let it snow ❅
{ barstoolprincess }
At least this stupid dinner would make Winry happy.
Quite honestly, he didn't have time for this. She knew he didn't have time for this—and yet, she had asked him for a few hours of his time. Despite his guttural reaction, he reluctantly accepted in a slight attempt to understand what exactly she had to offer to him anymore. She was a skilled doctor; there was no one denying that. She had tended to the worst of his wounds and got him back on his feet in a matter of days. Traditionally, hospital trips left him out of commission for weeks but with the right amount of prodding and the write away of an extra check, she did the job twice as fast (at the mercy of Ed's own physical tolerance). Until he unmasked her “personal” life, Edward genuinely trusted her.
That mirror was broken now; he only saw the cracks in the glass.
He groaned under his red scarf, narrowing his eyes as he watched his huffy exhale appear against the cold winter air, with his back against Amelia's ever-so-familiar residence and his pocket-watch opened against his flesh palm. It had been fifteen minutes past when she was supposed to be there. Did she forget? He wouldn't be surprised.
“Damn it,” he cursed out, pushing himself forward and stomping out into the snow. He decided to check the nearest bar, assuming Amelia would be there or no where. Treading out toward the street, his golden hues watched the snow kick out from under him. He decided that if he didn't find her there, he would go back to the library and deem to his childhood friend that he tried, but there was nothing more he was willing to do. She proved herself to him once—at this point, conversation seemed redundant.
The lounge was loud and smelt of cigars and alcohol. Ed couldn't help but pull his red cloak tighter around him as he made his way to the bar, slipping into one of the seats. He purposely ignored the fact that his feet were forced to swing back and forth due to the height of the chair, and clicked his pocket-watch closed before anyone recognized the seal that adorned the front. State alchemists weren't really anyone's friend; especially at a place like this. Within moments, the familiar brunette slipped out from the back and into view, to which he grew visibly agitated at the sight of her smile—whether it was faked or not.
“You really got a knack for pissin' people off,” he spoke, folding his arms against his chest as he settled into the chair, sporting black gloves to cover any hint of automail. It was very clear that he was a minor among the adults around him, but he had a bad habit of thinking he was exempt from those simple—and arguably trivial—rules.
“I'm almost inclined t—” Before he could muster another jab, a sudden rumbling in his stomach cut him off. He found himself leaning forward, pulling his arms around his waist with a scowl replacing the sentence that fell flat.
