automailed | [Video / Action]

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[Video / Action]

[The journal clicks on as it drops to the ground, recording a quiet curse and a dark screen. After a moment it lifts up, revealing a flash view of Edward in a tank top as he tilts his arm, prodding at the metal limb that is apparently not cooperating as well as it should.]

What the hell is wrong with this thing? It's not-

[And his words are quite abruptly cut off as a small explosion sparks between the journal and his shoulder, and there's a flurry of images too smothered by motion blur to really make any sense. The audio, or what can be made out beyond the rush of air, is replaced by a startled yelp, followed by silence... and then, as the journal crashes into the foliage after a few moments, a steady stream of colourful and half-muffled curses.

To illustrate...

Action-wise: Edward is going to be around the town today, though not his usual, unhappily-composed self. No, today he is going to be chasing his arm around the town, since it's apparently decided to malfunction and start going off completely at random! So maybe you see it flying past you. Maybe you see it crash. Maybe it crashes into you. Or maybe, while running, he trips, stumbles, and... rolls on one foot in a mad flail as if on skates or something. Today is just not his day at all.

In other words? Haruhi got her way, as usual...]

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[~~DON'T SAY SHORT!!!~~ Well, that's good news, at least. Sort of. The not-flattening part, anyway. Edward just makes a face at the ridiculously vague directions and starts off after the arm, fishing around in the bushes. Maybe there's a smoke trail, assuming it hasn't already dissipated while he was talking to Captain Skullbrain over there.]

[Heeeeey, he's just going to wander over and see what that hunk of metal was anyway.]

So why you gotta rocket arm anyway, huh?

It's called automail, and it's not supposed to be a rocket. [And he's pretty sure he knows why it's a rocket, and that knowledge isn't helping him in the slightest.] It's a prosthetic.

[He hear's automail, he thinks e-mail.]

Proswhatit? Why you got rocket mail? No one can read that, yo.

[.......

.......

Yep, an idiot.]

Prosthetic, it means a fake limb that replaces a real one. It's a metal arm.

[Fishing around, fishing around, aaaaaand... aha! There it is.

Stuck in a tree. UNHELPFUL, ARM.]

[Oh, that makes more sense. He looks up when Ed finds his arm and sees it stuck up in the tree.]

Aight, to own their each.

...

Huh. How'd it get up there?

It probably flew there. [And normally he'd just clap his hands together and lift himself up to retrieve it with alchemy, but... hand. Arm. In the tree.

Again, UNHELPFUL.

Okay, better do this the hard way. He backs up, then takes a running jump at the tree, reaching with the one hand he does have to try and heft himself up to the first low branch. It can't be that difficult, right?

...Except it's apparently difficult enough to leave him, after a few grunting pulls, curses, and tree kicking, dangling somewhat pointlessly from the branch. This did not go as planned.]

[Right. Rocket arm. He stands there, staring for a moment when suddenly the shorty goes running at the tree.

...And fails.

Sorry, dude, he's laughing.]

Hahaha! Man, how you gonna get up there wit' just one arm?

[Okay, bad enough that he's stuck dangling like the most ineffective monkey in the world. But now he's getting laughed at by the guy who couldn't even put two and two together. Repeatedly. With a grumble, he releases the branch and drops into a crouch, fishing around in his pockets. He'll show this idiot that it's nothing to laugh at.]

Hey, you got something to write with?

[Does Beat really look like someone who does a lot of writing, Ed? He stops laughing and fishes in his pockets, pulling out bits of fluff and some gum. He has a pen in here somewhere...]

Why you want somethin' to write wit'? I can just punch it down for you if you want.

Give me something and I'll show you. Wait, hang on- [Edward pulls his alchemy notebook from his coat pocket, setting it down on the ground. He rips out a sheet and tugs a pen from the spine. He's not about to ask help from this guy.

brb jotting down an alchemy circle. It would be nice if things would stop wrecking his automail already; drawing these things are too much damn work now.]

[Aw, no more dangling monkey guy. Beat leans over and watches as the shorty writes something.]

...Why you drawin' at a time like this, yo?

[Edward doesn't respond; he figures that the circle will speak for itself when he uses it. Once it's finished, he taps his fingers against the ground and steps back as the energy flashes, and the ground around the tree rises up into a column, which Edward catches ahold of to let it carry him up to the branch. He hops over to reclaim his arm, his expression victorious. Oh yeah, Alchemists are so badass.]

That's why.

[..........

Okay, now how does he reattach it and get himself down again...?]

WHAAAAAAAAA---?!

[OKAY, SO NOT GOING ONTO THIS RIDE. Beat jump steps back and watches as Ed rises up, gets his arm and then....is stuck there. THAT WAS AWESOME. ...BUT WTF WAS THAT?!]

The hell?! You some kinda witch?!

Of course not! It's not magic, it's alchemy.

[Maybe if he just- sort of- sticks it in, or... smacks it against the stump a few times...

...

This isn't working.]

[Alcawhat? It's magic. It will forever be magic to him. Like psychs and pins. That makes sense. Yeah...this dude just draws his psychs. Aight, cool.]

.....You havin' problems?

...I can't get it back on. [Smack. Smack. SMACK. WHY IS IT NOT CONNECTING GODDAMMIT.] What the hell kind of automail is this!?

Hit it harder! Always works.

Like this!

[And Beat is going to punch the dirt column to illustrate this point.]

[Edward glances down, spotting that; and since it is dirt, it crumbles when it's hit. Well, looks like he wound be getting down that way anymore.]

It connects right to the nerves, you can't link them together by punching it in.

[He'd probably break it, and then Winry would kill him. Or he'd die because it explodes in his face. That would make more sense, going by his current trend of luck.]

[OH SHIT. He jumps away when the dirt collapses and coughs, shaking it off him and out of his hat.]

Damn!

Well, if it's attached ta' you, why you goin' 'round firin' it off at people's faces, huh?

[.....]

Are you half-deaf or something?

[Seriously bro how many times does he have to say it was an accident before it's believable. No sane person would actively try to shoot off a rocket arm when it causes this much damn trouble...]

Yanno, my 'rents asked me that a lot, too.

[He scratches the back of his head and kicks at the leftover dirt column, crumbling it to nothing.]

No, I askin' why yo' arm can do that in tha' first place, yo. Seems kinda useless.

It's not supposed to do that. Never happened before. [Edward shuffles carefully on the branch, sitting himself down and examining the arm. Maybe there's some kind of latch that holds in in place...] My mechanic must've put it in when she made it.

[Oh. Mechanical problems. Aight, he gets it.]

Where she at? Maybe she can come fix it back on fo' you.

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