automailed | [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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[Beat was just minding his own business, trying to find his skateboard, when OUT OF NOWHERE COMES A ROCKET WHIZZING BY. It nearly hits him in the face, but he manages to jump back in the nick of time.]

HOLY SHI--------!!!!!!

[The rocket fists dives off somewhere and now Beat is looking for the owner. To punch him in the face.]

WHO THA' HELL DID THAT?!

[And a scant second later Edward rushes into view, glancing around frantically, half of his arm very obviously missing.]

Where the hell did it go now!? Dammit...!

[CULPRIT SPOTTED. Beat storms over, fists ready to go.]

YOU! YOU THE ONE TRYIN' TO TAKE ME OUT?!

[...Ack. UNEXPECTED AGGRESSOR. Right when he's disarmed, too.]

What? No! I don't even know you!

[....lolol disarmed. Beat does not notice.]

Then why you tryin' to throw some hunk a' metal at me, huh?!

I didn't throw anything! It just blasted off on its own! [Wait a second, if this guy saw it-] Did you see where it went!?

Yo, metal don't go flyin' on its own, aight? You must've thrown it!

And you want it so bad, don't go throwin' it at people's faces!

[....Oh, great. His arm attacked an idiot. He lifts the remaining half of his automail pointedly, gesturing at it.]

Why would I throw my own arm?

[HOLY SHIT THE DUDE'S GOT AN ARM OFF.]

.....That was yo' arm?

Man, why would you do that? You kinda crazy.

[How did he not notice that before- oh whatever. At least he's not threatening anyone anymore.]

It wasn't on purpose, it just blasted off on its own. Now did you see where it went or not?

[Nope, he's forgotten about trying to flatten you, Shorty.]

Put it onna leash or somethin' yo.

An' yeah, went off tha' way. [He jerks a thumb over his shoulder in the most vaguest of directions ever.]

[~~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.

[There is a robot wandering about the town. One who could certainly appreciate the work and craftsmanship of a goddamn rocket fist, because it's awesome and practical in combat! There's no way a flying fist could piss off someone like Robo-Ky.

Except for when one slams into the side of his head while passing by, and causing his head to spin around rapidly.]

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.]

[Aha, he actually saw where it went this time! It-

...OH GOD WHAT IS WRONG WITH THAT GUY'S HEAD]

Agh!!

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