"Riza, you have to wear your dress!"
"But Papa, it looks stupid!" Riza whined, fidgeting with her skirt. It wasn't fair. Ever since her mother died he had always treated her like a boy. She wore boys clothes, played with boy toys; he even kept her hair short, probably because he didn't want to deal with brushing it out. And now she looked like a boy in a dress.
"This is not up for debate, Riza. Mrs. Mustang is a very good friend of mine and I want you to look good for her and her nephew." He knelt in front of her and pulled her reluctant arms through a knitted white cardigan, only to make her look more ridiculous.
"I don't understand why he is coming." Riza pouted, folding her arms over her chest.
Berthold sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We went over this, Riza. Roy's parents just passed away and Miss Mustang is having a hard time raising him and running a business. I told her we have plenty of room at our house and he can stay here and work in the flower shop with you. It will be good for him. And besides," Berthold smiled, putting his two large, rough hands on her tiny shoulders, "He's twelve years old, only two years older than you! Maybe you'll really get along and become friends."
"Doubt it. He sounds mean if Miss Mustang can't handle him."
"You hold your tongue, Riza." Berthold said, his voice becoming stern, "Never speak about things you don't understand."
Riza rolled her eyes in protest. "Whatever."
"Now go and sit on the couch until they arrive. And remember to behave yourself."
Riza snorted and did as she was told, plopping herself down on the couch in the sitting room. She couldn't believe this was happening and that she was going to work all summer with this dumb kid. She told her father that she could handle the flower shop by herself and that she didn't need some city boy from East City helping her out.
After what seemed a lifetime of sitting on the couch, Riza heard the familiar sound of the front door opening.
"Chris!" she heard her father exclaim in the distance.
"Hawkeye, you old dog, how are you?" replied a woman's voice from the hallway.
"Well, things haven't exactly been easy since Elizabeth died, but Riza and I have been trying our best." The excited tone had quickly faded from Berthold's voice.
"Yes, we are still trying to recover from the death of my brother and his wife," she replied, adopting his somber tone, "and yet life goes on."
"Yes, it does. Ah, this must be young Roy Mustang," he continued, "How are you, lad? Quite tall for your age!"
"Ha!" Chris laughed, "Well you know how boys get at this time. Once they start growing, they just never stop."
"Oh, where are my manners, please step inside."
"What manners? You've never had any! Look, you still keep your hair a shaggy mop, just like in the old days."
"It's a good look for me! The sitting room is this way."
Riza straightened herself as footsteps drew nearer to the room. Her father would kill her if she didn't look like the porcelain doll he wanted. Berthold entered the room followed by a tall, busty woman along with the smell of her strong perfume. Her dark hair was pinned up high on her head, with curls spilling down her neck and she wore a smart, knee-length red travel behind her was a dark haired boy, very similar to his aunt's and standing taller than her shoulder and looking more uncomfortable than her in a scratchy looking vest and a starched collar.
Berthold, raised his eyebrows, "Riza, stand up and say hello to our guests."
Riza put on the best smile she could and slid off the couch, smoothing out her skirt behind her. She walked up to stand in front of Miss Mustang and held out her hand, "Nice to meet you," she said quietly.
Chris lifted a gloved hand to hover over her red, painted lips, "Berthold," she gasped, "she looks exactly like Elizabeth." She shot Berthold a sly look, "and thank goodness for that. How horrible would it be if she looked like you?" She took Riza's hand and gave it a quick shake, "It's very nice to meet you again, Miss Riza. I haven't seen you since you were just a very little girl, but you probably don't remember me much."
Chris turned to the boy standing in her shadow and grabbed his shoulders, shoving him in front of her. "And this is my nephew Roy. Say hello to Riza."
Roy just looked at her and scowled, folding his arms at her extended hand.
"Hello," he said curtly.
Riza sneered. What a brat. She folded her arms, mirroring him, "Hello."
"Riza!" her father hissed between his teeth.
"Oh my!" Chris laughed, "Looks like they're off to a good start. Now let's sit down, I want to hear how you have been and what you've been up to in the past few years."
"Of course," Berthold said, "Let me just get the tea out."
Chris put a hand on his shoulder, "Oh you are a dear, thank you. I am parched after our trip." Berthold left the room and Riza could hear her father fumbling with the cups in the kitchen across the hall. She wished he would have sent her to get the tea.
She returned to the spot on the couch and Roy crossed the room to sit on one of the armchairs, but before he could sit, Chris tsked. He sighed and stomped over to the couch to sit next to Riza. Great.
Chris sighed as she sat down on the chair, looking around the living room. She was very pretty, but she wore too much makeup, Riza noted and her age was beginning to show on her eyes. "Riza, did you know that I've known your mom and dad since we were kids?" Chris asked.
"No, I didn't," Riza replied, not really interested.
"Yes, your dad, mom and my brother and I all grew up here. We were inseparable. We even moved to the East City together to follow our dreams." Her eyes went off into the corner of the room as her voice became more distant. "My, I could go on for hours about the stories of adventures we had together. We were all quite the troublemakers when we were younger..." she turned her gaze to Riza again, propping her chin on her hand, "You know it really is a shame your father cuts your hair so short. Your mother used to wear it as long as she could grow it and it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I used to get so jealous of her golden hair and I would try to grow out mine to match but my hair would just get all frizzy and wavy." Chris laughed to herself, "I bet you anything your hair would be exactly like her's and all the boys would drool over it, just like your father drooled over her's."
