It only took a moment for the peaceful mood in their little corner of the studio to shatter.
“Don’t bother with the crutch. You can just toss it somewhere over there,” Darish said nastily. “I told you, you didn’t need to come. You’re just gonna get sleepy and conk out in the middle of things anyway.” He didn’t even give Lettie a glance as he said the cold words.
The girl’s face crumpled.
“Unh … sob …” Her eyes began to glisten, then enormous droplets welled up and fell down her cheeks.
“Why did you have to be so mean to her? Oh Lettie, don’t cry,” their mother lamented. Karen quickly pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped Lettie’s cheeks. The girl’s sobs rang out through the entire shop, drawing the eyes of Garfiel and the other shocked clients toward Winry and the family.
Darish apparently hadn’t expected Lettie to throw such a big fuss. He tsked out of annoyance. None too gently, he snatched the crutch from his little sister and leaned it against the wall.
“Mom, you can take Lettie and go back to the hotel. Her crying’s gonna bother the other people in the shop. I’m fine by myself.”
“But we need to talk about your leg,” Karen said, looking torn as she tried to soothe Lettie. Discussions about procedures and fees couldn’t move forward without the presence of an adult. At the same time, if Lettie continued to cry, it might bother others in the shop.
Seeing Karen at a loss, Winry decided to throw her a lifeline.
“Don’t worry about it,” Winry said. Meanwhile, Darish ignored the sobbing and faced any direction but toward his little sister. Winry could guess from his attitude that fights like this were common between the siblings. “All we’re doing today is taking measurements and then jotting down requests for his automail, so Darish should be able to provide those.”
Karen still looked torn between her concern for her children and her concern for those in the shop, but at Winry’s suggestion, she quickly, if hesitantly, started to leave the studio. “Winry, I’m so sorry. Darish isn’t very open in some ways. I’m sorry if he causes trouble for you, but I entrust him to your care.”
Karen kept bobbing her head in gratitude and apology as Winry showed her out. “I’ll come by again,” the harried mother promised before disappearing.
When Winry turned back to the studio, she saw that Darish hadn’t even looked up at his mother and sister’s departure and was instead stroking the attachment of his leg prosthesis. Winry didn’t know why he had snapped so harshly at his little sister, who was still so young, but she certainly didn’t approve. At the same time, she wasn’t about to scold a boy she’d just met, especially since she didn’t know the reasons behind his actions. For now she decided to continue her task, and resettled herself at Darish’s feet.
“Well then, kiddo. How about those leg measurements now?”
“It’s Darish. I’m not a kid like my sister,” Darish muttered, unhappy with receiving the same treatment.
“Got it. Then you can call me just Winry,” she answered, before falling into silence.
Most of the clients who visited Atelier Garfiel were friendly, and Winry often enjoyed having a pleasant back-and-forth while she worked. But Darish’s posture was stiff, and everything that came out of his mouth was cold and blunt.
The rest of the studio filled with cheerful chatter between Garfiel and his clients, as well as between the regulars, but silence reigned between Winry and Darish.
Winry wouldn’t lie and say it was comfortable, but work was still work. She focused on the task at hand to distract her from the heavy mood and took measurements for the boy’s instep, the size of his kneecap, and the placement of his hip bone. She jotted the measurements down on the paper on her clipboard, then removed the belt holding Darish’s current prosthesis in order to check its specifications.
“Sorry, just going to take a look at this.”
Darish’s prosthesis attached above the knee, and was mostly made of a hard wooden material. Metal rods at its joints allowed some limited movement. The prosthesis was affixed to the stump of his thigh with a leather belt and metal fixtures.
When Winry removed the tightly cinched belt, she observed that the skin in contact with the prosthesis was bruised purple.
“Darish, you’re twelve, right? You look like you’ve been growing, and the size of the prosthesis isn’t quite right. When did you get this made?”
“Two years ago,” Darish responded, sounding bored, which made Winry frown slightly.
Darish was in his growth period, and his arms and legs looked like they were the right length for his age. There was no way a prosthesis from two years ago could have still fit him.
Winry placed her hand on his left leg and slowly repeated the motions of bending it at the knee and stretching it. She then stood up and circled around to his back, and from over his shirt, felt along his spine and hip bone.
She could feel that something was off through the contact on her palms. She wasn’t a doctor, but she had enough experience to know that the bones at the base of his right leg, the one with the prothesis, weren’t in the right place. His ill-fitting prosthesis was hurting the leg it attached to, which caused him to compensate by adjusting his posture, placing extreme pressure on the base of his other leg.
If he didn’t get a replacement that fit him soon, his pain wouldn’t be limited to just his right leg, but likely his left leg and hips as well.
Winry placed the detached prosthesis on her workbench, and in an attempt to alleviate even a slight amount of Darish’s pain, she adjusted the belt and its metal fastenings before fitting it back onto him.
“It looks like this prosthesis doesn’t fit, so we should get you new automail as soon as possible. Can you tell me what you’re looking for?”
Winry pulled over a chair with a round seat from a corner of the studio and settled it in front of Darish before sitting down. She placed his chart on her lap, ready to start their discussion, when Darish’s head suddenly turned down.
“What’s wrong?” Winry asked.
Darish remained silent even as Winry peered at his face, the tip of her pen still resting against a blank line on the chart, ready to take requests. Darish stared down at his prosthesis, his lips tightly sealed.