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nebroadweTitle: Drabbles: Working Girl
Fandom: FMA (manga version)
Character(s): Winry, with appearances from others
Pairing(s): Canon 'ships in the background.
Word Count: 1500 so far.
Warnings: None.
A/N: So many of my friends, online and off, are job-hunting or experiencing job weirdness that it's invading my 'fic. So here's Winry Rockbell, working girl, in a variety of professional situations (or situations at least marginally related to her profession). The first two drabbles in this unlinked set were originally posted separately, here and here. Concrit welcomed with letters of recommendation. Crossposted from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nebroadwe to Höllenbeck (i.e. ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hagaren_manga, fm_alchemist, fma_gen, fma_writers, fma_fiction and winrylovers).
Dedication(s): See individual drabbles below.
13-15. Bank Holiday
for kanja177, as compensation for One of Those Weeks
Nature invites to repose ... there is no petulance, no fret;
there is eternal resource and a long tomorrow, rich and strong as yesterday.
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson
≈
This sticky summer morning the bus seems full of shrieking children and their already exhausted parents. Elicia bounces in her seat, pointing out every landmark en route to Central Reservoir, her period of oscillation shortening as they approach the park gates. "We're here, Auntie Winry, we're here!" she announces, and climbs over her mother's lap to collide with a fat man wrestling a picnic hamper as wide as he down the aisle. "Sorry, mister!"
While Gracia pursues her disappearing daughter, Winry helps wrangle the hamper, transmuting a peevish grumble into a grunt of thanks. Customer service teaches its own alchemy.
≈
The narrow beach is an album quilt of blankets, so Winry and Gracia spread theirs on the grassy knoll above the boardwalk, between the roots of a white ash, and take turns accompanying Elicia into the water. Winry shows her adopted niece how to float on its warm surface, her own toes twitching in the chilly, spring-fed zone beneath. Spelled by Gracia, she defiantly reads a bodice-ripper recommended by a client, watches the ash's pale leaves flutter against a periwinkle sky, or fends off potential mashers with feigned slumber.
On holiday, a snore's as good as a wrench.
≈
Elicia falls asleep on the ride home, her damp head propped on Winry's shoulder. Winry gazes out the window, but the long-shadowed verges and twilit roofs pass in a blur as her mind leapfrogs the present evening for the coming dawn. If I bleed Mrs. Hart's hydraulics first ...
Gracia reaches across her drowsing daughter and touches Winry's knee. "Leave tomorrow to tomorrow," she advises.
Winry looks at Gracia, then at her own hands, curled around imaginary tools. She nods, bracing Elicia as the bus swings around a corner, and pulls the bodice-ripper from her bag to avert temptation.
12. Neophyte
for evil_little_dog, as an unbirthday present, her birthday having slipped me by somehow ...
Nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm.
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson
≈
Winry leaves the clinic on her last day of probation with a spring in her step and a satisfactory evaluation in her hand. Tomorrow (finally!) she'll be allowed to see clients unsupervised. No more tag-team diagnoses -- no more delays while the boss scrutinizes her plans. New girl gets the walk-ins, of course, but Winry knows that won't last long: next month, my own clients -- next year, my own shop! She grins and whistles a fanfare as she turns onto the avenue ...
... where she's ambushed by her colleagues and dragged to the nearest pub. New girl gets the first round, too.
8-11. Wager of Friendship
... the best of life is conversation, and the greatest success is confidence,
or perfect understanding between sincere people.
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson
≈
When Ed overtakes her in the street, demanding to know why she's hitting up that bastard Mustang for money, Winry's just glad he didn't catch her at the clinic. "Where'd you hear that?" she demands in return. "And keep it down!"
Somehow Ed finds his indoor voice. "Havoc said Mustang said you're starting your own shop, and -- " He shuts his mouth on something olive-bitter, to judge by his scowl.
"'And?'"
Ed snarls, then bursts out, "And that you're too ... cute to fail!"
Ah, the usual masculine vote of confidence. Winry's sigh emerges as a snicker; flushing, Ed stomps away.
≈
The Elrics ambush Winry in her usual booth at the diner. She taps a pencil against her business plan as Al maneuvers the conversation around to her investors. "I didn't ask Mr. Mustang for money. I asked Ms. Riza." (Though she supposes, belatedly, that it amounts to the same thing now they're married.) "And I don't see why it's any of your business," she adds, glaring at a pinch-lipped Ed.
