Summary: Contrary to popular belief, the military was organised. Just not in the way in which anybody would expect it to be.
Pairings: Hinted RoyxRiza.
Dedication: Jenny Grammy, the person to review, then favourite me as an authour (for which I was immensly flattered) because of my lonely RoyxRiza. This is my personal thanks to you.
Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.
King
Roy found some things extreamly ironic. One of these things being the French language. Mostly because when he found an old chess set in an antique shop, he had not known the translation of King in French.
Roi.
Sure, it was not exactly his name. But it was pronouced the same way, with almost the same lettering. So if he was ever born French, he may have been called Roi. Right? They must have known his intention to become Fuhrer in France or something, he thought stupidly. The thought did not pass without a childish grin though.
He smirked down at the pieces in front of him which he had purchased, looking at all of them carefully. The fine carved wooden details on each piece, intricate and handmade. He wondered for a moment how long it took the person who made them to carve them. How long it took to make the King. How long it took to make the King as flawless as the Queen was.
Looking up across the room, he saw the Queen herself sitting there going through the paperwork which was supposed to be his. Looking down at the newly-purchased pieces himself, he felt guilty. How powerful would the piece of the King be without the Queen to help it out? He did not know the rules of chess, but he had the feeling it would not be very far. Maybe it was true. He sighed aloud. Behind every great man, there was indeed an even greater woman.
Disregarding the chess set a moment, he sat up straight and looked at the clock. It was their lunch break, and they were both supposed to be in the Mess Hall right at that moment. She seemed to disregard this fact though, continuing to sort through the seemingly neverending piles of paper upon her desk. Which he was responsible for not doing.
"Are you coming to lunch, Dame Hawkeye?" He asked. She looked up, clearly knowing that he was adressing her. After all, she was the only other person in the otherwise empty room. A look of rage contorted upon her face a moment, then she reached for a gun. She fired two warning shots into the wall, thinking he was insulting her. A Dame? She grew angrier on the thought. His smile dropped instantly.
Leaving the paperwork on the table for him to do instead (although she knew he would not, and she would just end up doing more later) she marched out of the room angrily. How dare he speak to her like that, after all she done for him? He looked at her befuddled a moment, then realised that she thought he meant it in the save-me-damsel kind of way like the women in fairytales that all children are told when they are young. The weak Princesses. The distressed Dames.
When really, he had just called her the Queen.
So yes, it was short. But what did you expect? It was a drabble. Reviews are appriciated, and make me update quicker.