Ed practically sang my name, as soon as we touched down in a hotel in a town near Central City. I looked over, dropping my bag, to see the sketchbook already in one hand.
"Ed..." I hung my head, surely thinking there'd be a noose to rest my neck.
"What?" he answered softly. As if he truly cared. "It's art," he told me, and my name sounded so soft in between his lips, off of his tongue.
I smiled through it all. All the heartbreak that had led me to this moment. I wondered when he would leave, like the other had done. Would Ed leave a note as well, or would he simply disappear?
I didn't know the answer
But I would come to know, in time.
I kept my pose, listening to Ed's sketch and remembering the birds that had chirped on the tree behind me, during that second sketch. I was perched on a windowsill, listening to those strokes. Similar strokes to the ones I was hearing now. But these were different, paired with light scribbling, as if he were adding shadows as he outlined. As if those shadows were simply part of my organic existence.
I didn't think much, as I sat, legs crossed, head up and mouth in a C. I didn't think, and that's what allowed me to get through the day. Even after we were done and he turned over my sketch book, showing his work like a little kid. And I smiled like a proud mother would. The way my mom smiled at me when I regurgitated a scripture.
Memories threatened my existence, and just like that, I was back in a house in Resembool. I was back to where it all began.
I tried to block out the memories as an idea came to me.
A weapon, more dangerously offensive than defensive. I needed to change my tactic; the wrapped wound on my leg could attest for that.
So, after borrowing my book and his pen, I sat at a small desk facing the wall, and I began to think. But my brain didn't lose the draft; the finished product, the finished sketch, stayed there, imprinted in my mind.
So, I moved.
A claw-like weapon. A mechanism that would go over my hands, extend over my fingers, and allow me to reach where I needed to.
It would be bloody, gruesome, even, but I had to fight harder.
I had to fight better, for all of our sakes, especially their's.
Ed was standing next to me, hands in his pockets and eyes staring down at the drafting paper. A sheet I had yet to mark.
But my hand was shaking, trembling with the pencil a little above the paper. I had drawn before, when I crafted the muscle-stunning circle. Why was this any different?
Because it's something more real. Because it's a hand.
Ed noticed; he stepped forward, and I could feel his eyes shifting around my face, dropping to study the hand I couldn't stop from shaking. I had to get myself under control...
"You want me to draw it?" he asked softly.
I quickly shook my head. Slowing them down. I couldn't slow them down. I scooted my chair a little closer, straightening my posture as I stared down at the piece of paper. My other hand came to the paper's edge, holding it in place. And with a deep breath, I forced myself to make the first mark. Memories came, sketches I had done, smiles he had made. The led of the pencil broke, snapping away from the wood securing it. The part of my brain that was still conscious watched the pointed stub roll a few inches above the broken pencil. The rest of me just felt like doing the same. Separating from myself.
"You want me to...?" Ed's voice again. A question he shouldn't have to ask...
I brought a hand to my hair, pushing clawed fingers through the front of it. Closing my eyes, gathering enough breath to relax. Or at least try to. I was good at building walls; I could add another one.
"It's fine," I replied, speaking just as quietly as he did. "I can..."
I couldn't finish the sentence, but when my eyes opened again, I watched him nod. Still a little worried. He had brought a chair to sit beside me. Waiting with the loyal idea to help in any way he could.
It should be me doing that for him. Not the other way around.
But I found myself moving, breaking away from the drawing and Ed quickly taking my place. He had me perch my hand against the table, acting as a model once more.
As if I could actually be of use...
Minutes later, the sketch was done, and I wanted to add the details, the weapon... But I found myself speaking again, explaining how the claw would be fastened over the back of my palm, over my fingers.
He drew it exactly as I explained. I guess one of us had our heads on straight.
And, just like that, we were speaking of where to go. Al was the first to speak of Rush Valley, a hesitation in his voice.
But Ed smiled quickly, hiding the frown as I turned towards him.
"Rush Valley would work!" he said. "Nice idea, Al!"
And just like that, we were on the road again, confined to train tracks and food carts.
_______
A/N: Enjoying the story so far? Let me know your thoughts with a comment/vote!