I am sitting here with my imaginary bottle of champagne, about to embark on my inaugural voyage into fan fiction. Having lurked around on such sites for several years now, I have taken a great leap of faith and opened my own account. Am I scared shitless to expose my vile writing to the world? yes. Am I afraid of the flames of incensed readers? obviously. Do I feel that the need for grammatically correct/decent fan fiction outweighs my very legitimate fears? Well, duh, that's why I'm here.

So put on your seat belts, folks, and keep all limbs inside the vehicle at all times.

Let's do this.

Riza Hawkeye strongly disliked her job. Being the smart sidekick isn't all it's cracked up to be, she thought absentmindedly as Roy clicked his pen repeatedly from behind his paperwork. After suffering through bad haircuts, angsty alchemists, and a tacky back tattoo, Riza was just about ready to call it a day.

"Rizaaa..." whined Roy, "When is lunch?"

"Noon." she answered curtly, and went back to pretending to fill out paperwork.

The pen clicking resumed.

"Colonel."

"Hm?"

"The clicking."

"What about it?"

"It needs to stop."

"Are you telling me what to do?"

"Yes."

"I am the flame alchemist! I am attractive and powerful! I am a tragically heroic and courageous character! DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO, WOMAN!"

"Roy."

"Hm?"

"The begonias are on fire."

"Oh, right. Thank you. Um... at ease, Lieutenant."

Riza sighed and flicked the ash off her paperwork. It was definitely time for a vacation. Unfortunately, military benefits, although they covered tylenol, advil, and nyquil, did not cover therapy or vacation time, which would explain the perpetual cloud of psychological turmoil that constantly hovered over Central. Yes, it seemed like any other dull day, but something evil was lurking on the horizon. Thank god the Elric brothers were prepared for any sort of attack-

As she shuffled through another folder of forms regarding agricultural subsidies for alfalfa farmers on the western border, a post-it note fell out onto Riza's desk.

Some stuff came up.

Me and Al had to go up north for a bit.

Don't expect us back until...um...Thursday.

We borrowed your microwave.

-Ed

Riza rolled her eyes and checked her calendar. There was no way to tell when this note had been left, or what Thursday Ed meant, but with any luck they would be back soon. Technically the microwave belonged to the whole office, and the Colonel would not be a happy camper if he had to flame grill his lean cuisine.