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Title: The Dying Flame
Author: Akatsuki Mikami
Rating: PG-13 for angst and talk of death
Sporkage by: [livejournal.com profile] agenttrojie as Agents Lasa and Montbretia of the Department of Angst
Summary: Lasa and Mombi have to separate an anime character from a lot of whiskey. Literally. Betaed by [livejournal.com profile] tea_fiend and [livejournal.com profile] cassie5squared

'Well, this is new,' said Agent Lasa, glaring at the console as if it had just killed her pet gerbil. Not that she had a pet gerbil. But if, for the sake of argument, Agent Lasa had been able to get attached to anything that didn't have pages and covers, and someone or something had killed the object of that affection, the look she would level at the killer would be equivalent to the look that she was just now levelling at the console.

'Oooh, do we have a nice cheerful Sue or some bad slash or something?' asked her partner Mombi, popping up from her nest of blankets below the desk and grinning. 'Something where people smile?'

'No, we have emo alcohol poisoning,' said Lasa. 'In a continuum I don't know, and which I doubt you do either. Fullmetal Alchemist mean anything to you?'

'Not a dicky-bird,' said Mombi. She peered at the fic and did a quick mental tally of the amount of alcohol the main character was imbibing. 'Do you have a stomach pump, or are we going to have to go and get one from Doc Fitz?' she asked.

'Why in the name of Hell, Hades and R'lyeh would I have a stomach pump just hanging around?'

'Okay, I'll go and get one from Medical,' said Mombi, unfazed by her partner's sour demeanour.

The tall, gangly redhead, without so much as a backward glance at her partner, left the RC and skipped down the corridor, singing 'I Will Survive' at the top of her lungs. She seemed not to notice the other Agents - at least, those who didn't know her - diving into dark corners and tangential corridors at her approach. An unknown Agent covered in glitter and barrelling towards one is usually a cause for alarm in the PPC.

'I should have changed that stupid lock, I should have made you leave your - oh, hello!' Mombi waved energetically to an acquaintance as she rounded a corner and her eye lit upon her destination: Medical.

'Stomach pump, please!' she said to the first Nurse to pass her. 'I mean, I'd like one to take away,' she clarified when a raised eyebrow and a beckoning finger were all she got in response. 'Not for me, even though I have eaten food from the Cafeteria in the last three weeks. I'm Agent Mombi, Department of Angst,' she added, displaying her pink balloon-poodle flashpatch proudly.

'I'll get the Doctor,' said the Nurse, deciding that she wasn't paid enough to deal with the special psych cases, and a glittery someone asking for a stomach pump 'to take away' definitely qualified as one of those. It seemed she was right when the Doc hailed Agent Mombi with a cheery 'Ah, Agent Montbretia. More drugs?'

'No, we're all stocked up at the moment,' said Mombi. 'Actually, I wanted a stomach pump, if you've got one going begging?'

'A stomach pump? Why?'

'Oh, some anime character is about to top himself by drinking too much in the presence of an Emo Metaphor.'

'Ah. Well, come this way and we'll see what we can do.'

Half an hour later, Mombi was once more skipping down the grey corridors of HQ, this time singing 'Morning has Broken' and carrying a stomach pump. She swung into RC#73 and was immediately met by Lasa's upturned hand in the 'stop!' sign. Her partner's grey eyes glared at her over the hand.

'Stop singing. Now.'

Mombi shut up. 'Got the stomach pump, and Doc Fitz showed me how to use it, too.'

'Good. Now, come on and get the supplies.' Lasa scowled at the fic as Mombi filled her Bag with sock puppets and the stomach pump.

'Ready,' she said. 'Disguises?'

'This is an in and out job, and he won't see us. Don't bother.' Lasa hated leaving either her own form or her uniform. 'I had to put Proust down for this. I'm only disappointed we have to revive the bastard, rather than killing him.'

'You are always disappointed.'

'Disappointment is the nature of the Multiverse,' said Lasa. 'Get used to it.'

Mombi sighed, and hefted her Bag. 'It's been four years,' she said. 'I am used to it. Come on, let's get this over with.'

They stepped through the portal into a deafening Author's note.

This is my very first Fullmetal Alchemist fan fiction, and I think it turned out pretty good. The only reason why I didn't upload this earlier is because I typed it on a computer without the internet, and it took me a while to get a USB port.

'Why is it so loud?!' Mombi shouted to Lasa.

'Because the stupid bitch typed the whole stupid intro in bloody boldface, that's why!' Lasa roared back.

Roy Mustang, the world renoun Flame Alchemist, displays a tough exterior, as powerful as the flames he controls. But little to his collegues know the magnitude of his suffering.

Alone in his home one night, Roy recalls the horrors of Ishball, the death of Hughes, and many other heart-stabbing memories. With no one to talk to, Roy decides to ease his troubles with alcohol, not knowing how far he could potentially go.

'Do you know who these people are?'

'Nope,' said Mombi cheerfully. 'But the Aloe Vera seems to think we don't need to know. Didn't you see the note that came with the mission?'

'No,' said Lasa, who never bothered to read anything official if she thought Mombi might come along and do it for her. 'Why, what did it say?'

