I haven't written anything for FMA yet...I feel like I should! So, a series of drabbles centered around Greed and anyone associated with him (including multiple points of views)

100 single word prompts, drabble challenges.

Disclaimer: FMA doesn't belong to me, it belongs to the goddess, Hiromu Arakawa.

.: Appetite for 100 :.

ten hungers

1. Seeking Solace

He couldn't see the girl's face.

It wasn't because she had donned her mysterious mask, and it wasn't because his vision was clouded. But as he stared up the length of her automail limb, creaking with the weight of two men at arm's length, the only feeling that registered was the warm slip of Lan Fan's blood and tears trailing down his cheek.

A bullet whisked past Greed's shoulder, embedding itself in King Bradley's and loosening the man's grip. As soon as the other homunculus fell, his entire body began to quiver, wracked with a gut-wrenching disquiet. He could feel Ling's bottled emotions unraveling, the top unscrewing with each gasp as Lan Fan wrenched him back over the edge and onto firm ground.

Contain yourself, Greed cursed inwardly, hands balling into fists. With a start, he realized that they hadn't been his thoughts; Ling was unfolding his mental control, corner by corner. They all wanted what they couldn't have, didn't they? Isn't that what Greed always said? The homunculus pushed himself upright and scraped at the stone floor, gritting his teeth. Yet here he was, wishing he could for once get rid of something.

"Y-young lord," sputtered Lan Fan hoarsely.

"It's Greed," he managed to rasp. His tone was gentle, however, and it seemed to surprise the Xingese girl. She shook her head, so imperceptibly he would not have caught it if she hadn't leaned closer.

Greed.

He could no longer tell whose heart belonged to who.

Greed, I—

"Shut your trap," he hissed. Lan Fan touched his shoulder gently. "I know."

Ling's will seeped through his own, crawling little wisps of consciousness that Greed had a hard time discerning from himself. Lan Fan's hand seared a hole in his arm.

He let go.

2. Break Away

At some point, he'd experienced the urge to whip around on old Fu and say,

"You're always breathing down my neck, Gramps!" as if the quiet, Xingese man had been following him around for a lifetime.

Greed didn't allow himself to be startled by this. Only slightly disgruntled, he folded his arms and held his tongue, dismissing the exchanged glances between Fu and his granddaughter. The silence was oppressive; the snap of branches under their careful tread filled the night.

Ling whistled softly to himself, diligently ignoring the outside world.

"Who's that?" asked the prince, dipping his finger in a pool of memory. It wrapped around his hand loosely, like fog. "A friend?"

The homunculus tersely shoved Ling's voice aside, shifting his gaze to his tattooed hand. Three pairs of feet padded gently down the dirt path, weaving steadily towards the town. Dimly, they spotted Edward Elric staring at the relit slums, occasionally peering back into the forest as if Pride might leap out at them again.

But the large earth trap said otherwise. The sun was peeking over the horizon; the day was starting, and Greed had taken the reins again.

"So her name is Martel?"

Greed grimaced and stopped in his tracks, causing Lan Fan and Fu to jolt to a halt. His two bodyguards were silent, but their confusion hung in the air.

"Her name was Martel."

3. Chandelier

She marveled at the glittering lights, reflecting soft and sharp beams every which way. The crystals scattered luminosity with a refracted grace; she'd always imagined marrying a rich man and living luxuriously with one even grander than this in her hall.

But her fantasies had been shattered long ago, so she stared at the expensive lights with a little bit of longing and a little bit of dismissiveness. Those were dreams of a different era – a little girl's imagination making the best of the worst. Martel sometimes wished she still had the ability to find the silver lining in clouds, but nowadays she acquiesced to whatever came her way.

And it wasn't always bad. She had her gaggle of companions and they were the best friends she could ask for. Roa was truly a gentle giant, even if his face seemed fierce and he was three times her size. Ulchi was witty and had the best sense of humor. He had his slow, crocodilian saunter and his easy grin. Bido was nervous but endearing; an amicable heart. Martel was particularly good friends with Dolcetto, who bantered with her with the greatest parries of sarcasm and fondness.

Of course, there was Greed. Martel never found his being a homunculus too disturbing – after all, she herself was half-snake. They were the same band of misfits, brought together because of the man. Greed, with his sarcastically slow clap, his not-so-impressed-but-not-too-shabby expression, his warm fur collar vest, and his graceful lounging.

Greed, who put her hand on his shoulder and wrapped his arm around her briefly – but not too long – when he noticed her staring at the chandelier wistfully. He never asked her for an explanation.

