Long Forgotten Sons

[Guest]

"Double espresso and a strawberry and cream frappucino. Table six. Please."

His Amestrian was fragmented and disjointed at best, but the mainstay of what he'd been taught in the orphanage that had remained was food and drink-related. One coffee, one milkshake, one bar of chocolate, one pack of cigarettes... everything else came from broken hissing and the occasional prod in the right direction. His accent was long-gone, too; and as flowery as native Gelemortians sounded, when splicing that with the harsh flow of Amestrian... things didn't seem to work quite as well.

King sidled back down at the table with Jack and groaned, running a hand through silver hair with aviators propped solidly upon the ridge of his nose, staring off into the middle-distance. Artificial light glinted from the embossed font reading "Starbucks" at the head of the airport café. A clock in the room's corner ticked over slowly, the homunculus waiting with bated breath for the second hand to slide into place at twelve every time it cycled round. The café was abandoned save for the pair of them and the exhausted barista manning the counter. It was bordering on three in the morning on a Sunday; any airport was busy at any time, but as the cold September air rushed gently over the calloused skin of Gluttony's form, he pondered how the pair of them had chosen the ideal terminal for exact and total silence.

"Let's... summarise." King scratched the back of his neck. "Bodyguard work in Drachma wasn't a lie. That's what I did for years whilst you were asleep, before and after I became a homunculus." With a solid clap, the waiter set their drinks down at the table. The silver-haired Gelemortian flashed a brief smile as he shrunk back into relative non-existence and the pair continued their conversation. "All I omitted were the... details." So, simply, empty truths.

King continued with a sigh. "I worked for Sekretar Alena." He shrugged. "She's a homunculus too. Vanity. Though letting that circulate isn't going to be a brilliant idea." Picking his words delicately then just tossing all concept of fragility out the window and rushing straight for it, the homunculus smiled. "So, I worked for Drachma. Effectively a General. Which means..."

King winced in anticipation. This was the difficult part. The really difficult part. Like admitting war crimes difficult. "...I basically worked for RIOTE." He spoke slowly, clearly, and harshly, hoping to God the barista wasn't listening in - wasn't much of a chance he even knew Rouenian, in honesty. "Terrorist general, enemy of the state, public enemy, global most-hated... and anonymous all the way through." He shrugged. "Anonymous enough, at least."

As if a great weight had been lifted from his chest, King went down to cup the tiny mug in his great hands and sip from it, wincing from the bitter strength of the coffee as it burnt its way down his gullet. Mmm... beautiful. He set it back down and smiled, leaning back against the fabric of the chair and finished off. "Eventually, I realised..." How to word this... "Alena and I had differences in agenda. And RIOTE is a life commitment. You don't really just leave." Images of the flames flickered before his eyes once more. The stench of burning petroleum, peeling skin, sizzling flesh. Searing heat.

"So, latest little forward assault into Central, I set myself on fire and made my grand exit. Turns out Alena didn't get her invasion after all," King flashed a simple, malicious smirk, and sighed, leaning back and interlocking both palms behind his head. "So there it is, hand on the table. King Krow, pet science project, war criminal..." He grinned. Something flashed in those emerald eyes. "Dead man."

[INITIATE THEME]

At that exact moment, the door swung open. The tiny bell above the frame rang throughout, an omen neither of the two men recognised. And in stumbled someone the pair had never met, someone that neither of them would remember or consider. Someone inconspicuous, and someone who would have remained has such if not for his consequential meddling and simple bad luck. This unwitting someone was Cardy Krow.

Their father.