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nebroadweTitle: Drabbles: The Four Last Things
Fandom: FMA (anime version)
Character(s): Hohenheim, Ed
Pairing(s): None
Rating: PG
Word Count: 400 (yep, more drabbles. Where do they come from? Where will they go?)
Warnings: End-of-series spoilers.
A/N: This is probably![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mjules's fault, for publicizing the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
4purposes community. Suddenly, when I should be working on "Winry and Paninya go to the movies", I start developing drabbles in sets of four. Sigh. On the other hand, I enjoyed exploring (exploiting?) Hohenheim's late medieval/early Renaissance roots. Crossposted from nebroadwe to Höllenbeck (i.e. fm_alchemist, fullservicefma, fma_gen, fma_writers and fma_fiction.
Dedication: Forhieronymousb, who also can imagine damnation. (Better'n I can, frequently.)
Death
Death overtook Hohenheim unexpectedly on the road to knowledge. He remembers the palsy in his legs, the strangling weight in his chest ... how, even as he fell, he forced his eyes to focus on the scarlet wonder he had wrought. Think of honor and of wealth!
But not of immortality. That he never sought -- nor, surely, Dante's parasitic athanasia, this illusory preservation. The ground of la danse macabre sounds in his ears with his pulse: Follow. Follow. Follow. He waits only for the proper moment to change partners (Earth, gape!) and tread the measure ordained for wits and fools alike.
≈
Judgment
"Why did you leave us?"
Hohenheim would rather face his Maker all unshriven in his sin than this fair, tormented creature he has made. The night shudders softly around them, too near the burning city where destruction wails newborn. Strange bar for an overdue accounting, but Hohenheim cannot stop his ears against his son's questions, cannot deny the self he sees in Edward's eyes: fool, coward, sophist ... unloved, but still, helplessly, loving. Look not so fierce on me!
He reaches for his shirt cuff, praying the testimony of his body earn him the mercy for which he dares not sue.
≈
Hell
Convalescent, Edward rages against the exile Hohenheim coaxes him to accept. "All you've ever done is run from trouble!" he shouts. "Go to hell!"
Tired of arguing, Hohenheim smiles with unfelt sweetness. "'Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it -- '"
Edward throws up his hand and retreats with a snarl to his books. Later, nodding in his wheelchair, he murmurs, then calls his lost brother's name, waking himself. Hohenheim pities his uncertainty, his ignorance: a most perfect damnation for a man of science. Yet, eavesdropping on his son's tears, he finds he'd gladly trade for it his own.
≈
Heaven
Munich, 1922
Hohenheim sits in his corner, ostensibly reading. The boys have forgotten him, heads together over a physics exercise by the window, its sash raised to admit the cool September air. Suddenly Alfons leans back and laughs; Edward grunts, but cannot maintain his gravity: he shakes his head to hide a smile. Alfons returns to work, still venting chuckles, and earns an admonitory poke from Ed's pencil.
Hohenheim turns a page. He can smell the Sauerbraten simmering, hear quick steps setting the table for dinner. Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of heaven ... for I shall never be closer to paradise.
Notes: The "four last things" -- death, judgment, hell, and heaven -- are a popular summation of Roman Catholic eschatology since the Middle Ages and a frequent trope in meditation, spiritual writing (Thomas More penned a treatise on the four last things for his daughter Margaret), preaching (James Joyce records one example in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man) and art (unsurprisingly, Hieronymous Bosch produced a notable painting on the subject).
In "Death," la danse macabre, the dance of death, is a late medieval image (likely inspired by the Black Death) in which the Grim Reaper leads people of every social rank in a conga line to the grave; its purpose is to remind the viewer of the universality of death and the futility of pursuing earthly gain. "Ground," in this context, is a musical term for a repeated phrase that underpins a contrapuntal or polyphonic work. The "bar" of "Judgment" is not an impediment or a place to get a beer, but a court of law -- the same metaphor that gives us "bar exam" and "bar association." Hohenheim's quotation in "Hell" is a line from Christopher Marlowe's Doctor Faustus (act 1, scene 3); readers familiar with the play will notice other phrases from it silently incorporated into these drabbles.
[Disclaimers: Fullmetal Alchemist (Hagane no Renkinjutsushi) was created by Arakawa Hiromu and is serialized monthly in Shonen Gangan (Square Enix); Fullmetal Alchemist (Hagane no Renkinjutsushi) was created by Arakawa Hiromu and is serialized monthly in Shonen Gangan (Square Enix); the anime of the same title and the movie Fullmetal Alchemist: Conqueror of Shamballa were directed by Mizushima Seiji and story-edited by Aikawa Sho. Copyright for these properties is held by Arakawa Hiromu, Square Enix, Mainichi Broadcasting System, Aniplex, Bones, and dentsu. All rights reserved.]
Fandom: FMA (anime version)
Character(s): Hohenheim, Ed
Pairing(s): None
Rating: PG
Word Count: 400 (yep, more drabbles. Where do they come from? Where will they go?)
Warnings: End-of-series spoilers.
