"Riza?"
"Yes, Father?" Her little blonde head bobs up from the book in her lap, and her Father surveys her critically. His eyes are cold as they take in her wispy hair, falling down from its inelegant styling and the slightly worn look of her clothing. He grunts.
"We're going to town. Come."
"Yes, Father!" The ten-year-old girl marks her place in her book and hops eagerly off the threadbare sofa, trailing after her father's retreating back. "Where are we going, Father?"
"To town," he repeats, handing her a cloak that is at least a foot too short with buttons missing at the front.
Riza follows at his elbow, down the long wood-plank hallways of the estate and outside into the cool morning air, as the sun starts to pinken the gray sky before them.
"I'll saddle Ranger, Father," she offers, turning towards the stable.
"Fetch both horses. We'll use the wagon," Berthold Hawkeye barks at his daughter's retreating back.
Riza inhales deeply as she enters the stable. Small and shabby like everything on the sprawling Hawkeye estate, the stables are a refuge for Riza, a place she can usually retreat and know her Father wouldn't follow.
"Hey there." She smiles at her Father's old horse, Ranger, reaching into the leather pouch on the stable wall. She frowns to find it empty, but approaches the horse, patting his soft nose as he snuffles at her. "I'm sorry, boy. No sugar cubes left," she sighs. Sugar cubes aren't a luxury her father is willing to spend on, so she'll have to beg more from the blacksmith in town next time Ranger or the mare needs a shoeing. That could be months.
"Hello Foxy," Riza says, turning to smile at the gentle mare in the next stall and patting her nose, too. The horse's proper name is"Foxtrot", and Father doesn't approve of nicknames, but when it's just the three of them, Riza likes the name she chose better, because it fits the horse's spunky, slightly willful nature.
Riza harnesses both horses and leads them into the yard where her Father waits with the wagon. He steps into the driver's seat while Riza hitches the horses, wondering why they are suddenly traveling to town in the wagon. It isn't time to go to town and barter for supplies, yet, not based on the kitchen stores.
She wants to ask her Father again, but Riza knows better than to expect a response.
Her life is a quiet one since her Mother's death, three years before. Father's always been quiet, often secluding himself in his study for days at a time, working.
Alchemy, Riza thinks bitterly.
The magical science that so enthralled her Father wasn't able to save Mother's life. Father had refused even to try, ordering Riza from the room, even as she sobbed and pleaded for him to try something- anything.
"Please, Father! She's dying!"
Mother coughed again, struggling for breath. Her handkerchief came away red when she pulled it from her mouth.
"I can't, Riza. It's taboo. Human transmutation is not something to be trifled with."
"It's…Okay," Mother gasped. "I'll be alright, Sweetheart."
"Don't lie to her, Elizabeth, that won't help," Father snapped. "Riza, I said go, now! Your Mother needs rest."
Elizabeth Hawkeye had died that night, and Riza'a world had grown so much smaller without her Mother's gentle presence.
The wagon jumps over a rut in the road, startling Riza from her bitter thoughts, and she gasps.
"Steady," Berthold says, his eyes still on the road before them.
—-
Riza doesn't know what to make of the day as she lays down to sleep in her room that night. Father had spent an enormous sum of money in town. He'd purchased new rugs for the hallways; draperies and pillows; pounds of soft, white milled flour; and other supplies Riza is certain they don't need (although she'd managed to sneak in a package of sugar cubes when he wasn't looking!)- and he'd bought both of them clothes.
Riza has two brand new dresses, with stockings, hair ribbons, and shoes to match.
Since Mother died, Riza has fashioned her own clothes. She's had to let out the seams of her old dresses and add lengths of fabric to hemlines. She's pulled clothes from her Mother's bureau and cut them down to use the material. She hasn't had a new dress since Mother died, has never been fitted for a store-bought dress. Father even paid the dressmaker to tailor them for her overnight, and Riza is to ride back to town and fetch the items tomorrow.
Riza had prepared supper for herself and Father (they'd had luncheon in town at the inn, another first!) as usual, and she hadn't been able to resist the fine white flour. There hadn't been enough time for the rolls to rise properly, and she'd known that if she were honest with herself, but the thought of soft white bread instead of the grainier brown bread she usually prepared was too tempting.
