Some of the stuff he was asked to investigate was truly stupid shit. A bakery, for instance.
It was so, so much easier just to go hungry than to try their hands at something she'd done so well.
The blond shook his head lightly, probably in amusement, "I'm really sorry but he's normally not like this to strangers but your resemblance? is very striking, Roy."
Gone was the helpless, kicked-puppy look from those purple eyes.
More than once already, Edward had regretted turning down the offer of a ride home, despite the fact that the little house he shared with Alphonse was nowhere near where Havoc lived.
Al crouches down on a dune looking down on the camp and draws an array in the sand, thinking of Gunnar with a dull pang of grief.
He wanted Hughes to know how many lines he had crossed in his lifetime.
He was a version of his brother if he'd grown up, but fainter, as though he'd been diluted in the bright light of the Gate.
He inhaled deeply, felt the darkness ripple over his skin, and the room seemed to flex and expand around him.
Apparently, years of stress had jaded Ed into thinking that if things were looking good now, then something terrible must be around the corner.
There were precious few memories remaining, now, dimmed with the passage of time and the years that he’d spent lacking a flesh body, but he kept them close to him all the same.
His desire for everything and everyone meant subversively that anything the alchemist blew to high hell was his: possession by association.
Brother deserves better than to always walk alone. And you deserve better than to quietly freeze in the dark, regretting things left untested.
Among them he walks, the man whose name only God remembers.
While Al couldn't say he approved, he was certain the Colonel wasn't stupid enough to try anything with Ed on a first date.
"So, we're one gunshot from a civil war. If someone from Hakuro's faction fired that shot, for whatever reason ..."
rated:K-L-V | M+F S+S | Mangaverse | post-series | SP: ch 1-108 | DF: ch 105 | Alphonse Elric | Edward Elric | Roy Mustang | mystery | 354th FG HQ | UST | 2010 Best New Voices, Neophyte | Havoc/Rebecca
Al sits in a doorway puzzling absently over the problem of what array to draw to bandage his arm before he bleeds to death.
Alfons prays for the day when he will return to a far-off Edward, and somehow miraculously find the words, the actions, to call him back from his imaginary world.
There was a terrible vulnerability to Roy when his cover slipped, and it made Ed uncomfortable.
Envy could rip him and all the worlds in two.
As it got later, Al could hear the night in the strange world deepen. Nights of terror, here, a country full of dead people.
Two things were constant in his life: His brother and blood.
Ed growled under his breath, color high in his cheeks, and pulled away.
It is snowing in earnest by the time the fire has begun to burn low, but neither boy wants to move to add more wood.
Thank you General Mustang. At least that creep was good for something. Winry still wasn't convinced he was good for Ed.
Sometimes Al thinks that somewhere back in the Armstrong family tree lurks an alchemical accident in a sequin factory.
It was just the men today, sitting around drinking coffee and playing cards and waiting for the paint to peel or the Fuhrer-in-Training to request they do something.
This new life was staggering - more so, the feel of Alphonse's shoulder, warm and flesh beneath his cheek as the train lurched out of the station.
He would have been crying for a long time, but the tears seem to have frozen in this damn cold too.
There was something extremely satisfying about Ed's body.
Edward glared up at him, wiping some of the stuff off his nose.
Alphonse settled for a barely audible sigh and hoped that his brother knew what he was doing.
It shouldn't have been a surprise that he would run across on Jean Havoc, sitting just underneath a "No Smoking" sign outside in the afternoon sun.
It wasn't a matter of getting his own way. It was simply a matter of getting.
He reminds Alfons of himself, in a way, back after he'd been first diagnosed with his illness; when he used to get up and stare at his face in the washbasin mirror every day and think, I am too young for this.
"Can I trust you," Ed's dewy eyes were huge and he looked somehow younger than he'd ever looked before.
There was really too much good happening today to allow room for imperfection, in his humble opinion.
There was a loud crack, like the sound of several chopsticks simultaneously being snapped in two, followed by the sound of something heavy falling, the object hitting the ground so hard the earth literally shook beneath Ed's feet.
And when the next words followed, barely loud enough to be heard, the General was surprised by the force behind them.
This really was turning out to be a day of surprises, thought Roy.
What was with it with these horny older men? Were they stupid or just massively delusional?
Red. It looked strange on him, the red did, strange and somehow distressing.
With a sense of rising dread, Alphonse raised his fist to pound for admittance, worry tinging his voice. "Brother? Are you alright in there?"
"Because," said Al flatly, "Roy is dark and handsome and--most importantly of all--charming. And you're short and blond and obnoxious."
He was coming to read Alfons pretty well now too, and from what Al did understand he could give as good as he got.
People all have different ideas of beauty, Al knows, and no two ever appear to be the same.
"Let me get this straight — you want to kiss me to support a theory!?"