Post by Daniel Winsett on Feb 23, 2010 17:29:41 GMT -6
Wrath, one also known by Daniel Winsett walked along the streets of Central. The roads, where he was, were clean swept of debris, lest the patrons of the many well-to-do cafes, clothing shops, even tourist stalls, soil there feet in someone's previously dropped filth. Daniel, in his cream colored sports jacket and pair of blue jeans he fit the part of tourist well enough, perhaps even the look of a local. On the outside he strode along jauntily, full of confidence, with a smile indicative of a relaxed attitude, but inside he was seething in frustration at himself.
Here he'd been for ...well, it hadn't really been all that long he realized. Even so, He'd done little to nothing exept for that bit of excitement at the bakery the other night. Had that alchemist guy really put it all back together after it had burned down? That had been worth seeing, but that still left the problem of finding something to do! Honestly! What was the point of all this?
He looked into some of the windows as he kept on striding, looking deeper than their reflections, yet not at what lay behind them. He looked onto the pool of lessons that his old father and mentor had taught him years ago. He could practically see the man's face and hear the voice in the glass. He stopped at the corner, waiting until it was his turn to pass across the cobbled intersection that the cars were blocking. Turning towards the window of the corner shop, he saw Jeorge Cordeg there on the reflection. He stepped closer, watching with longing as his father's phantom recounted some of the lessons he'd taught.
"Don't bury your talents, Daniel. Invest them in something. Skills gone unused, are skills wasted, and soon lost."
Wrath looked on mumbling excuses and questions under his breath. "...But what should I do...What could I accomplish..."
"The entire world is open to you, Son. Find yourself a dream and don't be afraid to chase it."
"I...I'm not even human though.... No one will accept me. You were the only one who accepted me for what I am." His face clouded with a bitter sadness and his mind wandered away from Jeorge Cordeg. He reached out and put his hand on the window, re-composing himself.
A short, middle-aged man with a shiny, bald pate, a washrag, and a spray bottle, popped his head out the door to the shop that Wrath was in front of. "Excuuuse me sir. Would you mind not getting your greasy fingerprints all over my front windows?" With that, which was really more of a statement than a question, he bustled out and shoved Wrath aside, first spraying, then scrubbing furiously at the spots on the window.
Wrath was so surprised at the man's abrupt nature and, to be honest, grating voice, that there was no choice of his anger being aroused. How had he just been shoved aside by someone a foot and a half shorter than him!? The humonculus looked up at the sign over the door and saw that it was some kind of printing shop. Looked like maybe a shop that was dedicated to serving travelers, or those who were travel inclined but lacked the ability for some reason.
People had always said that Wrath had a talent with words. Maybe he could find a job writing something, it was worth a shot he guessed. "Excuse sir. Would you happen to know where I could find a job writing? For anything?" The man's head came up, and he turned around quickly, giving Wrath a hard stare. Looking down, meeting those eyes, The false human felt an nearly unrestrainable urge to reach up and check if there was a bug on his forehead.
"A writer, you say? That's odd that you would come along just now. My most recent writer just quit in the middle of his project. Headed straight home. You see, I'm a publisher as well as a printer." He indicated his shop sign behind him. It read: Inconceivable Books.
Wrath started to ask about the name of the place, but the little man continued over his question, rubbing his hands together like he had a plan. He quickly reached into his back pocket and withdrew some things before shoving them towards Wrath.
"I can't just hire you out of hand. That would be inconceivable! Here! Take this paper and pencil, walk the streets of central, and write about the people here. The rest is up to you, I just need to see if you can write. Bring it back here in a few hours. Before five. That's when I close!"
At that the man bustled back inside, leaving Wrath staring dumbfounded at the implements in his hand. "OK. Some one needs to learn how to take a breath.... Well now I just need to find something to write about..."
