“Brother, don’t be ungrateful! Ling is trying very hard to teach you proper use of the Xingian language!”
He lifted his eyes to Ed's, returned Ed's even, blank gaze. "Brothers," he said. "That's what we are."
She paced the wide, marble floor, visited each of the soaring windows, feeling every supple sinew beneath her skin move with the perfection of the young.
She hated being idle; it ranked far above the petty pain of a mere gunshot-wound in her personal list of annoyances.
Could be anything... could have anything... and there was a pride, a greed in the words as they had dripped from those tainted, twisted lips.
The advantage to being so distinctive-looking was that sometimes Edward didn't have to look for people; they found him first.
For now, he has mastered one world, two worlds; they have mastered him as well, and he is tired.
She accepted the label and its implication without argument, lifting the revolver and sighting along its barrel.
"Our boy here hasn't done a lick of work since eleven am, and she hasn't noticed at all. D'you think she's in love?"
Ed shrugged, although his expression suggested he was trying to keep from being too smug about beating a man almost twice his age.
"This is blackmail," Ed growled, but he pulled open the bathroom door.
If Al hadn't known how often the older boy feigned unconsciousness in order to stave off these visits, he might have been fooled.
That was the problem with girls these days... they just didn't know how to deal with a little pain.
Alfons Heiderich, this universe's most cruel mistake, came round from the other side of the crumbling brick wall, and Ed found himself again wondering if the man existed solely for his personal torment.
Hohenheim had been familiar with death, but his own still took him by surprise.
It was merely a battle of wills. He would win.
Every line in his chest and back was defined; he hardly seemed to have any body fat at all.
Mustang is possessed, maybe, but not with the feverish intensity that will someday be the trademark of the Full Metal Alchemist.
"And search for free porn." Havoc pointed out.
“Sir,” he says, and Roy could be imagining it, but he thinks Falman’s usually flat tone has a hint of panic in it. “Have you read this memo yet?”
Not a fairy, then, Alfons thought in disappointment. The fairies in stories weren't usually so foul-mouthed and excitable, anyway.
Besides, no one ever said that tumultuous times had to begin with a fanfare.
"I'm told by Mr. Mason that you resisted being fed, and he had you punished for that."
"Ah, Alphonse-kun, I was wondering when you would wake up."
They shared the same eyes, the same hair, and a level of intelligence ... and sometimes, Ed felt far too much like he was his father's son.
Ed meets his eyes, holds them, and then -- slowly, painfully, but deliberately, traces his free hand in a line across his throat.
Occasionally, after a bad sand storm, a bone would work its way up to the surface; bare and bleached, like the sticks he used to pretend were swords.
With two younger sisters himself, he knew well that siblings quarreled, but never to this extent.
Roy could've sworn First Lieutenants existed only to invent torture methods for Colonels, but he wasn't about to say that one out loud.
When dealing with the military, it always paid to look ready for inspection. Neatness counted; passion was suspect.
"As you can see," she said to Mr. Elric, wryly, "Appreciate them while they're at this age, because they turn into teenagers in the blink of an eye."
Hope — he could almost reach out and touch that hope, hours away, maybe, just a few ticks of the clock and an array or two later and it could be real.
ROY: [calmly] If drinking means acting like an idiot the way you are, I'm going to pass.
"What part of self-defense was it to write 'BIG FAT NINNY' on his forehead in permanent marker?"
It hurt, somehow, to know that there was no one now who could see past the mask if he didn't want them to.
When night fell in Ishvar, night vision or no vision, flares or no flares, there was nothing you wanted to do less than draw attention to yourself.
Roy was silent when Maes came back several minutes later. If he heard the sounds of retching from the bathroom, he didn't say.
Rubbing at a fading reminder of one such lesson on his left biceps, he hopes she appreciates what a formidable champion she’s gained.
The boy's brother stretches out a flesh-and-blood hand towards her, and at that moment she hates him, hates them all.
Your eyes stared up at me, wide and questioning, in a response not fit for such a young child.
"I don't think there's anything wrong with you, Brother," Al said loyally, and Ed scowled.
"Edward," Hawkeye said kindly, "has it occurred to you that you and Alphonse may be spending too much time alone?"
I really don't like this body, he thought sadly; if he'd had a face to pout with, he would have.
If Ed had his way, his allowance (and all of Roy's salary) would be spent entirely on the most expensive brand of dog food to have ever existed.
An alchemical reaction of the most ancient kind: sitting down to eat as though filling the stomach could replace the gap in one's heart.
I didn't understand that, didn't comprehend why being clean for going into the earth was a good thing until much later...