A/N: Whee, longest chapter evar on my Little Bro's B-day! For serious, this even trumps anything from my original LotR Suefic even without rambling author's notes. Serious fic? What is this serious fic you speak of? Thanks to Nebula Coyote and Cap'nHoozits, this has been at least partially written and edited under influence of bagpipes. There's a reason my ancestors left Ireland. ;P I'm way too cruel to own the awesomeness that is Izumi Curtis, much less any of the others. As to Zosimos and Jabir, there are reasons for those names, same as Phillippus Aureolus Theophrastus Bombastis - er, Van Hohenheim.
I leaped behind a pile of upthrust rubble, feeling the heat of the flames and the roar of the military and my fellow Ishvalans wash over me. Giving myself barely enough time to inhale something cooler than the superheated oxygen, I turned and launched myself at my attacker, turning his glove to dust beneath my right palm as we hit the ground and rolled. He kicked wildly, throwing his elbows and snapping his still intact right glove to bring his fire as close as he dared, but I kept myself moving, even when the dog of the military bared his teeth and snapped those at me as well. I knew a few underhanded tricks of my own, and managed to contain his left hand at least until I could grasp the right. I had it within my grasp when he slipped loose from my hold to slam his bare fist in my face and pull himself to his feet. Not wishing to give him time to conjure up another glove, I jumped toward him while half-blinded from the impact of his fist and the blood trickling in my eyes, trusting to my nose to warn me if the Flame Alchemist attempted to twist the oxygen and hydrogen in the air before I could close the distance. The sand was packed hard enough to bruise us when we fell, but I could feel it slip beneath my feet, nearly hear the cornered beast that railed in Mustang's chest over the mingled raw chorus of approval from my people and disappointment from his as I grasped his ungloved hand once more, bowling him over as our skulls rattled in impact.
The second blow to my head left me dizzy, but gave me a few moments to sort the cacophony of voices into at least a few that I recognized.
"You got him, chief!"
"Give him hell, preacher!"
"You call that fighting? I could take you both with one hand tied behind my back and no alchemy!" Not that the last catcaller had much choice, but further insults were forestalled as another familiar voice called to him for help.
"Brother, I think our wives are corrupting the children."
"Sounds to me more like Elysia and the Miles girls are corrupting them."
Indeed, despite the newly alchemized Xingese-style dragons that twined around the edges of the bleachers much like the four that wound their way up my forearms, the chants of "Uncle Scar" and "Uncle Roy" commingled in the air until the last syllable was an indecipherable muddle, and none shouted more enthusiastically than Edward Elric's eldest from his position on Elysia Hughes's shoulders as she bounded from one end of the bleachers to the other. Theo's sister remained in their mother's lap, both of them lending their voices in support of Roy Mustang. Meanwhile, Katarie had been granted the honor of holding Mei and Alphonse's baby girl, teaching her to root along with the Miles sisters. Mustang's own wife sat among their men, silencing Havoc as quickly as one of my own student's mother had hushed him for the teenager's unseemly outburst. Colonel Riza Mustang had gotten their infant son to sleep and no raucous support for his father was going to disturb Hughie's nap now.
I swiped at my face with my free hand and took a deep breath, changing my grip on Mustang's fingers. The rabid beast still glinted in the back of his charcoal eyes, but the fight was over now. I hauled him to his feet. "Nice control," he murmured, the first words out of his mouth since the beginning of this demonstration. The brigadier sounded as if he were still attempting to wrestle the savage animal lurking beneath his suave exterior back under his command.
"Wish I could say the same," I replied, brushing the smoldering mud of sand, ash, and blood from my eyebrows. The Ishval Massacre had been a decade ago, but the mindless killers it had created still lived just beneath our skins, waiting for us to loose them with a clap, snap, and outthrust of our hands.
The Fuhrer rose from his seat, even dropping his fan for a standing ovation. "I'm glad to see that the Northern-Eastern joint training has lost none of its grand tradition without me at the helm, though I should expect nothing less from Ms. Armstrong and young Mustang, eh?" Armstrong had remained in her seat, not cheering our stalemate, but she inclined her head as politely as Mustang did to his wife's grandfather. "Two of Ishval's most well-known heroes... my, that takes me back. I'm surprised that the two of you trust each other enough to give such an amazing demonstration right here in the Debir district, but then you have worked together long enough, haven't you?" Grumman gave a light laugh as he took up his fan, and Mustang and I took a moment to consider each other. For my part, I wouldn't call it trust, at least not in Mustang, but as long as the children were within view and not involved in the fight, I could hold myself back, hold onto the uncle, the priest, the man I was supposed to be for them. "I know it's poor form to keep you when you're quite ready to go freshen up and return to your families, but allow an old man his repetitive questions: are you quite sure we can't tempt you into an official title, Scar? I always sleep better knowing alchemy like that is being used for the good of the state, these days."
