A/N: This one's something of a continuation of the last. (Griiiin!)
Poor Envy. How I doth love to torture thee.
It wasn't too uncommon of an occurance for one of his subordinates or another to come stomping up to his office in a storm of rage that wasn't at all unlike a natural disaster of some sort, however, said subordinate was typically under five feet tall, short-tempered, and most importantly, was not named Riza Hawkeye. This was probably why the typically well masked Colonel Mustang had to at least raise an eyebrow when his second-in-command stormed in the room toting a terrified captive under her arm and with her eyes flaming in an uncharacteristically murderous manner.
"Sir!" She wasted no time in piping up before he could ask what this was all about, "Requesting for you to take responsibility in retention of this captive, Sir!"
He paused a moment, scanning his subordinate and calmly replied, "Is there any particular reason you aren't taking responsibility yourself?"
Hawkeye clenched her teeth in a clear attempt at remaining scathingly within propriety, "Because, Sir, this lieutenant believes she may be unsuited for dealing with said captive in a level headed manner."
Leave it to Hawkeye to be reasonable even when she was in a blind rage.
The thought that perhaps she was overusing the word "Sir" entered his mind, as he waved her off with a "Very well, Lieutenant. Dismissed."
It probably wouldn't be too bad watching over the prisoner that even Hawkeye confessed to being uncapable of handling. Besides... he was bored out of his mind anyhow.
He approached the shivering mass stuck beneath a head of green spikes, and examined it critically. He probably didn't want to know what Hawkeye had done to him to traumatize him so, but however lethal this creature had been before, he was currently terrified witless.
"What's your name?" the Colonel asked.
It entered the Homonculus' brain to spit "Piss off" at the nosy colonel, but the thought that he was affiliated with the blonde sharpshooter whose impecable aim would forever haunt his nightmares forced him to back away, and mutter, "e-envy..." and stand back against a whitewashed wall.
The voice shocked the Colonel for a moment, and he furrowed his brow as he mused out loud,
"You're a man, aren't you?"
Envy had been asked that question dozens of times before, but wasn't quite certain that he'd ever been this... disturbed by it.
Meanwhile, the smug colonel was looking over the sin's features amusedly. He'd always been fond of mini-skirts, and appreciated the use they had in accentuating the female figure, but he'd never thought to consider the effect they could have on a man's body. The muscular shoulders, the slender waist, the leather hugging his thin, almost feminine hips. Why, he could almost consider...
The hungry smirk on Mustang's face as he approached his captive was far more terrifying than any long rendezevous with the barrel on Hawkeye's pistol could be.
Outside of HQ, there was a loud clatter for the second time that day, and a scantily clad and very violated looking sin stumbled panickedly onto the street, running for dear life. As he caught his balance, tripping to gain speed, he paused only to declare to the nearest person,
"You humans... are SICK!" and dashed off again.
The elderly and quite deaf woman simply smiled and waved.
"What a nice young lady," She declared, and moved on.