Dolcetto and Roa saw, but they didn't mention it either. In fact, the former bounced over to her later with a Frisbee comically clenched between his teeth, persuading her to smile. Roa offered to cook for the night (to which everyone gleefully agreed because Roa was an exquisite chef), Ulchi manned the bar and shut the club for their own private use, and Bido strummed the little banjo he'd picked up in the trash and fixed up a few years back.

So Martel, trapped and alone, remembered that chandelier as clear as day, as brightly as its crystals shone in that abandoned mansion. She saw it spinning slightly, never quite ceasing its rotation, slowly turning and showing to her little glimpses of action. Little slits in the metal through which crimson flashed and the voices of Roa and Dolcetto echoed. She watched a sword mercilessly plunge into one, then the other, and then again and again and again.

She watched Greed struggle to his feet, invincible armor stripped only to his forearms, his lungs gasping and choking for breath. His sunglasses were shattered at his feet, his face was bloodied and his abdomen shred open.

Her world jolted and the chandelier crashed, plunging her into darkness.

When her vision returned, it was but a trick of the light, the beam reflecting off the edge of a sword that descended with terrifying speed.

She is swinging on the chandelier, high up and alone, and the last thing she sees before the darkness tumbles down is a hand by the light switch.

4. Darkness

His fingers itched to kill but his body was suspended in molasses, coagulated around his joints as if to bind him. His limbs refused to obey him; his skin didn't harden with carbon when he tried. With something akin to disgust blended with apprehension, he locked grips with Ling.

But Ling was frozen as well, a net of terror and nausea wracking their shared body.

"Hey now," Greed began, scowling inwardly, "I'm—"

Ling wrenched free and pushed the homunculus down his throat.

"Ed!" he hollered hoarsely. "Get away from him!"

There was a flash of blonde hair and gold eyes and the arrogant, ravenous shadow that was Pride.

5. Wistful

The throne room was spacious, empty, and somewhat dreary. One of the elders had, once again, finished lecturing him, leaving him dreadfully alone in his large, intricately carved chair.

Please consider the people, the elders said. Ling mocked them inwardly. Consider the people? How, by dividing them once more? The question was no more than a matter of principle, an ancient custom. But with such a pigheaded, young emperor at the head of Xing, the elders found it hard to tread carefully and maintain control simultaneously.

After all, they could not help it if the young lord wished not to have a harem of concubines. They couldn't exactly defy the emperor, after all.

But Ling couldn't overturn centuries of tradition, emperor or not.

Nonetheless, being alone in the throne room after having his ear talked off was lonesome, boring, and allowed him to think too much. Perhaps a trip to Amestris was in order. The alone time gave him too much room to miss his foreign companions.

"Lan Fan," he barked, summoning more energy than was currently present in him. Some equivalent exchange, he thought.

"Yes, my Lord?" came her soft voice. He beckoned her closer; her expression softened. "What is it, Ling?"

Suddenly, the emperor threw her the nastiest scowl he could muster.

"It's Greed," he spat, fingers curling around the arms of his throne. "Get it right."

She was frozen to the spot, mouth agape, looking torn between shock and confusion and terror.

Ling let a few more seconds pass before bursting into laughter, pulling her by her good arm and apologizing multiple times. He was laughing so hard that tears were spilling from his eyes.

"Please don't do that," sighed Lan Fan, shaking her head. A smile graced her lips, far from reprimanding. She gently pulled away, briefly laying a hand on his shoulder before exiting the chambers.

Ling sighed, leaning his chin on his right fist, cheeky grin falling abruptly from his features.

He pondered the back of his other hand, holding it out in front of him.

"It gets quiet, you know," he said. "Really quiet."

6. Dreams

Dolcetto was curled on half the couch, his knees tucked to his chest, Martel slung loosely at his feet on the floor and Roa taking up the rest of the seat. In his typical crocodilian manner, Ulchi sauntered over to the simple board game table with custom-to-order drinks from the bar, relinquishing his daily bouncer duties to enjoy the night off. Bido, however, was nowhere to be seen.

As if reading his mind, Martel voiced the thought.

"Anyone seen Bido? It's game night and he loves game night…" she trailed off, throwing a casual glance up at Greed, who shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I'll take a look in the back," the homunculus said, waving. "You guys go ahead and start playing."

"Bring another game back, will ya, Boss?" called Dolcetto eagerly.

"Sure, sure."

Greed ambled past the bar and into the back supply room, knowing that Bido like to neaten up the place at the end of the day. As soon as he opened the door, he found nothing but distinct darkness.

