A/N: Hello, everyone! Look! It's not months later this time! It's only about one! Applause, applause, thank you. Anyway. Thank you all for the lovely reviews I've gotten; I do enjoy reading them, even if I don't respond to them. :) With that, I hope you enjoy this chapter. As always, reviews are appreciated but never required.
Karla's eighteenth birthday came and went with no event. Not that she had wanted some sort of celebration. She wasn't the type to celebrate her birthday, and she hadn't since she'd turned twelve. That hadn't prevented at least one gift per year, though. This year had been different, thankfully. She'd helped that fact by not mentioning it to anyone, for after all, the less attention she got, the better off she was.
Today, she'd entered the mess hall to find the general atmosphere within to be a solemn one. She looked around in confusion as she received a small tray of food. Well, this was strange. Where was all the talking she was accustomed to hearing? Why was everyone so quiet today?
She spotted Miles sitting at a table by himself, his back to the room. Well, that was nothing new. The major always sat alone. Karla already knew he didn't enjoy speaking much. Something told her that something seemed to be troubling him today, though, and despite her reluctance, she went and slid into the seat in front of him.
"Good day," she said, glancing at him. Damn, he still had those infernal goggles on. Did he ever take those damn things off?
"Major." He nodded at her. One-word answers seemed to be all she could ever get from him. It was frustrating. She watched as he poked a bit at his food. God, did this man ever eat?
Silence passed between the two for several minutes. This was absolutely maddening. If Miles wouldn't talk to her of his own accord, then damn it, Karla would make him. "Major Miles," she said, setting down her fork, "what is the matter with you?" She propped her chin on her hands, staring at him intently.
"Nothing that is any of your concern, Major Chernikova."
Well, that was more than one word, at least. His voice had betrayed no emotion, however, and his phrasing made Karla even more curious as to what was going on.
"Don't lie to me," she said. "There has to be a reason. People are strangely quiet today anyway. You should know I won't let this go until you tell me."
The major sighed. "There is a war going on in the southeast," he said with a faint hint of exasperation. "You might be too young to fully know of it, but it isn't going well."
"A war? Between Amestris and who?" What war was this? This was the first she'd heard of any war…
"A small region within Amestris known as Ishval." Miles's voice now held some sort of emotion, but it was so faint Karla couldn't quite tell what it was. Remorse, maybe? Anger? "It started when an Amestrian soldier shot and killed an Ishvalan child. This civil war's gone on for seven years now. Ishvalans are still treated as nothing."
Karla could most definitely sympathize with that. It sounded incredibly similar to how people up here tended to treat her. "That is indeed horrible. What do you have to do with it, though? Fought on the front lines or something?"
"No." He glanced around briefly before reaching up to his face. His goggles came off for the first time since Karla had met him, and she was surprised to see that his eyes were a striking shade of red. "I am a quarter Ishvalan. I've inherited my physical traits from my grandfather."
He fell silent then as he slipped his goggles back on, as if he was waiting for Karla to say something scathing. However, that was the last thing on Karla's mind. When she'd first met Miles, she'd taken his silver hair as meaning he was rather old. But now, with him revealing the entirety of his face to her, he really wasn't that old! "Interesting," she said after a moment. "To be honest, I've never seen an Ishvalan before, so I wouldn't have been able to tell either way. Virnikov isn't exactly a haven for anyone, much less the people who already live there."
The major let out an amused grunt. "You are no stranger to racial hatred, I imagine."
Karla shook her head. "Not a stranger at all." She felt a sense of relief at the new knowledge that she was not the only one with mixed blood here. Finally, there was someone who could truly understand where she was coming from. She'd never thought she would see the day when that would happen.
Their conversation was cut short just then by the arrival of a soldier. "Major Miles, sir," he said as he saluted both of his fellow soldiers, "Major General Armstrong has requested your presence."
