Roy wants to rub the back of his neck, but these cuffs won’t allow for much more than laying his hands flat against his thighs, and while they’re there, he may as well try to warm up by rubbing them. Glancing outside through the windows at the strange, clean architecture of the buildings they pass reinforces the alienness of the place. It hits him almost as hard as waking to strange faces in some extraordinary facility and being told he had to fuck for a living.
Mustang’s stepmother is a good woman, and although he’d been raised in a bordello, he’d never felt more like a whore than he does right now. Until he collects allies and learns enough about this place, he needs to keep his temper in check. Eventually, he promises himself, he’ll return to Amestris to dig through the bowels of the military’s corruption and take his inevitable place as Fuhrer there.
Keeping his eyes locked on the passing scenery, his curiosity regarding wherever they are gnaws at his insides, or perhaps it’s just hunger. Probably a little of both. “I guess I need to know what the network is and how to use it.”
He’s finally, gratefully warming up, and rubs his thighs with a little less ferocity. “Your accent doesn’t Amestrian. Are you from Aerugo or Creta or farther away?”
no subject
Roy wants to rub the back of his neck, but these cuffs won’t allow for much more than laying his hands flat against his thighs, and while they’re there, he may as well try to warm up by rubbing them. Glancing outside through the windows at the strange, clean architecture of the buildings they pass reinforces the alienness of the place. It hits him almost as hard as waking to strange faces in some extraordinary facility and being told he had to fuck for a living.
Mustang’s stepmother is a good woman, and although he’d been raised in a bordello, he’d never felt more like a whore than he does right now. Until he collects allies and learns enough about this place, he needs to keep his temper in check. Eventually, he promises himself, he’ll return to Amestris to dig through the bowels of the military’s corruption and take his inevitable place as Fuhrer there.
Keeping his eyes locked on the passing scenery, his curiosity regarding wherever they are gnaws at his insides, or perhaps it’s just hunger. Probably a little of both. “I guess I need to know what the network is and how to use it.”
He’s finally, gratefully warming up, and rubs his thighs with a little less ferocity. “Your accent doesn’t Amestrian. Are you from Aerugo or Creta or farther away?”