"Um," Al begins, but his brother elbows him silent and bellows, "Idiot! Why didn't you ask us?"
The hovering waitress goggles. Winry turns her scarlet face to the wall.
≈
She pulls a brush through her damp locks, wincing as it meets another tangle. A hundred strokes each night, per her mother's long-ago advice, doesn't prevent knots -- maybe Mrs. Gracia knows a better remedy ...
Why didn't you ask us?
Winry drops the useless hairbrush, grimacing. She couldn't say You're not rich with Mrs. Gracia backing her gamble, as well as Granny and Ms. Riza. She might've settled for It's just us girls: apart from the bank, she won't owe a man a cen. But ...
None of your business!
It's too painful to admit she never thought to ask them.
≈
Ed stands her dinner -- not at the diner. "I'm sorry."
Winry nods, picking at her salad. Ed plows on, rehearsed and stiff.
"I was out of line. Your shop is your business. But -- if I -- " He stumbles now, off-script, his amber gaze skittering across her face. "If we could -- if you ever need -- or want -- just ask, all right?"
His incoherent sincerity unnerves her; she's not sure why. But Granny didn't raise a coward: she looks him in the eye, holds out her hand. "All right."
Ed shakes it, smearing his automail with dressing for her to wipe away.
7. Perspective
It is commonly said by farmers, that a good pear or apple costs no more time or pains to rear, than a poor one;
so I would have no work of art, no speech, or action, or thought, or friend, but the best.
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson
≈
Ed zigzags between market stalls like an oriole; Winry follows sedately, favoring her aching feet. "Hey, apples!" he calls, and while he investigates the barrel, she counts the months since she last baked a pie, or cooked anything more complicated than a boiled egg on her (clandestine) hot plate.
"That's five cens, mac."
Winry looks up to see Ed scraping the coins from his pocket, an apple plugging his mouth boar's-head fashion. He bolts half the fruit at once before noticing her smile. "What?" he asks mushily, cheeks stuffed with pulp.
"Nothing," she answers, selecting an apple for herself.
6. Playing Percentages
Paninya comes to visit, testing the waters: If you can make it in Central, maybe I can, too. She murmurs polite ahs and hmms throughout her tour of the clinic, but over tea afterwards she remarks, "Kinda soulless, isn't it?"
"You could say that," sighs Winry.
Paninya butters her toast. "So, when are you opening your own shop?"
"As soon as I have the money."
"Well, hurry up!" Paninya urges, pointing the greasy knife at Winry. "When I move here, I want my 'old friends' discount."
"Ha! Only if I get one, too," Winry counters.
They shake on it, laughing.
5. Immediate Jewel
for kanja177, obviously
The customer is the immediate jewel of our souls.
Him we flatter, him we feast, compliment, vote for, and will not contradict.
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson
≈
The receptionist catches Winry returning from lunch. "Mrs. Hart called," she sing-songs, waving a folded note and shrugging maliciously as Winry groans.
Everyone in the firm has worked on Mrs. Hart's leg. She attaches herself like a leech to new hires and sucks the life from them with passive-aggressive niggling: It's such a nuisance, but I don't suppose you can do anything about the ankle sticking ... Don't worry about the noise the knee makes; it only throws my balance off a trifle ...
Winry pins the latest message to her corkboard with a scraper, three punches and a knife.
4. Clandestine Engagement
for cornerofmadness,with warm wishes
(or perhaps wishes for warmth)
Winry's contract forbids her to moonlight. The company, claiming the rights to whatever she invents while in its employ, on or off the clock, cannot disclaim liability for any maintenance or installation she does in her free time, either. So Winry keeps her best inspirations in her head and disappoints most clients by refusing to tinker outside the office. Sorry; I need this job ...
Ed's the exception, of course, taking her oh-so-casual suggestions to Riesenbuhl for Granny to implement and trysting with her in discreet hotels for adjustments. It's like we're having an affair, she teases, grinning as he blushes.
3. Always Right
for my brother in business
Only a week on the job, she's summoned to answer a complaint. Winry doesn't recognize herself in the condescending shrew of the client's report -- all she remembers is trying to persuade him not to trick his automail out with what Granny calls phallic enhancements. "They'd increase the load on the mechanism without a corresponding gain in function," she argues. "He doesn't need them."
"You're not here to decide what he needs," her supervisor replies. "Just give him what he wants."