I bowed deeply, pretending I didn't see the flashing looks Mustang, Marcoh, and both Armstrongs in attendance shot me. "I have other duties that must come first, but with your leave, I would like to speak with you on the subject of the State Alchemist program later." Him, Mustang, both the Armstrongs, Marcoh, the Elrics, and one last expert alchemist that I wasn't sure would turn up anywhere near a military training exercise. If anything, she hated the dogs of the state even more than I did.
When she finally did turn up, it was late in the evening, and Alphonse and Mei had to leave our makeshift meeting hall to wheedle her into joining us. Edward cowered behind his wife, though both their children overcame the insidious grip of sleepiness at the sound of "Auntie Izumi." We could hear through two thick sets of adobe walls as Elysia Hughes tried to calm her charges of the night before they awoke their baby cousin.
"We've got nothing to say to the Fuhrer, so there's no need for us to go in," the latecomer pronounced.
"I'm sure Scar-san would never force you into something you don't want to do. He's got as much reason to want to avoid the State Alchemists as anyone else." She just snorted at the younger female alchemist's statement, but Alex Armstrong sent me a look that mixed equal parts curiosity and concern for sins done on both sides.
His elder sister and I might get along well - I still wouldn't bring up that moment in the heat of early summer, and she wouldn't acknowledge its existence, either, but besides that forbidden topic beyond friendship, I still considered us about as close as a she-bear of Briggs with an eye for martial domination and a priest of Ishvala with anti-military sympathies could get - but Major Armstrong and I had not interacted much after the Promised Day. He was quick with his forgiveness and effusive with kindness for his friends, but I was not ready for Alex Armstrong's open-armed acceptance.
The Miles family, Mei, and Marcoh were about as close as I was able to take in that regard, and they had at least been given a reason. From the rest of Amestris, I had come to expect no better than Edward Elric's blustering, prickly backhands at friendliness, Olivia Armstrong's calculated measures of comfort and command, Yoki's sometimes pompous and usually rather sulky attempts to call in favors, or Alphonse's quiet stillness - he still treated me much as if I were a stray tomcat whose moods he hadn't quite divined. None of these were any more than I deserved. The Mustangs had offered their thanks on the Promised Day, and if I hadn't quite accepted it, it was not because of the reasons Riza Hawkeye had mentioned. I understood the path they walked down all too clearly, for our roads met in the deepest pits of Hell. If they could not shake off the last shadows from that dark place, even after we stood in the renewed Ishvalan sun, perhaps they understood why I couldn't, either.
Major Armstrong had been to that same battlefield that had corrupted the Mustangs, Marcoh, and me, but he'd turned away from that path. He might think it a weakness, but his breakdown in Ishval was part of the reason I was glad to have him as one of the two current State Alchemists here to hear this theory out.
Another part of my reason was the tall, broad-built, dark-haired man who peered suspiciously into sparsely-furnished room as the younger Elric couple argued with his wife. I'd expected Sig Curtis to come along, as much as I'd expected Winry Elric and Riza Mustang. Fortunately, the black-bearded face lit up at the sight of Strongarm as quickly as the bald alchemist's sparkled with delight at his appearance. Brigadier Mustang braced himself to insure that his wife, son, and in-law were firmly out of the way of their boisterous greeting, but the colonel just shook her head in faint amusement as the two men slapped one another's backs and rumbled enthusiastic greetings that I associated more with Mei. Winry accepted her own personal hello from the mountain known as Curtis with slightly more dignity than Alex or her husband, though both she and Edward were lifted off the ground during their reintroduction. Considering that the elder Elric was about my height these days, I couldn't blame General Armstrong for remaining firmly in her seat as she offered her hand to Sig Curtis and letting her eyes drift between her sword, her brother and his friend, and me throughout the introductions. She needed no words to warn me that I treaded upon thin ice with her patience right now. The Armstrong siblings and Curtis couple had a genuine respect for one another, but the general disliked the antics that Sig and Alex were prone to, especially around one another.