"I really don't remember her hair too much," Riza lied. She did remember her mother's hair, even though she was only five when she died. She remembered how soft it was and how she used to tickle her face with the ends when they were sitting on her bed reading stories together. She remembered how it smelled like her homemade flower soap. She even remembered how pale and withered it was when she became sick and how she kept it in a long braid to keep it out of her face.
"Well, it was stunning." Chris said quietly, "She was really a remarkable woman."
Her father reentered the room carrying the tray with the tea.
"Ah, good. Do you mind if I smoke?" Chris asked.
"No, go right ahead." Berthold pulled a crystal ashtray from underneath the coffee table.
Chris pulled a cigarette and a lighter from her black beaded beaded purse on her lap and with a one flick of her wrist, lit the cigarette between her full lips, pursing them to let out a smooth line of smoke.
Riza almost coughed as the smoke mixed in with Chris' strong perfume. It was so unlike the soft smell of flowers that usually filled the house. It was too rough and harsh. She barely restrained herself from pinching her nose, only because she knew she would get a mouthful later if she did.
For what seemed like hours she had to sit there while her father and Chris sipped their tea and smoked and talked about this and that. Chris talked about her bar in the city and Berthold went on about his research, two things that didn't make sense nor did they interest Riza.
Roy just slouched, pushed into the corner of couch like he was trying to get as far as he could get and looking as bored and annoyed with the adults conversation as she was. Finally, Chris stood up.
"Well, I certainly enjoy seeing you and young Miss Riza, here. I didn't even imagine I'd enjoy myself as much as I did." Berthold stood up and shook her hand and for a second they just stared at each other, just holding hands.
"You must promise to visit more often."
"I swear it." She smiled at Riza, "I can't tell you how very nice it was to meet you today. Berthold, are you sure we can't swap children? Just for a bit. I want to take Riza to East City with me, take her shopping."
"Maybe another time," Berthold said, placing a hand on her shoulder, "I think maybe a bar will be too wild for her just now."
Chris pouted, "Alright, but someday I will kidnap her, mark my words!"
"Riza, say goodbye."
Riza reluctantly got off the couch and put her hands behind her back, "Goodbye Miss Mustang."
"Oh, goodbye Miss Riza," she said, pulling a surprised Riza into a smothering hug. "Would you really like to come see East City with me someday?" she asked, holding her out at arms-length.
"Um, I guess," Riza managed, unsure of what to say.
"It's settled then! We will have the grandest time, you'll see." And with that, all four of them walked to the front door.
Berthold turned to Riza as he opened the door. "Now, while I drive Miss Mustang to the station, I want you to show Roy around the house and help him move his things into his room. And then I want you to get things ready for dinner."
Chris shoved him a little, "Oh Berthold, stop treating her like a little adult."
"She is very responsible and mature for her age."
"Well that must be nice," Chris said, giving a knowing glare at Roy. She put on her coat and pulling out her hair from beneath the collar, said, "Now Roy, I don't want to be getting any phone calls saying that you've burned down their house. Behave yourself and do exactly what I told you on the way here. Got it?"
"Fine," he muttered.
Chris walked over to him, the click of her heels echoing through the hallway and kissed his cheek, leaving a red mark where her lipstick had rubbed off. He tried to pull away but it was too late. He tried to rub the lipstick off, but it only made it worse.
"I love you. Be good and I'll see you at the end of summer, kid." she said, pointing a finger at him as she and Berthold disappeared behind the front door, leaving Riza and Roy alone in the dim hallway.
"If you'll grab your suitcase, I'll show you to your room." Riza said, gesturing to the stairs.
"Fine." He grabbed his large tattered suitcase by the door and followed her up the narrow stairs and down to the end of the hallway. Riza showed him inside an empty room, only furnished with a dresser, a desk, and a small bed in the corner.
"Well, here is your room. It used to be my baby brother's room, but he died when he was just a couple weeks old."
"Whatever," Roy said as he pushed her to get into the room, dropping his suitcase on the ground with a loud thump and flopping down on the bed.
"What is your problem?" Riza demanded, putting her hands on her hips.
"My problem is that I have to spend the whole summer in the middle of nowhere with an annoying little brat like you," he said, sitting up on the bed.
"It's not like I wanted you to be here either, jerk," she yelled back.
"Just make sure you leave me alone."
"Fine. Let's just see if I make any dinner for you."
"Fine, I don't care one way or the other. Close the door behind you," he said, shooing her away with this hand.
Riza almost screamed. She pivoted sharply on her foot, slamming the door on her way out. She stomped down the hallway and all the way down to the kitchen. She pulled out some potatoes from the under the sink and began to rapidly peel them, not caring where the peels ended. She was fuming at her father. She couldn't believe she would have to spend all summer with him. It was going to be hell.
(A/N): Just as a side note, I plan on carrying this fanfic into their teens, if anybody was wondering. But for now I hoped you enjoy some kiddie!Royai. To be honest though, now I just really want to write about their parents, so I may or may not be creating a fic for them right now. RR!