"That's irresponsible!"
"That's customer service." He scribbles a note on the complaint. "Consider this your first warning."
Winry gapes, speechless.
2. Saturday Night
for evil_little_dog, who is too noble a soul
to consider replacing someone's bath salts with something else. Probably.
We have a great deal more kindness than is ever spoken.
Maugre all the selfishness that chills like east winds the world,
the whole human family is bathed with an element of love like a fine ether.
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson, "On Friendship"
≈
The boardinghouse is stuffy in summer, chilly in winter, and smells of cabbage in all seasons, but since Winry only sleeps and stores her clothes there, these defects hardly signify. She reserves her ire for the cramped washroom, complaining relentlessly to the Elric brothers about its lack of a tub. Ed replies that baths are for babies and even Al wonders whether showering isn't more efficient. She always knew they were idiots.
Trudging home from work Saturday night, she barks her shins on the big tin basin and box of bath foam sitting outside her door and revises her opinion.
1. Overqualified
for evil_little_dog. Knock 'em dead at your interview! (Er ... you know what I mean.)
Job-hunting during a recession makes most people desperate; Winry Rockbell just gets cranky. So it's inevitable that when yet another sweaty-palmed male chauvinist leers at her and suggests he might be able to find her an opening, if she proves ... qualified ... she pulls a wrench on him.
"How about this?" she asks sweetly. "You give me the job because I'm a qualified engineer, and I won't crush your ugly supraorbital foramen."
Fortunately Granny wires the bail money without question, so Ed and Al need never hear about Mr. Sweaty Palms. One attempt at human transmutation is enough for a lifetime.
[Acknowledgments: Fullmetal Alchemist (Hagane no Renkinjutsushi) was created by Arakawa Hiromu and is serialized monthly in Shonen Gangan (Square Enix). Copyright for these properties is held by Arakawa Hiromu and Square Enix. All rights reserved.]
Fandom: FMA (manga version)
Character(s): Winry, with appearances from others
Pairing(s): Canon 'ships in the background.
Word Count: 1500 so far.
Warnings: None.
A/N: So many of my friends, online and off, are job-hunting or experiencing job weirdness that it's invading my 'fic. So here's Winry Rockbell, working girl, in a variety of professional situations (or situations at least marginally related to her profession). The first two drabbles in this unlinked set were originally posted separately, here and here. Concrit welcomed with letters of recommendation. Crossposted from
nebroadwe to Höllenbeck (i.e. hagaren_manga, fm_alchemist, fma_gen, fma_writers, fma_fiction and winrylovers).Dedication(s): See individual drabbles below.
13-15. Bank Holiday
kanja177, as compensation for One of Those Weeksthere is eternal resource and a long tomorrow, rich and strong as yesterday.
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson
≈
This sticky summer morning the bus seems full of shrieking children and their already exhausted parents. Elicia bounces in her seat, pointing out every landmark en route to Central Reservoir, her period of oscillation shortening as they approach the park gates. "We're here, Auntie Winry, we're here!" she announces, and climbs over her mother's lap to collide with a fat man wrestling a picnic hamper as wide as he down the aisle. "Sorry, mister!"
While Gracia pursues her disappearing daughter, Winry helps wrangle the hamper, transmuting a peevish grumble into a grunt of thanks. Customer service teaches its own alchemy.
The narrow beach is an album quilt of blankets, so Winry and Gracia spread theirs on the grassy knoll above the boardwalk, between the roots of a white ash, and take turns accompanying Elicia into the water. Winry shows her adopted niece how to float on its warm surface, her own toes twitching in the chilly, spring-fed zone beneath. Spelled by Gracia, she defiantly reads a bodice-ripper recommended by a client, watches the ash's pale leaves flutter against a periwinkle sky, or fends off potential mashers with feigned slumber.
On holiday, a snore's as good as a wrench.
Elicia falls asleep on the ride home, her damp head propped on Winry's shoulder. Winry gazes out the window, but the long-shadowed verges and twilit roofs pass in a blur as her mind leapfrogs the present evening for the coming dawn. If I bleed Mrs. Hart's hydraulics first ...
Gracia reaches across her drowsing daughter and touches Winry's knee. "Leave tomorrow to tomorrow," she advises.
Winry looks at Gracia, then at her own hands, curled around imaginary tools. She nods, bracing Elicia as the bus swings around a corner, and pulls the bodice-ripper from her bag to avert temptation.
