Title: I Might Be Wrong (Prologue)
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Spoilers: through 51
Summary: Roy hasn't learned from other people's mistakes
Notes: Once again, thanks to tatooine for picking up all my stupid mistakes. So yeah, this is a multi-part post-25 AU. I apologize for the short chapter, but more should be coming soon.
The man stared at the alchemical circle in front of him, admiring his handiwork. Pieces of furniture were shoved haphazardly to the side, almost creating a second ring around the circle. A piece of chalk rested easily in his hand, leaving white dust on his fingers.
The circle was intricately drawn, the culmination of a few months of work. I wasn't entirely his own work and some of it had been done quite a while ago. He had meant to burn the notes years before, but he hadn't. Maybe it was luck, maybe it was foresight, but when he started looking, they were there.
Thank the universe for small miracles.
He placed the materials in the middle of the circle. So close. He was so close. He stepped over the drawn lines, making sure not to smudge any of them. It was not the first time he'd drawn these lines. This time, though, there won't be anyone here to stop him from following through.
The consequences were clear. He knew them. He knew what Equivalent Trade entailed. He'd seen the evidence of it with his own eyes. The thought didn't phase him. Intimidated, yes, but he wouldn't back down. Sometimes you just had to make sacrifices.
If there was a chance, just the smallest, minute possibility that this could work, he had to take it, and he would. He couldn't give this chance up. The cost of failure would be high, but the sweetness of victory would be even greater.
It wouldn't be pleasant, the reaction. It wouldn't be easy. He had a vague idea of what to expect. But at the end of it all, things would be alright. He'd make it alright. Hopefully there wouldn't be too many bloodstains. They'd be hard to explain.
A deep breath let out slowly. Eyes squeezed shut opened slowly. Hands tightened into fists relaxed slowly. He was ready. More ready than he would ever be again.
The circle was large, similar to one he had found a while ago in a house with two boys. He placed the chalk on a nearby table. It was time.
Hands on the precise lines. Eyes closed. A light sweat from the tension. Memories conjuring up the kind of traditional alchemy he hadn't practiced for years. Understanding, deconstruction, reconstruction.
The reaction began.