Hi, people! In case you're new, welcome to my Universe!
I hope you will enjoy this little series of Young!Royai being fluff balls.
Hope you'll enjoy: Seen Through Another's Eyes.
A Friend
"Sorry I'm bothering you with this."
"It's no trouble, Ida," Riza tells me kindly. "The market won't close just because we don't have school," she reasons. She is like that. Always benevolent, always acquiescent. She lives furthest away from town square but she'll spend the entirety of her Saturday morning hiking all the way back here to do the shopping, just because I have a problem now.
And what a stupid problem. My mother insisted so much, I'm mainly doing this so she'll stop annoying me. It's a bit sad too; she loves this dumb old frying pan. Her great-grandmother's precious heirloom. A piece of art, rather than a tool for everyday use. The copper shine is long gone – probably before I was born – but the outsides are still swirled with traditional patterns that my mother's side of the family passed on from generation to generation.
Only this generation – namely one of my brothers – managed to break the poor thing in half. The artisan who made the pan is long dead, and his family doesn't have the mould for it anymore. The only solution: alchemy. Luckily, our backwater town houses the best alchemist in all the land. Not so lucky: he's weird. Really weird. It's unfathomable how he has such a sweet, civil daughter.
"Can you believe Mrs Wright didn't punish Gunter for sticking gum under her desk?" I groan. Goddamn Gunter. It's bad enough we have gym class at the same time as the older boys. Now they sit in our class as a form of their detention, interrupting all the time.
"She will only threaten him with something that she knows she can carry through," Riza calmly says. So basically nothing. Mrs Wright isn't the most… threatening teacher to begin with.
"Yeah, but having us remove it?"
"It's our classroom," Riza shrugs. I know her well enough by now to understand that she isn't pleased, but also not upset. Hardly anything upsets her. She simply endures. It really breaks my heart how little emotion she shows. She doesn't even notice anymore, I think. Ever since her mother died…
"Riza."
We both look up when hearing a familiar voice. Of course he's here. He's made a habit of picking her up from school lately and he's never late. Sometimes, I think he just hangs around somewhere for half the day until class ends.
"Mr Mustang," Riza greets him amicably. Her eyes seem just a tad brighter as she does. She extends a hand towards me. "This is Ida Barnes, my classmate. Ida, this is my father's apprentice, Mr Mustang."
"Pleasure." Mr Mustang flashes a winsome smile. I shake his hand, as is proper. He is so much taller than us. He's older too. Central Boy, the village used to call him when he first arrived three years ago. My father still dubs him that.
"She will be coming home with us today to ask my father a favour."
"I see." Mr Mustang nods. "So…" he trails, "no market today?"
"Tomorrow," Riza informs. "There's always Sunday to patch the chicken coop," she sighs to herself.
"The storm last night?" I guess.
We head down the road leading towards the woods.
Riza hums affirmatively. "I should have known that the spruce next to the house would cave eventually. It landed on the barn," she retells. "I'll make sure no more conifers grow in the garden."
"Cause they're…" Mr Mustang brings his hands to his chest, pretending to cover some indecency. He pats it as if it's a surprise that he's flat as a board. Riza's eyes twinkle and he gives a lopsided grin.
"Shallow-rooted," Riza confirms with a smile. He smiles back.
I've never seen it in action but Athena from school mentioned it on countless occasions – that they developed some kind of telepathy. It must be true, because how in the world did Riza get that? Athena made it sound more like patriarchal brainwashing, but honestly? They're just goofing around. Maybe someone should tell Athena that she doesn't know how to have fun.
I'm sure this is a comment Mr Mustang would enjoy, but I don't dare say it.
Apart from their wordless connection, I find his relative silence to be out of the ordinary. He's usually very chatty from what I gather, and the tree is all he annotates? No spunky story about the chickens escaping or the quaking impact the tree must have had?
"Thank goodness it was only the old barn," I say. "Your room could've been wrecked." How is she so calm about this? She could be dead. Killed by a tree.
Then again, this is what she's been like for years. It takes more than death to daunt Riza Hawkeye.
"It levered out the entire fence," Riza unhappily recounts. "And I can't keep the chickens in the barn for long, now that it's leaking."
No kidding, but hasn't it always leaked through that ancient roof? And that of the house? The chicken coop might be the most unscathed shelter they have, seeing as it's the most recent. That, and Riza sees better to her animals' needs than her own.
"Did you already get rid of the tree?"
"Mr Mustang did." Her voice lightens up.
"Alchemy." He winks.
"On wood?"