I let out my breath as Izumi Curtis, self-proclaimed "Housewife" and most dangerous human I'd ever met, including Olivia Armstrong, Roy Mustang, Solaris, and her own protégés, walked in through the door, Mei and Alphonse riding in her wake. While Mrs. Curtis was not a particularly large woman, only about Colonel Mustang's height and whip-thin, her presence was as imposing as her husband's. Her first greeting was a polite nod for the Fuhrer, along with the generals, though there was something warmer in her gaze for Mustang and Armstrong - for all her disgust with State Alchemists in general, she liked Brigadier Mustang and Major Armstrong in person well enough, if not their choices, and was one of very few people who could safely admire Olivia Armstrong's work without also fearing her for it. Possibly she was the only person. Even Fuhrer Grumman was careful to keep tabs on the elder of his two potential heirs and her connections via a system of intermediaries. Even... even after kissing her, I still felt more like I had dared to leap off a cliff and had been lucky enough to survive the plunge into the icy water below than any less in awe of her. I wondered if Sig Curtis felt the same way about his wife. Certainly the two women seemed to ease one another's moods, at least.
"Well, it took you long enough to see sense, Ed." Izumi turned upon her elder former apprentice, her smile widening into something every bit as potentially vicious as Major-General Olivia Armstrong at her most playful.
"Good to see you, too, Izumi..." Edward said diffidently and stepped back behind Winry, and I couldn't say I blamed him.
Curtis pointed a thumb in Roy Mustang's direction. "So when are you going to convince these other two to slip their collars? No offense to Olivia and Riza, and I'm sure we've got less to worry about with Grumman than Bradley, but you know I prefer to see alchemists who can think for themselves instead of acting as puppets for the state."
"None taken, for my part," General Armstrong said, blue eyes coming to linger on me of all people. "Sometimes it's quite useful to have a man outside the usual system. Certainly Major Elric was Mustang's wildcard for long enough."
"Both of the Elric brothers certainly were helpful to us," Colonel Mustang agreed charitably. "But sometimes it's necessary to change a system from within, or otherwise one will never know how to fix it." She stroked her sleeping child's dark hair, leaning into the hand the Brigadier put to her shoulder.
"Sometimes, things can't be fixed." Curtis crossed her arms, and her husband came to stand behind her, his face set in shadow. "Sometimes it's best to walk away and start over with what you've got left."
"Can't know until you try," the Flame Alchemist offered gamely, though there was still a touch of bitter self-effacement in his words.
Grumman shook his head with a light laugh. "Forgive me, Mrs. Curtis, but you quite remind me of my son-in-law, especially arguing with these two. Berthold did not take it well when his apprentice ran off to join the military, and wasn't shy about voicing his displeasure. He contacted me for the first time in years just to accuse me of corrupting his most promising student."
"I'm sure Roy wouldn't know anything about that," the dreadlocked woman said dryly, and Brigadier Mustang's grip on his wife's shoulder whitened. To my right, Marcoh attempted to disguise his laughter with a cough as the other male alchemists unconsciously took shelter behind wives or sisters - even I was slinking in at General Armstrong's flank before Izumi Curtis turned her attention to me.
"Oh, he came up with the idea to join the military quite on his own, but I certainly wasn't going to waste the opportunity when a good man and talented young alchemist came along. Berthold Hawkeye and I disagreed on any number of topics, but I can't deny that the man had very good taste. He did marry my daughter, after all." The Fuhrer looked indulgently over his grandchildren and great-grandson, and Mrs. Curtis curled her fingers about empty air, faintly brushing fingertips against bare arms. "I'm just glad that you didn't suffer the same fit of apoplexy my son-in-law did when your prodigal apprentices finally visited home."
"I think Sensei came close," Alphonse murmured deadpan to his brother. Edward just shook his head.