When Father had come to the kitchen to see what was taking so long and found her, cheeks stained with white powder, trying to lift a tray of misshapen, under-risen rolls into the oven, he'd been so angry.
Riza is smart enough to keep her mouth shut and not to ask questions in the face of her Father's tirades. He'll burn himself out of words eventually- all she has to do is close her ears to his typical complaints. Stupid, lazy, insolent girl. Useless, brainless, worthless.
Sometimes she wants to argue, wants to understand exactly what she's done wrong so she won't repeat her mistakes, but she's learned that silence is her greatest ploy against him.
Sleep comes slowly that night.
—-
Riza rises early the next morning. She prepares a loaf of bread (use the brown, not the white flour. Don't be stupid, Riza) and leaves it rising in the kitchen before she flies to the stables and gallops to town on Ranger's back.
The dressmaker insists she try on the new dresses, and afterwards Riza doesn't want to take them off. She wears the less formal one home- a simple day dress, purple, but patterned with little white lilies- and the matching lilac colored ribbons in her hair, which she carefully pulls back, using the mirror in the dress shop to make sure no strands fall loose around her face. She wants Father to see how well the dress looks on her, hoping he'll be pleased.
She leaves the dainty shoes that come with the dress sitting in their paper wrappings, loads the parcels into her saddlebag, and mounts the horse wearing her old boots. It isn't Riza'a fault that the horse throws a shoe halfway back to the Hawkeye estates. It isn't her fault that her new dress ends up splattered with mud, nor is it her fault that when she finally arrives back at her home- after bringing the horse to the blacksmith and walking from town- she finds herself staring at an unfamiliar vehicle sitting in the grand driveway.
Riza is confused. They never have company, and she isn't accustomed to seeing other people anywhere near the Hawkeye estate, so vast are the lands. She knows Father would never have purchased an automobile- he complains enough at the expenses the horses cause.
She slows her footsteps and decides she should try to sneak inside the house and up the stairs without being seen by Father or his company. The front door makes a small creak as she slowly eases it open, and she can hear Father's voice from the formal sitting room- a room they never use.
"Riza!" Father's voice.
Riza freezes.
She stops and turns slowly on the stairs. As she does, she just manages to catch sight of her reflection in a mirror on the wall. The ribbon she'd used to tie up her hair is falling down and spattered with mud, just like her dress. The wispy tufts of hair that never seem to stay where she wants them hang loose about her shoulders and the dress seems ruined. A pit of dread opens up in her stomach.
Riza makes her way into the parlor, her hands folded in front of her as she looks around the room. Her surprise at the room's occupants suddenly outweighed her fear of Father's reaction to her tardiness and bedraggled appearance. There is a dark-haired boy, not far from her own age, and an older woman wearing a rich fur coat and smoking a cigarette. Her neck drips with jewelry, and Riza thinks that these people must be very wealthy indeed.. What are they doing here? Who are they?
Hawkeye clears his throat and looks around at his daughter, his eyes flashing with a rage as he takes in her bedraggled appearance.
Messy, insolent girl.
He says slowly, "This is my daughter, Riza Hawkeye. Riza. I'd like to introduce you to our guests. This is Madam Christmas Mustang and her nephew, Roy."
"I'm pleased to meet you ma'am, sir." Riza gives a little bow, trying not to grimace at the field of her own messy hair tumbling about her face.
"And you, miss," the little boy says politely, inclining his head as well.
Riza's eyes and the boy's meet for a moment before both quickly look away.
Riza doesn't spend much time with other children. Father had chosen to continue to educate her at home after Mother died, setting her tasks himself. She never has the opportunity to play with other children from town because they live so far away. It's odd, even, to think of there being another child in her home.
"The Mustangs will be staying for lunch," Father announces, and Riza forgets all about the boy, her eyes snapping to Father's in fear.
She hasn't had time to make anything for lunch, much less make a meal for four people, two of whom are probably used to finer fare than she could ever hope to provide.
"Riza," Father prompts sharply. "Go and attend to the meal."
She walks to the parlor door and closes it slowly, then flies to the kitchen.
