So, I was browsing through YouTube the other day, watching clips from Mock The Week, and I thought 'These would make really good prompts for drabbles and stuff!' (or something along those lines; my mind is an untidy and messed-up place on a good day.) So, here are things written from 'Scenes we'd like to see'. Tell me what you think of it in that lovely little box with 'Type review here' in it!

The original lines will be underlined, just so you know.

Bad Things To Say On Your First Day In The Military:

It was a couple of years before the Ishbalan Rebellion had become so bad the State Alchemists had had to be called in and conscription was at an all-time high, with new men arriving at basic training every day. Private Alex Johnson was the man given the job of outfitting all of these new recruits with uniforms and he very quickly learned the right and wrong things to say to a large group of muscular, manly men with no sense of humour besides slapstick.

It was his first day in the new post – one that ensured he wouldn't get sent out to the Eastern Front and get stabbed or shot – and, although he would have liked to blame it on his fashionista mother and his lack of a father while growing up, Alex Johnson knew that the blame lay solely on the three most powerful words in the Amestrian language: 'I dare you'. The other guy who had gotten this assignment – let's call him Bob – had dared him to do it and, always keen to prove himself in the eyes of his peers, Alex Johnson had never known when to say no. It started off when the first group of soldiers had come in for their outfitting.

"Hey, Alex!" Bob hissed.

"Yeah?"

"Come over here!"

Then followed a few minutes of whispering and hushed snickers, hastily cut off when the new recruits came out, properly attired in their new blue uniforms, complete with buttcapes.

"Well," gushed Alex, a content grin on his face and hands clasped in front of his chest, "You guys look great!"

The beating he received was passed on into unofficial military history.

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Thomas Fitzroy was a member of one of the richest families in Amestris and, as the only child, he had been doted on by loving parents. Unfortunately for him, that meant he didn't have a good frame of reference for ordinary social interactions. Also unfortunately for him, it was traditional for his family to send their children into the military at the age of eighteen.

It was one o'clock on his first day and Thomas (not Tom, not Tommy, please; just Thomas) was sitting in the Mess at a table with eleven other new recruits, talking about their plans for their careers. One wanted to work in the technology department, and was a whiz at hacking phone lines, another intended to work at shooting until he could shoot a fly off a post without damaging the wood, and yet another just wanted a quiet life of routine; to meet a girl, buy a house and have two-point-four children.

It was then that Thomas made his first gaffe.

"Well," Thomas said, chest swelling, "If you play your cards right, you might get to stand outside one of my family's mansions!"

There was no retaliation, just then. A few disbelieving glances were shot around the table and some insulted expressions, but they remained quiet and bided their time.

It was not until the new group was shown the barracks that Thomas Fitzroy finally got his comeuppance. He had asked for it pretty much as soon as he opened his mouth.

"This room's great!" he enthused, looking around at the rows of bunks, "…Where're the rest of you sleeping?"

Their CO just smiled at the murderous expressions on their faces and stepped out of the door, humming to herself as she heard the muffled shouts of pain.

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Although Edward Elric was a child genius and had seen many things, he still had some childish tendencies. But could you blame the kid? He was only twelve, had been thrown headfirst into an adult world he didn't understand, had tried to bring back his dead mother, turning her into some kind of un-human thing and, well, the list went on and on.

So it really should have been no surprise to Mustang when his newest team member walked in, clearly under the influence of some kind of horrific cold or 'flu, dumped his scruffy and badly-written report on his desk, and shuffled over to Hawkeye.

She looked down from her desk, a questioning look on her face as she saw the tear-streaked face of the youngest State Alchemist in history looking up at her.

He stretched out his arms and, in a quiet and slightly hoarse voice, Ed asked, "Can I have a cuddle?"

Struck by the puppy eyes being sent mercilessly in her direction, all Hawkeye could do was lift the young boy onto her lap and give him a warm hug. Why Edward had come to her for comfort, she did not know.

Then again, Fuery looked like a puppy; Falman was about as cuddly as a knife; Havoc was… Havoc; Breda, she believed, slightly intimidated him with his sheer bulk and Ro- Mustang wouldn't have known what to do with himself and would most likely have laughed and held it over the kid's head for the rest of his life. So she just rested her chin on the golden head and wondered if this was what it felt like to be a mother.

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This time, it was Alphonse who made the team squee with cuteness overload. Inside, anyway.

It was the first time the brothers had to stay in Eastern Command, due to the lack of spare hotel rooms and they were put into barracks for the night. When they had been shown into the room with rows and rows of beds, the first thing Havoc heard was Ed's exuberant cry of "I call top bunk!", making the lone soldier in the room chuckle, not knowing just who it was, but figuring that the second lieutenant was showing his son, cousin, nephew or some other relative around.

The second thing he heard was Al's tentative question:

"Does Teddy get his own bunk?" the armour asked, holding up a tatty old bear with one missing ear, an eye hanging by a thread and very worn paws.

"Y-yeah," Havoc replied, flustered and with a slight lump in his throat.

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"Hughes," a young Roy Mustang complained, "I blame you for this."

"Ah, ah, ah! You should know better than to challenge me to make the best dare I can! You only have yourself to blame," his so-called best friend replied, grinning unrepentantly. "And I thought Major Smith wanted to see his face in this floor? Get back to your scrubbing, Roy,"

Grumbling, the alchemist-in-training (not that anyone knew) did so.

Earlier that day, at lunchtime, the usual 'I'm tougher and better than he is' contest was going on between the male cadets.

The women, of course, knew better than that and did not feel the need to turn to stupid stunts to raise their standing among their peers, knowing that their skills would do all the talking needed.

One voice in particular rose above the clamour, inviting any challenge.

"OK, Roy! If a dare's what you want, how about this?" he leaned down to whisper it into his best friend's ear, all the men on the table staining to hear the challenge, but failing.

Mustang's face went white and, with the air of a man heading to his own funeral, he nodded.

Bets ran wild about what it could be and just how bad the punishment would be. Luckily, they did not have to wait long. After lunch, on the parade grounds, Mustang made a joke about their CO rather loudly in a hushed moment.

"You!" the major shouted, "Drop and give me twenty!"

Mustang swallowed, knowing he was about to die. He pushed his terror down as far as it would go and stepped in front of the rest of the assembled cadets.

"I beg your pardon!" he somehow managed to say. "Drop and give me twenty, please!" he somehow managed to do the stipulated 'sassy' hand-wave, cursing Hughes all the while. "You will get nothing by shouting."

In Mustang's opinion, he got off very lightly; he was ordered to scrub the floor (toothbrush provided) but what really stung was what the major had said to Hughes afterwards:

"Keep an eye on him and make sure he gets it done properly. I wish more of The cadets had heads as level as yours on their shoulders!"

'I will have my revenge, Hughes,' Mustang promised to himself as he bent down and got to work. 'Just you wait…'

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Olivier Armstrong's first victim upon entering the military was a lazy man from a civilian background. He had a whiny voice, sandy hair and freckles, not to mention an attitude that was irritating to the extreme.

All of these may have been ignored if, on the first day, he had not earned her eternal hatred the second he opened his mouth:

"This is only one weekend a month, right?"

To her credit, she managed to hold out against her desire to destroy him for a full week, but, after that, he had a tendency to flinch whenever he saw a blonde woman, fresh fruit, or a hammer.

So, what do you think? And, as you may have noticed, I ship Royai. Expect more of it as this progresses.