Tomorrow: having to talk to fucking Hohenheim. The day after tomorrow: the apocalypse. No pressure, eh?
It was a big world out there, full of more possibilities than either of them could dream of.
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.
Al waited to say something until Ed's hair brushed his shoulders.
An alchemical reaction of the most ancient kind: sitting down to eat as though filling the stomach could replace the gap in one's heart.
It was so terribly painful, really, the way he would smile when he was about to cry.
When the lines didn't matter, when the lungs weren't working in labor of sweet industry worlds, then it was so easy to see where they might be all born of the same blood.
Brother likes to pretend that he doesn't care what goes on in the military unless it directly affects him. Or, you know, directly offends him. One or the other.
Fullmetal smiled a long, slow smile, the sort that promised evil things were in the near future, and put his boots up on Roy's desk.
He was only human though, and he had given into his rage at having to deal with Edward's dysfunction--and now Edward was gone, and it looked more and more like he might not be coming back.
"Oh, what would YOU know? said Winry. "You've never looked at a girl in your life."
Neither brother seems willing to speak, but their thoughts dip down into similar wells, dredging up the questions that most haunt them.
But he glanced behind himself for Winly, and it was a terrible, bittersweet thing.
Ed opened his mouth, and then closed it. "Visibility is that important to you, huh?" he said.
For in equivalent trade, everything has value and therefore everything can be taken away.
It took you long enough to make your call. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten how to work a phone.
In a blur of red and flying braid, Ed is on his knees before her.
He didn't play anymore, not with reports to file, books to read, notes to scratch out.
"You. Boy by the window who's been doodling all the way through. What would be the result of this equation?"
"Now, Earth-type world, yes? Spoken language identified as late pre-Galactic English."
rated:M-L | GEN | Alt Universe | TWT | First Place (popular); Second Place (juried) | Green Lion Winner | Alfons Heiderich | Edward Elric | crack | drama | fusion | introspective | 2009 Brave New Worlds, Original
Ed remembered that Al's first word was 'Mama', and his second one was 'Niichan'.
Ed meets his eyes, holds them, and then -- slowly, painfully, but deliberately, traces his free hand in a line across his throat.
Hadn't he survived a month on a deserted island when he was ten, equipped only with a little knife and one pair of shorts? He was tough. He was rugged. He could fall asleep anywhere. He could totally do this.
Ed's arms swept out, taking in the street and the buildings, the grass and the trees and the sky -- "the world and our own minds to understand it! That's all!" Isn't that enough?
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.
One day Edward was out kicking the crap out of those damn Homunculus with Al...
"And search for free porn." Havoc pointed out.
He’s killing his brother slowly, but he has already promised to do it quickly; what does it matter?
And if he did forget mom's face, what would be next? Her voice? Her smile? The color of her eyes?
"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."
The staff look at each other, look at their automail bottle-opener, and prepare to duck.
And there was a certain look they shared, the one they both used when they thought Ed was being unreasonably stubborn.
Winry had never gotten to appreciate the leather pants in her current position as the person who got to unzip them.
If Al hadn't known how often the older boy feigned unconsciousness in order to stave off these visits, he might have been fooled.
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.
He remembered finding himself asking why the Fullmetal Alchemist would be the one to patch his own clothes.
It is what people say to him because they cannot think of any other way to relate to him, this boy who has the heavy title of 'Full Metal Alchemist'.
The advantage to being so distinctive-looking was that sometimes Edward didn't have to look for people; they found him first.
This really was turning out to be a day of surprises, thought Roy.
"You don't think doing grown up things makes you look older?" Ed said after a while.
"You know it's a good thing I heal almost immediately, because otherwise I'd be so sore, I'd never get anywhere in the story."
"I want to bring father back for her," Al had whispered the week before Christmas fell.
You'd have to be inhuman not to quake in fear when she stares you down.
Car broke down again, couple kilometers out of the city, so they had to walk for a while, until Alfons couldn't speak for the coughing.
It was getting kind of depressing, though, by the time the color red alone would make him wonder about the child; the flash of a cardinal, a sprig of bright berries, the gaudiness of nighttime tavern lights, and the scarlet lipstick of bar women.
The color red was a distraction. The color red was him. Him--Mustang's own constant distraction, the waving red banner amidst the dull color that painted his everyday life.
The only problem was that Ed didn't know what the heck "getting some" was or what he was being congratulated for.
He even dragged out his Best Manners for the occasion, the ones his mother had taught him so long ago.
ROY: [calmly] If drinking means acting like an idiot the way you are, I'm going to pass.
Al's slightly hollow voice positively echoed with embarrassment but he bravely soldiered on...