"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
"Well... Brother does that, every so often. He really should think before he tries to attack people."
While the Chief practices his best vengeful face and looks up the recipe for a fake corpse in some freaky alchemy cookbook, Breda and the rest of Team Mustang get to deal with the really annoying bits of this operation.
"You finally took my advice and settled down! Not quite what I had in mind, of course, but I'm so happy for you!"
And after all, no amount of rain can wash the blood away.
You don't want to see spicy photos of my gorgeous girlfriend?
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.
"You'll be up against the wall before you know it, Mustang, right where you belong, eating the bullets of a firing squad for breakfast."
"...That is an order, Fullmetal, and I will have you court-martialed if you refuse."
They are his signposts and self-inscriptions, cordoning off the book as his own, as something he possesses.
"You paid for him to have sex?" Mustang says incredulously, putting his pen down on the table top and shoving the form away. "You bought him a prostitute?"
Yes, something was amiss, and Roy Mustang was going to find out what.
He just carries himself with a certain atmosphere, one that feels like splinters of buildings falling off walls and landing broken or the smell of roasted flesh.
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.
The staff look at each other, look at their automail bottle-opener, and prepare to duck.
Of all the castle's "guests," Roy was the only one not allowed to leave. Ever.
This wasn't really what he'd been expecting from surreptitious wartime sex. He'd thought it would be some kind of quickie round the back of the latrines.
She moves the king again, to its last optional safe square and murmurs, "I'll admit this is not how I envisioned my first night on the battlefield."
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.
Roy was enchanted by the sound of her voice, pure like dewdrops in the morning.
"Honestly, Fullmetal, I'm beginning to think that you're more trouble than you're worth."
Ed opened his mouth, and then closed it. "Visibility is that important to you, huh?" he said.
"You're late," Ed tells him flatly. "You should have been here one minute and forty four seconds ago."
If Ed had his way, his allowance (and all of Roy's salary) would be spent entirely on the most expensive brand of dog food to have ever existed.
One day Edward was out kicking the crap out of those damn Homunculus with Al...
Around when the hour of nine rolls up to the door, fat as a bellied barfly, Roy has already taken his jacket off the hook and has gone outside to walk.
Even though she wasnít an alchemist, alchemy tended to stake a claim on all who were associated with it.
"Don't go to sleep," he murmurs into Ed's hair, and thinks of their mother, long ago, telling a story about spinning straw into gold.
"Then I'm gonna rule the world, too," Maes replied, because he and Roy always did everything together.
On Thursdays, Riza Hawkeye usually skipped the morning work and went to the office at noon.
Roy could've sworn First Lieutenants existed only to invent torture methods for Colonels, but he wasn't about to say that one out loud.
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 decided, then, quite firmly, that he wasn't ever going to drink coffee again, with anybody. It was too risky.
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.
Smug, he'd stayed just long enough to give his report and then had marched straight off to Resembool with Al lagging behind.
And there was a certain look they shared, the one they both used when they thought Ed was being unreasonably stubborn.
ROY: [calmly] If drinking means acting like an idiot the way you are, I'm going to pass.
It hurt, somehow, to know that there was no one now who could see past the mask if he didn't want them to.
Only some things, he knew, could be repaired. Not every broken sword could be re-forged.
Even so, you still are a manipulative bastard.
There were plenty of reasons she might have had two strapping policemen in her apartment first thing in the morning, but none of them involved a tiny, grouchy kid sitting at her kitchen table and scratching the dirt out of the woodgrain with his thum
...the two men drank Roy's good whiskey, clinked glasses and Maes exclaimed that It was about damn time.
They could profane the inner sanctum; it would be a perfect cat burglary. Her father would never know a thing.
He remembered finding himself asking why the Fullmetal Alchemist would be the one to patch his own clothes.
It does not occur to him until later — years later — that this might be considered a case of sexual abuse.
Ed did not want to die without seeing Alphonse again.
Today I saw the god of fire, Roy writes in his notebook, knowing he will never be believed.
Years later when they shipped him off on a belated honeymoon, Roy went without audible protest.