Sorry this chapter jumps around so much, but it was necessary. And if I could have a moment of everybody's time, I just wanted to make one thing clear.

In my headcanon and in this story, Olivier isn't trying to be fuhrer. To be honest, I really don't think she'd want it. She'd have to live in Central and work with a bunch of idiots and have the press following her everywhere and I think she'd hate it. It's clear that she wants to achieve high ranking, would like to be recognized for her efforts, and generally hates Roy, yes, but that doesn't necessarily mean she wants to rule the country. (and besides that, a lot of people don't like Roy because he got promoted so young and is in the fuhrer's favor) Her wanting to be fuhrer is never even mentioned in the anime and the only time it's ever alluded to in the manga is in a section of the bonus comics, which generally aren't meant to be taken seriously (I can't see Olivier ever REALLY approving of a miniskirt government, especially since she'd be the one wearing it!).

I just thought people might wonder why Olivier isn't using her time off to get her campaign going. And the reason is, at least in my fics, that she doesn't want to campaign at all. I probably should have explained this in dialogue, but I couldn't think of a plausible way to do so.

One last thing: the dance teacher who appears in this chapter is a character from another anime series. Anyone who can guess what series I took him from gets a very big mental bear hug.

Scar heard a funny noise emanating from one of the military tents and instinctively rushed toward it, the desert sun sending rivers of sweat down his back and face. He had been away from Ishval so long that he had forgotten how intense the summer heat could be, especially after spending so much time in the north. His sandals slapped against the hard, lifeless ground and he wiped his brow for the fiftieth time as he shoved the tent flap aside. He froze at the sight that greeted him.

Scar thought for sure that after thirty-five years of life, during which he had become a priest, lost everything but the clothes on his back in a massive genocide, killed a dozen people, spent years as a fugitive from the law, battled homunculi and a psychopathic killer to boot, and then turned everything around by saving the very country that hated him, he had seen everything. Surely by now, nothing could surprise him.

He was wrong.

Major Miles, who had barely cracked a smile since they'd arrived in Ishval- he'd gone through quite a grieving period when he realized how many Briggs men had been killed, for which Scar sympathized- was now curled up on the ground laughing hard. He pounded his fists against the dirt and tears streaked down his dusty face. His body shook, and every time he tried to bring himself under control, he'd burst out with a fresh round of laughter that left him speechless and unable to breathe. Scar noticed his shades were lying at an odd angle nearby, indicating that they'd probably fallen off when he collapsed out of sheer hilarity.

"Um…Miles?"

"H-h-his name is Angel!" Miles squawked, then rolled over as he entered another fit of hysteria. This was the first time Scar had ever heard him laugh, or show any kind of emotion at all for that matter, and he might have been happy for his friend if it hadn't struck him as so weird.

"Whose name is Angel?" Scar raised an eyebrow. That wasn't an Ishvalan name.

Miles raised his arm high, and Scar noticed he was holding what looked like a card. He took it and skimmed the elegant script. It wasn't until he got to the bottom that he realized what Miles was referring to. He recognized Olivier Armstrong's handwriting from when he'd watched her sign Miles's transfer papers; it was very distinct in his mind because he'd never seen anyone write in such bold flourishes. He had never met Captain Buccaneer, but he had seen pictures in newspapers and Miles's old albums. The thought of that fearsome man having such an ironic name was enough to make even him grin.

"Is he really going to perform on stage?" Scar asked disdainfully. As grateful as he was that the Armstrongs were doing this for Ishval, wild horses couldn't have made him consider showing up to it. Besides the fact that he was still currently wanted by the police and presumed to be a dead man, the thought of Major Armstrong singing and dancing was enough to make him cringe, and he couldn't imagine Buccaneer would look much better.

"I sure as hell hope so!" Miles answered cheerfully. Having finally managed to get himself under control, he stood up. Scar was slightly amazed at how much happier he looked. Maybe a good laugh is what the people of this country need.

Miles sighed in content, fixing his disheveled hair. "I promise not to be gone long, but now I definitely cannot miss this concert. Even if it wasn't for Ishval's benefit, I'd pay double the admission price to see General Armstrong and Captain Buccaneer- make that Captain Angel Buccaneer-" he added with a smirk. "Make fools of themselves on stage. And now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go radio Briggs and tell everyone about this." He snickered again and ducked out of the tent, still laughing to himself. Scar didn't think it was quite thatfunny, but then there wasn't much he did consider humorous. He was reluctant for Miles to leave, but it was only for a couple of days and he knew his red-eyed brother needed a break.

