No, no, that's a lie. He knows exactly why he's here.
As Roy shifts through the mass of new people, sidestepping happy reunions and first meetings, ears filled with chatter, his eyes are darting to and fro in a frenetic manner. His hair looks to not have been combed for a week, and shadows hang below his eyes with all the weight of his days in Ishval. Still, he is wearing his greatcoat, and his back is straighter than the average war-ravaged person... as if the gloves aren't enough to label him top brass.
He pauses in his steps, eyes narrowing at an oddly familiar prosthesis in the crowd. The Flame Alchemist watches, rapt, as the dark-haired woman tears the plantsuit from her arm, revealing what can only be called automail.
Several seconds of quick movement find him latching onto the woman's shoulder, eyes wider than they ought to be.
"Are you from Amestris?" A pause, and he inhales sharply, dropping his hand from her shoulder, schooling his expression into blankness in an attempt to control his rising hysteria. This ship is driving him mad. "I'm sorry. Your arm is automail, isn't it?"
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No, no, that's a lie. He knows exactly why he's here.
As Roy shifts through the mass of new people, sidestepping happy reunions and first meetings, ears filled with chatter, his eyes are darting to and fro in a frenetic manner. His hair looks to not have been combed for a week, and shadows hang below his eyes with all the weight of his days in Ishval. Still, he is wearing his greatcoat, and his back is straighter than the average war-ravaged person... as if the gloves aren't enough to label him top brass.
He pauses in his steps, eyes narrowing at an oddly familiar prosthesis in the crowd. The Flame Alchemist watches, rapt, as the dark-haired woman tears the plantsuit from her arm, revealing what can only be called automail.
Several seconds of quick movement find him latching onto the woman's shoulder, eyes wider than they ought to be.
"Are you from Amestris?" A pause, and he inhales sharply, dropping his hand from her shoulder, schooling his expression into blankness in an attempt to control his rising hysteria. This ship is driving him mad. "I'm sorry. Your arm is automail, isn't it?"