I don't own FMA

Day 25 - Backyard

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The previous day's events still caused Olivier to scowl at subordinates who avoided her in the corridors. By the time she reached her office, she was ready to give the next officer who turned tail an outdoors assignment—indefinitely.

She spent the beginning of her day in the office, looking over reports and making ones of her own to send to Central.

In the middle of straightening the now finished pile of documents, a knock sounded on her door.

"Permission to enter," she called, folding her hands on her desk.

"Live communication from Eastern being patched through—General Grumman," Henshel announced.

"Put him through," she agreed, waving him out of her office.

Her hand hovered over the black receiver as she waited for it to ring—she rarely got information straight from Eastern, usually it was relayed through memos and reports from Central Top Brass.

The phone gave a shrill ring—too early to answer—a second ring—not too eager, yet not so long as too make it seem like she was taking her time to answer—and she picked up the receiver.

"Good day, General Grumman," she greeted.

"General Armstrong at last, I presume," he replied.

"That seems to be the general consensus as to my identity."

"A lovely voice, and charming, too," Grumman chortled.

"Well, if that's all you called about, I've got a border to protect," she told him, finger lingering over the push-button that would disconnect the call.

"Actually, I was elected to inform you of the impending joint training exercise to take place at your base," he explained.

"Elected?" she inquired, brow raised in interest.

"Yes, it seems none of the other generals were available to make contact with you, and they seemed quite glad for that coincidence seeing as how your reputation precedes you. In fact, I gather most of them are quite frightened of you," he told her.

"When is this exercise?" she asked, grinning at the information Grumman had just relayed to her.

"The troops will arrive on the twenty-fourth, and return on the tenth. Two and a half weeks of training," Grumman summed up.

Olivier sighed, a mixed sigh of relief and regret, on that first day she would be another year older. There was nothing better than having a set of soldiers to break in to Briggs rules & weather on her birthday, but she wouldn't be there, not until the last few days if she was able to escape her family right after the wedding. "I'm sure my men will give them the proper training," she reassured him.

"You won't be there to oversee it?"

"I'll only be there for the final days. Regrettably, I have something to attend to until at least the ninth."

"If you won't be there, and I won't be there, I suppose Mustang will have to go—he may not be scary, but his alchemy gets people moving—"

"Maybe I'll make it back sooner than I've planned," she considered aloud, interrupting Grumman's rambling.

"Well, that's it then. I look forward to hearing what everyone brings back from their time at Briggs," Grumman said, and promptly hung up after she ensured him that he'd have quite a bit to hear about.

She stared at the phone, wanting to stab the thing that had helped pass on the information about Mustang invading her backyard while she was gone, yet she wouldn't get any satisfaction out of it, and she'd have to calculate a new phone into the budgets reports she'd finished yesterday, instead she decided to find a way to return to Briggs earlier than her parents anticipated.

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A.N.: More of an inbetween chapter than anything. Olivier has heard the old addage "Don't kill the messenger" but why not the means of communication? Thanks for reading!

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