Oh hey! Here I am yet again.
This is a bit old, says the file that it was last updated last year on October. Since I decided to watch fma again, I decided to upload this. This is my take on Roy and Riza's relationship. I'm hoping you can find this interesting! Each chapter is named after a word in a foreign language and they come with an explanation.
I don't have much to say for now - I'm just too sleepy.
Enjoy!
Utwahay, 1898
His hand found its way to her head, patted down her blonde hair, and she tried not to flinch and stand still under his touch, because that was what she had been seeking for a long time, a small demonstration of care or affection. While it was not unwelcome, it was sudden and it felt out of place to be treated in such a way, especially with the way their relationship had progressed, especially after all their previous contacts were accidental or firm enough to leave marks on her fair skin.
As soon as the touch came, however, it went away, his rough palms hiding from view in the confines of his pockets. The girl watched the man step out the front door, who was greeted with the harsh sunlight and cool breeze that had not caressed his skin in hours, if not days. Carefully, she reached for his brown hat perched at the very top of the coat rack, fingers barely managing to catch it between two digits, and she followed him outside, offering the accessory without a single word.
The man looked down at it, pulled his hands out of his pockets and held the hat behind his body, the back of his hands pressing on the base of his spine. Grey eyes met with brown, and he rasped. "Just remember that he won't be around to play with you."
With one last look at the unpaved road, she turned and disappeared inside her home.
dépaysement; origin: French
(n.) when someone is taken out of their own familiar world into a new one.
Sweat beads rolled down his temples and neck, dripped off the curve of his chin, at times his nose, and made his dress shirt cling to his form like a second skin. The boy, no older than thirteen, ran a hand on his nape and wiped at his brow with his covered forearms before rolling his sleeves up to his elbows; any attempt to cool down was worth trying in a time like this. The wheel of the cart he was riding on ran over a particularly large stone, causing the baskets filled with fruits of different kinds to shake, and the boy reached over, out of habit by now rather than reflex, to keep the apples from falling over.
"Sorry lad," the bald old man, who had so generously offered him a ride to his new master's home, said from over his shoulder. "We'll be there shortly." He hummed in acknowledgement, just to let the man know that he had heard him, and went back to sulking at the road.
When he had told his aunt slash foster mother Chris Mustang that he wanted to learn more about alchemy, she did not waste any time to find him a good tutor and even travelled from Central to East City to meet her source. The only thing he knew was that her source reassured her that the man was perfect for the job, but he could not provide them with any other information besides his name. So Madame Christmas all but tracked the man down, found more information than needed, and sent the boy away from Central all the way to Utwahay.
Utwahay was a small town on the southern portion of Amestris, beyond Rush Valley and Dublith, and apparently with agriculture based economy. Cars were scarce and the train station smelled like dry hay and barn, but in overall it was a nice place, certainly different from Central, and it felt good to see some change for once. He was, above everything else, thrilled to be travelling so far by himself; Chris would never let him take trains by himself, rarely she would if it was from Central to East City and vice versa, but most of the times someone accompanied him.
For the remainder of the ride, he was left to imagine what would make an alchemist settle so far from big cities with good libraries for research; townspeople told him of the rumors, that the man hated the military, that he was slowly going insane, and that one day his only daughter would die of a broken heart for being neglected so much, but none of them could serve as an explanation to this self imposed sequestration. The boy tried not to pay attention to these things and instead decided to focus on finding the man's house, because that was what mattered, not rumors that would not affect him in any possible way simply because the boy would rather form his first impressions himself.
As the sun sunk a little lower in the sky, the cart slowly came to a stop before a house. A picket fence surrounded it, in the back tall oak trees provided a cool shade to what was behind the construction, and the grass of the front yard reached past his calves. And there, before the door and under the harsh sun, stood a tall man with long light brown hair, slightly disheveled and wild, with his hands behind his back and mouth set in a firm line.
"Here we are, lad." The boy hurriedly hoped off the cart, patted his backside, ran his fingers through his dark hair and finally reached for his suitcases. When the man looked at him from over his shoulder, the newcomer smiled gratefully and nodded his head, earning a nod in return and a murmur that sounded close to good luck before the horse trotted away from the entrance.
His naturally slanted eyes looked even smaller as he squinted at the bright sunlight, and after taking a deep, encouraging breath, he stepped forward, entered the propriety and sat his luggage down as he stopped before the man. "Berthold Hawkeye?" His palm brushed on his thighs as if to wipe away the sweat before he offered his hand; it remained in the air between their bodies for a long moment before the younger one realized the other party was not going to take his hand at all, and so it fell awkwardly to his side. "I'm Roy Mustang and –"
"I know who you are." Berthold replied curtly. His new apprentice peered up at him; he had small grey irises, an angular face, droopy eyes and his eyebrows seemed to be long gone. That was not the amicable face he was hoping to find, but the man appeared to be intelligent enough, exactly what one would expect from an alchemist.
