Surrounded by foes, he passed through them unseen, unheard, unmarked — one more gray ghost among the damned.
"I don't think there's anything wrong with you, Brother," Al said loyally, and Ed scowled.
It was easy enough to start a fire, with the appropriate array and dry wood.
And if he did forget mom's face, what would be next? Her voice? Her smile? The color of her eyes?
For the first time, he suddenly understood that there was worse than death.
He had only meant to pass through the town; it wasn't like much would have changed anyway.
Ed's birthday had passed a little over a month ago, while they were still with Sensei.
...Edward saw red - but he took a couple of deep breaths before answering. He knew a real kicker now, thanks to Hawkeye.
"I'm not your brother," he told the sleeping figure; it rang hollow.
Ed's arms swept out, taking in the street and the buildings, the grass and the trees and the sky -- "the world and our own minds to understand it! That's all!" Isn't that enough?
For in equivalent trade, everything has value and therefore everything can be taken away.
Rubbing at a fading reminder of one such lesson on his left biceps, he hopes she appreciates what a formidable champion she’s gained.
He has seen the desert. Seen her scorched and scarred beneath his steady hands. Stepped in her tattered remains, tasted her ashes with every breath.
The lilacs would wither all too soon, but until then she intended to indulge herself, carrying the scent of home with her wherever she went.
Even Hawkeye could be caught off guard, and the men moving in too late, even five seconds too long, too far away.
He thought, for a fleeting instant, that he ought to feel some kind of guilt—but he couldn’t muster any.
A false peace, rotten at the roots: he would dream for the rest of his life of the brother he could not touch and think those dreams his due.
In the winter months the ground was too hard to dig ditches, so instead they chipped rocks.
Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye stands behind Colonel Roy Mustang, laughing silently about her silly dreams, her hand never straying far from the gun by her side.
Ed looked down at the camera again, and smiled an evil, evil smile.
"I was your mother once," Dante told him with an air of great drunken magnanimity one evening.
For instance, Havoc knew that Hawkeye was not fond of gunmanship.
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.
He tilted his jaw and the kid struck the match, lit it, lifted it to his cigarette.
... and the moral of the story is - well, I guess there's no moral to this story, it's just a bunch of stuff that happened. Kind of like the rest of this movie.
Mustang is possessed, maybe, but not with the feverish intensity that will someday be the trademark of the Full Metal Alchemist.
It was beautiful, this pre-industrial world, with its white snows and ever-visible rainbows and the dazzling night sky. But it was also dreadful, seething with ignorance and man-made horrors.
Al waited to say something until Ed's hair brushed his shoulders.
"You could have roped in the typing pool instead, they moon over the Colonel all the time."
He just carries himself with a certain atmosphere, one that feels like splinters of buildings falling off walls and landing broken or the smell of roasted flesh.
"Aww, is the rough and tough Elric crying for his dead brother?" sneered a voice in his ringing ears.
"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.
PR, we need PR, he kept telling himself, but at this point he didn't think he could string more than two sentences together.
If Al hadn't known how often the older boy feigned unconsciousness in order to stave off these visits, he might have been fooled.
She accepted the label and its implication without argument, lifting the revolver and sighting along its barrel.
"You. Boy by the window who's been doodling all the way through. What would be the result of this equation?"
His brother was brilliant at many things, but finances were not one of them.
But he still flinched away from that metal skin, and held his own burning automail arm a little further from his body in hopes that he would not bump against it.
...the two men drank Roy's good whiskey, clinked glasses and Maes exclaimed that It was about damn time.
"Yeah. Him again. The Colonel doesn't know when to quit, does he?"
Alfons swears he doesn't need glasses - and maybe he doesn't, if he can see such phenomena as the Gegenschein light--but up close he has trouble like this.
The boys grow older, wiser and closer, and their mother watches them do so and is proud.
"It's good to hear that Fullmetal is in good spirits, if he's being so obtrusive in showing off."
It was such a beautiful way to die.
He read his father's old, dog-eared textbooks, fascinated by the mechanics of alchemy.
According to Hughes, Major Mustang was close to promotion and as his subordinate, it was her prerogative to try and help him to reach the next rung of the ladder.
There is grass growing on the cinders, ivy covers the old stones.