Her teeth scrape against her lower lip as she opens the refrigerator door. There is venison meat for a roast she'd intended to cook for tonight's dinner, some vegetables for a salad, eggs, the leftovers of the stew she'd made the night before, which she'd assumed they'd eat for today's lunch….Tears begin to prick at the corners of her eyes as she wonders what to do.
"Are you okay?" She jumps at the voice behind her, startled to see the boy- Roy.
"What? I mean, yes, sir," she mumbles, "I-I just…."
"You look like you might've fell down or something," he mumbles, frowning, looking at her stained clothes, and Riza feels an ever deeper flush begin to stain her cheeks.
"I- my horse threw a shoe," she explains. "It's fine. I'm fine."
"Oh. Sorry." He looks around the small kitchen, then stands back and smiles politely.
"What-what are you doing?" Riza asks.
He shrugs. "I'm not trying to bother you. My Aunt wanted to talk with Sensei, so she sent me to find you. You know." He offers a shrug and a small smile.
"Know what?" Riza feels flummoxed. Why does he call Father 'Sensei'?
The boy rolls his eyes.
"How grown-ups are, always sending the kids out of the room so they can talk without us."
"Oh."
They stare at one another for a minute in silence.
"If I'm in your way, I can just go wait in the hall," he says at last. "I've got a book," he adds, pulling it out of his back pocket.
"What are you reading?" Riza can't resist the pull of a new book. There are only a few shelves in Father's study that she's allowed to read from, and she's read every book, more than once.
"Oh." He looks down at the book in his hand, then holds it out to her. "It's- uh- you probably wouldn't like it." He blushes slightly. "It's my sister's."
The cover has a woman with long dark hair sitting by a window, gazing down over a moonlit garden. The woman's bosom is generous, drawing the eye, nearly spilling from the old-fashioned dress. Riza raises an eyebrow, handing the book back to him.
"Connie says I need an education," he mumbles, as if that explains everything, and tucks the book back in his pocket. "Um, if you need help, I don't mind."
"Hmm- Oh!" Riza has somehow forgotten her dilemma about lunch, and she turns back towards the nearly empty refrigerator, feeling her anxiety spike anew.
"Roy-boy!" The deep, earthy voice startles Riza, and her eyes go wide.
"Coming, Aunt Chris!" The boy hollers, then looks chagrined. "Sorry," he says. "My house is loud." He waves, then turns and leaves the kitchen, and Riza starts to pace. Moments later, she heard the front door open and shut.
Her Father appears in the kitchen moments later, looking oddly pleased.
"The Mustangs are leaving, and I don't have time for lunch now, Riza. Feed yourself," he says distractedly. He grabs a piece of bread that had been left on the counter from the previous evening's meal, and stalks off towards his study. Then, he turns back, frowning at her. "We should cut your hair, Riza. It's entirely unmanageable."
—-
Riza isn't sure how to feel about her encounter with this new boy or how to feel about having strangers at Hawkeye Estates. Two weeks later, he arrives again.
If she'd had any hopes that it could be fun to have another child around the house, they are soon dashed. Mr. Mustang hero-worships her Father, hanging on his every word. They take their meals together in Father's study. Riza brings a tray in for them, then eats her own lonely meal at the kitchen table in silence.
Riza hasn't been told he'll be staying the night, so as soon as she finishes her solitary supper, she has to go and air out the guest bedroom for him. Mr. Mustang surprises her as she is changing his sheets.
"Sorry me being here is making extra work for you," he says. "Can I help at all?"
"No, Father wouldn't like that."
"Oh." He sticks his hands in his pockets, and Riza glares over her shoulder.
"Are you just going to stand there?" she asks, and he shrugs at her.
"You just told me not to help."
She finishes changing the sheets as quickly as possible. As she's leaving the room, he catches her by surprise.
"Hey, didn't you have longer hair before?" Riza's hand flies up to her short-chopped locks of hair. She feels a burning behind her eyes of tears that she manages to hold back. She doesn't want him to see them.
Disgraceful and rude. Inconsiderate.
"I cut it," she says, and leaves the room, careful not to slam the door behind her.
At that moment Riza Hawkeye decides exactly how she feels about Roy Mustang.
She hates him.