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The Scent of Blood
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Roy had never really thought of something like blood having a unique smell. Of course, now that he lived through the Ishbal Massacre, he knew otherwise. A pungent stench of iron and rot, something that embedded itself in his nostrils like nothing else. Even when off the field he could smell it, even taste it.
She knew the stink all to well. There was always the flourish when the bullet from her rifle embedded itself into the flesh of the target. She couldn't really say it was her enemy.
Their hate of the disgusting odor was silent, but it was mutual. And both would go to hell and back to keep the other from having to endure it's repulsiveness.