“Well, look at that,” She said with a dry, amused rasp.
“The Fullmetal Alchemist, conqueror of chaos and breaker of structural integrity, finally defeated by a woman.”
“Hmph.”
Her lips twitched around the stem of her pipe, a small smile of sorts, casting her gaze to the happy mutt,
“Well aren’t you awfully rambunctious this morning.”
Pinako rested her weight on the porch rail, pipe smoke curling lazily into the air. Resembool stretched out before her in all its quiet stubbornness, fields she’d seen a thousand times, yet never quite the same twice.
Den tore through the grass with her usual vigor, tail high, +
Her mouth curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile, but close. Pinako leaned back, shaking her head,
“Don’t get me wrong, Edward,” She said flatly, smoke curling upward in a lazy trail, “I’ve been waiting years for you to finally pull your head out of the clouds and +
"What if I'm being serious here?" It was a leading question. What started as humor became solemn, and Edward crouched to level their eye contact.
"I'm──I'm asking for your permission, Granny."
many titles or scars you carry, boy, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
She puffed her pipe again, this time more slowly, her voice dropping into something gentler under the gravel,
“Winry’s stronger than she looks, but she’s only got one heart. You take it, you treat it +
Pinako’s pipe nearly slipped from her lips as she blinked at him, eyes widening just a fraction before narrowing again. For a heartbeat, the workshop was silent,
“Well, that’s a bold way to announce you’ve lost your mind, boy” She said, voice rasping with amusement.
He shrugged his brown coat off and hung it on the rack. With amusement edging on his tone, "Don't go on killing me just yet. I still plan to marry your granddaughter."
Sounded a bit weird, but he'd been waiting to say this for a while now to see what reaction Granny would make.
Pinako raised a brow over her pipe, giving him a once over before answering,
“Still old, still working. Question is, how’ve you been, boy?”
A small smirk formed, gesturing her pipe toward him,
“Haven’t managed to get yourself killed, or close to it I see.. Must be slipping.”
Pinako squinted over her pipe as the faint crunch of boots reaches her porch. The evening air carries the scent of oil and metal from the workshop, a constant companion to the Rockbell home,
“So… you finally dragged yourself back here, did you?” She muttered to [Reader].