Edward Elric (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
imperfect) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2013-10-26 10:19 pm
imperfect) wrote in exsiliumlogs2013-10-26 10:19 pm
exit wound in a foreign nation (closed)
Date & Time: Sometime in the 1900s, late spring
Location: London
Characters: Billy Cranston and Edward Elric
Summary: A completely routine and uninteresting medical supply run, for want of a conference.
Warnings: TBA, but likely PG-13 for language and shounening!
[Only a thin, peeling wall separates this little research lab from the rest of the world, but it might as well be a second time jump. From below, through the propped-open window, the warm breeze bears up the chatter of students' voices and the promise of summer; inside, the still air settles around the scattered flasks and papers like dust.
There isn't much actual dust to be found in the room, though; it's clearly been used not just often, but recently. That, along with one or two other facts evident on their cautious but uneventful way up here - the near complete lack of anybody who could have objected to their presence since they set foot in the building, for instance, and a few passing glimpses of notes on blackboards that didn't have enough time to register more than vague unease - would set alarm bells ringing in Ed's mind (and maybe make up for their current distinct absence in reality) if he stopped and thought about it for long. He hasn't yet. He's been getting a lot of practice at trying not to think about things lately.
(A small part of him wonders how long it's going to take for someone to set this iteration of London ablaze and whisk him away before it can even sink in, the helpless opposite of a canary in a coal mine. A different part of him almost figures that at this stage he might as well just light the torch personally.)
Still, whether he thinks about it or not, the medical wing of that stupid tin can nestled a thousand years and four hundred thousand kilometres away isn't going to restock itself - and after all this time, he's still an alchemist. If he had other qualms about raiding this place, he left them up there.
But as the crackling under his palm gives way to a quiet clunk and the unlocked door of the supply cupboard creaks slowly outward, Ed picks up another noise - muffled for now, but getting closer. He shoots a look over his shoulder, towards today's partner in crime.] Someone's coming.
Location: London
Characters: Billy Cranston and Edward Elric
Summary: A completely routine and uninteresting medical supply run, for want of a conference.
Warnings: TBA, but likely PG-13 for language and shounening!
[Only a thin, peeling wall separates this little research lab from the rest of the world, but it might as well be a second time jump. From below, through the propped-open window, the warm breeze bears up the chatter of students' voices and the promise of summer; inside, the still air settles around the scattered flasks and papers like dust.
There isn't much actual dust to be found in the room, though; it's clearly been used not just often, but recently. That, along with one or two other facts evident on their cautious but uneventful way up here - the near complete lack of anybody who could have objected to their presence since they set foot in the building, for instance, and a few passing glimpses of notes on blackboards that didn't have enough time to register more than vague unease - would set alarm bells ringing in Ed's mind (and maybe make up for their current distinct absence in reality) if he stopped and thought about it for long. He hasn't yet. He's been getting a lot of practice at trying not to think about things lately.
(A small part of him wonders how long it's going to take for someone to set this iteration of London ablaze and whisk him away before it can even sink in, the helpless opposite of a canary in a coal mine. A different part of him almost figures that at this stage he might as well just light the torch personally.)
Still, whether he thinks about it or not, the medical wing of that stupid tin can nestled a thousand years and four hundred thousand kilometres away isn't going to restock itself - and after all this time, he's still an alchemist. If he had other qualms about raiding this place, he left them up there.
But as the crackling under his palm gives way to a quiet clunk and the unlocked door of the supply cupboard creaks slowly outward, Ed picks up another noise - muffled for now, but getting closer. He shoots a look over his shoulder, towards today's partner in crime.] Someone's coming.