know unless you tell me yourself, as you are clearly not part of this universe's closed system. And you would discover the information eventually, though gradually, over the course of your time here. If you had not given yourself the time here to explain these concepts to me, I would have no reason to explain your new role as my host in this world."

Screw it all. Why did I even bother asking when I knew the Truth would be an enigmatic asshole? It probably had its reasons - Truth was a 'god' after all.

"So, what is my new role? What was my role before this?" I asked, aware that I might have been asking for more than was possible for the Truth to tell me. Had it really not considered the ether and its role in time when thinking about possessing me? So many questions, not enough limbs.

"Prior to this, you were an outlier. I admit you were an abnormality I was not prepared to place in the world, so I allowed you to do as you wished and interact with the other beings as you wished. I had hoped you would avoid further contact with the Elrics, but I am incapable of revoking your freewill - a pesky perk to being from another universe I suspect - and as such you revealed some knowledge to those around you. When the younger Elric-"

"Alphonse, his name is Alphonse." I interjected, and was ignored by the Truth who merely continued its explanation.

"I was not watching the younger Elric brother when he discovered your written knowledge, and I was unable to call him to the Gate to pass over - it is unfortunate that the seal is so strong - and he gained some insight to the future. I know not how your universe is so knowledgeable about this universe at this point in time, but it made it necessary for me to-"

"We have anime," I said flatly, hoping to explain, "There's a theory that there is a universe for every possibility and choice, meaning worlds of fiction - your universe in mine for example - are real."

"Is that so?" The Truth asked, like a mother after her daughter told her that a unicorn ate her homework, "Well, it is no longer important, as you are here not there. As I was saying, I felt it necessary for me to intervene. Your actions, and the actions of those you have influenced, will have serious repercussions. Using you as a new host will give me an opportunity to correct the timeline the best I can."

"I know," I sighed, thinking back to my mission I had been so scared of completing back in the archive room,

"But this is a new story, a story different than how it's supposed to be. It's different because I'm here, and whether Alphonse or Colonel Mustang or even Father found out what I know, my existence created a whole new branch of events and possible events to your universe's time line, and you can try to change it back, but it won't work. You can't stop me from trying to help and stop some carnage and death, I do have free will and I'm choosing to try to save people instead of sitting back and watching them die."

I felt strangely confident about that statement, as if I might have been brave enough to confront Hughes and save him, to change the story and deal with the consequences. If I died doing it, another me on a different timeline wouldn't, and she'd do different things and save different people.

But somewhere in another universe, if I couldn't save people in this one, there would be a version of me that did save people, and a version of me that didn't. It was my choice to be the one that tried to help this universe, not the time line that stopped with me being a passive observer.

I smiled defiantly at Truth, but my new found purpose faltered. Truth was smiling wider, if that was even possible.

"My dear, I think I have already stopped you," I sucked in a breath of air out of fright when the hands of the Gate behind me pulled me into the blackness, the last thing I saw being Truth's triumphant smile.

I released the breath with a gasp as I woke to a start on the archive room floor. My heart was beating so wildly it hurt, and my vision spun as I tried to hurry to my feet in an effort to reestablish reality. The air of the archive room seemed different. Fresher, sharper.

Truth had said it might have stopped me from saving someone, and from the looks of the archive room, Truth was right. Blood was sprinkled over the carpet and papers littered the floor, notable to the right of the table and the right of the open door. The room was dark, but the light from the hallway illuminated the empty table. The map was gone.

My heart was beating so fast that it once more began to ache, but more than the fear, another emotion overwhelmed me. Rage. I was so close, and Truth thought it could take this one thing away from me? I had lived every second of every day here orchestrating the perfect plan to execute, and Truth had made me miss the deadline?

Not. To-fucking-day. The Promised Day could come and I could die or be murdered, but none of that mattered if I didn't accomplish my sole, self-stated purpose in this universe. To at least save the life of Maes Hughes.

I rushed into the blinding light of the hallway and took a right, ignoring the bloodstains on the wall. There was a gasp of surprise from behind me, forcing me to turn and see who it was. It was a woman, tall and lithe, with long, curling, ebony locks that shrouded a blood stained face. Crimson lips turned into a smile as my charge of anger broke and I froze like a deer in the headlights. Lust.

"I'm surprised I didn't notice you sweetheart, sorry for neglecting you!" She said sweetly at first, growing to a shriek of annoyance as she threw her arm toward me.

The spears were terrifying, contorting her fingers into sharp weapons of destruct longer than I was tall, and heading straight for me. My daze was broken seeing the bloody points. She had stabbed Hughes, and he was going to die if I didn't get to him in time.

I ducked around a corner, almost fast enough to get out without a scrape. But the spears went through the very corner of the wall, burying their tip into my right side and upper thigh and scratching against my hip and pelvis bones. I cried out in pain and nearly collapsed. Now I could say I knew what having a knife dug into your joint felt like.