Marcoh gently cleared his throat into the tension-filled silence that followed, motioning to me to get things started before we had to get things settled. The parallel between Curtis and Hawkeye and the Elric brothers and Mustang was as good an opening gambit as any I was likely to get. I took a breath and stepped away from the Armstrongs, towards the center of the ring for the second time today. This time, it was only a ring of chairs and throw rugs and the only attack and defense I needed were words, but it was cold comfort when I'd always made my point better through actions and the ones I faced were the supreme commanders of the country in their positions as such and the Housewife herself, no less daunting a name among alchemists for her unofficial status. "The State Alchemy program has corrupted otherwise admirable people and forced them to unspeakable acts," I spoke neutrally, my eyes never maintaining contact for too long with any one individual, though I forced myself to meet blue, gray, brown, and golden gazes without flinching. "But one man left to his own devices can be just as deadly."
I'd expected reproach, but the closest I heard was the Elric brothers' breathless whispers of "Nina" - first from Alphonse; his elder brother half a breath behind him. Alphonse had told me of that poor lost soul, of what she had been before she put her furry misshapen head trustingly into my hand. I prayed that God had found her a form more fitting when I sent her to Him. Winry Rockbell-Elric, of course, required no words. She had been as quick to look away as I had. Sometimes, I still think Brother was wrong. Alchemy cursed us all.
"It is best, perhaps, when an alchemist has seen what he might become: the state dog, the lost prophet, the mad beast, the unsuspecting monster... Pawn or rebel, it is an alchemist's duty to learn all he can about the world's mysteries, is it not?" As if chiding me for my gloom, I felt an echo of Brother in my words.
"Alchemist, be thou for the people," Strongarm rumbled approvingly. While the Armstrong siblings might be as godless as the rest of the native Amestrians, they did hold fast to their individual philosophies.
"No one person should be in command of that power. Not without someone to watch them, guide them, and stop them if need be." I glanced toward Grumman, trying to see if I was overstepping the limits to his kindly veneer of indulgence. He smiled gently behind his fan, willing to hear me out as far as I'd go. The man was willing to give me plenty of leash, at least enough to hang myself. At his side, the Mustangs leaned into each other, the instinctive defense of a hunting couple. They were not, however, looking as if they disagreed with me. To the Fuhrer's right, General Armstrong sat with her legs crossed primly, arms folded across her knee as she leaned back with a neutral, watchful quirk of her brow, her brother a monolith behind her. "It is common for young alchemists to apprentice under a master, but few are humble enough stay in touch with their teachers and fellow learners once they have passed their State exams."
"Or brave enough," Edward mumbled under his breath.
"What was that, Ed?" Izumi Curtis cracked her knuckles against the inside of her elbow.
"Not repeating it, Sensei." The young man did have a certain almost suicidal streak of outspoken stubbornness. Not unlike some of the rest of us gathered tonight.
"It is better when we can remember that we are all still learning, when there is contact between the old masters and those at the peak of their skill, as the state measures such things." Marcoh had been briefed on my mission for this demonstration and was quite happy to assist, though he insisted that he was too old to be championing the cause himself. I could stand in the center of the ring. His old bones, weathered before their time, were better suited to claiming a wicker-and-camelhair chair with a high back and supporting me from the sidelines.
"This is why, instead of serving the state military directly, I would prefer to act as a civilian watchdog, if you will," I told Grumman. "To assure that the future of alchemy is a little less… scarring for all involved."
"So the military watches your kind, you watch the military, and those who do not wish to be seen slip through the cracks," General Armstrong summarized cynically, examining her nails for sand.
"I am not saying that we won't work with the state," I countered. "No more than Eastern and Northern commands would refuse to cooperate with one another." Brigadier Mustang twitched a smirk upwards at that.
"Of course, there are times when paranoia is the only perfectly logical response," he allowed sotto voice. "But who would lead the organization? How can we keep it out from the thumb of military control and yet insure that it is neither corrupted nor fades away?" After our bout earlier in the day, it seemed only natural for Mustang to follow me into the pit, acknowledging and then ignoring his wife's warning look as he swaggered around her.
The colonel appealed silently to her grandfather and the third member of the ruling triad, and Armstrong switched her legs over with a momentarily exaggerated sweeping motion, brushing more or less accidentally against my calf. I withdrew back between her and Marcoh as Riza Mustang nodded in thanks and pretended not to notice any further silent exchange between the two military blondes. I didn't quite understand the quick plucking motion Olivia Armstrong made with one hand before propping her chin against her thumb and wasn't sure I wanted to.
