Summary: AU – Roy Mustang is the best salesman in Grumman's art gallery and used to help wealthy clientele get the art of their dreams. One day though, a certain young woman shows interest in the only unsalable painting of the whole exhibition which leads to a very interesting revelation. Royai
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Hiromu Arakawa. Dedicated to misshermitcrab on tumblr, this was part of her Secret Santa gifts in 2014 and she wanted something "art"-themed.
Please enjoy!
A pompous reception. Wealthy clientele. A huge number of sales and new contracts.
That was the world of Roy Mustang.
It has become second nature to him to approach strangers staring at the exhibited canvases and sculptures, to start up a conversation, flatter the potential buyers and make them want to buy the piece of art he was praising.
And he was good at it. His charm, his good looks and his way with words were what made him the best salesman of Grumman's art gallery; good enough actually to have the honor of meeting Grumman's granddaughter. While the old man was rather eccentric in his ways, he was also known for being very secretive about his family.
Having the permission to meet his family equaled being family itself. And if Grumman considered you family, you didn't have to worry about unemployment ever again. All in all a very promising prospect - and even though Roy didn't fancy any religion, he prayed to God Grumman's granddaughter would be a hotty. After all, he was a good catch himself and refused to settle for anything less.
As always, Roy scanned the great hall for potential customers, a trained eye searching for people who have mustered one exhibition piece for more than three minutes. His eyes fell upon a young woman standing in front of the only painting of the whole exhibition that was unsalable. 'Great,' he thought to himself, sighing as he strolled over to her slowly, taking in her appearance.
She seemed to be about half a head shorter than him and wore a red wool coat with a matching red bonnet that was adorned with a small mistletoe on the back. It hid a part of her long blond, smooth hair that cascaded down one shoulder and reached about the middle of her chest area. Her legs were clad in black, opaque tights and red, knee-length boots, and she held a small black purse close to her body while she stared at the canvas in front of her intently.
Whoever she was, she definitely had a marvelous taste.
Before he reached her side, she seemed to sense his presence and turned around quickly, eying him cautiously, but relaxed when she saw his name tag that identified him as an employee.
"Good evening, Miss," Roy initiated the conversation smoothly, his eyes turning to the painting in front of him, "this is a really beautiful painting, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is," she responded him, with a gentle, pleasant voice that held an authority and power he did not anticipate; his interest for the mysterious woman grew instantly
"Are you an art lover?"
"Would I be here if I weren't one?" she retorted immediately, a smirk on her face, and her boldness impressed him. She seemed to be a rather intriguing woman.
"Yes, of course," he agreed a little sheepishly, chuckling lightly, "that was a stupid question."
The look in the woman's eyes softened and it was the first time Roy noticed her remarkable eyes. They had a rich caramel tone, vibrant as if the caramel was liquid and the small splotches of gold here and there made her eyes sparkle prettily.
"Actually, it wasn't," she admitted with another smile, turning back to the canvas. "In truth, I'm not much into art unless you count textile art."
"Textile art?" Roy repeated and looked at her quizzically, "You mean as in seamstress?"
She nodded and it caught Roy by surprise that she now looked away shyly.
"Most of the clothes I wear are designed and sewn by myself. Or knitted, in the case of my bonnet."
She glanced at Roy from under her lashes while timidly touching said garment.
"Me and my friend are still working on it, though. We'd love to open our own little shop next year with handmade clothes and accessories." The blond woman smiled now and playfully cocked an eyebrow at the man beside her. "But I am quite sure that's not what you want to talk about, is it, Mr. Mustang?" she added with a slight grin which turned in a soft laugh when Roy shot her a confused look.
"How do you know my name?"
"Your name tag?"
Roy looked down on his body and sure, as usual, his name tag dangled from his right breast pocket. His cheeks tinted slightly in embarrassment.
"Right…"
Not knowing a smart reply for once, he stayed silent, debating whether he should try to save his dignity by leaving the woman alone, but she interrupted his thoughts.
