It didn't really sink in when you saw the thing, all clumsy dangling wood and leather straps, like the arm of a marionette in a kids' puppet show.
Brother likes to pretend that he doesn't care what goes on in the military unless it directly affects him. Or, you know, directly offends him. One or the other.
Of course, when she was their age she could hardly recite her multiplication tables, much less draw complex alchemical glyphs.
If there was something Al still deeply enjoyed about his illness, it was seeing Ed play a sort of housewife.
It was a lousy day, depressing and the color of the sky on his way home reminded Ed of the color of the Gate and he just felt helpless and sorry and lonely and bad.
“Um, you must’ve learned that from Colonel Bastard. You’d better not be flashing that at the nurses. Or at me, ever, ever again.”
Light was what brought shadow into being; they were cast by its brightness and thrived in its absence...
In the winter months the ground was too hard to dig ditches, so instead they chipped rocks.
"We'll have you patched up in no time." Edward announced, slicing the leather into short, precise strips. It was irrational, but somehow Alphonse hated those words.
Death overtook Hohenheim unexpectedly on the road to knowledge.
Envy mused that this was what it sounded like when a spirit broke, a large pop of a fictitious heart, the snapsnapsnap of each rib cage.
It was a short letter, very succinct, to the point, like all official military correspondences were.
"You report here every Monday at eight o'clock in the morning, on the dot, and call me every other day. You fail to report or call, and your ass is grass."
She accepted the label and its implication without argument, lifting the revolver and sighting along its barrel.
He mostly trusted his brother to be able to put a nearly-three-year-old to bed by himself, but...Al should probably check, just to be sure.
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.
For the first time, he suddenly understood that there was worse than death.
Every line in his chest and back was defined; he hardly seemed to have any body fat at all.
"Damn well better be--I bought 'em two days ago and I'm not keeling over yet. Got any dry ones on you?"
"This one's for you, Al." Edward swore, raised the glass to his lips, and braced for the impact.
I could sleep here, soundly, knowing that I followed in his footsteps, lay in the same beds, held the same forks and glasses, and spoke with the same people he had protected.
...but he must take a moment to compose himself, all the same, before he can look through the small window.
That was the problem with girls these days... they just didn't know how to deal with a little pain.
A man can do terrible things in the name of his uniform--his leader, his service, his country. Then he spends the rest of his life going crazy or chasing penance.
"Ah, Alphonse-kun, I was wondering when you would wake up."
"I'm told by Mr. Mason that you resisted being fed, and he had you punished for that."
She knew the instant she opened the door and saw their blank faces.
Al waited to say something until Ed's hair brushed his shoulders.
While the Chief practices his best vengeful face and looks up the recipe for a fake corpse in some freaky alchemy cookbook, Breda and the rest of Team Mustang get to deal with the really annoying bits of this operation.
"Well... Brother does that, every so often. He really should think before he tries to attack people."
Brother wasn't the only one hiding his fears; I was so afraid everything I knew was a lie -- that our brotherhood was a lie.
Al's slightly hollow voice positively echoed with embarrassment but he bravely soldiered on...
"She loved him," Ed said. Crack, snap. Another flower joined the pile.
He staggered to a halt, abruptly terrified of pressing onwards through the mist, and tried not to cry.
The Colonel narrowly saved himself the disgrace of fumbling for Edward's name (Id? Alex? Eowan?) by resorting, once again, to his title.
He decided, then, quite firmly, that he wasn't ever going to drink coffee again, with anybody. It was too risky.
The pretenses stopped midway through the second cigarette.
Anything, she reflected, is worth seeing you so genuinely happy.
Neither brother seems willing to speak, but their thoughts dip down into similar wells, dredging up the questions that most haunt them.
"Stupid bullies," Ed grumbled, limping for a few steps before he remembered that he wasn't supposed to be feeling it. "Call me a girl, will they?"
...Edward saw red - but he took a couple of deep breaths before answering. He knew a real kicker now, thanks to Hawkeye.
Words entrance her: the workaday prose of school texts as much as the skylark flights of lyric or the measured music of story.
He thought, for a fleeting instant, that he ought to feel some kind of guilt—but he couldn’t muster any.
He gave, and he gave, and he gave, and he could only hope that it was enough.
Nurses in white smocks bustle about a tiny nurses's station, and he is intercepted by one of the younger ones, a new girl he doesn't recognize.
He didn't know why they would do this to him, why they would stare with sad eyes and sad lips, with mouths turned down for the frowns that came.
Car broke down again, couple kilometers out of the city, so they had to walk for a while, until Alfons couldn't speak for the coughing.