"It'll have to be grassroots." As I backed off, Fullmetal was quick to leap in against his former commanding officer, if only with words. "We'll make sure that the connections get started - Al and I know a few people," Edward spoke with deadpan understatement. If they hadn't met every alchemist between Creta and Xing, the Elric brothers had certainly gotten their names out there to be known by them. "As to leadership… I've got five hundred twenty cens that says we're smart enough to pick our own leaders. Maybe not for life, maybe not quickly, but we'll work it out as we go along." I could have sworn that Roy Mustang offered him a genuine, spontaneous smile at that, though the Brigadier was quick to replace it with his usual knowing half-smirk.
"I've seen what happens 'as you go along,' Ed." Izumi raised an eyebrow, though she appeared to be mulling the concept over. "We'll have to lay some groundwork, make sure it's something we can get public support on, but I like the idea of something organized to keep an eye on the government." She nodded briefly towards me, then the Fuhrer.
"Never a bad thing for the public to take up their civic duties." Fuhrer Grumman kept his cards close. It was difficult to say for certain just what laid behind that twinkle-eyed smile: approval for potentially getting Izumi Curtis within reach of the state as well as me, plans for using these connections to manipulate who we left in charge of the non-militarized alchemists, or simple enjoyment of the chaos. Whatever the Fuhrer's thoughts, I found myself agreeing with my red-eyed brother: just because Grumman was our ally didn't mean we should trust the wily old man as far as we could throw him.
"Even better when we can do them civilly." Marcoh didn't meet my eyes, but it would have been hard for the others to notice if he had beneath those craggy, lopsided eyebrows.
"Who, me? Izumi? Scar? Civil alchemists?" Edward laughed. "Who'd have ever thought?"
"Not me," Winry offered lightly, though she reached to ruffle her husband's long ponytail fondly. I had not seen the elder Elric brother wearing his customary braid nearly so often since their father's death.
"But that is a great name for the duty and vision of this goal!" I turned halfway and raised my hands defensively despite myself. I should have expected an outburst from Alex Armstrong long before this, yet I couldn't have been caught more off-guard if his sister's chair had begun to stride out past me. "Civil Alchemists!" His beefy hands swept out to present first me and Marcoh, then Izumi Curtis and the Elrics. I could not see his mouth beneath the mustache, but he appeared to be gleaming. "Alchemists of the people, for the people!" Perhaps the Ishval Massacre had affected him, as well, if in a different manner than me and the Mustangs or Doctor Tim Marcoh. Then again, to hear General Armstrong tell it, her brother had always been like this. She had buried her face in her palm, surreptitiously scooting her chair away from me as Alex burst forth between us. "The Armstrongs shall be happy to support such a noble idea!"
"Provided that you can make it work," the head of the clan interrupted any further showboating in the desert night.
"We'll see what we can do," Izumi Curtis bowed. The silent giant behind her gripped his friend's iron mitt in oversized paw as the couple started their farewells for the evening. "Nice seeing you again, Doctor Marcoh, Scar," the slender woman offered us each a handshake strong enough to leave prints upon the back of my hand. "We'll talk more later." General Armstrong rose as Mrs. Curtis turned to her, and the Housewife clapped her friend genially on the shoulder, keeping an elbow cocked in my direction. "Keep this one close, Olivia. He's a little reedy, but he's got a decent head on his shoulders. You could do worse." Only a woman married to Sig Curtis would describe a six foot four, two-hundred and twenty-five pound muscular man as "a little reedy." Only her or Alex Armstrong's sister.
Ice-blue eyes glanced playfully in my direction. "I suppose I could do that," Olivia Armstrong allowed.
She cornered me as the meeting broke up, after the Furher declared it long past his and his great-grandson's bedtime and chivvied the Mustangs to their quarters along with him. The Elrics and Marcoh, too, had left to sleep or check on children - Edward grumbled that Izumi would likely have his three-year-old attempting a transmutation circle on his wife's favorite wrench if he left his former master alone with Theo and Sarissa for five minutes - but the night was hardly silent yet. A motley crew of Eastern dogs, Briggs bears, and curious natives had gathered around a pungent bonfire, the Briggs soldiers teasing the more centrally-raised Eastern forces for crowding so close to the blaze against the chill of the desert night - likely in return for the jibes sent their way for sweating so much during the day. A shanty-town of soldiers' tents sprawled between the buildings, reminding me of the Ishval I had first returned home to.
