welcome to another mar and ana production! nz is doing its own version of dwts and it is a hot mess and subsequently this came about
"Most people would argue that being a senator is more than enough responsibility for one person to deal with, wouldn't you say?"
"Yes." Roy chuckles out of courtesy, any excuse to flash a wide grin. "You can ask any of my friends, they'll tell you I could never pass up an opportunity if it's for a good cause. To be honest, I never expected this opportunity, much less considered to be among the 'stars' of Amestris."
"Says the man who is historically the most popular senator with one of the highest approval ratings and on the road for the presidential campaign. Moreover, we didn't think you'd actually say yes! There's a rumor someone threw in your name as a joke. There wasn't a newsstand without your name on the front page following the much-lauded education amendment bill."
Roy smiles and lowers his head humbly. He won't comment on the politics today. He almost slips, with the way she eased into that topic. Sarah Callahan utilises her charisma to leave the interviewee at ease as if they were simply catching, even in the interview setting. He's shrewd enough to know that the inattentive and relaxed find themselves boxed in a corner following her cunning method of questioning. It was why she was such a respected and simultaneously feared journalist.
Her loud laugh signals Roy she's moving on. "In any case, we're so excited to have you on board this year for our new season of Dancing with the Stars."
"It's actually really funny. My aunt and cousins used to gather around the TV set on Sunday evenings just to watch the Spanish rendition, Bailando por un Sueño. It literally translating to "dancing for a dream" and truly, that's what being on this feels like. But instead of rooting for my favorite pair this time, I'll be rooting alongside my partner."
"It's a treat when you change languages like that. But back on track, in the past we've had politicians compete and they've always done exceptionally well – though never won. Do you think you have what it takes to break that curse, as it were?"
"We're lawmakers, not dancers, but what politician doesn't love to win?" Roy throws his hands up ambiguously, grinning. "I don't know about any curse, but I have what it takes to try and train and aim to win as much as the others. Make no mistake, it would be wonderful to bring home the snazzy trophy and bragging rights. However, I'm more focused on the philanthropic facet of the show. what I'm most proud of is how many great causes are going to benefit from this show. There are so many deserving causes out there, benefitting from the show. I hope this encourages the viewers watching to get out there and give a hand to those who need it the most."
"Ever the altruist." Sarah nods - smiling, intrigued, and hanging onto every syllable. "And your chosen charity – tell us more about that."
By now his cheeks are starting to tingle from the constant smiling, but it's hard not to when a sense of pride trickles and spreads like warm peppermint tea. "Dhāmo is a well-structured organisation that supports Ishvallan youth, ensuring their fullest potential in academics or vocational skills. The charity also sponsors the growth of the community and the kids learn to pay it forward in turn."
"Many would say it's strange that this would be your choice and not, say, something more relatable to your roots. Why Dhāmo?"
He's rehearsed this one, but he takes a moment to look into the middle distance as if he hadn't. He breathes in, air visibly filling his chest, for a touch of credibility. "Dhāmo is only one of the few charities I support. Of course, I'd never abandon nor forget where I've come from, but the Ishvallans are a worthy cause since they don't have many supporting their voices in the Parliament. I think this is a great opportunity to broadcast what this particular organisation does and the fact that they exist because of how they section out their donations and how it's used."
Sarah's grin grows even wider knowing he's evaded that slippery slope. "Anybody who has paid attention to politics in the last decade or so will know how strongly you feel about our country's relationship with the Ishvallan people – but what I find personally impressive is just how consistent this support is. Oftentimes our politicians become swayed with whatever issue will get them the most coverage on the six o'clock news, but you've remained focused for the voices of the little people for all of your political career – though some would call that tiresome and repetitive."
He stares at her suspiciously with narrowed eyes. "I thought this was just a puff piece for the introductory section Sarah."
The journalist ducks her head, laughing and covering her mouth as she does. "I am terrible at this. And I chastise you for being on-brand!" She turns to a man in a suit currently occupied by the content on his phone. One of the producers for the show, Roy guesses. Bob? Maybe Billy. He was introduced to literally everyone in the studio and he can hardly remember any of their names or positions. Roy thinks he may have been at one of the state dinners he has attended for the news organisations over the years. "Do we need anything more with Mustang or –?"
The suit looks up from his phone and frowns. "You've got the charity name on tape?"
"That I do," she says.
"Then we're good." He distractedly walks over to them and holds out his hand to give Roy a steady handshake, looking up just briefly to not appear too rude. "It's not like you'll need much of an introduction, we already have footage of you in archives to pull from. Surely you've got other places to be. When are you scheduled to meet your partner?"
"As I understood it, it's this afternoon, right?"
"Right, and you've been given the address?"
"Yes, Lucy confirmed it last night." Roy tucks his phone back into his pocket. "Everything's set then?"
"Yep – Sarah, you have Edward turning up in five." He ducks out the room, tapping furiously on his screen.
"Another contestant?"
Sarah extends her hand this time, in appreciation. "Thanks for sticking around after questioning this morning – I know your schedule is hectic enough as it is." She had been surprisingly easy on him this morning during his allotted five minute interview with the morning show Breakfast at Capitol – more than he would normally expect from her, but the week had been fairly quiet on the political front. That would probably change before the day was out, pieces that mix government and entertainment usually do.
"Nonsense. Normally I don't have time to eat breakfast at a regular time and this gave me a chance to actually enjoy my coffee instead of just inhaling it. Really, I should be thanking you – you brought up some really good points about the new language reforms – sans Mark's wonderful opinions. At least it will get the populace talking, even if most of it is racist rhetoric."
The reporter's face scrunches in contempt. "I hate how Mark has to be the antagonising force for these debates, but the producers jump down our throats if we don't ask the douchebag questions as well...in any case I think that's all going to be overshadowed when you're announced for this. I can't see your popularity taking a hit, but surely Bradley and his caucus will jump on it?"
"Hyenas will jump at any scrap of meat when the hunger strikes. Off the record:" he pauses he as he stands up, and Sarah nods eagerly. "I've been told I need to get out of the house more."
An eyebrow lifts as she folds her hands over her lap. "The parliamentary house, or…?"
Roy snorts as he shrugs on his jacket. "You'll have to ask Maes which he was referring to. In any case, the pundits will have their fun and I will too."
"Spare a thought for me and all the cringey one-liners I'll have to do after each performance." Sarah's face droops with exaggeration, and she sinks deeper into her chair.
Roy empathises. In today's ever-shifting media landscape, it can be hard to remain relevant when popular culture seems to be shifting further and further away from the traditional formats. Even though he is visible on all the big social media platforms, the reality is they're all prop accounts that Maes manages in his stead. Despite protests that 'it would do your image some good to appear more personable online', Roy is no fool: he has watched too many colleagues (both in his party and across the aisle) succumb to scandal after scandal. Everything from secret mistress' tweeting up storms about paternity to the extremely shady dealings that Barnaby Raven had gotten up to with pre-teen girls on Snapchat steered him clear of any real kind of participation.
But for someone like Sarah Callahan to admit that even she was feeling the pinch to adjust her brand and profile meant that this was probably the right choice to make for his own – though it certainly wouldn't hurt his image in terms of his popularity as a (relatively) young bachelor. Every year the romance rumours swirled with whatever interns were employed by his party to act as personal assistants for the cabinet ministers, and they were not at all kind. There was a reason he kept Maes around – partially because the man was a force to be reckoned with as a publicist, but also because he was actually able to defend himself in regards to the more salacious rumours that lingered in Central (and the marriage and subsequent birth of his daughter only dented those rumours of an affair between them slightly).
"Sarah, you're far too professional to make anything on an auto-prompt sound cringey."
The journalist laughs sarcastically. "Tell that to me in three weeks' time."
If not for Jane, the voice in his GPS/Map app, Roy would've lost his way to the second studio. In hindsight he should've accepted the directions his bodyguard gave him before he signed off for the night. It's tucked out of the way on a side street in the northern suburbs of Central, having him make several u-turns and waving a lot of people "sorry" as he did, particularly when the other driver honked impatiently.
Eyas doesn't look like much from the simple signage hanging over the door, but Roy reserves his judgments. He knocks and shoves his hands into pockets. Winter has arrived early, and he regrets leaving his coat and scarf behind in his office at the Beehive. It's strange seeing the sun is still up from an outside view and not from the window in a conference room, not feeling fresh air on his skin until the moon was already out to say hello. This new commitment has shuffled everything around. Weekends haven't existed for him since he was an aide and this time, he'll have to go without his catch-up naps in favour of slotting in dance rehearsals.
The months will be long, but hopefully worth it.
Lucy the assistant opens the door and smiles brightly, beckoning him in. "Alrighty," she says, all but dragging him down the hallway into a surprisingly bright and spacious studio. On one side, there's a wall that's covered from floor to ceiling in a mirror, with a barre attached. On the other side of the room the camera crew is setting up. They greet him briefly, before turning back to the multitude of wires and lights being adjusted.
"So," Lucy begins, gesturing for him to sit in the chair placed suspiciously in the middle of the dance floor, "what is going to happen is we're gonna film a little bit of you just talking about how you're really excited about this, and you can't wait to meet your dance partner, yadda yadda yadda-"
"Mimicking your enthusiasm," he jests, holding his thumb up. "Got it."
Lucy rolls her eyes, but her smile belies the truth. "Believe me, you're gonna look over the moon regardless. Not even a phone call that a coup d'état has overthrown your party is gonna ruin the job I have to do. The show biz people call it…. Movie magic!" Her fingers wiggle under her chin for emphasis. "Or after effects, your pick. Anyway, once we've done that then you will get to meet your partner and right now the big reality bullshit buzzword is authenticity, so all of your reactions have to be authentic so we can make a billion cenz off your, quite frankly, bankable smile. I would say congrats on finally selling out, but you're a politician..." She trails off and shrugs with an expression that says "it can't be helped."
"That's already been taken care of," he counters, grinning despite himself. "Okay, that sounds good to me. I assume we're doing a practice as well?"
Lucy nods, suddenly she's engrossed with something on her phone, fingers flying across the screen as she taps frantically. "A filmed one – so we'll get the dramatic pan shots and slow-mo and then we'll leave you two be to actually learn your choreography. Tom!" she shrieks and it makes him jump a little. Unnecessary but it gets the man's attention. "How's he looking?"
Tom is a lean man with an unfortunately thin soul patch on his chin, Roy notices as he pulls back from the camera and gives Lucy an "OK". "We're good to start."
Lucy fishes out a crumpled sheet of paper- well-worn from the depth of her bag, and quickly runs through the kinds of questions she needs him to answer. "Think of succinct one-liners," she explains. "As many soundbites as you can manage – the editing room will take care of the rest."
The questions are pretty benign stuff – are you excited to be dancing the jive this week? and do you have any dancing experience to fall back on? – but what eats at Roy throughout this is who his dance partner is, which surprises him. Beloved as he is by the general public, that doesn't mean that Capitol Media have partnered him with someone who might like him – in fact, he'd wager good money on them finding someone who was politically opposite, just to watch the burning wreckage. It'd make for great headlines in the tabloids – coincidentally owned by Capitol Media as well. His nerves get the better of him, as his nails dig into his palms. He keeps flip-flopping on this decision, but at this point it's too late to back out now – and Maes' choices as his publicist have rarely backfired. As the conversation turns to his experience with dancing, he feels his body relax, as recounts a blasé anecdote about most of his dancing coming from weddings and the occasional party back in university.
It's a lie, of course, but Maes Hughes has crafted a version of Roy Mustang that is almost impossible to assassinate through character alone. Dancing is in his blood – but Roy Mustang the human is a very private person compared to Roy Mustang the politician, and it's hard to let go of that protectiveness of what isn't already common knowledge. The public is aware that he's not entirely all-Amestrian. It's honestly surprising his opponents haven't brought in this kind of mudslinging to discredit his loyalties. This is why part of him will always be on the defensive when it comes to sharing these parts of himself, especially to strangers he meets, and even more so on national television.
For now, he'll play his cards close to his chest.
Lucy finishes her line of questioning and the tech crew go about adjusting the camera once more. "I'll tell you when to turn around," she tells Roy, slipping her phone in her black pocket. "Just be yourself. Her name is Riza Hawkeye – please don't fuck up the pronunciation – and don't go in for a kiss; we had an incident yesterday and-"
"Say no more." He has more than enough experience greeting strangers, but at this point it feels like an uphill battle explaining that to the crew here. Lucy nods distractedly, muttering something to the cameraman Tom.
"Okay, we're good now Riza!" Lucy calls out. Roy hears the door open after a few seconds, hears footsteps approaching. Lucy makes a strange movement with her hands and he finally picks up she's signaling him to finally turn around.
He isn't sure what he expected, but whatever it was, he didn't expect it to hold his breath. Suddenly the studio name makes a lot more sense as she introduces herself, brushing her fringe out of her eyes. "Hi," she smiles warmly and he's not entirely sure his fingers work for his signature handshake he's practiced since his college days. "I'm Riza Hawkeye." Her hand extends, and he pushes - nearly launches himself out of his chair to meet her halfway across the studio floor. She's not a slight woman by any stretch of the imagination, built pleasantly, sure, and similar in age to him, he'd wager. But he finds himself most struck with her eyes, which blink prettily as he takes her hand into both of his own and how she carried herself gracefully into the room as if she were walking amongst clouds. "Roy Mustang," he replies, and Roy takes the liberty of a few seconds to just stare at her and her ridiculously beautiful brown eyes before he remembers himself and where they are, and who is filming this. He pulls back slightly, running a hand through his hair. "You probably have your work cut out for you," he tells her, enjoying immensely how a smile grows on her face and quite literally lights up her entire face.
"I'm sure you're not as bad as you think. I'll make a professional out of you yet." She winks and Roy couldn't imagine himself swooning, but there he was. "Just in case politics doesn't work out." The wit suckerpunches him and deep down he's pleased that she feels confident enough in herself to make jibes at his expense. Too many times he's found himself surrounded by sycophantic admirers and the last thing he needs here is someone who either can barely contain their disinterest for him as a person. He's more than just his title, but he'll happily use it to further a better cause.
"I would say it's good to meet you but I feel like I have already," Riza admits. "I nearly choked on my tea when I learned you were going to be my partner."
Without thinking, Roy clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. "Me too," he says, earmarking the first of many slips. He registers what he's said when she tilts her head in confusions. "I - ahem. Sorry, what I meant to say is…
"I can't wait to work with you."
dhāmo is a word taken from my ishvallan conlag – it means to lead, guide, and protect
eyas is what u call a baby hawk bc i am a nerd when it comes to references
the beehive is what we in nz call our main govt building bc funnily enough, it looks like a beehive