It hurt more than anything, and the wound didn't burn as if I had spilled acid on a cut or feel as if were ablaze, it just hurt so badly I wanted to get sick.

The spear that I could only assume was her thumb had gone straight through me, creating a hole from the flesh above my pelvic bones to the back. The next one had only grazed the skin, creating a gash of red through the riding pants I had worn for the third day in a row. The next two spears had nestled themselves into my hip, separating the joint only slightly, but still enough to make the simple task of limping away hell. The last one, her pinky finger I assumed, had stabbed itself into my thigh muscle but hadn't gone through the other side.

Though all of the wounds were bleeding heavily, I wasn't losing blood fast enough for any major arteries or veins to have been punctured. As the spears withdrew and the corner of the wall broke into pieces of cement and dry wall, I was faced with a decision. Stay and most likely die at the hands of a deranged, blood lusting homunculus, or try to run away no matter how excruciating the pain was.

And somehow, I was started walking, practically sprinting away. Muscle memory led me straight to the reception desk, where I was sure Lust wouldn't follow. I was limping badly, and it was difficult to discern my blood from the trail of fresh red that had led to the reception desk.

Adele sat at her chair by an old radio or telegram machine of sorts. She looked the same as always, he curly blonde hair pinned out of her face with a blue hair clip, and her pristine royal blue uniform neatly arranged. There was a book at the table, but Adele was not looking at it. Her blue eyes focused worriedly on the door. My breathing had gotten heavy from blood loss and a failing adrenaline rush, catching her attention.

"Oh, my God! I-Irish, are you...?" I went straight for the first telephone booth, noting that the blood on the phone handle was still warm. "Irish, please, wait-!" I needed to get to the park. Now.

Ignoring her weak protests, I picked up my slowing pace. I knew exactly where to go - I had planned this out, and yet I never expected I'd be the one to let this get this far. The anger from the archive room caught up with me again. I was not going to die. I was not going to let Hughes die.

The phone booth was soon in sight, with a fake 2nd Lieutenant Ross pointing a gun at the man inside. I wasn't too late. My leg was soaked with my own blood, and my breathing felt hollow as my legs moved faster. The Lieutenant - Envy, began to crackle with red sparks as he turned into Gracia.

For a moment something told me to stop running, but that anger pushed me forward. I just needed to stop the gun. There was a flash as Hughes turned around with his push dagger in hand, and I was finally within ear reach.

"You look surprised," Envy's voice chuckled, my heart racing as I came up on him. I was only a few meters away.

"What...What the hell are you?" Hughes asked, my breath hitching as I took one last stride forward.

A gun shot rang out. I was on top of Envy just before that dreadful sound reached my ears, and I took the advice of Coach Lawless one more time. When in doubt, tackle. I ignored Hughes and the gun as my rage and pain were directed at the object in front of me - Envy disguised as Gracia.

I didn't remember the impact or when exactly the gun went off after I hit Envy, all I recalled was the look of utter shock on his face when my body slammed into his, bringing both of us to the ground. My nails dug into his arms, and I forced him down with my left knee, my right too slippery with blood to pin him down.

My breathing was deep and my vision blurred, but my resolve to keep the person beneath me away from Hughes overwhelmed my exhaustion and pain. Purple eyes blinked in surprise before glaring at me, despite the smirk upon the disguise's lips.

"Well, well, what do we have here? A little girl trying to play-" It was very satisfying to feel my fist slam into his face. It was even more satisfying to do it again and again until I heard bones break and felt blood gush down his face. It felt so good to hurt someone. I hated how good it felt, but it was an undeniable relief to bring pain to the person I was hurting. William Golding got it right after all.

"Don't. Fuck. With. My. Plan." I growled as I finally lowered my hand to my side, still using my left to hold his shoulder down. The nails had broken his flesh, and I could feel blood making my hold on him slippery.

My breathing had calmed and the stillness of the moment reminded me how much my wounds now stung as salty sweat from the run mixed with the blood from the wounds. Envy's face as Gracia was still, the eyes staring up at the cloud ridden sky. The lamp post lit up the blood like a river of gold and ruby that ran along his cheekbones and dripped to the cobblestone ground. The gun had fallen in the grass beneath the bushes, out of sight from any passing by soldiers.

I gasped suddenly and looked to the phone booth, a sigh of relief leaving my body at the sight of a shaken and mortified Hughes standing in the copper light of the lamp.

There was a gash along his head, but not deep enough to cause any serious damage. Blood had soaked down his neck, and his shoulder had been pierced through by one of Lust's spears. One of the panes of glass behind him was broken, most likely from the bullet that was supposed to be in his heart at the moment. He was unresponsive to my attempt for eye contact, and he was shaking with shock, but he was alive.