At least now the wall General Armstrong pushed me back against was solid, part of a completed, perfectly inhabitable if not particularly luxuriously appointed homestead. "Alex is behind me, isn't he?" I nodded. "Looking this way?" Still mute, I shook my head. "Then feel free to make some noise, but if you value your ribs, don't try to get past me." For the second time in as many months, Olivia Mira Armstrong closed the distance between our lips, her arms wrapped about my shoulders, her voice a moan that certainly grabbed my attention. My thoughts mired in an incoherent prayer of confession, thanks, and pleas for clemency for my coming actions, I allowed my arms to go on autopilot. One ended up tangled in long, silky, unbound blonde hair, and the left rested on something soft, yet firm beneath the fabric.
I heard Alex Armstrong clear his throat, but Olivia made sure I was quite thoroughly breathless before she turned, her arms still wrapped around me. I needed at least my right arm resting against the wall. I wasn't sure my legs would hold me. "Oh, Alex, I didn't see you back there, Little Brother." Her voice seemed to have lightened two octaves, and her grin could dim the firelight in comparison. "You know my Ishvalan, Scar, of course. Scar, darling, you remember my brother, the State Alchemist Strongarm. He's adapted so well, coming out here for the Northern-Eastern demonstration when he's located by nature to Central. It's not his first time in Ishval, though, after all." She leaned her head against my chest, blue eyes large and disarmingly innocent in "collusion." "We don't like to speak of that though, do we?"
"Big Sister? Olivia?" The major looked as flabbergasted as I felt. She nodded, a tickle of warmth against my heart. "General?"
Another nod, though she was fighting back a hint of "you're an idiot, aren't you?" condescension to her million-watt smile.
"N-no, let's not speak of that. I was - I'm going to go find Colonel Mustang now." With that, Alex Armstrong fled for perhaps the second time in his life. Whether he meant Riza Mustang or used the Flame Alchemist's old rank in his panic we would never know.
"Not bad." Olivia's expression dropped back to her usual quietly amused smirk. She relaxed her hold and adjusted the loose collar of my shirt. "Even got him to call me General without prompting."
"Warn me before you do that," I protested weakly, too late to make much difference. Still not sure I could trust my feet, I slid my left hand up to a slightly more appropriate position. While escaping through the wall behind me sounded good in theory, I would not be going very far if I merely stumbled backwards into a heap of rubble on rubbery limbs.
"What, this?" The kiss was shorter, more chaste, at least to an outside observer, but it certainly didn't strengthen my legs.
"That smile. I think you could have been holding a kitten and that smile would have still scared your brother off." Though for my sake, I was glad she'd been holding me. Alphonse would have accused me of cat-torture-by-proxy if I'd left some defenseless feline - say, one of the tigers that stalked the bamboo jungles of south Xing - in Olivia's arms. The kisses were merely a nice surprise survival bonus.
"Hmm, it might be worth testing, but I hate to do it too often," Olivia mused, running fingers across her swollen lips. "It's hell on the facial muscles."
"I imagine so." When we were children, Brother used to tease me that I scowled so much that my face would stick that way. It could be worse. It wasn't a scowl upon my mouth as my right hand followed after Olivia's, but neither was it that death-rictus of a grin.
She turned her eyes away quickly, her hands on my chest. "Either way, you owe me twenty, Miles," Armstrong called to one of the men waiting by the fire.
"You would know your own brother better than I would," the red-eyed major admitted his defeat with even-tempered dignity. "It's coming out of my fifty from Falman."
"The bet is null and void if you bribe one of the subjects," the thin, silver-haired lieutenant seated next to him complained. "That's why Edward forfeited his winnings on the Mustangs."
Miles just held out his hand. "Different bet. I just claimed General Armstrong couldn't send her brother screaming in terror." He paused, cocking an eyebrow at me. "He wasn't exactly screaming, was he?"
"Close enough," Falman grumbled, sorting out thirty in bills for him and twenty for Armstrong.
"Falman? What were you betting that you could compare this to the Mustangs?" she asked, almost shy as she stepped out of my embrace.
The eldest member of Mustang's brain trust glanced between us with a nervousness not unlike Major Armstrong's. "Heisenberg Principle, sir. I'd tell you more, but then I'd be affecting the experiment," Vato Falman explained in a miserable rush, placing the money in her hand and bowing out as quickly as possible.
"No," Olivia said slowly, watching me from the edges of her vision. "I'd say it's you, Ishvalan." Miles just offered us a grin as he pocketed his share.