milliways_bar | (no subject)

And, Isaac is still trapped to the universe that is the bar. He turns as he sees the young boy enter, and smiles. "Hello again, young lad." he says cheerfully.

"Hello, Isaac! How are you?"

Isaac nods with a smile. "I am well, how are you? Have you learned any new alchemy tricks?"

Not any he would admit.

"Not lately, but I've been reading about automail. Winry lent me a book."

Isaac took a few steps to seat himself with the boy and smiles towards him. "Automail? What exactly is that? Is it another form of Alchemy?"

"No, it's machinery. Replacement limbs. Granny Pinako makes them - she takes care of Ed and me."

Machinery...Something he hadn't heard of, but in legends. He nods to the small boy, but thinks on the subject.

"It's very difficult," says Al. "It's much more complex than regular machinery, because it has to function like a real person's limbs. A lot of people don't think it's worth the trouble."

"But how are people losing limbs? If alchemy truly exists in your realm, why not just use it to regenerate what was lost?"

"Equal exchange," Al recites. "In order to gain one thing, something of equal value must be lost. Other people would lose their limbs."

But he will find a way around that. He will!

Isaac leans his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands. "Even humans are made of the four basic elements. Everything in the universe is, so if there needs to be an exchange, why not offer an amount of the elements used to form the limb lost?"

Al wishes it were that simple.

"Normal transmutation works that way, but human transmutation is different. Harder to figure out. Something is missing."

Isaac leans back in his seat and folds his arms behind his head. "Your alchemy seems to be very different from what Kraden taught me when we were in Vale. I wonder if there are any connections we can find that can help find a way to combine what we know, then perhaps we can find answers..."

"That's a good idea," says Al. "I can bring you some of my books, if you would like to see them."

Isaac nods. "That is a good idea. Maybe...just maybe...we'll be able to work our on wonders, even without the Stone of Sages..."

"You mean the Philosopher's Stone?"

Isaac has Al's interest now.

{ooc: SOrry, but I have a busy day tomorrow and need to sleep - slowtime okay?}

Isaac nods. "It seems we're speaking on the same object, but using different names. Yes, perhaps it is...but, for now, I must be off." He stands up and nods with a smile to Al. "Until another time, my young friend..." With that, he turns and runs off.

(OOC: Was looking for a reason to run off, really...good luck tomorrow, and good night. ^_^)

And as like draws to like, as alchemy teaches a sympathy of spirit that binds this world in whole, another Elric is in the bar, too.

He's been gone a while, trying to part the veil that keeps him from returning to his home, but try as he can he can't get beyond that...other world. Amesteris is a vision that chokes his dreams, the silhouette tracing the contours of his nightmares. He's only left his room to get more supplies from the bar, always thinking, always theorizing, always failing. Tonight, he means to pick up some compounds from a reality that never was, and perhaps with the strain of impossibility fueling his alchemy, he can pierce the barrier and go home.

Except.

Except.

Except.

There's the back of a head that he knows, at the far end of the bar. Hair, soft spun gold like his own; eyes the grey of the stormy sea; a smile that so sweetly recalls another. A trick, some part of him whispers savagely, a con, a ruse crafted by any number of the bar's darker, more malevolent patrons, and while Ed thought that he'd done well enough to avoid them so far, he must have run afoul of one now. He must have; he won't consider anything otherwise.

His feet move. His breathing comes in ragged bursts. With one hand, the automail hand that cost him so much, he reaches out to tap the boy on his shoulder.

Al turns around with a cheerful smile, which fades into confusion when he sees the face of the boy - man - still short but grown taller, even if not by much. He knew to look for dead people - he didn't know to look for an older version of his brother.

For a long moment he says nothing - just stares, puzzled but not afraid, at a face he's known all his life.

"Oniisan?"

Another pause, not as long, but still there.

"When did you get so tall?"

Of all the things that could've happened--of all the things that could've been said--so much that could have sent Ed into something like apoplexy, or asphyxiated disbelief, or any of a number of otherwise Very Bad Reactions To Chimerae Seriously Damping Ed's Day--

Well, there could've been worse things to say, is the key thing, here.

Still wary, still in shock, but a good ways away from alchemizing his sword and splitting a potential chimera in two, Ed manages to say, "I've always been tall--it's just that everybody else didn't notice."

Al tilts his head, looking at this older Ed in confusion.

"Is something wrong? Oniisan . . ."

He reaches out with a small hand to touch his brother - it is his brother, right? Ed's looked this grim before, but he's never been above Al's eye level, at least not that Al can remember - reaching for the right arm.

{double meep, I've just started freshman year at college, and orientation week has me busy and tired every night until midnight, so my internet access is spotty at best. Sorry!}

Tranced, caught in the whorls of his brother's eyes--

impossible, miraculous, the eyes so similar, so painful to recall

--and then, suddenly, Ed's jerking back, his own eyes irised wide and fearful, at the approach of Al's hand. His arm makes a fall of noise as he recoils. "What--what are you--"

"Brother?"

He knows that sound, the sound of gears shifting and synthetic muscles pulling. He's been at the Rockbell's house long enough to recognize the sound of automail, so now he stares at the arm, and then at his brother, surprised and a little afraid. Something is wrong.

"You don't--"

And it sinks in, then; his brother has never seen his automail limb before. His brother looks very, very young, Ed realizes, about as young as he was...

Just before the accident.

Slowly, Ed unclenches his automail fist. He forces himself to let the limb hang loose at his side.

"Al, how did you get here?" Ed asks, in a quiet, more level tone of voice than before.

"I walked, and here I was . . . why do you ask?"

In a strangely strangled sort of voice, Ed says, "How old are you, Al?"

"I'm ten," says Al, hesitantly. "And you're eleven. Aren't you?"