A/N: Welcome. ;D This story is only a few chapters long, and is the result of no air-conditioning. Seriously; living in England can be a bitch sometimes. I personally think fan fiction should be used for fans to express their outlooks on certain characters—and when it comes to MY fics, I do just that...and you can probably tell. Oh, and it's my birthday, so WHEE.

Edward Elric—the badass. Everything went his way. Short and hot. He owned an Angelina Jolie-shaped pillow, and his idol was Cher.

Alphonse Elric—the wimp. Bitchy, prissy, and whiny. He'd be the first in line for a cat convention if they existed. He still believed girls had cooties, aside the fact he was suit in a hideous suit of armor.

Judging from this, you'd probably know who wore the pants in this, er, brothership.

Whenever the two met someone new, Ed would introduce Al as his brainless, flamboyant "assistant"—meaning the one who brought him jelly-filled donuts every morning. Whenever the brothers played tag, Ed would slip into Al (note the empty suit of armor) with a pack of Crayolas and scribble rainbow-colored profanities on Al's insides—he'd go inside, of course, if it wasn't already full of digested kitty litter.

So, thus, a combination of THIS from his brother, along with not being hugged as a child messed with poor Alphonse's head. You'd think Ed would've taken the news normally, and just brush it aside as he did Al's yearly Christmas cards.

…Right?

"Brother," Al groaned one morning across the breakfast table. Ed didn't look up, snorting at the comics section of his newspaper.

"Brooootheeeer," Al droned on.

"What?" Ed snapped, giving Al a glare over the paper.

"We need to talk."

Ed let out something of a grunt, throwing his newspaper onto the floor. "Look—if it's about the toaster, I already said I was SORRY—"

"No. Not that. Could you just listen to me for a second? Whenever I look at you, it's like—UGH! It's like every single shiny, reflecting object within your grasp is used as a MIRROR for yourself!"

Ed's jaw dropped as he looked up from the back of his cereal spoon. "Not true!"

Al took a deep breath. "Okay, Ed…Remember when I said I got that job?"

"No."

"Well, yeah—I told you."

"WELL, I wasn't listening. You know I don't like being disturbed during my cleansing hours."

"…Urgh." FACEPALM.

"Aren't you supposed to be explaining something to me?" Ed muttered, randomly whipping out a nail-filer and picking at his cuticles. "Geez."

"Like I was saying," Al growled, "I did get a job. You're always out and about, so I decided to get one—we do have BILLS, you know."

"Wait." Ed stopped filing. "Then WHO'S been hanging out with me at the HQ then? I could've sworn you were there."

Al sweatdropped, rubbing the back of his head. "I sort of made Winry dress up and me and take my place…"

"Oh." Ed continued filing. "That explains the constant groping."

"…"

Ed waved a hand. "Proceed."

"Um, so I never DID tell you where the job was, did I?"

"Nah—at least I don't think so. It's probably something dorky that'll make you lose the few fans you have, right? Pfft—Burger King, or something. Or Petco. Hey, y'know what I heard? That Mustang got his subordinates there. On sale." He took a gulp of his apple juice. "Hardcore, I tell you."

Al inhaled. "I had those places in mind, but…"

"But what?"

"...I chose something else…"

"Super-dee-duper!" Ed cheered mockingly. "Tell me what it is, before I give you a knuckle sammich."

"It's a…a…"

"…?"

"…A tranny bar."

Wrong time for Ed to choose to take another swig of his juice.

Said juice came sputtering out of Ed's mouth like he was some sick, muscular sprinkler. His arms flailed in every direction, as Al literally just sat there and watched the gnome that was his brother spaz out.

"YOU," Ed began, "ARE SUCH A FREAK—"

"Like father, like son!"

"What the hell is THAT supposed to mean?"

"Well, uh…! I don't know; you're just a moron."

"At least I'm not a closet TRANSSEXUAL! I mean, I knew you were into cats, but not in like…that way." Ed shuddered.

"Oh, shut up! My job OWNS your job, Mr. I'm-so-damn-small-and-freakin'-petite-I-have-to-wear-some-stupid-leather-outfit-even-though-it's-like-a-bigillion-degrees-outside—or shall I say, MISS."

"LOOK who's talking! I'm not the one who wants to BE a girl! And here I thought that purple THING around your waist was some sort of manly loincloth!"

"You just don't understand," Al hissed. "We need more money—the Colonel pays you in FRENCH FRIES, for God's sake! I just thought taking up a job and earning a few bucks would be responsible…and would increase my fanservice. Winry thought it was a good idea—"

"WINRY?" spat Ed. "Al. Seriously. What have I told you about her? She's wrong in the head! Don't you recall slipping Clorox into her drinks when we were kids?"

"Ed! This job is everything I have right now! With you gone all the time, I have so much free time. And think about THIS—it was either work in a tranny bar, or become a prostitute."

"Did Winry's clan have an opening?"

"Yes, actually—how'd you know?"

"Uh…eh…you know…ur…um…yeah." Ed coughed. "Anyway, I'd like to see this bar of yours."

Al gasped, obviously thrilled. "R-really?"

"Of course—it IS paying for our food and all…which I will be throwing out momentarily…"

"What was that last part?"

"You're hearing things. So what's the bar called, anyway?"

"'Buns, buns, buns.'"

"…"

"I wouldn't take it personal if you didn't want to go anymore."

"N-no! I'd still like to, uh, check it out. But would you mind coming with me? So, you know, it'd be less…awkward?"

"Sure. But believe me—whether or not you're accompanied, it will be awkward. Very."

"…Whoopie."

A/N: I'd pick Winry over Hawkeye ANYDAY (yes, I do not like Riza Hawkeye), but yeah. She doesn't go good with Ed OR Al, thus my moderate dislike for her. Anyway, stay tuned for the next chapter, where Alphonse shows his lovely older brother his workplace. :3