"You have fun with that," Scar remarked matter-of-factly.

Karley sighed, removing his headphones and putting his feet on the desk. General Armstrong wasn't there, after all. "It's just too quiet around here with all our best people gone."

"I know," Henschel grumbled. "Even Drachma seems to have disappeared off the radar. Not a spy in sight."

Karley was about to reply when the telephone rang. He grabbed it before Henschel could. "This is Karley. Hey Major! Good to hear from- what?" Henschel's pen stilled as he noticed the look on his comrade's face.

"Yeah, we heard about that concert too. Yeah, it sounds awesome, but it's not like we can go." He rolled his eyes, then stilled. "Wait. What? You mean the captain…" He was silent for a long time, and Henschel could hear what sounded like laughing on the other line.

After a time, Karley said goodbye and hung up. He turned away, but Henschel could see the watery grin making its way onto his face.

"What's so funny?" he asked gruffly. He widened his eyes when Karley immediately erupted into a hysterical fit of laughter, pounding his fist on the desk and covering his face with his hand.

"What? Come on, let me in on the joke!" Henschel shook Karley hard. "What the hell is so funny?"

"Sorry! It's just-" He snorted and giggled again.

"Karley!"

"Okay, okay! You remember that Armstrong concert, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you know how the captain was sent down to be her bodyguard?"

"Get to the point."

"Well…" Karley glanced around quickly to make sure no one was eavesdropping, then whispered what Miles had just told him on the phone. Henschel laughed so hard he nearly bust a gut.

Karley put his headphones back on and fiddled with the radio dials. "Yes, Central Command? I'd like you to connect me to a master sergeant Fuery. Sure, I'll hold. Oh, there you are Fuery. Yeah, this is Karley from Briggs. I'd like to talk to you about setting up some recording equipment in the Armstrong mansion…"

"The Armstrongs are having a party? Why the hell wasn't I invited?" Roy demanded indignantly of his youngest subordinate.

Fuery shrugged sheepishly. "I guess General Armstrong didn't want you to come, sir. But the rest of the team is invited."

Roy smirked. "Huh. Well I'm coming alright. Olivier Armstrong and Captain Buccaneer singing and dancing? I wouldn't miss that for the world." He picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Riza? I'll need you to dust off your evening gown. We've got a party to crash."

"Hey, Winry! You remember that Buccaneer guy from Briggs? Yeah, that's the one. Well guess what his real name is?" Edward could hardly restrain himself from laughing as he told her. "Yeah, of course I'm going to the concert! I'll come back next week and we'll go together. Yeah. Seeya." He hung up and immediately picked up the phone again. "Hello? Yeah, I'm trying to reach a guest at your hotel. His name is Alphonse Elric. I'd like to leave a message for him about a certain party that we're both invited to…"

Izumi handed the invitation to Sig. "Well? What do you think? I personally would love to see that guy with the mohawk perform."

Sig squeezed her shoulders and smiled. "A night out with you sounds perfect. Let's go."

"Oh my goodness! Oh, this sounds like so much fun," Mrs. Bradley gushed. "What do you think, Selim? Would you like to go see a bunch of people sing and dance?"

"Yeah! That sounds like fun!" He squealed, jumping up and down.

Grumman chuckled. "It's a date then.

"Marvelous! Simply marvelous! How fabulously gay the scene looks!"

The Armstrong Five allowed themselves a smile as their cousin and long-time performance instructor Jesse- who was also fabulously gay, if he did say so himself- applauded them. His hair, which was cut shorter than most Armstrongs', was dyed blue and matched his tight, frilly outfit, the bows of which bounced as he jumped up and down. His skinny little body sparkled so brightly the effect was almost blinding, and his green eyes nearly matched it, they were so proud.

"Oh my darlings, you are a true work of art. Every one of you, simply brilliant!"

"Thank you," they chorused, adding a little sparkle of their own (except for Olivier, who merely waited for feedback). They'd been practicing all day and it was nice to be told they were finally looking good. Normally he preferred choreography that was much more challenging and physically demanding, but this time they were toning it down a bit for Olivier, which made her bristle with annoyance. She'd started out tapping behind her brother and sisters, content to let Catherine have the spotlight since she was clearly desperate for it, but he had insisted on having her front and center.

They had agreed to return as roles they'd played when they were younger: Olivier as the female lead, Alex as the man she was trying to throw herself on (which she only agreed to because in this song, all she had to do was sing and make goo-goo eyes at him from a distance), and her sisters as backup ensemble. And since she'd already done it once before, it was easier to pick up and remember, rather than trying to learn a whole new song.