"Bido, you alive?" he snorted, flipping the light switch on.

Just as the room illuminated, a clammy hand shot out and grasped at his trousers, slick and bloody. Greed froze. The fingers were treacherously slippery, yet they crawled up to his knee, to his shirt, to his face. He was nose to nose with Bido, poor, endearingly bald Bido, with his docile, quirky smile and his quick, padding footsteps.

"Bi—"

"You remember me, don'tcha? Mr. Greed," pled the chimera. "You remember, it's me, Bido!"

"I—"

The little upturned smile beneath Bido's hooked nose dropped abruptly. He glanced at his bloodied hands, uncomprehending. The crimson was dripping down his arms, dripping down his chin; Greed was finding himself more and more repulsed by the dark red that seeped into the fabric of his shirt.

"Bido, what are you—"

"Why, Mr. Greed? Why don't you remember me? It's me, Bido." The chimera was infinitely forlorn, blood sputtering from his nose and lips, and suddenly Greed's arm was through the man's chest even though he never remembered putting it there. Merciless. Cold.

Greed hurriedly retracted his arm, now sticky with his friend's insides. He attempted to call out to the others, to Dolcetto or Martel or Roa or Ulchi, and finally, when he couldn't find his voice, he whirled around to see an unfamiliar face.

His own.

"Greed," they screamed, voices disturbingly distorted, agony wrought in the faces he wished he couldn't see anymore. "Greed!"

But they were all dead, dead, dead, and here he was, a limp Bido in his arms without a drop of life left in him.

I didn't want this.

"Greed," they chant, hauntingly. "Greed, Greed, Greed."

He never wanted to die, but he didn't want to live again, either.

"Greed."

Greed jolted back to consciousness with a ferocious tug that alerted him to a ripple in the balance. His arms and legs moved without his permission; a voice that wasn't his muttered foreign curses under his breath.

"You said you'd move by daylight again. It's noon."

No answer.

"Hey, you all right?" Ling Yao didn't stir. In fact, he sat cross-legged in the grass and waited for the homunculus to respond. "I guess," he continued, "I'll be taking my body back, then."

Greed's arm shot out and grabbed Ling's.

"No way in hell, kid," he snarled, quickly throwing the Xingese boy to the back of his consciousness and reasserting his command of the body. Ling didn't resist much. He shrugged and let the homunculus have his way, throwing a snarky comment his way before settling back for the ride.

"You were having a nightmare, I think."

Greed got to his feet.

"I don't get nightmares."

"I saw parts of it."

"That's your imagination, kid."

Ling hummed quietly. "No, it's true. You dreamt about that friend of yours you killed."

"I didn't—" Greed began.

"Oh just give up," sighed Ling, exasperated. "You saw all your friends from your past memories and it ended with them all dead. Am I wrong?"

When Greed didn't answer, Ling continued. If they weren't sharing a body, Greed would've wrung the kid's neck.

"Martel. Roa. Ulchi. Dolcetto."

"Shut up."

"Bido."

"I told you to shut up, kid."

"They're lovely people, Greed."

"You don't know a thing, kid."

"Nah, I do. I can see'em. Right here." Ling placed a palm to his chest, over his heart. "Don't think I don't understand, Greed. I do."

And that was the worst part.

Ling was absolutely right.

7. Gold

It wasn't so much precious metal as it was molten lava. Bile crept up his throat and his stomach lurched, threatening to upheave a nonexistent lunch. His wrists burnt from the leathers ties; his entire body restrained. The heat festered on his skin, burning but not killing because his cells initiated their endless reconstruction. It was melting the hardened carbon shield and he fell prey to the searing, licking flames.

He screamed at them.

"The temperature's just right!" he howled, half in pain, half in deranged joy. "I'll be going before you, my siblings!"

He choked then, his words jammed in his throat and his muscles screaming in agony because despite the fact that he was as good as dead, his body still fought all that was death.

He locked eyes with Envy; with Lust; with Wrath.

But never once did Father look him in the eye, not even when the melting gold pot devoured him whole.

8. Speed

He scrambled, fingers clawing at the carpet, at the wood, at the windowsill. The cool night air whistled through his hair and past his ears as he fled. There was no shame in running. Not for him.

Zipping through the Fuhrer's garden and leaping nimbly up the trellises to escape the alerted guards' eyes, Greed stumbled. An impending sense of doom thudded violently with the blood pulsing behind his ears; if he didn't escape the dank lighted pathways, Pride might slink after him, quick as death.

Greed had seen.