A/N: This is probably
mjules's fault, for publicizing the 4purposes community. Suddenly, when I should be working on "Winry and Paninya go to the movies", I start developing drabbles in sets of four. Sigh. On the other hand, I enjoyed exploring (exploiting?) Hohenheim's late medieval/early Renaissance roots. Crossposted from nebroadwe to Höllenbeck (i.e. fm_alchemist, fullservicefma, fma_gen, fma_writers and fma_fiction.Dedication: For
hieronymousb, who also can imagine damnation. (Better'n I can, frequently.)Death
Death overtook Hohenheim unexpectedly on the road to knowledge. He remembers the palsy in his legs, the strangling weight in his chest ... how, even as he fell, he forced his eyes to focus on the scarlet wonder he had wrought. Think of honor and of wealth!
But not of immortality. That he never sought -- nor, surely, Dante's parasitic athanasia, this illusory preservation. The ground of la danse macabre sounds in his ears with his pulse: Follow. Follow. Follow. He waits only for the proper moment to change partners (Earth, gape!) and tread the measure ordained for wits and fools alike.
Judgment
"Why did you leave us?"
Hohenheim would rather face his Maker all unshriven in his sin than this fair, tormented creature he has made. The night shudders softly around them, too near the burning city where destruction wails newborn. Strange bar for an overdue accounting, but Hohenheim cannot stop his ears against his son's questions, cannot deny the self he sees in Edward's eyes: fool, coward, sophist ... unloved, but still, helplessly, loving. Look not so fierce on me!
He reaches for his shirt cuff, praying the testimony of his body earn him the mercy for which he dares not sue.
Hell
Convalescent, Edward rages against the exile Hohenheim coaxes him to accept. "All you've ever done is run from trouble!" he shouts. "Go to hell!"
Tired of arguing, Hohenheim smiles with unfelt sweetness. "'Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it -- '"
Edward throws up his hand and retreats with a snarl to his books. Later, nodding in his wheelchair, he murmurs, then calls his lost brother's name, waking himself. Hohenheim pities his uncertainty, his ignorance: a most perfect damnation for a man of science. Yet, eavesdropping on his son's tears, he finds he'd gladly trade for it his own.
Heaven
Munich, 1922
Hohenheim sits in his corner, ostensibly reading. The boys have forgotten him, heads together over a physics exercise by the window, its sash raised to admit the cool September air. Suddenly Alfons leans back and laughs; Edward grunts, but cannot maintain his gravity: he shakes his head to hide a smile. Alfons returns to work, still venting chuckles, and earns an admonitory poke from Ed's pencil.
Hohenheim turns a page. He can smell the Sauerbraten simmering, hear quick steps setting the table for dinner. Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of heaven ... for I shall never be closer to paradise.
Notes: The "four last things" -- death, judgment, hell, and heaven -- are a popular summation of Roman Catholic eschatology since the Middle Ages and a frequent trope in meditation, spiritual writing (Thomas More penned a treatise on the four last things for his daughter Margaret), preaching (James Joyce records one example in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man) and art (unsurprisingly, Hieronymous Bosch produced a notable painting on the subject).
In "Death," la danse macabre, the dance of death, is a late medieval image (likely inspired by the Black Death) in which the Grim Reaper leads people of every social rank in a conga line to the grave; its purpose is to remind the viewer of the universality of death and the futility of pursuing earthly gain. "Ground," in this context, is a musical term for a repeated phrase that underpins a contrapuntal or polyphonic work. The "bar" of "Judgment" is not an impediment or a place to get a beer, but a court of law -- the same metaphor that gives us "bar exam" and "bar association." Hohenheim's quotation in "Hell" is a line from Christopher Marlowe's Doctor Faustus (act 1, scene 3); readers familiar with the play will notice other phrases from it silently incorporated into these drabbles.
[Disclaimers: Fullmetal Alchemist (Hagane no Renkinjutsushi) was created by Arakawa Hiromu and is serialized monthly in Shonen Gangan (Square Enix); Fullmetal Alchemist (Hagane no Renkinjutsushi) was created by Arakawa Hiromu and is serialized monthly in Shonen Gangan (Square Enix); the anime of the same title and the movie Fullmetal Alchemist: Conqueror of Shamballa were directed by Mizushima Seiji and story-edited by Aikawa Sho. Copyright for these properties is held by Arakawa Hiromu, Square Enix, Mainichi Broadcasting System, Aniplex, Bones, and dentsu. All rights reserved.]
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Date: 2006-12-07 04:38 pm (UTC)It's been a while. So. With the holidays approaching, and all that zen, I've been tracking down all the people I really like and admire and offering up drabbles and short stories, and you're way up there on my list of esteemed peoples.
Would you like a short story/drabblebat for [insert holiday of your choice here]? I am still grateful that you wrote me a short for my birthday, and I'd like to return the favor. Name anything. Anything at all. And I shall write it for you! Please? I'd quite like to write for you.
I'm also offering up Fudgy Deathcake mix and/or recipe for it, because it's easy and fantastic and I've not found anyone that hasn't liked it yet. May I count you on my list? I'm eminently reachable by email and IM program and LiveJournal and just about anything except for telepathy, because, yannow, I'm cool like that.
So. Um. If I don't hear from you, Happy Holidays!
(And by the way, great job on the drabbles. I really liked Judgment; the way you presented it reminded me a bit of Dante [the writer Dante, not that wretched soul-sucking harpy]. The description of London brought Pandemonium to mind. Brilliant, as always.)