I... I don't know what this is. It's like crack, but legal. And I can't really decide if it's gold, or trash. Trashy gold? Read my trashy gold, if you dare.

And also, just imagine the bad journey is over for our kiddies and Al has his body back. Not that it matters much in this, but I just imagined Al with his body.

Time? Early afternoon.

Setting? The Rockbell house.

Our hero? Edward Elric, the boy wonder…minus the cape, spandex, and anything to do with robins or bats really, but they're both boys who fight bad guys so it's the same thing.

His mission? Fraught with peril, danger at every turn, but someone has to rise to the occasion and this task falls on the unwilling shoulders of one man and one man alone. A short man, but a man all the same. He has braved turbulent waters; metaphorical waters of course, since automail isn't really conducive to swimming. It's heavy, and the poor boy is small enough as it is, so it just weighs him down and— Ah, you get the point. You're a relatively smart individual with a good, albeit funny shaped, head on your shoulders. Probably a high school girl, giggling at your computer at this very moment and hanging on the edge of your seat in anticipation for the real action to start. Allow me to begin so that I may stimulate your intellect, or your funny bone, or whatever other part of your body you sick, twisted, son of a—

The mission. It involves peril, yes. Danger galore. Tigers, maybe. Bears? Oh, my. Traversing through treacherous territory is no walk in the park. Unless the treacherous territory is a park, but that's a different fanfic. This territory of which I speak encompasses the entire kitchen area, making living as a hungry wonder boy like Edward a daily struggle. Imagine trying to get your munchies on and having to look over your shoulder for fear of the lion's pounce at every turn. You bet your bottom butt you'd be shatting bricks all over the place at every little shadow, because this isn't any cowardly lion, Toto. This is the real deal. You aren't in Kansas or Oz anymore. This is Rush Valley.

Wait…

Resembool. It's Resembool.

…got my r's mixed up…

*clears throat awkwardly*

Moving on. This kitchen that I've mentioned and emphasized the terrible terriblenous of holds the primary objective of the mission within its four walls. Or five. I don't actually know the dimensions of the room. For visualization purposes we'll just say there are four walls. The first one has the archway to the living room, the second one is where the stove sits, the third one, parallel from the first one, is where the sink and window overlooking the yard are, and the fourth one is looking a little cracked at this point. But we're going to focus our attention on the third wall, where the objective of the mission lies.

The mission?

To get a glass of water.

Now, most households live in a peaceful environment where daily living did not dictate life or death situations in the family's kitchen, or fear of said life or death situations happening in said kitchen. But then, they didn't have to live in a house with a wrench wielding wench.

Her primary target? The boy wonder himself.

No, not that boy wonder, the other one—no, not him, this one, the one who's blonde.

Back to the wench.

In recent days, Edward may or may not have done something, something that was arguably not that bad, to anger Winry the wench. And Winry the wench may or may not be, okay, one look around the corner told Edward she was definitely, camping out the kitchen in the hopes of confronting our young alchemist. Usually, Winry resided in her cave of a workroom, tinkering away at metal and wires to create artificial (totally robot) limbs; however, after…the incident…Winry's primary objective had shifted to maiming/killing one undersized Fullmetal Alchemist. Luckily, due to Edward's intense training, he was faster and evaded Winry's moves (no, it was not fleeing, it was simply advancing in another direction at a very swift pace). Unluckily though, Winry knew of Ed's inability to survive without food and had taken it upon herself to guard the rations and watering hole.

As you could guess, this poses a serious dilemma for our dear Edo-kun.

Which leads to Edward's second and equally, if not more important mission.

To get a freaking sandwich.

Of course, Winry couldn't always remain in the kitchen, being mostly human herself, and Ed was always quick to take advantage of these instances. He'd ninja his way in, sneak the supplies into his stomach, then ninja his way out, sometimes smuggling more supplies on his person for the long haul. This is the way things had to be. Ed had attempted to coerce his brother into being his trusted accomplice (aka, the bringer of sandwiches), but Alphonse made it clear that he would have no part in what he teasingly referred to as their "lover's spat." Edward resigned himself to the reality that Al had lost his mind and forced himself to accept that he would have to face this battle alone.

Edward huddles in the hallway, weighing the odds.

Food or life…food or life…food or…food or food…food…foooood….

Ed had been avoiding Winry for the past few days now, spending most of his time outdoors or elsewhere. Most of the time, he'd gotten lucky when sneaking out food. This time though, no dice. Winry seems to be living in the kitchen. Doesn't the woman need to pee or something? How can she stay in there that long? Oh great, now she's humming. Just humming away, tinkering with her metal bits. She obviously doesn't show intentions of leaving the room any time soon. Does she know he's there this time? Is she lying in wait because she knew the exact moment he would return? Is this a trap? That dastardly woman. Evil.

Ed's stomach growls mutely. And his mouth is parched.

He wants to whine and go lament his troubles to Alphonse because Alphonse is great like that and will listen to you, except when he's being a total prick and not helping you because he absurdly believes that talking and undeserved apologies are the answer to everything. Prick.

What does Al know anyway? Nothing. This is a matter between a man and his stomach. And as a man, he will not succumb to adversity so easily. His greatest downfall, manly pride, will not let him stand down. If he wants a sandwich, then, by gate, he will have one. He will march right in there, pay Winry no mind, and eat a damn sandwich.

Resolve renewed and unshakable, Ed straightens to his full and unimpressive height. This is it. He is done running away.

Alphonse sits comfortably on the grassy ground, two stray kittens writhing around in his lap, vying for his attention. He glances up as Edward sinks to the ground beside him. Al takes one look at his face and smirks.

"Couldn't face her?" he ventures.

"Shut up," Ed grumbles miserably.

Al laughs and reaches out to give him one of the fur balls, "Here, have a kitten. Kittens make everything better."

"Can I eat it?" Ed asks hopefully.

Alphonse doesn't justify that with a response. Instead, on his way to hand him the kitten, he 'accidentally' smacks Ed in the face.

"OW!"

"Oops. How clumsy of me," Al grins.

"Evil," Edward glares at him over his hand where he holds his nose. "Every last one of you. Evil."

"Whatever you say, Brother."

Honestly, I didn't know what I was doing with this, where I was going. I just had the idea to take something completely mundane, like Ed getting a glass of water, and center a story around it. Did it work? Mission accomplished? Well, no mission accomplished for poor Eddy. Sorry buddy. But yeah, I suppose that's a great and fun writing challenge ya'll could do for yourselves. Take a simple idea, like Ed getting some water, and just build and build on it and go further and beyond what I did, reeeally make a story out of it, ya know? No, you don't know. I'm probably talking nonsense, been snorting too much of that legal crack or however they get it in their bodies. I doubt they just slap it on a ham sandwich and chow down, but I'm no expert on drugs so don't quote me on that.

Okay, real talk, I just finished my sophomore year of college and, after dealing with finals and pancreatitis at the same time, I am in a very peculiar mood, which explains all of this weird/wackiness. So don't mind me at all. I don't even know why you're still reading this author's note. Does anyone even read the author's notes these days? Fly free, my furry friends...fly free.

I regret nothing!

Okay, I regret a little.