Some may ask if I was on crack when I wrote this. In response, I tell them no. Heck, I don't even do drugs. Yet somehow I had the patience to whip this up in three days.
Though this is a one-shot, it's rather lengthy (10 pages on Word), so for this version I've split it up into several pages to make reading it easier.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any of the characters, and likewise I do not own John Cunningham’s short story “The Tin Star,” on which this parody is based. Also, I apologize for any out-of-character instances. Also, I do not own Forrest Gump (there’s a mild reference to it later on)
“Lights, camera, and… ACTION!”
”What am I supposed to do again?” Roy Mustang stood in the middle of the set, instead of his normal blue military uniform wearing a white dress shirt, an old vest, cowboy boots and trousers, a cowboy hat, and of course, a little tin star on the side of the aforementioned vest. “And why am I dressed like this?” The author head-palmed in frustration and sighed impatiently.
”First off, this isn’t a play, or a movie, or anything of the sort, so why is there the ‘lights, camera, action’ thing?! Second – “ a gun shot in the background. “GREED! DON’T USE THE STINKIN’ GUN UNTIL YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO!” The author growled in frustration. “Enough fooling around, we gotta get started with this fanfic! The readers don’t have all day to read this, so chop-chop!”
”Fanfic?!” everyone in the room asked, astonished at this declaration.
”Yeah, what did you think this was?” Greed raised his hand, also dressed in similar cowboy attire to Roy sans the sheriff star, vest, and hat. And of course, he still wore his signature sunglasses. “What?”
”I quit.”
”No, you can’t quit! You’re taking the place of Frank Miller in the story! If you quit, Roy won’t have any opposition aside from your three peons!”
After the author set everyone straight (we had to skip a bit of what went on there for time’s sake), the scene changed from a theater set to a small church in a small Texas town, much like the ones you see in old Western movies. In this church, men, women, and children were seated, listening to a rather peculiar preacher quote an excerpt from the book of Isaiah. For those not familiar with the Old Testament or the Bible in general, all you need to know is that it was – oh, heck with it.
”And the wicked shall be as stu –“ just as the preacher was about to say “stubble,” our favorite cowboy sheriff attire-clad alchemist, Roy Mustang, came on the scene.
“Thank you, thank you very much.” Roy bowed before the preacher and the congregation staring at him.
“Thank you… for what?” The chubby, bald preacher asked perplexedly.
”Wait a sec…” Roy paused a moment. “Aren’t you that Cornello guy that Fullmetal took out?”
”Hey, I’m just playing the part because that’s where the author placed me.”
”Speaking of the author…” Roy looked behind him to glare at the person typing this right now.
“What? The ‘everyone’s favorite alchemist’ thing is an opinion of some people. Personally, I prefer Ed.” The author replied to his glare flatly.
”I thought normally the author doesn’t have any speaking lines in a fanfic.”
”In this one I do. Now, continue…” Roy reluctantly turned around and began playing out his part normally… almost a little too normally, as some might observe.
“My apology for interrupting your sermon, Reverend, but this is a dire emergency.” The preacher stared blankly at our raven-haired alchemist-cowboy-sheriff friend.
“You already have, Marshal Mustang. And considering you didn’t even get married in the church this morning and you don’t come here in the first place, it’s a surprise to see you here.”
”I didn’t get married here, Reverend, because my wife’s a…” Roy looked blankly in the direction of the author again. “What’s a Quaker? And how would that affect whether or not Riza and I would be married in a church?”
”Just go with it, Mustang,” the author replied.
Roy repeated the line, this time in full. “I didn’t get married here, Reverend, because my wife’s a Quaker… And I guess for some reason they don’t get married in churches.”
”Then where do they get married?”
”Uh….” Roy paused yet again, but then proceeded with continuing with the dialogue. “Anyway, Greed’s out of prison, as you all know. And you also know he’s out to get me.”
”So what?!” a vertically-challenged blond-haired man in the back called. “A world without Mustang – what better gift is there?”
“Thank you for your unfaltering love and support, Fullmetal,” Roy responded, applauding sarcastically as he did so. At this point, the author for the most part gave up on the Flame Alchemist and let him do this story the way he wanted to. After all, who said this would be according to the original? “As I was saying,” the “sheriff” continued, “Greed’s coming on the afternoon train at noon. And his lackeys are already waiting for him. I can’t possibly take them alone, so I’ll need some backup. Any volunteers?” Crickets began chirping in the church before someone finally stood up. It was Kain Feury, with a few of Roy’s other subordinates in the actual Fullmetal Alchemist series whom this author is too lazy to name at the moment.
“What are we waiting for?” Feury asked as he stood up and walked towards the pulpit in front of which Roy stood before the preacher. Until…
”Wait a sec, wait a sec!” It was Edward again. “Why should we help him? He’s retiring from being Marshal to go away with his new wife! Let’s think this over for a sec before we rush into battle.” The Fullmetal Alchemist’s comments incited a riot among the congregation of mostly side characters that pop up every now and then in the actual series and have few lines if any.
“QUIET!” A man stepped to the front and stood beside Roy. It was the town mayor, Scar. The large, dark man spoke again. “Take the children outside, and let’s discuss this the old fashioned way.”
”Somehow,” Roy remarked, “Coming from you, I’m a bit scared to find out just what you mean by ‘the old fashioned way.’”
“The author took away my alchemy so I wouldn’t kill you and offered to return them to me after this is done if I cooperate, so you’re safe… for now,” Scar whispered in Roy’s ear.
“Then why isn’t she using her author powers to control us in the way she wants to for this story?”
”She thinks ‘it’ll be more interesting this way’.”
For a good hour or so, the congregation debated on whether or not it was wise for anyone to stand up and fight alongside the Marshal. One man in the room, Alex Louis Armstrong, declared that Roy was “The best Marshal the town had ever had,” and that it was their problem as well as his if Greed came for him. This caused more rioting, especially between Edward and the town’s resident cross-dressing palm tree, Envy. Upon hearing the author’s narration, Envy glared and shouted in her general direction.
“I heard that! … Whoever said it.”
”You’re dumber than you look,” Ed pointed out, returning to his seat before. “Now shut up, this is my favorite part.”
“People, people!” Scar raised his voice once more to calm the crowd. “As Mr. Armstrong pointed out, Marshal Mustang so far is the best Marshal we ever had, and maybe will be the best Marshal we ever will have. But if you think about it, by staying in town he’s just bringing the trouble onto us. I say he should leave town, and never return unless Greed for some odd reason gives up, or I – er, Greed I mean, kills him.” With those words, at least among the congregation, it was official: Roy Mustang was all alone this time.
But our Cowboy Flame Alchemist wouldn’t give up yet.
