Summary: Crack-fic. They must be lowering the bar for the Alchemists they let join the military, because the newest recruits that are roaming Central's halls are the strangest group these guys have ever seen.

General Info: I found this website that randomly generates State Alchemist names for you at the click of the button! The best part though is you can pick Serious Alchemist Names...or Silly Alchemist Names. And that's how this story was born! Pretty much each chapter is going to be based off of a silly alchemist name that I have challenged myself to write into the story. Expect mostly craziness (it is a crack-fic after all). This chapter is from Colonel Mustang's POV, but that can change from chapter to chapter. This will probably only be updated when the mood strikes me, but I had a lot of fun with this chapter!

Yeah, yeah, I know a new story is the last thing I need to be posting. But I've had some major writer's block on my "Circus Comes to Ouran" story and I think part of the reason is that I've been so obsessed with Fullmetal Alchemist recently. So maybe if I get some of this crazy alchemist stuff outta me, I'll be able to get back to Ouran.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my charming personality.

As soon as he woke up, Roy Mustang just knew that today was not going to be a good day. Call it intuition, call it a sixth sense, or -like everyone else- call it laziness; but as soon as he scorched his third alarm clock this week into a melting pile of black goo that he really should clean up, but knew he wasn't going to, (and since he saw no reason to clean up each clock explosion, the ever growing pile of twisted and half melted clock faces looked like some sort of unidentifiable being from space come for his brain…actually, if you tilted your head and squinted your eyes, it was almost kind of cute), he just wanted to crawl back into bed. But you can't become Fuhrer by just lying in bed, so with a quick pep talk and a mental promise of extra sugar in his coffee, he hefted himself out of bed and practically crawled to the bathroom.

Going through his morning routine in a barely conscious daze, he eventually stumbled down the stairs while attempting to put a shoe on his foot without tripping and breaking his neck. The smell of coffee (sensational, invigorating, wonderfully blessed, gift from the gods, provider of life, fabulous coffee) greeted him as he entered the tiny kitchen.

With practiced ease, he whipped out two travel mugs (one simply did not carry enough coffee), filled each with the proper amount of liquid happiness, and added in the necessary amount of cream and sugar (along with his extra sugar he promised himself). He popped the caps on, threw on a coat, and was out the door heading to work at a brisk jog so he wouldn't be late. Lieutenant Hawkeye did not care for tardiness and Mustang did not care for bullets that came far too close to certain extremities he still needed, so Mustang always tried to be on time, at least in the morning.

Already almost done with his first mug, Mustang kicked his office door open and walked over to his 'imposing-desk-of-power' and rather ungracefully threw himself into his comfy chair (which also had the ability to spin, another definite bonus). The others nodded their greetings, but everyone knew not to bother him until he was at least halfway done with his second mug of coffee and less likely to snap (literally and figuratively).

For a while, the only sound was Mustang sipping his coffee, the rustle of various reports changing hands, and the sound of pencil on paper as Mustang doodled on the edges of Fullmetal's reports. Mustang was just beginning to second-guess his feelings of anxiety that morning when Hawkeye walked up to his desk holding an envelope that had the Fuhrer's seal on it and a small box.

Since the Fuhrer's seal was an obnoxious smiley face, it was pretty hard to miss. Apparently the man was under the delusion that the smiley faces raised morale and made the military a bit more cheery. Nothing like a smiley face on your orders to exterminate half a town to really brighten your day!

"For you, sir." Shoving the thick paperwork into his face, she stood and waited for him to open it. Mustang would point out that it was against protocol to stand over a superior officer while he was opening sensitive documents, but they both knew if she turned her back on him he'd attempt to shove them out the window and play dumb.

Again.

So with a reluctant sigh and ignoring the feeling of dread that was sinking deeper into his stomach until it was settling somewhere near his colon, Mustang broke open the seal and pulled out the Fuhrer's orders. Eyes trailing over paragraphs, that niggling sense of dread bloomed into full blown horror. Until all Mustang could do was repeatedly sing "no" in several octaves in some random semblance of a tune from hell.

This was not happening.

It just couldn't.

Sure he participated in the Ishbal Civil War, but surely his karma wasn't that bad, right?

"Sir?" Hawkeye's voice snapped him out of his thoughts (which at this point had mostly consisted of pointless screaming and shouts of defiance) and back to staring at the papers in front of him.

The new recruit papers.

Because it would seem that the Fuhrer in all his wisdom (cruel hearted jerk who couldn't take a joke) was assigning a brand-spanking new alchemist to his group, fresh from their State Alchemist Exam and probably so green behind the ears you could scrape it off with a spork.