I had accomplished my goal. All of the rage and adrenaline that had gotten me here vanished, and I felt limp kneeling over Envy. My reverie of peace ended suddenly, Envy sitting up and forcing me against the door of the phone booth. I whimpered in pain as my head hit the corner and my world spun, but I quickly regained my wits.

"Who do you think you are human?" He hissed, furious with me. Envy shed his disguise, the red sparks dancing over the bloodied face and faux blonde hair to replace it with clean, perfect pale skin and long black hair. He might not have looked like a palm tree, but I was still going to insult him anyway.

His hands gripped my shoulders, and at his height towered over me. I barely had time to realize that Mustang had picked up the other end of the phone call. I brought my knee up, as if to hit his groin, but brought my leg back down and slammed the heel of my shoe onto his foot. Truth needed to remind me to thank Gracia for her choice of pump heels as I heard the crack of bones.

In that split second of Envy's distraction as he quickly healed the internal damage, I noticed the regular patrol of soldiers coming up this path. I grabbed the booth's door, pushed the disoriented Envy into the booth, and slammed the glass paneled door behind us.

"Why you-"

"Shut up, palm tree, and at least wait for the other soldiers to pass before murdering me," I snarled back at him, feeling faint despite my confident tone. Hopefully I would black out and Truth could intimidate the homunculus for me.

"Wha-" I held a finger to my lips as boot heels clicked by, the soldiers not even hesitating at what I knew to be a trail of Hughes' and my blood. Soon the duo passed, and I needed a plan. My entire scheme of catching Hughes before shit went down was out the window, so I guessed the time old honored tradition of 'winging it' was in favor at this point. "Who are you?" Envy said with a huff, as if offended I stopped him from murdering the one person I swore to keep alive.

I could hear Mustang's worried voice on the phone that now dangled near the floor. I crouched and picked it up, putting the receiver back in place and cancelling the call.

"This may take some time to explain," I said, noting the small space the three of us were confined to. A phone booth from the 1910s was not meant for three. Envy looked at Hughes, most likely contemplating how quickly he could kill the both of us and how much paperwork it would be for Wrath. "If you kill me," I swallowed and looked at Hughes. He was still in a daze, probably from blood loss, but he seemed to be coming out of it, which would be a problem. "I can promise you the Elric sacrifice will die, and your Promised Day will never come,"

Envy's eyes turned their attention on me, like daggers in the dim light.

"How do you know about the sacrifices?" He asked, sounding genuinely curious and absolutely pissed at the same time. I forced down a smile, realizing I had a small advantage over the homunculus - I had information he wanted.

"Truth be told, it was the Truth." To any other alchemist, that would've made little sense as a response, but to Envy, he seemed to vaguely understand. "And I know more, if you'd like to know. I know about Father, the other homunculus, including dear old Fuhrer Wrath and little devil child Pride, the Promised Day, the sacrifices, the philosopher stones, the staged bloodshed, I even know what you really look like under that pretty little disguise you're wearing, hell crocodile," Hughes seemed utterly confused and terrified at the same time, realizing I was saying all of the secret I had been keeping from him. "I even know that Greed is hiding out in Dublith, and Bradley - pardon me, Wrath - will be dragging him back here very soon,"

Envy looked honestly surprised, but the look quickly morphed to one of irritation.

"So? I wasn't supposed to kill you," I rolled my eyes and looked at Hughes. I was so tired, I just wanted to go home and go to sleep.

"No, but if you kill Hughes, I'm going to kill the little Elric twerp myself, and may I remind you that if you do decide to kill me, I have others with a complete record of my knowledge at the ready to execute him." I said, thankful my voice held steady. The pain in my leg was beginning to fade, but I pressed my hand against the wound. The pain kept me from blacking out.

"You're bluffing," Envy snapped at me, taking a step toward me in the cramped space. I looked up at him, my pale pink irises holding steady with his own violet ones.

"Try me," I said with a smirk, "And if I'm not, you will be the one Father blame's for the loss of a sacrifice." Hughes opened his mouth to speak but I shot him a glare. "You want to die tonight or not, family guy?" He shut up and held a hand against his bleeding shoulder to hinder the flow of blood.

"But I can't just let Mr. Hughes walk, now can I?" Envy retorted, folding his arms. "Just what do you suggest I do?" I thought for a moment, hoping not to appear hesitant as I said the first thing that came to mind.

"I'll make sure he's dead, you make sure he gets on a train to Aerugo ASAP," I said, noting Envy's confusion. Whether the acronym confused him or the plan, I would never know. "So long as you get him out of the country and keep him out of the country, I will convince the public that he was murdered and the body was taken and presumably dumped in the river. Then he'll be out of your way, and I'll be satisfied with the compromise." Envy narrowed his eyes at me.

