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mikkenekoI am late for class, I am dumb. >_<;
He delivers the news to Fullmetal himself. He figures it's the least he can do; the very least he owes the boy is that this news should come from someone he knows, someone who cares about him at least a little bit.
A dull feeling nags at his gut the whole way, as he presents himself at the desk; even he, a Colonel and an Alchemist, is not exempt from being searched when entering the maximum security wing. It's not that he denies the feeling; there is no point in that, really, because they won't change the reality of the situation. It is his fault, after all, that the boy came to Central; it is his fault that he was so closely exposed to risk and detection. But the boy knew the risks (did he really understand? could he really understand?) and he chose his path, the only path he could choose to try and save his brother.
Still, the feeling follows him down the corridor, around the corner, until he stops in front of the heavy metal door. He does not take a deep breath, or swallow, because that would be too obvious a sign of his conflict, but he must take a moment to compose himself, all the same, before he can look through the small window.
Fullmetal sits there on the bench, head hanging, so that the ragged blond bangs obscure his eyes. His hands, encased in a pair of shackles they made specially for him, rest lax on his knees, and his back is slumped. Fullmetal always has such terrible posture; typical of the young, Roy thinks, and tries not to let that worsen the ache inside him. Still, the smallness, the still waiting of that figure gives him inspiration, and he lets it pick his words for him.
"So, the good news first," he says, trying for (and almost succeeding) a casual tone. Fullmetal stirs, and looks up at him, and his eyes are only tired. "They've decided you are an adult, after all."
He delivers the news to Fullmetal himself. He figures it's the least he can do; the very least he owes the boy is that this news should come from someone he knows, someone who cares about him at least a little bit.
A dull feeling nags at his gut the whole way, as he presents himself at the desk; even he, a Colonel and an Alchemist, is not exempt from being searched when entering the maximum security wing. It's not that he denies the feeling; there is no point in that, really, because they won't change the reality of the situation. It is his fault, after all, that the boy came to Central; it is his fault that he was so closely exposed to risk and detection. But the boy knew the risks (did he really understand? could he really understand?) and he chose his path, the only path he could choose to try and save his brother.
Still, the feeling follows him down the corridor, around the corner, until he stops in front of the heavy metal door. He does not take a deep breath, or swallow, because that would be too obvious a sign of his conflict, but he must take a moment to compose himself, all the same, before he can look through the small window.
Fullmetal sits there on the bench, head hanging, so that the ragged blond bangs obscure his eyes. His hands, encased in a pair of shackles they made specially for him, rest lax on his knees, and his back is slumped. Fullmetal always has such terrible posture; typical of the young, Roy thinks, and tries not to let that worsen the ache inside him. Still, the smallness, the still waiting of that figure gives him inspiration, and he lets it pick his words for him.
"So, the good news first," he says, trying for (and almost succeeding) a casual tone. Fullmetal stirs, and looks up at him, and his eyes are only tired. "They've decided you are an adult, after all."