The man drew his hands from behind his back, a brown hat held between two fingers, and placed it on top of his head whilst he sidestepped his new apprentice. "Go inside and unpack. We'll start once I get back." And out to the unpaved road he went, leaving the boy frowning at his retreating silhouette.
But there was not any time to waste. He was so excited! Roy hoisted up his bags and walked to the entrance, bumping the door with his shoulder and letting it open slowly with a long and high pitched squeak. Suitcases were set a little ways inside, and the door was closed; now, alone in the living room, he allowed himself to examine the space, and boy, it was so different than he expected, just like its owner.
While he was used to lively places, loveseats and divan couches decorated with colorful pads made of silk, fancy pieces of tapestry ornamenting the polished floor, he had no problems with simpler places, so it would not be hard to get used to the almost bare living room. Roy had just figured the alchemist would indulge himself with a few pieces of furniture, such as crystal vases or a chandelier, maybe a piano even (one that he had secretly hoped he would be able to use to practice), but the room was furnished with the essential, and even then it seemed to be too much. Berthold seemed to be the type of person who did not care much about where he was sitting as long as it was comfortable enough to spend hours doing his research. So the two armchairs, simple coffee table and the couch with a tear on the side fit into his tastes perfectly, although, in Roy's mind, the brown monochromatic design made the place too somber and too dead. The only things that were not brown were the walls, which were painted in pale cream, and the former white curtains that now were tainted in a yellowish hue.
His hands rubbed together and the boy spun in a lazy circle to take it all in as fast as he could. Past the furniture in the far left corner of the living room was a door, right ahead of him he could see the ends of a table behind a wall, undoubtedly the kitchen and dining area, and to his right –
He stopped short when his gaze fell on the stairs, back going rigid and knees locking in place. Before the angled staircase stood a girl, shorter and younger than him, with blonde short hair, large chocolate eyes that, despite the faint light of life and something he could not exactly pinpoint, were as dull as the rest of the room, if not more. Dressed in a long sleeved shirt and a slightly oversized pinafore that reached past her knees, she remained there, silent and still, until her small feet took equally small steps, and the girl closed the distance between them.
The phalanges of her fingers fiddled together almost anxiously and she gnawed on her bottom lip for a split second before saying softly. "Please, forgive him, he didn't mean to be so rude." Then she cast her gaze down at his suitcases and her small hands wrapped around the handle of one of the bags, but it would not move for it was simply too heavy for her.
Roy bent his knees slightly and touched the back of her hand with his fingertips. "It's okay." A thin sliver of light cut vertically across her face, and for a moment her eyes were of a deep amber and alive. She smiled, almost shyly, and with a slight nod of her head she retreated, her hand slipping from under his. He did not need to explain that he was fine with the man's behavior, nor that he did not need help with his things; she understood it.
"I'm Riza Hawkeye."
"Roy Mustang," and he offered her his hand, which she took after a moment of staring at it apprehensively. His fingers were slender, his skin was warm and soft, and the touch was nearly comforting, but she would not give herself the luxury of holding his hand for more time than necessary; with a quick shake, her hand dropped back to her side.
His master's daughter, he realized, stepped back towards the stairs and climbed onto the first step. "I'll take you to your room."
Wood whined under his feet as they ascended to the second floor, bringing them to stand at the beginning of a hallway lined with a couple of doors. At the end a lonely window let sunlight into the place, casting white squares of light on the wood flooring, accidentally highlighting cracks and dents. The same floor used up there was the same as the floor bellow, the walls were of the same color and nothing stood out; the house had a pattern and an odd interior design that made it seem like the rooms were all built separately and then mended together. But Roy was not there to notice such things, he was not there to play architect, and they did not bother him anyway; he was there to learn, he was there to return home years later as a successful alchemist.
Riza stopped before the first of the two doors on the left side of the hallway and gestured for him to enter the room first. His bedroom, as she had said previously, smelled of clean bed sheets. There was a bed, a wardrobe across from it, a desk and a chair at his disposal; nothing else was needed for soon enough papers and books would be littering the floor and much probably even the few drawers. "I just finished cleaning it for you," she said from the door, watching as he hoisted the first suitcase onto the bed and ruined the unwrinkled white sheets. "Would you like any help?"
There was a huff as the other bag was lifted and placed on the mattress. "Thank you, Miss Hawkeye, but I think I can handle it from here for now." He threw her a grin from over his shoulder, and her lips twitched up almost inconspicuously.