'It said 'There isn't enough time in this fic for any more specific charges than 'horrifically OOC', so I expect you to get in, observe the suicidal drinking, prevent the death of the character, and get out.''

'Let me get this straight. This fic is so pointless that it doesn't even have a plot or enough writing for us to charge?'

'That's about right,' said Mombi.

'Glod help me,' said Lasa, burying her face in her hands. Mombi went to pat her shoulder, and then drew away, not wishing to repeat the broken-wrist experience of the last time she'd physically touched her partner.

Roy sat alone in his home on a dark night. The fireplace was lit, giving off an aura of soothing heat. Roy stared deep into the flames, only for a gruesome memory of Ishball burning to the ground as many lives were taken in a desperate war. Roy recalled the tears of children losing lives of family and friends, and fearing their own lives. The screams of agony, fear, and pain would haunt him forever.

'Argh, urple.'

The two agents stood and watched as a boring, badly formatted internal monologue washed past, and 'Roy' stood next to his table, pouring himself tumbler after tumbler of whiskey.

'That's some serious drinking,' said Mombi in a whisper. 'Not even DAVD refuel like that...'

For a moment, Roy felt guilt. Was it safe for a man of his stature to be consuming this much alcohol? He had a drink once in a while, but he feared his next glass already, not knowing how bad it could potentially be. 'Is this safe what I’m doing?'

'No,' said Lasa shortly, despite the rhetorical nature of the question.

'Alcohol is a tarnish on the soul,' said Mombi, sounding like she was quoting something.

'It's also a tarnish on the liver.'


'Rot and destruction, then. At least in these quantities. Also not great for the throat lining.'

An agonizing hour passed, though it seemed shorter than sixty minutes should be. Many empty bottles of alcohol lay about his floor. The fire warming the room was now dying, now only a few coals and embers remained lit.

Mombi squinted at the fire, then ran back through the fic they'd already seen. 'Why,' she said slowly, 'do I get the feeling that the Author's trying for some Symbolism here?'

'Because this guy is apparently a 'Flame Alchemist', whatever that is, and the Author's talking about the fire dying. About a subtle as a brick to the head, really. Be ready, I think he's about to - yes, there we go.'

Dizziness was the first thing the alchemist felt. The intoxication numbed the feeling of impact on his head, but his throat still burned. The ceiling was too blurred for Roy to even identify. What . . . what the hell did I . . . just do?

Roy turned his heavy head to his fireplace and noticed a coal beginning to die. Why is that dying coal . . . so similar to what I’m feeling at this very moment? Roy hadn’t the slightest idea this feeling he felt was his soul slowly loosening grip on his body. Roy was meeting his end.

'Not if we have anything to do with it,' said Mombi, as heroically as she could, swooping upon the stricken canon, stomach-pumping accoutrements in hand.

Lasa turned away. There were a few interesting moments with organic hacking and gagging sorts of noises. She entertained herself by pouring the contents of all the half-finished bottles of alcohol down the drain in the ill-defined kitchen and then throwing away the bottles themselves, waiting for Mombi to be done with her essential life-saving procedures. Considering something for a moment, she strode over, carefully not looking, and blew gently on the fire, encouraging it to burn. She fed it a few bits of paper out of her pockets. If the fire going out was supposed to symbolise this character's death, then the least she could do was keep the fire going, right?

It wasn't that Lasa was squeamish, it was just that Mombi was more talented at some things. Like the things where physical contact with other beings was required. And talking to them. And so forth.

There was a subsidence in the amount of squishy gurgling noises, and then a FLASH.

'Roy Mustang, you are not a depressed alcoholic,' Mombi said, clearly and loudly. Lasa turned back around.

'Shall I portal now?' the blonde Agent asked, as her partner let the now-sleeping Alchemist lie down on the couch, whilst muttering 'I'm damned if I know what you are, but Upstairs told me you're not a depressed alcoholic...'

'Portal?' Lasa asked again, pointedly.

'Yeah, I think we're done here,' said Mombi, dusting her hands off. 'I have a few words to say to the Aloe Vera, too.'

'Such as?'

'...can we please have some missions in continua we know?'

'That's right, you take that strident, demanding tone, you bully,' said Lasa, rolling her eyes.

'Shut up!' said Mombi half-heartedly as they stepped into their RC. 'It's not like you ever talk to the Aloe. Or do any shopping. Or leave the RC...'

'That's what I have you for,' Lasa said loftily, stalking over to her armchair and picking up the top volume in the nearby pile critically. 'Tell the Aloe we can take missions in Jane Eyre if it likes.'

Mombi shuddered. 'No thank you,' she said. 'I think I'll ask if there are any going in continua that people are actually going to write for, first.'

'The Ironic Overpower is waiting for you,' said Lasa, grinning nastily. 'Don't ever assume there's no missions for any published work.'


'Hey, you said it, not me. Have you even heard of Rule Thirty-four?'

'Internet porn has never been our concern before.'

'There you go again, tempting the IO.'

Mombi opened her mouth, shut it again, shrugged, and burrowed back under the console. Peace was once more restored in RC#73...

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