Hello y'all!

Here's another OS, written for the theme "Pyjama" = "Pajamas".

Sometimes I wonder how the characters of my favorite manga sleep. The 2003 anime gives us some answers for Hughes and Bradley (pink with chicks and blue with flowers, go check if you don't believe me!), but I still wonder about Major General Armstrong.

Rating: K
Characters: Olivia Mira Armstrong, Buccaneer
Genres: General, Humor

Enjoy!

Olivier swore. It was a nightmare. Why must this kind of thing happen to her now? Who was the air-headed soldier who'd destroyed all her night clothes? The General liked to sleep with the pajamas provided by the military and doubled with wool in Briggs so they could face the cold nights of the North. This time, though, she was unlucky. She was now forced to wear the ugly cotton thing her "dear" brother had sewed. It was royal blue pajamas embroidered with stars, roses, and swords, creating a horrendous kitsch mix. It hurt her eyes and she regretted she hadn't burned the thing when she'd opened the present.

Obviously it was too late to go and ask for new pajamas, and this thing was now the only thing that was decent enough in case of emergency, if she had to get out of her bed in the middle of the night. But it wasn't good for her credibility. How could she be taken seriously, even as a General, if she wore something like that?

Olivier sighed. If everything was good, nobody would knock on her door tonight, and she could forget the style of the pajamas. Despite its design, and she couldn't oppose that, it was warm, soft, and comfortable. She would never admit it in front of Alex, but she was glad she wouldn't have to spend her night in a tight turtleneck and old uniform pants that should be lying in a closet somewhere.

After one last check of her schedule for the next day and a look to her sword, the General went in her bed, to swear once again because of the heat system that wasn't working. Her bedsheets were as cold as the air and she was forced to rise to put socks on.

At this moment someone knocked at her door. Olivia stifled an insult and put down the socks before taking her sword. She walked to the door. "Who's here?"

"Buccaneer, General," the low voice of her Captain replied. "The scouting team is back. They've got news."

Olivier opened the door. She didn't pay attention to the surprised look her subordinate gave her and invited him to continue.

"It seems they saw the girl the Fullmetal Alchemist is looking for, with a man who could be Marcoh, but they've been knocked out before they could get her. They were two footprint tracks leaving the place where they woke up, and they were missing food and equipment. The house were they saw the girl was empty, but they told me they would follow the tracks to find them."

"So they're four. The girl, Scar, Marcoh, and a stranger. Tell them to keep looking, but they mustn't attack Scar. They're not strong enough to fight him and stay alive."

They would soon have access to new combat methods, and Briggs would be even more powerful.

"Understood, sir." Buccaneer greeted her and began to leave. Olivier frowned when he stopped and turned to her, smiling. "I guess it's a gift from your brother?"

Olivier grumbled. Her subordinate was too smart. "I had no other choice, some dummy destroyed my regulation pajamas."

"It suits you." Buccaneer's words left her wordless. "The color is good on you, and the cut is flattering your curves," the Captain added.

"Buccaneer," Olivier growled threateningly.

"General?" His smile didn't disappear as he waited for her to speak.

"Don't tell anyone about these pajamas, do you understand?"

"I wouldn't dare," he replied. "Who would believe me, anyway? I'll take this secret in my grave."

Olivier nodded. "Thanks. Good night Buccaneer."

"Good night General."

Olivier closed the door and sighed, relieved. Among all the men in the fort who could have seen her in this attire, Buccaneer was certainly one of the best and most trustworthy. He would never tell anyone what kind of pajamas she wore, even if it was the most inconsequent thing to say under torture.

With that certitude, she went back to her bed. To rise again because she'd forgotten her socks and the sheets were as cold as ever.