"The bathroom is at the end of the hallway, to the right. There are clean towels in the wardrobe; pillows as well." He voiced his thanks and she excused herself in that quiet voice of hers, the door clicking shut behind her back.
Alone in his new bedroom, the boy let his shoulders drop and heaved out a long sigh. The trip had drained a good amount of his energy, but he could not and would not lie down and take a nap; first he had to unpack, and he was pretty sure Chris Mustang had packed more things than necessary, because, after all, she was anything but unprepared. His foster mother would have sent him swimming trunks had he gone to Briggs instead, and this could explain the coat and jackets packed inside the first suitcase. There were at least a dozen of dress shirts, four vests (really, only one would be enough), five extra pairs of pants and the list went on; there was even a spare set of suspenders, brand new, he noted.
Chris Mustang was one of a kind. Ever since she took him in, she made sure that he knew what her plans were for him. Roy was raised to be the perfect fine man; he was taught the ways to play piano, and once it was mastered he moved on to the violin. He was well educated and behaved, read more books than he could remember and had an expanse and rich vocabulary, which was often used when talking to his aunt's best friends and important sources. The women working for Madame Christmas, to whom they referred as his sisters, too got the chance to attend to panting and dancing classes, as well as etiquette classes; no one was left out Chris's eccentric way of life, and although they were treated as princesses and king, she made sure to let it be known that they had to work hard to earn all of these luxuries. The girls needed those talents to please first class customers who looked for women that could do much more with their hands besides massaging and stroking, and legs that were not only meant to be spread apart.
In Roy's case, good grades were just the beginning. Chris taught him her methods to persuade and talk his way around to get things from others; she raised him as a smooth talker fine man and none of them saw any problems with that. It was known that for whatever career he decided to pursue later in life (he hoped it would be in the military) he would need these skills, so the more he knew and the more chances to practice, the more he would succeed. He would be forever in her debt if he got far in life, and he would; he would make sure of it.
Inside the wardrobe he found a couple of hangers, and soon the mostly vacant space was filled with pieces of clothing of neutral colors, each type grouped together and set from lightest to darkest. Another mark left by Chris on the boy was his tidiness despite his lack of want to organize his things; he was a guest and guests had to behave and leave good impressions, and that was a perfect excuse to push his lazy self to the side just a bit, to impress his teacher and show him he was capable of learning the mysteries of alchemy.
With everything set aside, and after contemplating if whether or not he should take a shower, Roy left his room and went down the stairs, hoping to find the younger Hawkeye and acquire information of rules he would possibly have to follow if they existed in that house. She was easy to find, there in the living room kneeling down by the couch, sewing supplies close by, an eye closed and the other squinted as she passed the dark thread through the needle hole. Tying both ends together she set about work, mending the tear on the side of the couch with care, and he stepped forward until he stood in her peripheral line of vision.
"How can I help you, Mister Mustang?" She inquired without looking up at him.
"Do you have a telephone?"
Her fingers froze for half a heartbeat, needle halfway through the fabric, and then she tilted her head up in his direction, an apologetic small smile barely touched her lips. "I'm sorry, Mister Mustang, we don't. Father permanently shut it off a while ago so people would stop bothering him."
Riza returned to her task after he nodded his head in understanding. There was a slight shake in her hands as they worked and moved, and she was gnawing on her bottom lip again. Chris was also teaching him how to read people, but before he could place his bets on how the blonde was feeling, she was back to looking calm and collected, leaving him to wonder if he had imagined things. She ran a digit over the stitches and returned the needle and thread back to her oval leather pouch nearby, closing it as she stood on her feet and set it on the coffee table. "Father is a busy man, always studying and working on his research. He doesn't like to be bothered." The apprentice had his full attention on her once she turned to face him once more. "The best time of the day to talk to him is in the morning right after he wakes up. Remember that."
Roy nodded his head and filed that information under for future reference. "May I ask why?"
Washed out white pillows were rearranged on the worn out couch as she spoke. "He just hates it when he's very concentrated on something and has to pay attention to something else, even if for a minute, so it's always best to talk to him before he goes to his study." Riza fluffed a thin pad before adding. "There's a door that connects his bedroom and study from the inside so he doesn't have to leave it, but he usually comes down for coffee in the mornings."
She fiddled with the curtains next; though she was too short to reach the railings, she was not about to climb on the couch in the presence of her father's apprentice, so that would have to do. "He takes it very seriously, doesn't he?" Riza tried hard to keep her hands working at the sound of his voice, thankfully she succeeded, and merely nodded her head. "I expected as much."
"Would you like to see our small library?" Roy perked up and nodded his head almost too enthusiastically, eager to finally see it.
As the girl led him to the door on the far left corner of the room, he already knew that room would meet his expectations.
