#first-homunculus

@first-homunculus said: “ I didn't find that funny at all, so I'm a bit confused on why you think laughing is a good idea right now. ”

Causing problems again? | Accepting!

Well in her defense, she did think it was hilarious.

It wasn't as if she broke anything. Or ruined it, really.

No, no, she was in a pile on the floor giggling because of the utter bewilderment upon Father's face. it was such an odd expression, considering he simply...did not have one most of the time. No, Father was always painstakingly neutral in all he did. Perhaps a proper reaction was all she had craved this whole time, and she had surely achieved her goal with one simple act:

Moving everything on that little desk around just enough to be confusing. It was all baffling to her regardless though, so it didn't matter much to Anger.

But clearly, it seemed to matter a great deal to Father, and that was enough for her.

It takes a moment or two for her to register what he's actually saying though, and even if it takes another minute or two for her to wrangle in her cackles...

Ah. Perhaps this is serious.

“ It's....It's not? ” She seems genuinely confused. How was it not funny? Perhaps she had done the joke wrong...?

No, she hadn't. Had she? Wasn't Father supposed to laugh with her?

And Anger didn’t quite like that title.

But, really, if this got Father to talk to her at least...plus, it was kinda a funny word. 

Jackie tensed her jaw. She never thought this would be happening; Greed hadn't given her details, but she'd gathered that his "Father" was bad news. The thought of meeting him had seemed so unlikely she'd considered it impossible.

She'd known Father was an asshole.

Greed hadn't mentioned he was creepy.

@first-homunculus​  said

"You really are the spitting image of your father when he was just a boy, full of yourself just like he was too. You have a lot to learn, but if you're as much like your father as I'm willing to bet you are, well, it'll take more years than you have left to learn how this world really works."  

Gold meets gold and Edward turns to face the older man. That’s a face he can’t say he’s ever cared much for. There’s silence for a moment to meet his words the teenager drawing his head back slightly to spit at the elder’s feet. 

“Fuck you.” 

His words are sharp as he speaks them, golds on fire as they glare his father’s copycat down.  Father? No  - he didn’t have one of those. The only thing Hohenheim was good for was the spark that starts life.  So honestly? Fuck him too.  

Edward’s listening. Ears open to the insults coming his direction. Comparing him to Van Hohenheim of all people. Like him when he was a boy huh? So he wasn’t a deadbeat then? Of course not, he didn’t have mouths to feed - he could wander the countryside doing who-the-fuck-knew--what- ever. There’s something about this bearded bastard that makes his skin crawl. It’s like looking at Hohneheim but not. It’s like looking at the man who didn’t want him but yet it not actually being him at all. 

It made him sick to his stomach. A constantly reminder that he was nothing more than a misfit, unworthy of his father’s love.

But he’s still talking - coming after him like he has the room to give him a life lesson. Deadbeats don’t get family rights....and he’s wearing the face of a misfit so he may as well be close enough. 

@first-homunculus​ said: "I don't know why you're so upset, I never said I wouldn't kill him if you cooperated, only that I'd let you say goodbye. And I did let you, so you're only wasting your breath now."

Greed is gone. 

He’s gone.

And she couldn’t do anything about it, she was too stupid to see what was really going on. 

Her hands shake. She wants to cry. She wants to hit something. Destroy something. 

No, no, the perfect target was right in front of her. 

Anger’s mouth is open and words are coming out before logic can step in. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you. You’re a dead man. A fucking dead man you son of a BITCH--!”

Her legs are moving. Her hands are balled into fists and she’s swinging. Screaming. 

Too much. This is too far and she knows it.

Anger didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be back home, at the Devil’s Nest. She wanted to see everybody. Martel, Roa, Bido, Dol, Greed. 

But of course, Anger could never have nice things without someone coming to fuck shit up. Namely, for some damn reason, the Fuhrer. But no, she can’t focus on that now, because rage bubbles beneath the deceiving face of a little child.

Eyebrows furrow, and for the briefest of moments Anger contemplates making a run for it, trying to find Greed herself. But she’s found out from experience how fast King Bradley can move, how a cheerful smile and demeanor can hide ever so sinister intentions. That’s no speed that a human can possess, and so she hesitates; and this pause lasts long enough for the old man to ask her his question. 

And then her namesake is beginning to boil over, and her mouth opens, repeating the words already spoken. Her features twist, displaying her displeasure quite clearly.

“Go fuck yourself. Does it look like I give a shit how you think things work? You think you can have me dragged into this little man cave of yours and I’ll answer your questions like a good little girl? You’re in for a surprise, you son of a bitch,” small hands shake and clench into fists, and pupils narrow into barely-seen slits. 

The Irritable is sat against the side of Father’s chair. Vibrant violet eyes peer over the arm; it seemed today would be one of interrogation from the youngest homunculus.