This was all Fullmetal's fault. If the little (teeny-tiny, insignificant, miniscule, particle-sized) brat hadn't told the Fuhrer he was a "pirate wanna-be who couldn't sail his way up a woman's skirt even with a treasure map" during one of his short rants, Mustang most likely wouldn't have to be dealing with this crap. Everyone knew that new recruits easily tripled your paperwork. Coal black eyes glowered at his desk, as a small stack of papers to his right started to smolder. When he got his hands on the pipsqueak he wouldn't leave enough ashes to fill a teacup. And that was a promise.

"Sir, there's a fire on your desk." Mustang looked up from his murderous musings to see that, well yes, Fullmetal's report did go up in flames. Oh dear, it would seem the poor boy was just going to have to rewrite all of them. Quickly dousing the small fire, Mustang turned to his subordinates, who were watching him carefully.

"It would seem that Fuhrer Bradley has seen fit to assign another young alchemist recruit to our team." Good, the others could sense the direness in the situation. One tiny whirlwind of hormonal teen mixed with young idiocy that had the power to change matter at will was more than enough for one military squad, thank you very much.

"What did we ever do to the Fuhrer?" Breda groaned as he leaned back in his seat. "You know, besides the whole 'trying-to-take-over-his-position-and-possibly-overthrow-our-current-government' and what-not. This is just cruel and uncalled for." That was his team all right, Mustang chucked a paperweight at the overgrown man, brilliant but not so great in the subtly department. A whoosh of air told Mustang he hit his substantial target, even with his eyes closed. He was just that fantastic.

"So…who are they assigning to our team?" Spoke a large and clunky radio sitting on Fury's desk. A mop of black hair and glasses peeked over the edge of the contraption.

"Betcha they're a spy for the Fuhrer." Havoc piped up from the window, tapping his ashes out the window.

"A spy!?" Oh great, the radio was freaking out now.

Now everyone in the office was talking at once, throwing around everything including conspiracy theories and alien attacks. Note to self; never listen to anything Fury says when he's freaked. That is one paranoid little guy.

A loud gunshot broke through all the pointless babble, forcing everyone into terrified silence. Mustang noticed he wasn't the only man who glanced down to make sure everything was still accounted for. Don't let anyone say that Riza Hawkeye did not have her men trained well. "Now that everyone is calm and not gossiping like a bunch of teenage girls-"

Ouch. That hit right in the testosterone.

"-let's talk this over like professionals. I'm sure there is a perfectly logical explanation for why the Fuhrer has felt the need to assign us another alchemist. Colonel, what do the papers say about our new recruit?" Fumbling with the folder, Mustang pulled out the first sheet with all the basic data.

According to the paper this… 'Tatianna Torrens' was (barely) sixteen and just graduated her alchemist exam. Literally, just completed it, the ink was smeared on the date of completion since it was still so wet. There wasn't even a picture of her or anything. It's almost as if the Fuhrer had made his decision during the exam and tried to get the paperwork finished as quickly as possible and sent over so it would beat the girl over here. Under alchemy type, it merely said 'unorthodox'. Mustang's newest companions, Dread and Paranoia, were both perched on his shoulders screaming warnings in his ears. Seeing the others expectant looks, Mustang sighed and filled them in on his thoughts (minus the whole 'I'm-pretty-sure-the-Fuhrer-hates-me-even-though-I-can't-figure-if-it's-because-I'm-planning-to-overthrow-him-or-because-I-took-the-last-apple-muffin-in-the-break-room-it-really-could-be-either').

Mid-sentence a series of loud and persistent knocks pounded against the door. Quickly glancing at the rest of his crew to make sure they got the message of caution, since this was a possible spy for the Fuhrer, Mustang cleared his throat and told their newest addition to enter.

And enter she did.

The door knocked against the opposite wall so hard it actually bounced off and slammed shut again. And according to the high-pitched 'eep!' everyone heard, had also barely missed the girl. A split second later, the door popped open again as a short and scrawny girl stumbled in, trying not to trip over her (much too big) uniform.

"Tatianna Torrens reporting for duty!" She chirped, hand snapping up to salute much too fast as she almost gave herself a concussion. "…um, sir!" Mustang groaned, her uniform was literally hanging off her petite form, the sleeves a good six inches too long and dangling in front of her face as she faithfully held her salute. She was even shorter than Fullmetal; something Mustang didn't even think was possible. And…was that a pink cat doll draped over her shoulder? It was official, Fuhrer Bradley hated him. What did Mustang look like, some kind of daycare or something?

"At ease…soldier." The hand flopped down and she grinned back, bouncing on the heels of her feet. Bright green eyes kept trying to glance around the room, obviously too excited to stay completely still. Mustang looked back over his papers in order to give his reeling brain a second to re-orient its thoughts. When he first heard the Fuhrer was putting another alchemist in their squad he was expecting a lot of things, but definitely not this. He took another glance at their newest addition. She was now fiddling with her blonde ponytail and sneaking a wave at Hawkeye. Nope, definitely not expecting this.

