PR, we need PR, he kept telling himself, but at this point he didn't think he could string more than two sentences together.
"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.
"Mai--" Ed didn't finish his sentence as he stared at the three-inch stack of letters in Foley's hand.
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.
Ed began to understand why some people talked to themselves.
Bravado. Make them regret they ever talked to you.
He thought, for a fleeting instant, that he ought to feel some kind of guilt—but he couldn’t muster any.
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.
The advantage to being so distinctive-looking was that sometimes Edward didn't have to look for people; they found him first.
He grabbed the nearest inmate by the front of his shirt and hauled him up. "Where is he!?" he roared.
In the winter months the ground was too hard to dig ditches, so instead they chipped rocks.
"I'm told by Mr. Mason that you resisted being fed, and he had you punished for that."