Miles inclined his head. Without another word, he stood from the table, and Karla watched as he retired from the dining hall. She sighed, finally beginning to eat whatever the hell this was that the military called breakfast. It was slimy, cold (though that could have been from the fact she'd let it sit for a while), and a very unappealing gray in color. She guessed the cooks were having a bad day or something, because this? This was not food. Not even close to being able to be even considered food. Karla sighed. If this isn't an omen to the rest of my day, I don't know what is.
Hours later found her in the small workout room of the fort. She was trying feebly to lift large weights, but she was weaker than she'd initially thought she was. After trying and failing yet again to lift them any higher than her calves, she dropped them on the ground and growled in frustration. Who the hell were these made for, bears? Probably the men here who called themselves bears, more like. And of course, that was yet another reason for her to feel inferior. There were so many of those here… and why hadn't she requested to get transferred out of here yet?
Oh, right. She was stubborn, that was why.
Karla's eyes narrowed. She was not going to let everything get the best of her, damn it. She knelt in front of the weights yet again, wrapping her fingers around the bar. With a determined grunt, she struggled to lift them, the muscles in her arms burning with the effort. The weights lifted slightly off the ground, and for a moment, she thought she'd actually be able to lift them a little higher…
…when the sound of the door opening suddenly reached her, and she lost her grip in surprise. The weights hit the floor with a loud thud, and she let out a loud, frustrated curse. She whirled around to see — damn it, who else would it be? — Captain Buccaneer, clad in the same white tank top and blue pants she was currently wearing. She crossed her arms, bristling at his presence. "Do not tell me you came searching for me."
Buccaneer chuckled. "Okay. I won't."
She groaned. Damn him… "Captain, what do you want? Does someone want me or something?"
"No," he answered, approaching her and looking down at the weights. "Well, ain't no question why ya can't lift this. You've got too much weight on it."
Karla scowled, her eyes narrowing. "I don't believe I asked what I was doing wrong, Captain," she said stiffly, gritting her words out in annoyance. Buccaneer seemed to ignore her as he bent down to slide a couple of the weights off.
"There ya go," he said once he was finished, straightening up. "That should be easier for ya now." He walked across the room to a much larger set of weights and began doing reps with those. Meanwhile, Karla grunted, muttering Drachman insults under her breath as she picked up her own weights again. They did feel considerably lighter now, but not so light that they felt as if they weight almost nothing. She frowned. Why was he always making things easier for her? Did he think she couldn't handle it or something?
She began her exercising with the weights, pushing her irritation with him out of her mind for now. At least this was still somewhat challenging. She felt curiosity begin to grow in her after a moment, though. Was this how he'd achieved such massive muscles? Just how long had he done this? Her gaze began to stray over to him in observation, and she quickly began to lose track of how many reps she herself had done so far. She found herself much more interested in Buccaneer's technique, how he could move all those weights so easily, and after only a few minutes, she put her own down so she could pay more attention to him.
She'd honestly never seen someone like him before. The way his sinewy muscles flexed beneath his shirt was more than fascinating, and the glint of his automail under the light was rather impressive, showing just how well-polished it was. The question of how he'd gotten said automail occurred to her, but she chose to ignore it. It probably wasn't her business, after all. He would probably laugh and give her some bullshit answer like he always did anyway.
She slowly bent down and picked up her weights again, her eyes still locked on him. Karla couldn't seem to distract herself from watching him, and it suddenly occurred to her that he was probably doing this on purpose, the bastard. She already knew he wouldn't leave her alone for some ridiculous reason, and this whole thing was probably him showing off to her yet again! Damn… Did he know something she didn't? Well, either way, these weights were not doing a good enough job of distracting her.
Setting them down again, she glanced around the room in an attempt to find something new to do. But, damn it, she could not tear her eyes away from him! If he noticed, he was sure to say something…
"See something ya like, Red?" Buccaneer suddenly asked. Even though his back was to her, Karla could hear that damned grin in his voice, and it was infuriating!
"Might I remind you just how much older you are than me?" she shot back, annoyed. Great, how did it take so little time for her mind to go that direction?