"Sure," he nonchalantly says. "Anything I know the elements of," he boasts somewhat. I don't know how she can stand it. He isn't outright arrogant like Marvin or blatant like Gunter, but he says what's on his mind. So when he thinks he's doing well at something, he'll say so. It's not bad, just the polar opposite of Riza.
She's had her influence on him though. At least it looks like it, seeing as he sort of maybe combs his hair now. It might just be me, but I never saw him do that before coming to pick her up all the time. Or perhaps the buildings in Central are really so high that there's no wind. He used to look like a porcupine when he first came here. He was a lot shorter too. Talk about a growth spurt.
"Jeffery was hanging out at the post office again today," Mr Mustang randomly notes. Maybe not too randomly – I forget that they probably talk at home and have many topics. Riza is so quiet at school, never piping up unless explicitly asked to. It's hard to imagine he's not simply monologuing all day.
"He fancies Ms Moore," I supply.
"A feeling that isn't mutual," Mr Mustang pretends a lamenting tone.
"Mr Mustang," Riza chides. Her scowl has zero effect with how much her eyes are sparkling with amusement.
In case it wasn't obvious, Riza isn't one to gossip. She doesn't do it and she doesn't listen to any. To his tattling, she even reacts. Positively. Meanwhile, I'm positively gobsmacked.
"I should probably tell him soonish that remaining a bachelor is a very becoming attribute in the city," he lies with what must be his feigned snobby voice. The way he pulls down the corners of his mouth gives him away. It's odd seeing such an unsightly expression on his otherwise handsome face. He's a riot though and he knows it.
"Soonish," Riza echoes. "I believe what you intended to say was 'presently'." She picks the least insulting aspect of his sentence. His grimace spreads into a gloatingly delighted grin.
"Anon," he concurs. "I doubt the general public would bewail if he were to maintain the current size of his gene pool."
"Mr Mustang, really!" Riza almost snorts. That's right. Riza. Sweet, tacit Riza. Snorts.. If I wasn't impressed before – and believe me, if you so much as see Roy Mustang next to someone like Jeffery Griffiths, even just from behind, you will be impressed – then this does it for me. He is funny, he is charming, and he isn't bad‑looking in the slightest. He even brings out a pretty smile from ever-reserved Riza.
"I swear to speak the truth and only the truth." He puts a hand over his heart. His grin has yet to make itself scarce. Judging by the way his antics amuse Riza, it'll stay there for quite a while.
It takes us another half an hour to reach the house. Mr Mustang's prattling returns but never strays towards the tree or the chickens. Perhaps he messed up the alchemy. Jeffery is mentioned again sometime, whom I'm beginning to think is the reason why Riza's cavalier here won't pass on picking her up at school or accompanying her to the shops lately.
Riza's house is as squalid as ever, yet the garden is splendid and neat. Where you would expect layers upon layers of dust inside the house, you won't find a speck. It doesn't make up for the rusty pipes or cracks in the walls.
We leave our bags next to the door. The downstairs is basically one huge room. The entrance extends into to the kitchen area to the left. Behind it, there is no door but still a frame, leading to the dining room. To the right is another room – this one having a door that's always shut. Her mother's sewing room. I've never actually been in there. Around the corner of said room is a small parlour, open and connected to the rest of the downstairs. Straight on are the stairs leading up to the bedrooms.
"Would you like some tea?" Riza ties a long apron in her back.
"I'm fine, thanks."
"Are you sure?" She rummages through a cabinet. "Mr Mustang's aunt sent him exotic tea from Xing. It's delicious." She smiles at me, then at him. He overtakes the search, seeing as he can reach up more easily. Riza meanwhile fills the kettle.
"Your aunt lives in Xing?" How does mail even cross the desert?
"No, she—" Riza's eyes catch on something outside. "What is…?" She turns off the drain. Quickly, she wipes her hands on her apron, then grabs her long skirt. I frown as she hurries outside. The chicken coop can be seen through the window above the sink. Nothing out of the ordinary – the chickens are there, no predators or left-behind feathers.
Until it hits me.
The broken coop. The levered-out fence – all fixed. Riza stands there, in awe, while the chickens prance around, unbothered. She has yet to let go of her skirt. I find myself nearing the window. Riza isn't one to exaggerate – on the contrary. She'd never want anyone's pity. So how is it that…?
I catch on when she does. Mr Mustang has joined her outside. He looks like he's grown by two centimetres, his chest all puffed out but hands casually in his pockets. Not fooling me, but I'm not sure about Riza. Actually, I am sure – she isn't even paying much attention to his prancing. She's too busy smiling.
