Undeserved Love

Scar was walking on one of the dirt roads of his home country, Ishbal, and was looking upon the town he was passing through. Its name he did not know, nor particularly cared for. All he knew was that his brethren lived there, and he could feel Ishbala's loving presence everywhere. He waved to some men who were carrying bricks, no doubt to rebuild their house, when he heard some shouting off in the distance. It quickly came towards him until it was audible enough to understand.

"Come back here, you thief!" yelled a chubby Ishbalan man of about thirty as he chased after a contrastingly smaller figure in a black cloak, who appeared to be holding something.

Scar stopped and prepared to halt the duo when the cloaked figure bumped into him. He looked down to see a young girl, of about twenty, fall onto the ground. The movement caused a dust-cloud to ascend towards him. He wiped away the smoke in time to see her trying to gather the bread and fruit she had, apparently, stolen. From what Scar could see, the girl had short curly blonde hair, white skin, and she had a healthy well built (for a girl, that is) body. Everything from how she looked to how she moved screamed Amestrian. The chubby man soon caught up and, before Scar could help her up, grabbed her by the arm. She made an obvious attempt to cover her face with her hair as the man yelled at her.

Scar put a hand up to silence the man and asked, "Has she stolen from you before, sir?"

The chubby man stared at Scar in astonishment and said, "No, but we are all trying to-"

The hand rose again. Scar looked at the girl and said, "Then she will be left with a warning."

The girl's head shot up and as he met her eyes every thought of her being an Amestrian vanished.

Ericka heard the words the Ishbalan priest said, and she understood them completely, but she was still dumbfounded. She never thought Ishbalans were mean and inhospitable, but ever since she came to Ishbal, months before, she was met with cold stares and mean comments. She didn't blame them; it was hard to forgive people who tore your whole world down. She knew she had nothing to do with the war, but that didn't stop the fact that she looked like an Amestrian in every point except her eyes; her red eyes. She knew that it was hard to see the color of eyes from the distance people would keep, and she didn't want anyone to realize she was part Ishbalan either. She grew up as an Amestrian; she didn't know the way of her Ishbalan ancestors. Of course, she didn't want to claim to be something she knew nothing about. She was good at being an Amestrian, though. As long as her eyes were hidden, no one asked whether she was a full blooded Amestrian or not.

She looked up at the Ishbalan priest. He was a stereotypical Ishbalan; the only difference was the tattoos on his visible arm. They were alchemical tattoos and she recognized them instantly; she studied all kinds of alchemy before, hoping to follow her half-brother's footsteps and become a state alchemist. 'Course, after the whole "try-to-destroy-the-world" thing, she decided the idea didn't sound so promising.

There. There was the reaction she was so used to when people saw her eyes; yet, there was something different. Most people would be cursing her out by now, but he just stood there with his eyes wide.

Ok, seriously, didn't anyone tell this guy not to stare? She thought.

"You just gonna stand there, or what?" she asked, annoyed to the pique of losing her mind; or maybe it was anxiety.

Scar composed himself and asked, "What is your name, young girl?"

"Young girl?" the girl asked as she wrenched herself from the man's grasp and rubbed the area where he had grabbed her. "I'm twenty, thank you. But I'll answer your question, priest. The name's Ericka. Ericka Mustang."

Scar tried to keep his cool appearance, but he was dying to know the answer to the next question.

"You said your last name was Mustang. Are you, by chance, related to a Roy Mustang?" he asked.

Ericka flinched; she didn't expect this man to know her brother.

She tensed as she cautiously answered, "Yes; he's my half-brother on my father's side."

Scar stood, still with surprise. He hadn't expected Mustang to have siblings; he always thought Mustang an only child. Scar studied Ericka's countenance and could not find a single expression or attitude mark similar with that of the colonel's; of course, he had only seen a few sides of Mustang and those sides, as Scar believed, never included a strange annoyance and cautiousness Ericka was showing.