12. Neophyte
evil_little_dog, as an unbirthday present, her birthday having slipped me by somehow ...-- Ralph Waldo Emerson
≈
Winry leaves the clinic on her last day of probation with a spring in her step and a satisfactory evaluation in her hand. Tomorrow (finally!) she'll be allowed to see clients unsupervised. No more tag-team diagnoses -- no more delays while the boss scrutinizes her plans. New girl gets the walk-ins, of course, but Winry knows that won't last long: next month, my own clients -- next year, my own shop! She grins and whistles a fanfare as she turns onto the avenue ...
... where she's ambushed by her colleagues and dragged to the nearest pub. New girl gets the first round, too.
8-11. Wager of Friendship
or perfect understanding between sincere people.
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson
≈
When Ed overtakes her in the street, demanding to know why she's hitting up that bastard Mustang for money, Winry's just glad he didn't catch her at the clinic. "Where'd you hear that?" she demands in return. "And keep it down!"
Somehow Ed finds his indoor voice. "Havoc said Mustang said you're starting your own shop, and -- " He shuts his mouth on something olive-bitter, to judge by his scowl.
"'And?'"
Ed snarls, then bursts out, "And that you're too ... cute to fail!"
Ah, the usual masculine vote of confidence. Winry's sigh emerges as a snicker; flushing, Ed stomps away.
The Elrics ambush Winry in her usual booth at the diner. She taps a pencil against her business plan as Al maneuvers the conversation around to her investors. "I didn't ask Mr. Mustang for money. I asked Ms. Riza." (Though she supposes, belatedly, that it amounts to the same thing now they're married.) "And I don't see why it's any of your business," she adds, glaring at a pinch-lipped Ed.
"Um," Al begins, but his brother elbows him silent and bellows, "Idiot! Why didn't you ask us?"
The hovering waitress goggles. Winry turns her scarlet face to the wall.
She pulls a brush through her damp locks, wincing as it meets another tangle. A hundred strokes each night, per her mother's long-ago advice, doesn't prevent knots -- maybe Mrs. Gracia knows a better remedy ...
Why didn't you ask us?
Winry drops the useless hairbrush, grimacing. She couldn't say You're not rich with Mrs. Gracia backing her gamble, as well as Granny and Ms. Riza. She might've settled for It's just us girls: apart from the bank, she won't owe a man a cen. But ...
None of your business!
It's too painful to admit she never thought to ask them.
Ed stands her dinner -- not at the diner. "I'm sorry."
Winry nods, picking at her salad. Ed plows on, rehearsed and stiff.
"I was out of line. Your shop is your business. But -- if I -- " He stumbles now, off-script, his amber gaze skittering across her face. "If we could -- if you ever need -- or want -- just ask, all right?"
His incoherent sincerity unnerves her; she's not sure why. But Granny didn't raise a coward: she looks him in the eye, holds out her hand. "All right."
Ed shakes it, smearing his automail with dressing for her to wipe away.
7. Perspective
so I would have no work of art, no speech, or action, or thought, or friend, but the best.
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson
≈
Ed zigzags between market stalls like an oriole; Winry follows sedately, favoring her aching feet. "Hey, apples!" he calls, and while he investigates the barrel, she counts the months since she last baked a pie, or cooked anything more complicated than a boiled egg on her (clandestine) hot plate.
"That's five cens, mac."
Winry looks up to see Ed scraping the coins from his pocket, an apple plugging his mouth boar's-head fashion. He bolts half the fruit at once before noticing her smile. "What?" he asks mushily, cheeks stuffed with pulp.
"Nothing," she answers, selecting an apple for herself.
6. Playing Percentages
Paninya comes to visit, testing the waters: If you can make it in Central, maybe I can, too. She murmurs polite ahs and hmms throughout her tour of the clinic, but over tea afterwards she remarks, "Kinda soulless, isn't it?"
"You could say that," sighs Winry.
Paninya butters her toast. "So, when are you opening your own shop?"
"As soon as I have the money."
"Well, hurry up!" Paninya urges, pointing the greasy knife at Winry. "When I move here, I want my 'old friends' discount."
"Ha! Only if I get one, too," Winry counters.
They shake on it, laughing.
5. Immediate Jewel
kanja177, obviouslyHim we flatter, him we feast, compliment, vote for, and will not contradict.
