Ed began to understand why some people talked to themselves.
In the winter months the ground was too hard to dig ditches, so instead they chipped rocks.
And while he didn't know the Niisan that had been to hell and back again with a grin on his face, he knew his Niisan, and he knew that prison was not at all where he belonged.
"Mai--" Ed didn't finish his sentence as he stared at the three-inch stack of letters in Foley's hand.
He thought, for a fleeting instant, that he ought to feel some kind of guilt—but he couldn’t muster any.
The advantage to being so distinctive-looking was that sometimes Edward didn't have to look for people; they found him first.
PR, we need PR, he kept telling himself, but at this point he didn't think he could string more than two sentences together.
He grabbed the nearest inmate by the front of his shirt and hauled him up. "Where is he!?" he roared.
Bravado. Make them regret they ever talked to you.
He looks like he wants to scold Ed for swearing, but is afraid to; at the thought, Ed forces his expression to soften, and gives his little brother a wan smile.
"I'm told by Mr. Mason that you resisted being fed, and he had you punished for that."
"Fuck, I have a gang," Ed breathed in horror, about to take a seat.
"Aww, is the rough and tough Elric crying for his dead brother?" sneered a voice in his ringing ears.