Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, although a Cow-Dai wouldn't look all that dissimilar to the Cow-Arakawa . . .
Notes: How sad - this is the last of the seven battles against the sins. With this one I didn't have much to go by (having had only one encounter, and no actual battles), but I made use of what I did have. This is actually related to my story "Such is the Sport of Soccer" - it's two years earlier in that timeline, when certain troubles just began. I don't think it gives spoilers in any way, but it does make reference. You don't have to have read the other story to be able to appreciate this one, but it gives you a little extra knowledge, that's all. So ends my series, in which I aimed to reveal the great metaphor each of the 'battles' against the sins. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you to all of my lovely reviewers - even if I didn't reply early on, I don't think I've missed anyone. Thanks again, and please read my other works!
The Seventh Battle: How Eager the Heart when Tempted with Art
Leaning against the gate, Riza waited patiently. She hadn't been there for a long time yet, and could still be waiting for anywhere between two and twenty minutes. Hopefully she wouldn't have to wait that long, but she was there nonetheless, aware of the time but not really minding.
Another woman approached slowly, a friendly smile on her face. She stopped by Riza's side, watching for a moment before talking. "You have one here?"
Nodding, Riza looked over wistfully towards the brick building inside the gate. "She's five – just started Year One."
The other woman's smile grew bigger. "Isn't it amazing how fast they grow? Mine are actually a bit older, so they're over at that one," she said, pointing at the regular high-school across the road. "I just don't like waiting by my own, so I thought I might come and chat."
Riza stifled a smile. She was glad for the company, but didn't mind being alone at times. It was a lot more comfortable than the tense air that had developed at home. Still, she decided to keep the conversation going. "How old are they?"
"Sixteen and fifteen – both boys, but more precious to me than any daughter," the woman told her, smiling through her eyes more than her mouth.
"That's all a matter of your own opinion," Riza said quietly, wondering what it would be like if quiet little Addy was replaced by two older, louder boys. She didn't think she'd be able to stand it, except she supposed that she would have been older and had more experience with children if they were that old.
"Of course," the other woman laughed. "I suppose that every woman thinks her own child is the dearest. Such sentiment seems only natural."
Mollified, Riza eyed the woman curiously, noting again the way that her eyes gleamed brightly with every toothpaste-commercial grin.
Hands held patiently in front of her, Riza began contemplatively. "In the past year – since Addy's been at school – I've noticed the tendency of most mothers to complain about the faults their children have," she noted, "but when the bell goes and their child comes to find them, no matter how artistically devoid the child's drawing, the expression on every woman's face seems to say that that page of scribbles is superior to every other scribble in the school."
The other woman gave an amused laugh. "Then I suppose that you're no different, when it all comes down to it?"
Riza paused, remembering the eight different scribbles stuck to the corkboard at home. "No, I suppose I'm not."
Somewhere in the high-school a bell sounded loudly. Riza and the other woman both winced, and when the noise finally stopped the other woman gave an apologetic smile. "I should head over to find my boys – the eldest gets impatient when they have to wait around. It was nice to meet you . . ?"
"Riza Mustang."
"Nice to meet you, Riza," the woman smiled, starting to walk away slowly. "I'm Trisha Elric. Maybe I'll see you another day."
Riza smiled and nodded. "Maybe."
When a few minutes later Riza had Addy's hand in her right, and the picture-of-the-day in her left, she shook her head, realising just how right her own observations had been. It had taken less than ten seconds for her to give the scribble four different types of praise, and now as they walked out the gate, she could barely restrain herself from asking her daughter how her day had been.
The little girl was the best thing in her life, and she knew it.
As subtle as it may be, Pride's stranglehold on Riza is still there.
Humans: 4, Sins: 3
Humans may have lost some battles, but they win the war. Eventually.