"So, aren't you trying to sell this piece to me?" Her face still sported that pretty smile from before and he quickly got over his awkwardness; instead, his cockiness kicked in again.
"I'd love to," he replied her politely, his eyes turning back to the exhibition piece again, "but sadly, it's one of Mr. Grumman's private possessions. It is not for sale. I'm sorry, Miss."
The blonde waved her hand dismissively, obviously not put out by this revelation in the slightest.
Instead, her caramel eyes seemed to challenge him as she answered him.
"That's alright. I'd love to hear about it anyway."
Roy cleared his throat and opened his manila folder though he knew everything noted there by heart.
"This is Berthold Hawkeye's most well-known painting called 'Flame inferno'. There isn't much known about him - he seemed to have found his way to the art rather late and this one seems to be the oldest one out of his collection; it's actually his only art that features an inscription which includes the year it originated. He died five years later, leaving only a handful of art behind."
Roy placed the folder onto a side table, not having looked at it once, lifted his hands and motioned at the woman's shoulders.
"May I?"
She nodded and Roy gently touched them, repositioning her in front of the painting.
"From this point of view, you'll get the impression that the flames are real. You'll even get the impression that a person is trapped in the flames."
Suddenly, the woman shook his hands off and Roy backed away, hands in the air and a worried frown on his forehead.
"I'm so sorry, Miss, I didn't want to hurt you."
"You didn't hurt me at all," she answered him quickly, though her eyes told otherwise, "I just don't want to watch the woman amongst the flames."
"Woman?" Roy repeated confusedly, grasping his folder again to check his notes. "This doesn't mention any woman."
"Well then your information is definitely incomplete," she replied, and something between a smug grin and an annoyed glance lay on her face. "You mentioned the inscription to me. Would you be so kind to read it to me?"
Roy scratched his head in slight confusion, but complied nevertheless.
"To my dearest Elizabeth
1903
Flame inferno."
"Have you ever realized that the paint of the first and last line isn't exactly the same? It might not be visible in the comparison shot of your folder, but if you take the picture down this night, you might be able to distinguish two different shades of black - one darker and one lighter."
The woman turned away from Roy's folder back to the painting and added softly, "It's even worse for the year. 1903? Look at it and you will find white paint around the 9 and 0. It was really painted in 1893, shortly after my fifth birthday. It initially featured Elizabeth Hawkeye - Berthold's late wife who died three years later."
The woman's voice broke at that moment and Roy offered her an arm to hold on to and she gladly accepted. She continued to stay silent, though, and it was Roy who spoke up now, thinking hard.
"You mean this is Elizabeth shining through a second coat of red flames?"
The blonde nodded.
"He intended to have Elizabeth's picture for all eternity - he used especially vibrant and expensive colors for this painting alone. After she died, he lost himself. His art became unique and marvelous but his heart froze forever. Pretty ironic considering he started to only draw fire-themed art."
Roy glanced down at the woman who still clutched his arm tightly out of fear of losing her composure. She looked so frail now, delicate and her hand seemed so small under his own. Whoever she might be, he wanted to get to know her more, stay with her and hold her, as crazy as it sounded. But judging by her story…
"Are you-?"
"Mustang!"
A gray haired man with a big smile made his way to the pair, grinning widely.
"Lounging around your favorite piece of art with a beautiful lady on your arm. Classic Mustang!"
"Mr. Grumman, please!" Roy hushed in embarrassment, throwing a glance at the woman out of fear she might be repulsed by Roy's 'reputation'.
"You know it's not like that!"
"Of course it isn't, come on, Mustang, I'm just teasing you," Grumman replied with a smile, winking at the woman by Roy's side. She returned the smile easily, and Roy was glad she didn't seem uncomfortable at all.
"So, you two already met? You don't look like you need me anymore," Grumman added, a hand scratching his China thoughtfully; Roy only replied with a confused face.
"Oh haven't you two gotten acquainted yet? Roy," Grumman waved at the blonde on his arm, "meet my beautiful granddaughter Riza Hawkeye."