I don't own FMA
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His head felt disconnected, but he downed shot after shot of whiskey to stop the voice that cackled in his head, "Murderer."
"Shuddup," he slurred and pounded the empty glass on the counter for a refill.
"No, he's done," someone told the bartender.
"Wha'?" he asked, slowly turning his head to the speaker.
"Come on Roy, let's get you sobered up."
"I'm a murdr'r," he slurred again.
"We both killed people we didn't want to, " she told him when they left the bar, "and that's the difference. We aren't like Barry the Chopper, we don't enjoy to kill others."
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Thank you to all my reviewers: Luciousladylucius, Dailenna, Moonstardutchess, dreximgirl, Heidi C., Words Without, eternal-angelic-innocence and Steff7. I hope you enjoyed it Thanks for reading, please review