AN: Basically I'm having them do "Speed Test" from Thoroughly Modern Millie, Olivier playing Millie and Alex playing Trevor Graydon. If you aren't familiar with it, I highly recommend looking it up (preferably the Broadway version with Sutton Foster) and sooner rather than later, because you'll get more out of this chapter and possibly future chapters if you know what the song is like and what the scene is, otherwise some of this may be confusing. Forgive me, but I don't want to take up a lot of the chapter explaining it (though if you'd like, you can PM me and I'll gladly give you details). I can definitely picture Olivier and Alex doing this song because it's a battle of wits, and it involves quite a bit of tapping (I should know, I was in it!).

Also I'm making the assumption that Amestrians have typewriters. I figure they'd have to since they clearly don't have computers and deal with a lot of paperwork, plus it's set in the 1900s and the typewriter was invented sometime in the 1700s.

"Now Olivier darling, your singing is flawless, but your acting needs some work," he said, wagging a finger. She made a face. If she hadn't had so much respect for the man (he'd won a few awards in his time and definitely knew his stuff), she might have been inclined to snap at him. "You don't seem like you're in love with him! I need you to be more flirty. Sweetheart, this is your dream guy!"

"Jesse, I have an abundance of phrases to choose from to describe my brother. 'Dream guy' is not one of them."

"Sweetheart, just try not to look so sour when you talk about marrying him." Jesse stuck out his lower lip. "Come on, please? You sound so good and your dancing's just the right speed."

Olivier huffed. Catherine giggled and spoke in a syrupy-sweet tone. "The sooner you get this over with, the sooner you two can go on your honeymoon! And if you ask nicely, I'll sing at your wedding."

"Shut it!" Olivier told her. Catherine was letting the fact that Jesse had given her a solo go to her head, and frankly Olivier was tired of it. Just because she could sing higher didn't mean she could sing better, and though she came close at times, Catherine still couldn't sing as high as Amue, something Olivier loved to remind her about.

"Ladies, please, you're both fabulous!" Jesse chided them with a feminine flick of his wrist. "Now let's take it from the top just one more time, and then we'll call it a day."

The five of them nodded and moved back into position. Olivier sat at her desk and placed her fingers over the keys of the typewriter propped on top of it. When she looked up, she was still a little daunted at just how big the auditorium of the mansion was. It could easily seat over a thousand people (provided they weren't Armstrong-size). The stage felt higher than it probably was, and when the headlights were on, it was nearly impossible to see anything that was offstage, which was a mercy when performing. The audience mostly just resembled a black mass. Amue, Strongine and Catherine each sat down at their respective desks. Jesse had arranged it so that Catherine was between them because he said it gave the stage more balance, which made Catherine a little pressed for space.

Alex stood by the larger desk, fully costumed in his black suit. He was the only one who would be wearing fancy attire; the others were all playing it casual. Catherine wore a cute little dress that she had bought (at a high price, Olivier had no doubt) specifically for the concert, but the other girls were playing it simple with just comfortable black dress pants and blouses that they could easily move around in. They wouldn't be wearing costumes because they would be doing songs from all kinds of eras and cultures and didn't want to be bothered with changing after every number. They would, however, have to switch from character shoes to tap shoes quite a few times, and in Catherine's case, ballet shoes.

"A-one, two, three, four!" Jesse pointed to the orchestra, who had just shown up the other day, and they instantly started up. Olivier had noticed they looked incredibly bored and a little frustrated. She could understand why; it couldn't be easy with all the starting and stopping they did during practice, and Jesse was constantly asking them to scratch this part, add another, play the harmony, repeat the melody, etc. She could see the sheet music resting on their stands from where she was sitting, and it was barely readable for all the penciled-in notes scribbled everywhere.

Alex launched into a short monologue, then sang, his deep voice reverberating around the theater even without a microphone. He moved his hands dramatically, pacing the stage as he slowly raised his volume the farther he got into the song. Olivier had to give him credit, he looked like he was into it. He never struggled with finding the right facial expression like she did. She could remember movements (she was pretending to type what Alex was saying as he sang), but she had no idea how to make her face look the way it was supposed to. She glanced over at Jesse and noticed he was biting his nails. There had to be a way to make this work.

"How's my speed, Miss Dillmount?" Alex asked with a face that reminded her of Buccaneer when he was acting cocky. Without even thinking about it, she smirked and added a flirty tone, knowing that would always make Buccaneer blush and grumble.

