If Al hadn't known how often the older boy feigned unconsciousness in order to stave off these visits, he might have been fooled.
The question "Why learn?" always stops him; he cannot imagine not wanting to learn.
Even though she wasn’t an alchemist, alchemy tended to stake a claim on all who were associated with it.
He'd meant to say something but Ed had been so determined, so anxious to be useful, to create something.
His brother was brilliant at many things, but finances were not one of them.
I didn't know on the phone. I didn't know on the train.
And after all, no amount of rain can wash the blood away.
The feeling came more naturally than anything he'd known.
Lust was getting a migraine. It had started with an aura, a little blind spot that had popped into her vision the minute Envy sidled up to her and said family meeting.
"What do you mean, you're PREGNANT?" Ed yelled through the door.
The metal in his mouth tastes cool and tangy and yummy but he can't eat because he has to find Lust.
"Colonel, if I may ask... what is a cat, to be more precise, a kitten doing in the office?"
The cheap ink has blurred and run, but Ed's memorized the gist: Riesenbul needs help; come sort things out.
Words entrance her: the workaday prose of school texts as much as the skylark flights of lyric or the measured music of story.
At night, curled shivering on the layers of musty damp leaves under the glimmering stars, Ed lay silently and thought of unspeakable unknowns...
Around when the hour of nine rolls up to the door, fat as a bellied barfly, Roy has already taken his jacket off the hook and has gone outside to walk.
Are you listening to me, Lieutenant Hawkeye?
He thought, for a fleeting instant, that he ought to feel some kind of guilt—but he couldn’t muster any.
That she might have to tweak a recipe to get it to come out tasty was something she found irritating at a base level.
It would be a shame if the future Fuhrer got himself killed over something as trivial as a chess game.
If Al could have frowned suspiciously, he would have. Instead he relied on his expressive vocal stylings as he propped his brother upright. “What’s in that glass, Brother?”
Envy had to admit, Edward Elric's body was convenient for maneuvering around the people in a crowd.
Death overtook Hohenheim unexpectedly on the road to knowledge.
"We offer you not a world in which your brother died, but one in which he never lived."
He was looking forward to the prospect of a hot meal in the cafeteria; even if it wasn't exactly home cooking, at least it was hot, and it was fresh.
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.
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.
The voice hit Ed like a blow, and drove the breath from his lungs. "Where are you?" he shouted. "Where are you?"
Al thought, grimly, that he was getting rather good at this.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her tobac tin, more to annoy her visitor than anything else.
But the language of legend and that of alchemical secrecy were linguistic-sisters...
It was so easy to forget how uneven alchemy made a fight. No ordinary guy ever had a chance.
"Each State Alchemist gets two subordinates; one foot soldier and one sniper," the General droned, organizing the files into a neater state in their folder and walking over to hand them to Mustang.
And he learned to think ahead from his grandfather, over the chess board on the back porch of their home.
If there was something Al still deeply enjoyed about his illness, it was seeing Ed play a sort of housewife.
And everyone knows, when a homunculus is in trouble, there’s only one place to go!
You'd have to be inhuman not to quake in fear when she stares you down.
But it was through the hands that you cooked, and with a false hand Ed found that the cooking didn't come as easily anymore, didn't taste quite like Mother's.
But at least there was softness beneath the fear, and the eyes apologized to her for her pain, even when the lips did not.
She accepted the label and its implication without argument, lifting the revolver and sighting along its barrel.
It was easy enough to start a fire, with the appropriate array and dry wood.
That day, Ed had pulled his hair out of a braid and tied it up into a neat ponytail.
It was just as his body heat was beginning to bring the sheets up to a reasonable temperature that the noise caught his ears- an ugly scraping sound, unnatural and harsh in the silence of early morning hours.
He was just contemplating a launch, kick and a dash for the window when Armstrong's hands closed in his hair.
Ed swallowed hard at that--Al could hear the gulp, could see his Adam’s apple bob, and copied the swallow reflexively to see what it would feel like.
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.
"I must savor every moment of every love letter I recieve to do the sender justice," Mustang said, before proceeding to open the letter.
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.