The child in Lady Bradley's grasp was no child at all. That was a being of over 300 years, old as time and stronger than them all.

But he hadn't focused on it. He knew it was over the minute Wrath's sword split in half, but not because he'd broken the weapon – because he would perish with the next blow.

So Greed ran, almost carelessly, until he reached a quiet place in the woods amongst the leaves, wondering why it was so hard to forget.

9. Soft

Her hands were like silk, despite what he thought they'd feel like. Well, one of them was like silk. The other was cold metal and leather, an automail limb designed for the express purpose of combat. But her fingers were lithe and firm, yet also mellow, slowly kneading the knots from his shoulders.

"Lan Fan."

"Yes, young lord?"

"Does it still hurt?"

The girl's administrations paused. Her hands retracted from her prince's shoulders.

"You mean about yourself? How are you shoulders?"

Ling Yao whirled around and clasped her wrists, eyes boring into hers with ferocious intensity.

"No, Lan Fan, I meant you and only you." He leaned forward so strongly that he nearly knocked her over. The Xingese girl instinctively yawned away from him warily, but his grasp was tight.

"I'm fine."

"Fine?" echoed Ling. He gave her a dubious onceover and shook his head. "You don't look fine."

"If you mean my automail, then yes. I'm fine."

Ling sighed. Greed, inwardly, sighed with him. The girl was downright stubborn, but endearing. The homunculus had let the boy take over momentarily, directly following the fight with Pride. But he'd better be off soon – the Promised Day was dawning.

The prince touched the girl's forearm, her good one, gently, and stood.

"Young lord?"

"It's Greed, toots." He glared at her as her hands fell into her lap. His expression softened, just briefly. "Get it right."

"I'll get it right when you get out of the young lord's body," she quipped smoothly.

Greed smirked.

"Not bad, toots, not bad."

10. Visit

The sign was still up when he reached the old place, descended familiar stairs, and found the lanky bar. He sank into the leather couch facing the coffee table where they played silly board games on Sunday nights.

"This place is depressing. You come here often?"

"Shut up."

Greed rubbed his eyes. He half expected Dolcetto to pop out from behind the bar with a bottle of red wine in his arms, hoping to cheer up his boss. But even when the homunculus wandered behind the granite countertop, no one appeared. Bido's quiet strumming did not fill the silence, and the evening smells of Loa's Cretan filet mignon did not waft from the kitchen. Devil's Nest was quiet and rundown, closed off with the scent of dank emptiness.

He sat at the bar, a lonely, misfit customer stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"You gonna order anything?"

"No."

"What do you have?"

"Ulchi ain't here, I'm not gonna touch a thing."

"This is your place, isn't it?"

"Is it?"

"You're sad sight."

"And you think I don't know?" Greed propped his chin up on his hands, elbows on the countertop. Indeed, it was a view as depressing as he felt. The place was vacant, uninhabited, and abandoned.

After a few minutes, he got to his feet and sauntered around the bar's back rooms. Peering in a half-empty bedroom – it had always been empty – that Martel used to stay in, Greed eyed his reflection in the mirror darkly. The plate of glass, slightly cloudy but still functional as a reflective surface, had been Martel's gift one year. The bar was low on funds, but the least the boys could do was fetch the girl a full-length mirror and a decent dress. Though she was never the most feminine of women, Martel had been absolutely delighted. She twirled the red dress flamboyantly, admiring herself in the grimy but serviceable mirror.

After that, they'd gotten Dolcetto a suit so that the two could dance on quiet Friday evenings with the radio on, or visit the snazzy diner that Greed recommended. It had been the only year funds were down. After that, it was a ride that only soared upwards. He was a man who desired everything and did all in his power to obtain.

"It might sound strange, but for some reason I feel like I've been here before, too."

Whenever Greed moved, Ling moved. The Xingese prince's face, his hands, his legs, all of it chipped away at his pride and faith. Everything in the mirror mocked him. Ling's existence mocked him.

"It's okay to miss them."

"Shut up, you brat!" Greed snapped viciously. His left hand, tattooed with that cursed seal of Ouroboros, clenched the doorknob so hard his knuckles whitened. The door slammed closed behind him and he stormed back outside, the oppressively heavy hair hitting him like a thick blow to the face. "Shut up."

He leaned against the wall, arms folded.

After about an hour, he sank to the ground, knees curled to his chest, aching head buried in his hands. Restlessly, he fumbled with pain, regret, and longing, not noticing the way Ling gently slipped the reins from his hands and began his trek back to Central.

Listening to Chandelier by Sia

My heart hurts. Oh Greed, oh Greed. D: