One of these days I'm going to write the Major General in a serious fic and she shall TAKE OVER THE WORLD FWAHAHAHA - er, ahem, 'scuse the evil anime noblewoman laugh. She'd just take Amestris, I'm sure... And maybe a bit of Drachma. She deserves it after what she's gone through. Fortunately for her, I don't own General Armstrong.
Olivia Armstrong allowed herself but one luxury at Briggs. Awakening well before her men each morning, she pulled out the old ivory-handled hairbrush and the small jar of cream. Sitting before the regulation mirror, she removed the lid and worked the oily substance into her blonde hair. A hundred strokes later, it was still there, but at last it was pliable enough that the weight of the conditioner and the lock of hair she had buried it under could keep it out of sight.
Olivia was not ashamed of her heritage, but she was first and foremost a soldier. Soldiers did not have a ridiculous-looking curl in the center of their bangs.