They knew it wasn't going to be pleasant when Olivier arrived to dinner with her sword.
The elder Armstrongs and Catherine, having just returned from their vacation from Xing, had been looking forward to a calm evening at their manor. And so far it had been. Only two family heirlooms and one chandelier had been broken. They weren't sure if Catherine's ribs were cracked, or just bruised. But either way, it had been a fairly calm evening.
This is in no small part attributed to the fact that Alex had only just returned from military headquarters and Olivier had been mysteriously absent for most of the day. The master of the manor had only appeared briefly that morning, and then disappeared with that strange Ishvalan man of hers.
Alex had just been about to suggest they begin the meal without Olivier when she arrived, sword belted firmly on her hip. Alex's eyes widened and the words died on his lips as he slowly moved his hand to his pocket for his iron knuckles. This proved unnecessary as Olivier sat without a single word.
As soon as their master was seated, the servants sprang from the shadows—pouring drinks, serving dishes, and folding napkins. The room was a flurry of activity and yet Alex felt only one thing: the hot gaze of his eldest sister burning through his skull. It had been nearly a year since he had felt this level of hatred from her. Had he done something recently? Part of him almost wished there could be more homunculus or something that would provide them a common enemy.
"Olivier," boomed Philip. "You must hear of our adventures in Xing. They have the most amazing food there. Isn't that right, Catherine."
"Yes father," said the girl, smiling but wincing slightly at the pain in her ribs.
"Although," Philip continued, "I was surprised to see how much Amestrian food is served in Xing now. The new emperor certainly has made some changes."
"It was nice to find something familiar among the foreign," whispered his wife.
"Perhaps I will go there myself soon," Alex said pleasantly.
Olivier scoffed and stood, "Miles!" The Isvalan stepped from the shadows, surprising them all. "We're leaving." She turned sharply, her dark coat billowing behind her.
"O-Olivier," Alex stuttered in surprise, then regained his wits. He pounded his fists on the table, cracking the fine wood as he stood. "How dare you be so rude to our father? You may be the master of Armstrong Manor, but that- agh!"
Olivier's sword pressed against Alex's throat. "And do you remember how I became master of the manor? Are you sure you want to finish that sentence? It may take me a moment to cut through your bloated muscle, but I promise that if you say another word it will be your last."
"More wine, sir?" A servant asked Philip.
"Oh! Yes please. Thank you, good sir."
Olivier glared in annoyance at the servant who had interrupted her threatening pause and stepped away from her brother. Sheathing her sword with a smooth motion she followed Miles out of the door, pausing to look back and say. "And don't think this is my revenge for what you told Havoc. I assure you that will be much worse." The heavy wooden door made an undeniably intimidating sound as it closed behind her.
The reason for Olivier's coldness toward him hit him like one of his own punches. "She's going to kill me," he whispered.
Catherine smiled at her elder brother, "Good luck, Alex. Will you pass the butter, please?"
NOTES: I don't love this story. It relies too much with character stereotypes. It seemed like a good idea before I wrote it, but I'm not sure where else to go with it and so I don't plan to do anything else.