"A little slow, perhaps."

"Ah," Alex nodded with a smug satisfaction. He continued singing at a faster pace, and Olivier studied him with Buccaneer in mind. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Jesse begin to smile and nod.

When he finished, Alex folded his arms and stood authoritatively over Olivier. "Now, read that back to me please." She noticed he stood with the same ramrod-like stance that commanding officers always used, particularly when they were offering a challenge. Olivier never backed down from a challenge.

"Certainly," she said, a satisfying memory whizzing through her mind of many a commander's mouth falling open when they realized the kind of soldier she was. "Dear Mr. Hudson." She gave the obligatory pause. "Colon."

The song was a little high for her, but if Alex could do it, then so could she, and she would do it faster. She read off her "letter" (really a blank piece of paper in her hands, on which Catherine had left a nasty note for her when she wasn't looking) the way she would a superior progress report. When the lyrics reached their peak, she again tried to think of Alex as Buccaneer and gave him a smug, daring smile.

"Nice!" Alex sounded like he meant it, even though that was technically part of the song. Olivier finished up her part nicely, her confidence boosted by the fact that Jesse hadn't interrupted them yet. The feeling didn't last long though, mostly because in her opinion the rest of the song was stupid and a little unnecessary. It was mostly just her repeating nonsensical phrases with the ensemble, and then going into a tap dance in which they pretended to type but were actually tapping instead. It was a difficult routine to learn, but she was sitting down for it, so it didn't take too much of a toll. Poor Amue and Strongine suffered the worst, because their feet were made more for stomping than tapping and their shoes didn't fit them too well.

"Bravo! That was amazing! You have blown me away!" Jesse clapped hard, shaking his head and wiping a tear from his fake eyelashes when they finished. "Olivier, that was so much better. I knew you could do it. Alex, you were right on the money too."

"How about me, Jesse? Did you see how great I was?" Catherine squealed, fluttering her eyelashes. "I had perfect pitch the entire time!" She tossed her hair and crossed her arms, giving off an air as though she'd actually done something important. "But if you ask me, Olivier still didn't quite hit the notes on that last part. Are you sure you don't want me to take over for her? I think she could use the help, and this music was written more for a soprano anyway."

It was taking everything in Olivier's power to stop herself from strangling her sister. She clenched her teeth and mentally counted to ten, longing for toothpicks.

"You seem to be forgetting that nobody asked you, Catherine," Strongine hissed.

"Honeys, you're all fabulous. I couldn't ask for a better group to teach. I'll see you all at the same time tomorrow, so enjoy the rest of your day! Toodle-ooh!" He gathered up his notes and skipped out of the auditorium just as the servants were coming in to put away the props. Olivier felt a hand on her shoulder and tensed, looking up.

"That was truly magnificent, Sister," Alex rumbled, wiping a tear from his eye. "Such realism in character portrayal is such a rare sight to behold!"

"Hmph." Olivier offered him the tiniest of half-smiles. "Well, I can't exactly allow you to perform better than me. But don't delude yourself into thinking I like you in real life."

"Nevertheless I am so excited for this concert I can barely stand it!" Alex raised his arms and Olivier, Amue and Strongine hurried out of the auditorium as his shirt was ripped to bits and the sparkles surrounding their brother multiplied. Catherine stayed at his side, gazing at his muscles in awe.

"So what changed, Olivier?" Amue asked before Olivier could walk away.

"Yeah, what made you go from 'okay' to amazing?" Strongine said teasingly.

"Tch!" Olivier turned around, letting her hair flounce behind her. "It's not like it's that hard. Millie's just a pathetic little gold digger who pretends to be strong and independent when in fact she's so desperate that she feels she needs a man to complete her."

"And yet you play her so well!" Amue gushed. "You and Alex are going to steal the show." She clasped her hands. "I'm almost as excited as he is. This is going to be so much fun!"

Olivier heaved a sigh and sulked through the mansion, which had undergone a bit of a change now that it was getting closer to the date of the concert. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry and the atmosphere was flustered. Decorations were being put up everywhere and a vase of fresh roses was placed on every single surface (apparently this shindig was supposed to have a rose theme even though it was supposed to be about Ishval, which, naturally speaking, was about as far away from a rose garden as it got).So many aromas were wafting from the kitchen that it was making her head spin; she'd gotten sick again three times this past week. The poor servants were working their tailcoats off with all the cleaning and rearranging Josephine was making them do. Normally Olivier might have offered to help, but she knew so little about all things fancy that she'd inevitably make the place look worse. The one place where her abilities were useful was the garden, and it was so brutally hot out there that Olivier wouldn't have ventured into the yard if her life depended on it.