He started walking, past the shops, the roads, museums, watching the whole population as he went. He finally arrived in a green park with a statue that looked like a happy man in uniform, with his arm around a woman's waist, likely his wife, and a hand on the shoulder of a little girl, his daughter. Wrath went up and read the memorial plaque that read the following.
Here he'd been for ...well, it hadn't really been all that long he realized. Even so, He'd done little to nothing exept for that bit of excitement at the bakery the other night. Had that alchemist guy really put it all back together after it had burned down? That had been worth seeing, but that still left the problem of finding something to do! Honestly! What was the point of all this?
He looked into some of the windows as he kept on striding, looking deeper than their reflections, yet not at what lay behind them. He looked onto the pool of lessons that his old father and mentor had taught him years ago. He could practically see the man's face and hear the voice in the glass. He stopped at the corner, waiting until it was his turn to pass across the cobbled intersection that the cars were blocking. Turning towards the window of the corner shop, he saw Jeorge Cordeg there on the reflection. He stepped closer, watching with longing as his father's phantom recounted some of the lessons he'd taught.
"Don't bury your talents, Daniel. Invest them in something. Skills gone unused, are skills wasted, and soon lost."
Wrath looked on mumbling excuses and questions under his breath. "...But what should I do...What could I accomplish..."
"The entire world is open to you, Son. Find yourself a dream and don't be afraid to chase it."
"I...I'm not even human though.... No one will accept me. You were the only one who accepted me for what I am." His face clouded with a bitter sadness and his mind wandered away from Jeorge Cordeg. He reached out and put his hand on the window, re-composing himself.
A short, middle-aged man with a shiny, bald pate, a washrag, and a spray bottle, popped his head out the door to the shop that Wrath was in front of. "Excuuuse me sir. Would you mind not getting your greasy fingerprints all over my front windows?" With that, which was really more of a statement than a question, he bustled out and shoved Wrath aside, first spraying, then scrubbing furiously at the spots on the window.
Wrath was so surprised at the man's abrupt nature and, to be honest, grating voice, that there was no choice of his anger being aroused. How had he just been shoved aside by someone a foot and a half shorter than him!? The humonculus looked up at the sign over the door and saw that it was some kind of printing shop. Looked like maybe a shop that was dedicated to serving travelers, or those who were travel inclined but lacked the ability for some reason.
People had always said that Wrath had a talent with words. Maybe he could find a job writing something, it was worth a shot he guessed. "Excuse sir. Would you happen to know where I could find a job writing? For anything?" The man's head came up, and he turned around quickly, giving Wrath a hard stare. Looking down, meeting those eyes, The false human felt an nearly unrestrainable urge to reach up and check if there was a bug on his forehead.
"A writer, you say? That's odd that you would come along just now. My most recent writer just quit in the middle of his project. Headed straight home. You see, I'm a publisher as well as a printer." He indicated his shop sign behind him. It read: Inconceivable Books.
Wrath started to ask about the name of the place, but the little man continued over his question, rubbing his hands together like he had a plan. He quickly reached into his back pocket and withdrew some things before shoving them towards Wrath.
"I can't just hire you out of hand. That would be inconceivable! Here! Take this paper and pencil, walk the streets of central, and write about the people here. The rest is up to you, I just need to see if you can write. Bring it back here in a few hours. Before five. That's when I close!"
At that the man bustled back inside, leaving Wrath staring dumbfounded at the implements in his hand. "OK. Some one needs to learn how to take a breath.... Well now I just need to find something to write about..."
He started walking, past the shops, the roads, museums, watching the whole population as he went. He finally arrived in a green park with a statue that looked like a happy man in uniform, with his arm around a woman's waist, likely his wife, and a hand on the shoulder of a little girl, his daughter. Wrath went up and read the memorial plaque that read the following.
Dedicated to Brigadier General Maes Hughes, a man who truly understood the meaning behind the soldier's uniform. He loved his family truly, served with great dignity, and never ceased to remind us of our task to become better than we are. May his dedication to the people of Amestris never be forgotten.