Mustang was having a bad day.

How so, you might ask? Could it be that the responsibilities of a leader finally getting to her? Or perhaps being trapped in an underground base depriving her of her precious oxygen? The worry of her leader's absence? The anger of not enough getting done to fight back the homunculi? The fear of being discovered by the enemies by one little slip-up?

Or maybe it could be the annoying voice pestering her to look at baby pictures again.

"Hughes, I have no inclination what's so ever to see another one of your nieces in a tutu, so please remove this blasphemy from my face this intent."

The said Hughes, a young woman a little older than Mustang, allowed a slight look of hurt to sweep over her face. "Oh, but Amber, you should really see this one! It's Tom-Tom in his jammies!"

"I already told you, no, I do not want to see these pictures!"

Amber Mustang, or just Mustang for short, was a small woman with black hair, cut short to barely brush her ears. Like much of the members of the human patriots, she wore baggy clothes, a long trench coat shielding her slight frame from the bitter cold in the tunnels, and a bandanna around the arm, a self-proclaiming symbol of independence from homunculi tyranny.

Grinding her teeth, she whirled around, pointing a finger at her obsessive companion. "I. Do not. CARE. If your little. Nephew. Wears a cape. And tries to impersonate. Armstrong. Leave me ALONE, Iris!"

Iris Hughes flinched slightly. She was taller than Mustang, a good half-a-foot taller, with shoulder length blond hair and small, cracked glasses resting on her slightly broken nose. Her physical appearance was similar to Mustang, skinny, knobby knees, bony, defined cheekbones, grim covering every inch of her figure until her skin tone looked almost Ishbalvan. Adjusting her glasses slightly, Hughes heaved a heavy sigh. "Well, if you want to be that way, that's fine." Turning around, she began to walk away.

Mustang breathed in relief. Finally, some peace and—

"I'll just set the pictures over here, okay?"

"Huh?" Mustang turned to see Hughes, grinning like an idiot, as always, taking duct tape out of her coat pocket and began taping the pictures all over her workspace. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"

"Decorating," Hughes stated casually. "Your workspace is way too gloomy. Besides your unfinished paper, which, by the way, you need to finish, you have nothing else on it." Wincing, Hughes shook her head. "Not that's saying much."

Mustang snatched a picture from Hughes's hand. "Like I need your damn brats all over my workspace. Out! Out!"

Mustang began to shoo Hughes away before a towering figure dwarfed both women. They looked up in union, gapping as a tall woman with long blond hair, tied back in a knee-length ponytail, stood before them, her arms crossed in front of her well-developed chest.

"Hmph," the woman puffed. "Come now, you two! You are allies! Allies mustn't fight!"

Mustang and Hughes paused, looking at the woman. Hughes was about to open her mouth, when a young boy trotted in. "Mustang, William's back."

Removing her hands from Hughes' shoulders, Mustang ruffled her bangs out of her line sight. "Fine. Thank you, Elric. I'm assuming he's coming here?"

Elric grinned. Even shorter than Mustang, with pale gold hair and gold colored eyes, he seemed so out of place around the much older and taller members. "Yup. He's on his way now. I just took the shortcut, but I think it'll take him longer, since everyone's gonna try and see he went to."

"He won't tell them," Hughes chuckled mildly. "He likes being a mystery."

"So our leader has finally returned?" The woman suddenly flexed her arms, her tunic bursting off like a flurry of sparkles and shiny skin.

And no bra.

"ARMSTRONG!"

William stepped into the room, expecting Mustang to be at her desk, hovering over paperwork. Instead, he not only found Mustang, but Hughes and Elric holding down Armstrong, who seemed to have ripped off her shirt… again.

Will sighed. "Well, I wasn't expecting this of my own men."

"Sir!" Mustang was holding down the larger woman's arm down. "I'm sorry, but Armstrong –"

William burst out laughing, waving his hand to silence her. "It's alright, it's alright. Please, relax. Oh, and uh … Armstrong?"

The woman lifted her head from the ground. "Yes sir?"

"Please put a shirt on."

I apologize for the short chapter, but I hope the slight bit of humor made up for it. ^-^