Bar tenders who dealt with this shit at least got tips. Or at least paid for the drinks. Alphonse couldn't drink. This was a thankless misery.
"This Promised Day thing is gonna be a fight, right? It ain't that yer inconvenient; it's that that body's convenient. For fighting, for himself, for yourself, for everyone who gives a shit about you. Which is a lot of..." He paused, drummed his fingers on the bar top, then reworded. "Which is at least three people. And one who fakes it, but fuck him.
But about those other three... how the hell's it gonna make 'em feel if you get yer body back and then go and die in a few... weeks? Months? Whenever the hell this Promised Day is. If you die in that fight, when yer in that immortal perfect little battle tank of a body, they're gonna think they really lost you just 'cause they had to be selfish and have you in a normal body right away. In that body, you can't die in a fight.
But you want yer normal body back now, right? It's inconvenient like that, at least you think so. It's what you guys've been after for a while." He did remember a post made almost a year ago, before he had even known the two or what kind of useful secrets they had; the stupid runt had been saying something stupid back then, about how he couldn't take the time to have friends, because he had to devote himself to something or another with his little brother. It was something so stupid Greed didn't even know him and thought he needed a punch about as bad as Alphonse had just moments ago.
Damn it, why did all the stupid geniuses gravitate to him...?
"So, shit, he's probably feeling like shit for holding out and making you wait 'cause it's practical. He's not a practical kinda guy at all. Another one of those damned alchemy-genius, everything else-stupid fuckers. S'like when you're training a dog and you gotta punish 'em. Some people feel bad about smackin' the thing on the nose or whatever, when it gets all sulky and shoves its tail between its legs."
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Bar tenders who dealt with this shit at least got tips. Or at least paid for the drinks. Alphonse couldn't drink. This was a thankless misery.
"This Promised Day thing is gonna be a fight, right? It ain't that yer inconvenient; it's that that body's convenient. For fighting, for himself, for yourself, for everyone who gives a shit about you. Which is a lot of..." He paused, drummed his fingers on the bar top, then reworded. "Which is at least three people. And one who fakes it, but fuck him.
But about those other three... how the hell's it gonna make 'em feel if you get yer body back and then go and die in a few... weeks? Months? Whenever the hell this Promised Day is. If you die in that fight, when yer in that immortal perfect little battle tank of a body, they're gonna think they really lost you just 'cause they had to be selfish and have you in a normal body right away. In that body, you can't die in a fight.
But you want yer normal body back now, right? It's inconvenient like that, at least you think so. It's what you guys've been after for a while." He did remember a post made almost a year ago, before he had even known the two or what kind of useful secrets they had; the stupid runt had been saying something stupid back then, about how he couldn't take the time to have friends, because he had to devote himself to something or another with his little brother. It was something so stupid Greed didn't even know him and thought he needed a punch about as bad as Alphonse had just moments ago.
Damn it, why did all the stupid geniuses gravitate to him...?
"So, shit, he's probably feeling like shit for holding out and making you wait 'cause it's practical. He's not a practical kinda guy at all. Another one of those damned alchemy-genius, everything else-stupid fuckers. S'like when you're training a dog and you gotta punish 'em. Some people feel bad about smackin' the thing on the nose or whatever, when it gets all sulky and shoves its tail between its legs."