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Ed isn"t sure why any of this is happening. He"s spent nearly ten hours locked up in some room, trussed up and sore. There"s no explanation. He"s here, alone and confused.
Finally, when people do come in, he"s bewildered by their lack of acknowledgement. He yells and demands answers, but only receives annoyed glances from them. That , Ed thinks, is one of the worst things yet. Clearly they hold no respect for him, and are so caught up in their bullshit conversations that they can"t even bother to do any sort of villainous speech. No, they just keep to their whispered chat, and Ed is left to seeth to himself.
That, at least, somewhat distracts him from the pressure in his gut. Shock of all shocks; the body has functions, and Edward’s have been interrupted by all this shit.
Another hour or so passes, the unfamiliar men coming in and out of the room, pretending Ed doesn"t exist as they do. Finally, the three all congregate once more, and one individual approaches him. It"s the first time they"ve really acknowledged his presence, aside from the occasional annoyed glance.
Ed, of course, takes this as an opportunity to call him every nasty name he can think of. The more riled up a person is, the less likely they are to truly think over their actions. Ed"s personally very familiar with that, unfortunately.
He expects a kick to the gut, but instead a boot presses into his stomach, right below his navel. Ed jolts in place, eyes wide as a strangled noise escapes him. It"s painful, and certainly meant to be, pressing him hard against the brick wall behind him, pinning him in place, but he doubts it"s meant to have this specific… effect on him.
" Hey !" He gasps, muscles tensing, body begging to flee the pressure. He can"t grant himself that wish, sadly, firmly bound in place. He"s left to grit his teeth and hold it in as best he can. "Don"t fucking do that!"
The man snickers as he raises a brow, looking at him as though he were an ant, some lowly bug not even worth consideration.
"Don"t like it when I do that?" The man mocks, putting more weight behind his foot, pushing directly upon Ed"s bladder. He probably looks pathetic, face red from humiliation and squirming, sweat building on his skin as he fights against the desire to pee.
"Stop!" His voice comes out less commanding and more desperate, eyes burning with unshed tears. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!"
"Jesus," the man says, looking over his shoulder at his companions. Ed can practically hear the grin on his face. "He"s going ta piss himself right here. Are all state alchemists this degenerate?"
The words are almost as bad as the pain in his bladder, inflated and pleading for release. How fucking dare he– they"d locked him up down here, tied up for hours! There"s nowhere for him to relieve himself, no way for him to do so! It"s… it"s completely natural , and in no way any fault of his own!
"Amestrian taxpayer dollars, ladies and gentlemen." Another replies dryly, utterly unimpressed with the display before him. Ed isn’t sure if that disgust is directed solely upon him.
"Shut up!" Ed squeaks out, biting the insides of his cheeks as he clenches his eyes shut. "This is all your fault! You guys–!"
Before Ed can continue his accusation, the man pushes even harder and Ed cannot prevent the inevitable any longer. His bladder releases and he lets loose a strained sob as warm liquid leaks down his pant legs, painting skin and metal. Relief brought on by his body finally being able to do one of its natural functions is far outweighed by humiliation, fear and self-disgust. Ed’s never quite felt so fucking vulnerable, forced to do something so intimate in front of other people– strangers no less.
A loud bark of laughter has Ed flinching, bladder finally emptied. The leather of his pants keeps the foul liquid from soaking through and onto the floor, which really isn’t a particularly good thing. It just means it’s all collected in the folds of his pant legs, left to cool.
“He"s actually gone and pissed himself!” The exclamation is loud and boisterous, a juvenile statement to rub salt in the wound, to make Ed feel even more pathetic than he already is.
“No shit, jackass. You’ve just made more work for us–” one of his other kidnappers snaps, sounding far less amused. “I’m not bringing him into a vehicle like that, you made the mess, you get to clean it up!”
Guffawing loudly, the man steps off of Ed’s stomach, rearing back to hiss, “What am I suppose ta do about all this?!”
“Get him new clothes and hose him off! Lord, you cause way more issues than you’re worth sometimes! Now get to it, we only have so much time."
Time.
It"s all about meeting a schedule. For what, Ed isn"t sure– they"d been speaking too quietly to discern– and Ed isn"t sure if that should make him even more offended. He"s just an assignment or something, and this man takes no moral issue with what the other had just done. He"s only bothered because they"re under time constraints , and he doesn"t want piss in his car.
Ed wants to snarl. But what would he even say? Deny that bringing him into a car as he is wouldn"t make a mess? Point out how screwed up what just happened was? Maybe reiterate his previous questions about what the actual fuck is even happening right now?
But he keeps quiet. He seethes to himself quietly, because chances are for these men to wash him up and redress him in new clothes, they"ll need to unbind him. And that"s the perfect opportunity for escape, and he won"t need to know what in the world is happening.
Teeth gritted, Ed resolves to beat this mortifying memory out of all three of their heads.