Ericka waited for the priest's response to her answer; in fact, you could say it was killing her. Something about this priest said that he wasn't going to react as other Ishbalans would have –and have- reacted to learning that she was the younger sister of a state alchemist that helped destroy Ishbal in the war. She could feel her anxiety grow and grow in the wait; yet, another feeling seemed to tug at her.

It was curiosity. She wanted to know his name as well; she wanted to know him. He looked interesting enough, and no doubt that he was handsome with his white hair, tan skin, and piercing red eyes. She tried to read those eyes, and within them she saw serene feelings in how things were at that point in time, yet they were hiding something; something that pained him, something he could not get over. She wanted to know what it was; she needed to know this man's story.

She opened her lips, wanting to ask him, but, thinking better of it, closed them. She didn't need to know, didn't want to know, anyone on a personal level besides her brother, Roy, his lieutenant (should be wife) Riza Hawkeye, and her foster mother, Madame Christmas.

She started to notice how big and obnoxious the silence was and decided to break it with an annoyed movement of the hands to the hip and, "So, are you going to take my warning away, now that you know who I'm related to?"

Another grip of her arm by the chubby man.

"How dare you talk to a holy man of Ishbala that way, you insolent thief?" yelled the man.

Ericka winced at his overly strong grip. She knew she'd have a big bruise there in morning's time. She also knew it was useless to try to get out of his grip again, since it had become even stronger with anger. Ericka was a strong girl, no doubt, but her whole life she had spent being pushed around and abused by people who hated her face. She couldn't even find comfort from her blood relatives, excluding Roy; she had to go to her foster family if she wanted love. Yes, Madame Christmas wasn't the most doting mother, but she did get the point across that she loved and cared for Ericka. She also got the point across of how protective she was of Ericka when she nearly beat some poor kid to death because he made fun of Ericka- no, seriously, he had to go to the hospital.

Ericka took the abuse as she always had: in silence. Earlier, if you're wondering, her wrenching from the grasp had been because her pride in her age allowed her to find that strength. Now, her pride, her ego, none of it was fueling her strength and movements. Now, the force of repetition came in. she expected the priest to just stare or walk away, but he didn't.

Scar rushed to Ericka's aid, seeing clearly that if the man were to merely shake it, her arm would break. He placed his one hand on the man's hand and said, in a gentle yet piercing voice, "Peace, brother, even to those who we wish to fight with."

The man looked wide eyed at Scar and said, "But, brother, she has spoken to you with disrespect; she cannot go unpunished!"

"She has, but it was not you she has wronged, but me; and I have already forgiven her. Now, brother, leave us and take the food she has stolen back to your place of business; I will do to her what I see fit," Scar coolly replied.

"But-"

"No. It is my decision if what to do to her, not yours. Now, if you please."

The man let go of Ericka's arm and picked up the bread and fruit. Scar watched as the man hurried down the road, leaving them alone.

Ericka rubbed her arm and thanked whoever was listening that she wasn't left with anything more than a bruise. She looked up at the priest who had a good foot on her. His steady and strong gaze was fixated on her. She feared the worst.

"Hey, I'm not willing to give my body to you or anything in return for your help, ok?" she said cautiously; something about this priest threw her off.

The priest looked astonished, as if the thought never even crossed his mind, which was, of course, another shot at her ego.

"What? Am I too Amestrian for you to sleep with me, is that it?" she yelled in annoyance.

The priest looked bewildered, as if she threw him off. She stared at him, and him, her, for a while until Ericka noticed something. The priest only had one arm; one arm. Her inward need to know his story gnawed at her more ravishly. It took about every last amount of energy she had left not to give in to it.

A grumbling noise. Ericka didn't need to ask what it was; she already knew. It was the sound of her stomach turning over itself from the lack of food. She instinctively grabbed her stomach to try to muffle the noise. She felt as if she was about to hurl. She hadn't eaten for two weeks. What could she do, though? She had no money, and nobody would give her a job. She should've contacted Roy, but, just like begging, her ego was too massive to do that.

She started to feel light-headed and dizzy. She grabbed for something to catch her as the world went black.