She wracked her brain, trying to think of something even remotely useful that she could do, but was interrupted by the doorbell. She waited for the butler to answer it, thinking it must be another somebody-or-other hired to help out with all the thousands of things that needed to be done, but the butler must have been as harried as everyone else. A sharp knock later and still no one answered. Olivier headed for the tall doors and pulled hard on the handle. She was a little surprised at how much effort was required, these things were heavy.

"Hey! You're just the person I wanted to see."

Olivier scowled at Buccaneer and folded her arms. "What do you want?"

He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "So you're still mad at me, huh?"

"Perhaps." The snow-capped mountains were warmer than Olivier's voice.

"Well, I'm sorry. If it helps, I brought a little something to make it up to you." He jerked his thumb behind him. "Thought maybe you could use a little fresh air. Since no one called me to accompany you anywhere, I figured you'd been cooped up in the house all week."

Olivier shrugged. "We've been preparing for the concert. What did you bring me?"

He beckoned her to follow him. "Come outside and I'll show you. I can't bring it into the mansion."

Olivier stepped out into the sunlight, noticing for the first time how weird it was to see Buccaneer out of uniform. Even when they went down to North City for the occasional drink, he was still bundled up in the military-issue black fur-lined coat. Now he stood in a white tank top and black pants, his braid hanging halfway down his back. She followed him down the walkway and stopped at the fountain, which was also decorated in roses.

"Here she is." Buccaneer gestured with his metal hand to the side of the fountain. Olivier raised an eyebrow when she saw a black and silver motorcycle propped up against it, the headlight glistening in the afternoon sunshine. "Isn't she something?"

"You brought me a motorcycle?" Olivier asked skeptically.

"No," he replied slowly. He stepped around it and reached down. "The motorcycle is mine. I brought you a helmet." He grinned and held it out to her. "Remember last time we were in North City together? You told me you'd always wanted to ride one of these. I just recently started riding again for the first time in years, and I can tell you it's a hell of a lot better than being trapped inside a stuffy car or traipsing around in the heat." He put on his own helmet and mounted the motorcycle, patting the seat behind him. "Hop on."

Olivier's heart skipped a beat. She took the helmet and turned it around in her hands, trying not to show how excited that made her. She had always wanted to try riding a motorcycle ever since the first time she had seen one at four years old. It had been when motorcycles were first being developed, and she'd watched with her eyes and mouth in wide circles as riders sped around Central City faster even than cars. Olivier loved anything that went fast and had hoped that when she grew up she could ride in one of the military tanks her father told her stories about. She had watched the motorcycles and imagined what it would be like to go fast without being confined by walls and a roof and how much easier the controls must be since the machine wasn't nearly as bulky and had wanted to ride it so badly.

"Mommy, can I ride one pleeeaase?"

"Absolutely not! Those things are accidents waiting to happen. There's no protection, Olivier! Think how dangerous it would be if the rider lost control and crashed." Josephine shook her head and muttered to herself about daredevil young folk who were looking to get themselves killed, stroking her very pregnant stomach. Olivier still couldn't tear her eyes off of those motorcycles, they looked like so much fun! Philip chuckled at the awe in her big blue eyes, picked his little girl up, and let her head rest on his shoulder so she could watch them a little longer as the family walked away.

"Someday, my girl. Someday," he'd whispered in her ear when his wife wasn't looking.

Olivier smiled. It looked like someday was today. But that didn't mean she was going to drop her poker face. "I suppose I could overlook your pervious offense in light of this, assuming it will be a decent ride." Buccaneer grinned and revved up the engine as she slipped on her helmet. It was a cumbersome, heavy thing, but even she knew it would be foolish not to wear one. Her heart leaping out of her chest, she carefully maneuvered herself onto the seat behind Buccaneer. She hoped they wouldn't need to communicate too much; they were both wearing helmets that covered their mouths and the engine was loud.

"Put your arms around my waist and hang on tight, okay?" Buccaneer shouted in what sounded like quite a cheerful tone. Olivier grimaced a little as she realized how intimate they were going to look, and she narrowed her eyes, wondering if that was the real reason why he'd offered to take her on his motorcycle. But she wanted the ride more than she didn't want to hug him, so she scooted closer to him and hooked her arms around his stomach while settling her feet on the bars at the same time.

"Ready?" he called.