I can't hear them from here, but I don't have to in order to know that Riza never talks this much, this quickly or this excitedly. She's positively spraying with zeal and it's adorable. Mr Mustang is smiling too, still intent to look a lot cooler than he is. It's blatantly obvious how pleased he is with her reaction. Who wouldn't be?
His chest is still puffed and with his sleeves rolled up halfway, revealing brawny lower arms, I'm reminded that he's already seventeen, soon eighteen. My face feels warm suddenly. I touch it, confused.
He's now pointing somewhere beyond the fence. The neighbours, I reckon. Riza speaks of him very politely, but I'm a farmer's daughter. I know a klutz when I see one and Roy Mustang from Central is everything but adept when it comes to craftsmanship.
If he knew, my father would never let me near him; shoo me to find someone who'd make a suitable husband one day. I can't imagine that Riza's father told her something similar. She'd never disobey him like that. He probably assumed she would mind her own business anyway as usual.
Makes me wonder if Mr Mustang was told that she's off limits. Him, I could picture disobedient. At least twisting the words to his advantage with that silver-tongued, suave way he has.
He's taking his other hand out of his pocket, producing a tiny iron key. In a grand gesture, one that makes Riza hide a giggle behind her hand, he presents it. He glances up from his half bow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Delicately, Riza receives the key with both hands.
I'm as surprised as Mr Mustang that, when he straightens, she puts a hand on his forearm. She's not going to whisper into his ear, is she? The warmth of my face reignites drastically. Riza lightly leans on his arm, goes up on her toes and breathes a chaste kiss on his cheek. It reddens like a ripe tomato. She says something, beaming a smile, then turns to use the key and let herself into the coop.
Mr Mustang is smiling too, no grinning. So much in fact, I'd be surprised if it didn't hurt. It should. I've never seen anyone grin that much. He's like the sun. His gait changes as he follows her, soaring more than he walks. Now the excitedly babbling one, all poise waved goodbye, he shows her around. The chickens elude him, and he sheepishly scratches the back of his neck as he explains.
I'm still holding my radiant face when I hear the stairs creak. Immediately, I fold my hands behind my back. I can't believe I didn't hear him upstairs. The entire house is one giant creak, every floorboard and roofbeam squealing in the slightest of breezes.
Berthold Hawkeye descends the old staircase. He has his arms at his sides, face down and veiled by his hair. Any movement of his feet or legs beneath his robe disappears the moment he walks on straight ground – as if he's hovering.
I once heard my baby brothers telling each other horror stories about him. How both of Riza's parents died but her father returned as a ghost. Back then, I jeered at my brothers. Now every time I catch a glimpse of the man, I can't help but agree.
"Father." Riza appears in the doorway. She sounds a little out of breath, maybe because she laughed again. I don't have to turn around to know that she's still shining with a bright smile. It's perfectly audible in her voice.
Berthold Hawkeye looks up. I turn my head only just so to see Mr Mustang enter behind Riza, but not enough to be noticed. I don't know why I'm holding my breath. He regards Mr Mustang for a moment, then Riza. His gaze lingers for a long time. I can't fathom how she isn't uncomfortable, but she just smiles, waiting patiently for… whatever one might expect from the fantom of the village.
I dare to peek at him from the side. There's something there. As in, there is an emotion in his eyes. Don't ask me which, it's impossible to read but it's… less dead? I'm really at a loss here. I've never seen the man show anything but indifference – which is already a blunt exaggeration. Which is why this… something catches me off guard. I like to imagine that it might have become a smile, for Riza's sake.
Riza is certainly still smiling. I don't remember seeing her smile so much at a time. "Ms Barnes is here for the reparation of her great-grandmother's pan," she says. It takes a moment, then another, but finally, he looks at me. Eyes wandering, otherwise unmoving. I curse at the goosebumps rising under my dress.
"Sir," I greet respectfully. He doesn't react. Like a puppet on strings, he lifts a hand. I chew on my lip, unsure what he means until Mr Mustang comes forward. Oh, good, the signal was for him. Why though? He's looking at me again. All three are.
"The pan," Hawkeye rasps after a heartbeat of silence. He makes it sound like some foreign word; a mythical artefact. I hurry to produce the old thing from my satchel. It's still a disaster, but at least in this house, it doesn't stand out much.
I didn't mean to sound so rude. I know Riza does her utmost to keep everything tidy, but there's only so much a fifteen-year-old can do.
As if on cue, a droplet of water drips from the ceiling onto the rim of the pan. Riza gives a mute gasp, glancing up. Mr Mustang follows her gaze, then shoots her one. There's a mixture of amusement, strictness and gratefulness playing on her features, the two of them probably communicating something via telepathy again.