"I never said I saw anything," he said, setting his weights down and turning to face her. Seeing him now only made her aware about the fact she was currently covered in sweat from her exertion, and damn it this was why she hated exercising around other people. "I'm saying you did. There has to be a reason why ya stopped when I started."
Part of her wanted to inform him he was right, but the rest of her was too proud for that. Instead, Karla settled on fixing him with a glare before snapping, "You're an idiot." She stormed over to the mirror that she'd placed the rest of her uniform near and tore her hair out of the loose bun it was in to fix it. She couldn't very well go around the rest of the fort with messy hair, could she?
After fixing herself back to a proper state, she looked back at him. "Enjoy your exercise, Captain," she said as if nothing had happened. "In my opinion, you clearly don't need it, but by all means, don't let me stop you."
She didn't wait for him to respond before leaving, and as she walked through the halls yet again, her mind was racing. There was no way she saw him like… like that. Karla had never looked at anyone that way. No. Nothing like that. She had more important things to worry about. Besides, he was probably just messing around with her, wasn't he? He was smart enough not to pursue her… at least, Karla hoped he was.
"Major!" The voice behind her snapped her out of her reverie, and she wheeled around to see a soldier rushing down the hallway toward her. Damn it, how did these people always manage to find her?
"Yes?" she asked, looking up at the taller man with her arms crossed.
"General Armstrong wants you, Major," the soldier replied. "She said for you to report to her immediately."
Karla barely contained a groan, swearing inwardly as she began her trek to Armstrong's office. Damn it, what had she done now? She hadn't angered anyone this time, as far as she knew. She'd even obeyed all the menial, even idiotic orders she'd been given! How could she have possibly screwed up this time?
When she reached the office, she didn't even bother knocking, instead walking straight in with an air of simultaneous annoyance and confusion. As she'd expected, her superior officer was there, her eyes scanning over a sheet of paper before her.
"Chernikova." The officer spoke without looking up, and Karla snapped to attention. She was actually doing well for once; she didn't want to screw it up now… Armstrong looked up at her then, and once again, her expression was unreadable. Her eyes held the same ferocity they always did, and it slightly frustrated Karla. This woman was impossible for her to read. She never knew what Olivier was thinking…
"I've received an order from the Fuhrer regarding the war in Ishval," the officer stated, gesturing at the paper sitting on her desk. "You have heard of it, haven't you?"
"Yes, sir." What did this have to do with her? She wasn't exactly one of Armstrong's trusted confidantes…
"Let me keep it short for you: You and every other state alchemist whose abilities are suited for combat are being summoned to the front lines."
What? This… She can't be serious, can she? "I never implied that I use combat alchemy, sir."
Armstrong's eyes narrowed. "Your military file states you can create weapons," she said, her voice sounding in a fierce tone. "That's good enough for them to order you out. Besides, they wouldn't do this unless they wanted a swift end to the war."
"I wouldn't exactly call bringing their strongest forces into a seven-year war only now a swift end," Karla said flatly before she could stop herself.
Olivier remained silent for a moment, and it almost felt as if she was studying Karla. She really couldn't keep her mouth shut, could she?
"The fact is, you're being deployed immediately," Armstrong finally said. "From what this says, you're assigned to the forces in the Kanda region of Ishval, under Brigadier General Fessler."
Like Karla had any idea who that was. "Yes, sir," she said, feeling rather defeated. If this order came from the Fuhrer directly, there was no way in hell she could talk herself out of it, was there?
"Do not screw this up for yourself." The officer's tone was serious now, and Karla was almost taken aback by it. Why would Armstrong tell her that? "I may not like you, Chernikova, but I want every one of my men to succeed, and that includes you. However. If I hear you ran your mouth to the wrong people, you'll find yourself sent back to Central faster than you can create a sword."
"Yes, sir," she said, giving a nod then following it with a salute. Armstrong studied her for a little while longer, then nodded.
"The North City train station has been notified of your arrival. You are dismissed."