wear me like a locket around your throat

[ When people say don't stray too close to the Mollyedge, it's for a reason. There are no streets, just mud filled paths where the areas with most traffic have bigger puddles. The sturdiest buildings are wooden shacks and everything smells vaguely moldy, vaguely rotten thanks to the sodden way the entire district seems to be slowly sinking into the river. But even though it certainly has a darker (and well deserved reputation) compared to the other maidens, it's still so distinctly Thremeden that once a person finds themselves there, they become stuck, unable to really escape the grasp of the Three Maidens.

Naturally, one of the greatest parts of the Mollyedged is that for all the rank, all the poverty, and all the filth, it's still got some of the best views of the dragons as they burst through the sky overhead. Ed's eyes are on one of them now, watching the way sunlight flashes and glints against gold, almost blinding him with the glare. The great, mechanical but magical beast forms a stark contrast against the blue of the sky, kind of like the glint of the sunlight on his hair as he leans against one of the many shacks the comprise the district, the end of a small, handrolled cigarette between his chapped lips. The blond locks, tied back in a simple tail in order to keep it from getting in his way, have always seemed a bit out of place in the Mollyedge, a point of contention even, and he can't remember how many times he's had to wash mud out of it after it'd been slung at him. But he's learned since his earlier years. He's learned since then and most inhabitants in the Mollyedge know better than to insult him, especially with the mean right hook he has.

It's that right hand that he's trying to keep hidden at the moment, slipped into a dirty pocket as he shifts his gaze from the sky to the passers by, calculating each new person that walks by as if trying to decide who might have the most money on them and who would be easiest to take down. Because people in the Mollyedge rarely every have much to lose and thus hold on a lot tighter to what they do have. And Ed's far from interested in getting on his knees again tonight in order to get just enough to bring back something edible to his brother.

That right hand, though... it's one of his rare prizes, which is why it's even more important to keep it hidden. People in Mollyedge would kill to get a piece of anything of value. He's seen it before. When people lost a limb in Mollyedge, they usually died. No one in Mollyedge could ever manage to afford a prosthetic much less one of automail, and if it hadn't been for the old hag that had fitted him with it, he wouldn't have it either. Much like the left leg he casually kicks against the wooden wall next to him, it's what keeps him from disappearing entirely, and he just can't have that. Not when he's got a little brother to take care of.

Finally— His thoughts derail as a likely candidate for pickpocketing passes him on the muddy street without so much as a second look. The mark looks like they have just enough to "spare" a bit for him while not being too rich for the area (which happens from time to time when the Provost's people decide to do a bit of "street cleaning"). Pushing off the wall and tossing the butt of his cigarette to the ground, he casually slips through the crowd with the intention of following after the other person, keeping his eyes peeled for just the right moment. ]