Untitled (Winry)

Once she asked them, wistfully, if she was pretty. Ed gaped at her and Al looked confused, and then they huddled in a corner and hissed at each other.

"What's with HER?"

"I heard that girls do that sometimes?" offered Al.

"What does she mean, 'is she pretty'?"


That was when she tried to dismember them with a wrench.

"And then," snarled Winry, "She had the nerve to say that I'd never get a boyfriend because who wanted a girlfriend who smelt of oil."

Ed was enduring his checkup and Winry's ranting with equal patience, although she'd accidentally over-tightened a bolt twice in her rage. "Wait, Maria?" He thought for a second. "Looks kind of like this?" An expressive gesture with his left hand outlining an hourglass.

Winry glowered. "Yes."

"Huh," said Ed. "She JIGGLES."

"What's THAT supposed to mean?" demanded Winry, clutching her wrench.

"It means that she's going to be fat in ten years," said Ed, giving her a look that managed to suggest that as much as he hated to mention it, Winry was an idiot.

Winry brightened slightly. And then she scowled again. "She's got everything in pants staring at her."

"Huh," said Ed, again.

"Oh, what would YOU know?" said Winry. "You've never looked at a girl in your life."

"I've looked at YOU," said Ed, calmly. "And so has Al."

Winry stared at him.

"Oh, hell," said Ed, irritated. "I give up. Al, you tell her."

"I think," said Al, "That you are the prettiest girl in the world."