"Yes!" For the first time in God knew how long, Olivier was excited for something.

"Here we go!" Buccaneer's feet left the ground, the motorcycle roared to life, tilted a bit, and they were off. Olivier had underestimated how fast the bike was and she found herself hanging onto Buccaneer tighter than she'd planned. There was a strong breeze that day, and as Buccaneer floored it out of the Armstrong front yard (a straight shot for about a mile), it hit them both full force. Olivier was thankful Buccaneer wore his hair in a braid; otherwise it would have been directly in her face. Thankfully the helmet kept some of hers down, but the rest of it flared wildly every which way.

It was exhilarating. She smiled.

Once Buccaneer got away from the mansion, he had more obstacles to dodge, and there were a few times where the motorcycle tilted so far off to the side that Olivier instinctively clutched his shirt and shut her eyes tight, but Buccaneer seemed to know what he was doing. After he drove the two of them down several streets (and turning quite a few heads along the way), she began to get used to it. This was almost as much fun as she'd imagined it to be as a child. Cars were going to seem incredibly slow after this, and she wondered if she might not be able to talk him into doing this more often.

Buccaneer gripped the handles, slowing down more than he normally would to take turns. He had asked around to make sure it was okay for pregnant women to ride motorcycles and apparently it was as long as the driver was careful and the woman wasn't too far along yet. He took care to avoid any bumpy roads or places with high traffic, but, just to mess with her, he occasionally veered the bike sharply to the right or left, smirking when she tightened her grip. His stomach was doing flip-flops at the feeling of her so close to him. He wondered if people would recognize them outside of uniform and with helmets covering their faces. A part of him hoped so and a part of him didn't. He loved having her all to himself.

"Hang on! Here comes the grand finale!" he yelled, turning down a side street. He had set up a ramp outside of his apartment building and he hoped it was still there. Buccaneer intended to show his queen a good time and that simply couldn't be done without at least one little stunt. A minute later, the ramp was still there, with nobody around.

Perfect.

Olivier held back a scream of delight and apprehension as she saw what he was heading for at top speed. She bit her lip and willed herself to trust him. The sounds of the motorcycle echoed in her ears and Buccaneer let out a whoop as he drove faster, faster, up, and up…

Olivier couldn't hold back a small yelp as suddenly they were airborne. In all seriousness, they weren't that high, but the same thrill she got from driving a tank down a mountain at eighty miles an hour surged through her entire body and her heart was pounding so hard it was making her chest hurt. She forced herself to keep her eyes open as Buccaneer expertly got them down onto the second ramp, curved, and on the road again.

"That was awesome!" he cheered, coming to a stop near a restaurant. He parked the motorcycle, turned off the ignition, and removed his helmet. Olivier let go of him and he turned to face her. "I would take you farther, but I want to make sure I have enough gas to get you home. But if you'd allow me, I'll buy you dinner."

Now that her helmet was off, Olivier could see Buccaneer's smile. It wasn't his normal goofy grin or smirk, but a nice, honest smile. It was, well for lack of a better word, nice. And it seemed to make his face ten times more attractive. She studied him for a moment. I never noticed this, but he's actually not bad-looking.

Not that she was interested. Because she could never think of Buccaneer like that. Nope. Not at all. He was her subordinate and maybe-kinda-sorta-just-a-little-bit her friend. But that was it! Nothing more.

But still it didn't mean she couldn't have dinner with him. Olivier glanced up at the restaurant. It was the kind of place that used candlelight, but that didn't mean anything. It was just a casual dinner between workmates. And she was feeling a little hungry, plus it would be rude not to accept his offer, and she didn't want to be rude to him after what he'd just treated her to.

"I'd like that," she told him with a small smile. He seemed pleased, and she actually began to feel remorseful about what she'd done to the invitations. Now that she thought about it, it was a pretty low move on her part.

She shook the thought out of her head. It wasn't like anyone would take what she'd written seriously. In fact, she was sure hardly anybody was even coming.

Well?! Did anyone guess who the dance teacher is?!

The motorcycle was invented sometime around 1884/1885, I forget which exactly. I'm putting Olivier's age at about 35 in this story, so she would have been around four when they first started hitting the streets. And say what you will, but in my mind the Briggs characters would make the ultimate motorcycle gang. Buccaneer in particular looks like he was made to wear a Harley jacket, and I could see Miles on a bike too. :D

Well, I'm off to the bahamas for a week! I won't have internet access, so don't expect an update right away, but I look forward to reading reviews when I come back. :)