“The General,” I answer. “He resigned his rank and got a transfer. They sent him up North. He’s alone there. I couldn’t talk him out of it.”
Winry muttered something Scieszka couldn't quite catch, brow furrowed as she leaned in to adjust something on the switchboard.
"I remember the flavor too; it was strawberry. It's still his favorite."
Al's slightly hollow voice positively echoed with embarrassment but he bravely soldiered on...
But the harsh light of early morning sharpens the hard angles of desperation on Al's face so instead Ed smiles, all teeth, and lies, "Of course."
It’s February in Central. There’s nothing better to do.
"Brother," Alphonse said, voice soft with horror, "I think that Winry's going to kill you."
Al waited to say something until Ed's hair brushed his shoulders.
"We ought to have a toast," Ed says, frowning into the depths of his bottle. "They always do when they're having a drink in someone's memory."
These days, he loves the movies.
As much as he loved his family, Alphonse Elric wouldn't have traded these moments alone for anything.
Winry had never gotten to appreciate the leather pants in her current position as the person who got to unzip them.
You'd have to be inhuman not to quake in fear when she stares you down.
It was a pleasant thing, warm and innocently tender.
Unfortunately, Winry's 'own devices' were becoming the death of Pinako's various household devices.
It was kind of ironic, and kind of inconvenient, that Rush Valley, the capital city of automail, was also hot as hell for half the year.
Winry could not imagine going so far for someone whose name you couldn't even say. She couldn't imagine going so far without allowing yourself to say his name.
"Oh, what would YOU know? said Winry. "You've never looked at a girl in your life."
Okay, his hair wasn't brushed, and it had been a while since he'd gotten a bath, but he didn't think it was anything to blush at.
She'd barely managed not to wail But it's Yoletide! and prove herself both spoiled brat and country bumpkin.
When dealing with the military, it always paid to look ready for inspection. Neatness counted; passion was suspect.
Winry was ten when her grandmother commented that she already needed training bras.
PR, we need PR, he kept telling himself, but at this point he didn't think he could string more than two sentences together.
She accepted the label and its implication without argument, lifting the revolver and sighting along its barrel.
Thank you General Mustang. At least that creep was good for something. Winry still wasn't convinced he was good for Ed.
It wasn't easy to imagine how he had been mistaken, because Al could swear that even from a distance, a hanged man looked very different from a tent post.
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.
Al should've never told his mother the box was a present for Winry.