"So, Ms…Tatianna…"

"Oh, you can just call me Tati. All my friends do!" Havoc was bent over at his desk, obviously trying not to laugh, the insufferable prick. Mustang made a mental note to slip some of his own paperwork into Havoc's pile later when the chain smoking blonde wasn't looking.

"…Tati…right." Mustang struggled to pull some of his superiority back from the depths of shock so he could lord it over the new recruit. "I am Colonel Mustang and will be your superior officer from now on. You will do what I say, when I say, without a word of complaint." Quickly introducing her to the rest of the crew, to whom she graced with a splitting grin and much too enthusiastic wave, Mustang turned back to the papers. "Do you have any questions?" The girl paused, which was the stillest Mustang had seen her the entire time she had been in his office, tapping a finger that was swallowed up in the uniform against her chin.

"Do you have any idea where I can get some good zucchini for cheap?"

Havoc was just asking to get his rear-end burned. The man was trying to quell his laughter but was now chuckling so hard that he was occasionally snorting. Let's see how hard he laughs when Mustang swaps out one of his cigarettes for a firecracker.

And to think, Mustang thought that only Fullmetal could bring on these kinds of headaches. "What?" That came out a little more high-pitched and squeaky than he wanted it to.

"Well, you asked if I had any questions and I do because I've only been in Central for a week or so and I wanted to make some zucchini bread but I keep looking all over and I can't seem to find any zucchini and you kind of need zucchini for zucchini bread or it's kinda just bread and even though bread is delicious I really want to make zucchini bread so I was wondering if maybe you would know where to get some zucchini-"

"Wait, wait, wait." Mustang finally stopped her mid-ramble, hand massaging his temples to try and force back the raging headache. "Are you telling me…that you joined the military…to ask about zucchini?" Tati looked at him for a second before laughing.

"Pfft, of course not! That would be ridiculous! Joining the military just for zucchini directions…" Everyone let out a small sigh of relief; Mustang especially had almost been convinced that that was the reason she-

"I also heard we get a military discount!"

'Just kill me now.' Mustang thought, staring at the innocent girl before him. 'I don't care if it's lightning, or a bullet, or even Fullmetal bursting through those doors and finally making good on one of his multiple promises to kill me. Just do it now. Please, for all that is holy, I don't want to live in this world anymore.'

"Just…just give me the paperwork Fuhrer Bradley gave you." He finally ground out as she skipped (Skipped! Skipped!) up to his desk and handed over her new authorization papers. Opening the box that came with her paperwork earlier, Mustang tossed her new silver watch at her. It was an impressive mid-air frantic juggling act of one, but luckily she managed to get a firm grip on it. "Congratulations, you are now a dog of the military." Two cups of coffee was not enough caffeine to be dealing with all this. He needed at least twice that much.

"Can I be a kitten of the military instead? I'm definitely more of a cat person."

Make those two pots of coffee.

"Are you even an alchemist?" Falman asked, obviously just as confused as everyone else at the girl's credentials to even get hired by the military. Tati nodded enthusiastically.

"Yep! The old smiley dude said I passed the exam." Joy, the stuffed cat was now sitting on top of her head. This day just kept getting better and better. "Wanna see what I can do?!"

Yes, Mustang would absolutely love to see how this girl managed to pass the State Alchemist exam when so many other grown men failed. He waved a hand in her direction telling her to go ahead, since he was afraid if he opened his mouth whatever he said would come out in an extremely sarcastic manner. Obviously pleased to show off her skills, Tati reached into one of her uniform's expansive pockets and pulled out a handful of fabric (he couldn't even bring himself to feel surprised at this point) and placed it on the floor. Digging around in another pocket, she pulled out an additional small square of material with a transmutation circle painted on it and placed it on the fabric before activating it.

There was a bright light and then…

A stuffed cat.

She transmuted a blue stuffed cat.

A. Stuffed. Cat.

Too flabbergasted to even say words, Mustang looked down at the papers she had given him from the Fuhrer that had this girl's State Alchemist Title printed on them.

The Plushie Alchemist.

Mustang noticed a little note that had been penned in the corner. Squinting, he detected the Fuhrer's unmistakable flowing script.

"Those apple muffins are mine."

Ta-da! What do you think?! This actually took me two days to write (and it's one in the morning now, so that second half probably doesn't make much sense...)

I tried something a little different with Mustang's kind of inner thoughts thing, which I really had fun with, but I'm not sure how well it flowed.

I'm playing with the idea where if I get enough reviews about a certain character I've written about in the past, I can bring them back for an encore. But we'll see...

Review please my lovelies! Or you'll make Alphonse sad.