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson
≈
The receptionist catches Winry returning from lunch. "Mrs. Hart called," she sing-songs, waving a folded note and shrugging maliciously as Winry groans.
Everyone in the firm has worked on Mrs. Hart's leg. She attaches herself like a leech to new hires and sucks the life from them with passive-aggressive niggling: It's such a nuisance, but I don't suppose you can do anything about the ankle sticking ... Don't worry about the noise the knee makes; it only throws my balance off a trifle ...
Winry pins the latest message to her corkboard with a scraper, three punches and a knife.
4. Clandestine Engagement
cornerofmadness,with warm wishes(or perhaps wishes for warmth)
Winry's contract forbids her to moonlight. The company, claiming the rights to whatever she invents while in its employ, on or off the clock, cannot disclaim liability for any maintenance or installation she does in her free time, either. So Winry keeps her best inspirations in her head and disappoints most clients by refusing to tinker outside the office. Sorry; I need this job ...
Ed's the exception, of course, taking her oh-so-casual suggestions to Riesenbuhl for Granny to implement and trysting with her in discreet hotels for adjustments. It's like we're having an affair, she teases, grinning as he blushes.
3. Always Right
Only a week on the job, she's summoned to answer a complaint. Winry doesn't recognize herself in the condescending shrew of the client's report -- all she remembers is trying to persuade him not to trick his automail out with what Granny calls phallic enhancements. "They'd increase the load on the mechanism without a corresponding gain in function," she argues. "He doesn't need them."
"You're not here to decide what he needs," her supervisor replies. "Just give him what he wants."
"That's irresponsible!"
"That's customer service." He scribbles a note on the complaint. "Consider this your first warning."
Winry gapes, speechless.
2. Saturday Night
evil_little_dog, who is too noble a soulto consider replacing someone's bath salts with something else. Probably.
Maugre all the selfishness that chills like east winds the world,
the whole human family is bathed with an element of love like a fine ether.
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson, "On Friendship"
≈
The boardinghouse is stuffy in summer, chilly in winter, and smells of cabbage in all seasons, but since Winry only sleeps and stores her clothes there, these defects hardly signify. She reserves her ire for the cramped washroom, complaining relentlessly to the Elric brothers about its lack of a tub. Ed replies that baths are for babies and even Al wonders whether showering isn't more efficient. She always knew they were idiots.
Trudging home from work Saturday night, she barks her shins on the big tin basin and box of bath foam sitting outside her door and revises her opinion.
1. Overqualified
evil_little_dog. Knock 'em dead at your interview! (Er ... you know what I mean.)Job-hunting during a recession makes most people desperate; Winry Rockbell just gets cranky. So it's inevitable that when yet another sweaty-palmed male chauvinist leers at her and suggests he might be able to find her an opening, if she proves ... qualified ... she pulls a wrench on him.
"How about this?" she asks sweetly. "You give me the job because I'm a qualified engineer, and I won't crush your ugly supraorbital foramen."
Fortunately Granny wires the bail money without question, so Ed and Al need never hear about Mr. Sweaty Palms. One attempt at human transmutation is enough for a lifetime.
[Acknowledgments: Fullmetal Alchemist (Hagane no Renkinjutsushi) was created by Arakawa Hiromu and is serialized monthly in Shonen Gangan (Square Enix). Copyright for these properties is held by Arakawa Hiromu and Square Enix. All rights reserved.]
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no subject
Date: 2009-01-31 09:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-31 11:44 pm (UTC)I appreciate attention to this side of Winry's character - very nice.
It's one of the things I like about her, her being a working professional. Since I work at a university, I meet a lot of very talented people who then have to go out and start at the bottom of the totem pole in their fields. So when I started thinking about Winry's career arc, it occurred to me that I hadn't seen a lot of people take that tack -- most of them start a bit later, when she's established, or imagine her setting out to start her own shop fairly early on. So of course I had to have her start out by working for The Man, with all that entails.
(It's tough, though. I haven't got the first clue about engineering, so I'm faking it all the way. :-)
And have you been reading Ralph Waldo Emerson lately? Also, I very much approve of your use of "signify." :)
I actually haven't read RWE since my undergrad days, but I'm beginning to think I should pick him up again, given how often he's been showing up in my epigraph hunts these days. And that use of signify is one of my favorite Anglicisms -- I don't think USian English really has it as a common idiom.