"What if you kill the little shrimp anyways?" I shrugged and met his glare.

"Then you can kill him," Hughes inhaled sharply, realizing he was merely a bargaining chip in a greater scheme. "Listen, so long as Mustang at least is convinced that Lieutenant Colonel - or rather, postmortem Brigadier General Maes Hughes is dead, I can assure you I will not farther intervene with your plans, and the Promised Day can commence as planned."

Envy still didn't seem convinced I wouldn't go back on my word. I really should have worried about him going back on his - murdering Hughes somewhere else or dropping him off in another part of the country. But that thought didn't occur to me in my blood deprived state of exhaustion. I could only notice that he was hesitant to strike a deal with a pathetic, worthless human.

"You have my word, I swear on the bullet you put in that little Ishvalan girl's skull I will not harm Edward Elric unless you cause farther harm to Maes Hughes. Capisce?" He was taken aback, not expecting me to know that irregular detail about the past. That, or he was hung up on what 'capisce' meant. "Do we have a deal?" I held out my hand, hoping not to be murdered within the next few moments.

"Fine," Envy said with a snort of disdain as he shook my hand, "We have a deal." I gave him a slight nod.

"Good," I opened the phone booth door, noting that we were now standing in a small puddle of my blood and Hughes' blood. Judging by the time, the soldiers would come back around within the hour. I looked at Hughes as Envy exited the booth, the homunculus disgusted from having to share the same air with us.

"Please, just trust me," I whispered, picking up the picture of his family from the ground and held it out to him. "I'll keep everyone here safe," His worried hazel eyes seemed gold in the light of the lamp post. "I promise this will be okay in the end, it's just going to take time for the others to figure out what you did, if I tell them, I'll have broken my end of the deal, and your life will be in danger,"

"Human," Envy hissed impatiently, taking the form of Maria Ross once again in a flurry of red, this time making sure the mole under his right eye was present. I looked from Hughes to the homunculus.

I was putting a lot of faith into an artificial human to take care of this matter, but it was the only choice I had of keeping Hughes alive and safe. I hugged him, ignoring the blood from his shoulder that left a red stain on my cheek.

"Do this for Gracia and Elicia, please," I released him from the hug and looked to Envy. Hughes took a shaky step in the disguised homunculus' direction before looking back at me.

"Thank you, Mac," He whispered, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. The two uniformed soldiers slipped through the hedges and walked across the dark grass of the park, leaving me bloody and alone in the small spotlight.

I took a deep breath and fell to the ground against the frame of the phone booth, watching their shadows until my eyes couldn't follow the black shapes in the distance anymore. My head felt as if it were going to split in two, and the pain in my leg returned with vengeance. Warm tears began to streak down my face, stress and pain forcing the droplets from my eyes.

I sat there and cried for a few minutes, terrified I had made a huge mistake as I went over every word I had said. Was I too aggressive? Did I give enough reasons for Envy not to cross me? Would he follow through? Would I be able to follow through on the deal? My chest tightened at the thought, and threatened to bring more tears to my eyes.

I finally managed to calm down, realizing I needed to convince the world that Maes Hughes had been murdered. No matter how much I looked in the bushes, I could no longer find the pistol Envy had used to fire the bullet, leaving me to hope that soldiers wouldn't be able to find it either.

The amount of blood sufficient to convince them he had lost too much blood to be in very good shape was not a problem. Between his wounds and mine, at least a few pints had been spread across the crime scene, and I doubted forensics of this time period could tell our DNA apart and have it be viable in a court of law.

Now came the hard part - selling the story. I started at the phone booth, sure to soak the bottoms on my heels in the blood on the ground before sprinting as quickly as I could with my injuries away from the booth. Tears of pain ran from my eyes, making me look as terrified and as injured as I actually was. It wasn't long before I couldn't keep the pace up, and I slowed to a dogged limp.

Just as a bench where I could rest came into sight, a familiar voice called out.

"Sir, it is past curfew!" It was the guard who had arrested me when I first arrived, mustache and all. "Oh, Miss. Irish, I didn't expect you-" I fell down, my leg unintentionally giving out before I made it to the bench. At least it tied into my act. I had collapsed just a few feet from the pool of light a lamp post cast in the dark. But that light was enough for the two soldiers to see the slowly forming puddle of blood beneath me. "Wundt, go get a medic! Ma'am, what happened?" The soldier rolled me onto my back to observe the wounds better. "My God...Miss. Irish what-"

I reached up and grabbed the collar of his uniform and pulled his ear to my mouth.

"Lieutenant Colonel Hughes is dead." I croaked, actual blood loss sending stars into my vision. I would barely make out the look of absolute horror on the man's face before the world faded to black, this time without the comfort of the Gate to welcome me.

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