Berthold Hawkeye didn't blink. I don't think he has since he came down here. He doesn't seem to watch the exchange, remaining indecipherable. His eyes flicker to the pieces of pan in my hands.
Mr Mustang apparently understands this to some extent, coming over. "May I?" I give him the pieces. He studies them, turning them in the light. "Copper?"
"Yes," I affirm.
"Alright," he nods confidently. He gives me back the pieces, then goes to the kitchen isle. Riza must have read either his or her father's mind, fetching a pen while Mr Mustang gets out a sheet of paper. "Thank you kindly," he smiles when she hands him the pen. There's still a spark of amusement in his eyes. It catches in Riza's, dancing behind the usual composed politeness. I wonder if her father has caught on to their secret language yet. Caught on to anything, really.
Mr Mustang sets the sheet onto the ground, kneeling before it. With practiced ease, he draws a perfect circle. He glances up only once at the pan, pensive, while completing a simplified alchemic circle.
"On second thought…" He taps his chin with the pen. Riza's lips curl into a clandestine smile. He just stained his face without noticing. Inconspicuously, she wets the kitchen towel at the sink. "Master, could we spare a hint of lead and tin?" He gets up. "I'll replace it." He promises, vanishing upstairs.
Did… did I miss something? Has Mr Mustang learned his master's language or is he just assuming that whatever he has planned will be fine? Never mind the materials, but he's going to conduct an experiment in the middle of the house? Just like that? I don't even think about what might happen to the pan, I'm so curious. He is either that good at alchemy or so useless that Hawkeye thinks him harmless.
Mr Mustang returns with two leather pouches. Each of them contains small rocks that look like raw minerals – one reddish, the other grey. I've seen things made of tin and lead, but they look nothing like that. He takes out two of the reddish ones and one grey rock.
"Think your Ma would mind if I strengthened this a little?" He holds his hands out. I suck in my lips, frowning but not resisting. Anything's better than my mother moaning about her precious heirloom.
"Strengthen?" I ask.
He leaves the pieces in his lap, modifying the circle on the paper. "I'm going to make an alloy," he announces.
"Alloy?"
"Of copper." He taps the grey mineral. "Don't worry, I'll leave the pattern intact," he adds when noticing my dubious frown. He briefly studies the outsides of the pieces, running his fingers over them. "Right," he mutters to himself. Then he kneels upright, places everything within the circle and crosses his hands in the air. The circle glows, zaps with lightning. A small gust of wind tousles Mr Mustang's hair into the habitual mess. I shriek when it all ends in a pang.
The way he's pulling a face unsettles me. He blinks repeatedly. He must have not shut his eyes, blinded. Riza is lingering closely behind, fascinated and… hesitating. If I hadn't been here – scratch that, if her father hadn't been here, I'm almost certain she would have touched Mr Mustang. A congratulating hand on his shoulder or something. Maybe even smoothed down his hair. Wiped the ink off his chin.
Would she do that? Virtuous, guarded Riza, initiating physical contact? I don't think even the two of us hugged since her mother died. Yet he earned himself a kiss. This boy— sorry, this man is truly something special.
I learn just how special he is when I eventually tear my gaze off the two and to the ground. The pan is fixed. It's one piece. One pan. The intricate designs on the outside are distinctly chiselled and shiny. In fact, the whole thing is so shiny, my mother might not believe it's the same pan.
"One bronze pan for the young lady." Mr Mustang picks it up by the handle. He turns it this way and that, considering his handiwork, then extends it towards me on both hands. Not as grand a gesture as he did with Riza's chicken coop key, but still. He likes that air of a gentleman. Can't say I'm averse. "The lead will make it more slippery on the inside," he says as I take it.
"Thank you." I nod, then at Berthold Hawkeye. The latter is as unchanged as ever. How do they bear it? I know Riza has put up with it for years and Mr Mustang is sort of dependant on him as his teacher, but I couldn't stand it. No wonder these two are so attached to each other. No praise, no comment, nothing. Not even critique; he just stands there.
It makes me uncomfortable enough to take my leave a minute later. I can come by another time, I tell myself. The 'Phantom' is hardly ever out of his room, so chances are I won't have to be creeped out again.
I do want there to be another time. Watching these obvious but oblivious lovebirds gives me peace. I can't explain it, but seeing Riza heal is healing, even to someone who has no such wounds to mend.
It gives me hope that when I'm older, I might find myself a husband like Riza found Roy – a soulmate.
I have a few ideas for upcoming chapters, but I'm also open to suggestions ;)
