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aquietwritingcorner · 4 years ago

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Writers Month Day 13: Night/Flowershop/tattooshop AU Word Count: 4236 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: G/K Characters: Vato Falman, Olivier Mira Armstrong, Major Miles, Captain Buccaneer, Doc, Neil Warning: NA Summary: Vato Falman works at a quiet, little (run-down) flowershop next to a tattoo parlor. He never expected to nor wanted to meet the owners of said tattoo parlor. But typically whatever Falman doesn’t want is exactly what he gets. Notes: Because if this was going to happen to anyone, it would happen to Falman! AO3 || ff.net

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Night/Flowershop/Tattoshop AU

When Vato Falman took the job at North City Flowers, it was with a few understandings. One, he wouldn’t bore the customers with talk of what the flowers mean. Two, he would have to work nights sometimes. Three, he wouldn’t have to interact with the proprietors or customers of the tattoo parlor. Four, this job was in a run-down part of town and awful, so he would be surreptitiously looking for another job in the meantime.

North City Flowers was located in a part of the city (not named North City, ironically enough. Apparently, it had been part of a failed chain of flower shops from North City, and no one had ever bothered to change the name) that was not considered the best part of town. During the day people watched themselves closely. During the night people scurried from place to place as quickly as they could, and only if they had to go out—which few people ever wanted to. In fact, Falman had been certain that he was going to be jumped in the first few weeks of work.

It wouldn’t be too bad, if his boss would just pitch in. His boss was a greasy looking man who clearly didn’t want to be here nights either. Every day before the sun set, he’d make sure Falman was there, take most of the money from the register, and leave. Falman, no matter how much he didn’t want to, was left pretty much every night to finish the day, clean up, and lock up. He didn’t like it, but it wasn’t like he could quit. If he didn’t need this job, he wouldn’t be here in the first place.

Next door to North City Flowers was the Briggs Tattoo Parlor. Falman had never been inside and had no plans to. He had seen the owners, though. A big, strong man who looked like he could crush Vato just by thinking about it; a tall, Ishvalan man, who seemed unreadable; and the beautiful, blonde woman whose glance looked and felt like ice. They were each terrifying on their own, but together they were more so. Sometimes another woman was there, with short hair and glasses, and while she looked friendlier, she didn’t look like someone to cross either. Falman had no idea what to make of the guy with the cigarette and the loud shirts that often came, usually with grease somewhere on him. The clientele wasn’t much better. Most consisted of a lot of men who looked like they were not people to cross—and Falman had no intentions of doing so.

(They didn’t seem to accept just anyone, though. He had watched them kick out a man dressed in a white suit once, in a very rough fight. There had been a lot of shouting, but he had decided that he was probably better off in the back, and so hid there for a bit, supposedly cleaning it up.)

The Briggs Tattoo Parlor seemed to do a lot of work at night. In the evenings, when Falman was cleaning up, he often heard loud thumps coming from the other side of the wall, and yelling. Sometimes there was music as well. Falman had no idea what was going on over there, but he had decided long ago it was in his best interests not to find out.

And so, Falman lived out his workdays like this. Helping customers pick out bouquets that sent the wrong message, staying late at night in the shop, searching for another job, and avoiding the Briggs crew next door.

Until tonight.

The night started out like any other. He helped the customers, his boss took the money, and Falman was left to clean and close up. The days were getting shorter, which meant it got dark quite a bit earlier. Falman always tried to clean up as quickly as he could, figuring that the less time spent here at night the better, but today had been busy, and there was quite a mess in the back room. It took him a few hours to clean it all up, and by the time he did, it was already much later than he wanted it to be.

With a put-upon sigh, Falman gathered up the garbage, tied it up, and headed out the back to throw it away. There was a dumpster in the alley behind this row of shops, and he headed out to it, moving quickly, hoping to not draw any trouble.

This meant, of course, that he did.

He was just past the back of the Briggs Tattoo Parlor when out of nowhere he was grabbed, pushed up against a wall, and a knife pressed to his throat.

“Gimme all your money,” a voice sneered in his ear.

Falman paled. “I-I-I don’t have any!” he stammered out.

“Don’t gimmie that crap,” the man said. “Gimmie your wallet.”

“I don’t—I left it in the shop!” Falman said.

“Yeah? Then let’s go back to the shop and get it and whatever money is there, flower boy.”

Falman paled more. Either this man saw him coming out of the shop, or he had been casing it out for a few days, at least. “Th-there’s nothing there! My boss—he takes the money when he leaves!”

The pressure on Falman increased and the knife pressed harder on his neck. “I think you’re just making excuses,” the man growled. “Guess I gotta show you I’m serious!”

Before Falman could even start to panic to that, the man was suddenly gone, pulled back with a squawk. Falman, startled, turned to look.

The big man from the tattoo shop had Falman’s assailant by the collar, pulling him back and up. “What do we have here?” he asked.

The Ishvalan man stepped up. “It looks like we caught a thief.” His face was impassive, eyes hidden behind dark glasses. Falman wondered how he saw with the night this dark.

“I’d say so too,” the big man said, giving the thief a shake. The man tried to protest, but the big man brought him closer. “Bold of him to try on our turf.”

“Perhaps we should take him inside,” the Ishvalan said. “We can let her deal with him.”

Falman saw real fear break out on the thief’s face. “No!” He still had his knife and brought it up quickly. The big man didn’t let go but intercepted it with his other arm. Falman cringed at that, but the man didn’t seem to even notice. He just grinned a feral grin.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” he said.

The thief looked thoroughly freaked out, and the Ishvalan took a step closer and jerked the thief’s jacket down, looking at something on his arm. He slid his glasses off to reveal his piercing, hard, red eyes.

“Tell your bosses not to come near Briggs again. This is our territory, and we protect it. Understand?”

The thief nodded, and the big man let him go. The thief scrambled back and away from them, and towards the edge of the alley. The two had already started turning around, when the thief apparently gained one more moment of courage. Falman saw him reach into his belt and pull something out. His eyes widened as he realized it was another knife, and he was about to rush the two men.

“Look out!” Falman called out and, quite without thinking about it, flung the garbage bag full of flower stems and leaves and various other plant-parts that he still somehow had in his hand, right at the thief. The thief saw it coming and ducked, just in time for it to hit a man that was coming up behind him and knock him to the ground mid-stride The thief cursed and scrambled away, leaving the four other men in the alley.

“What the—what was that all about?” The man who had been knocked down was the one with the loud shirts that came to the tattoo parlor. He was sitting up, pushing the bag of trash off of him. “Why did I just get smacked in the face with a garbage bag?”

“Nice save,” the big man said to Falman. “Thanks.”

“Are you alright?” the Ishvlan asked him.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” the man in the loud shirt said. The other two ignored him.

“I…um… yes?” Falman said.

The two men glanced at each other. “Why don’t we get you back inside,” the Ishvalan said. “Buc—”

“Yeah, yeah, I got Neil,” the big man said.

Falman, still quite shaken up, just nodded, and followed the Ishvalan. He only realized that he hadn’t meant the flowershop when he opened up the door to the tattoo parlor. Falman, not sure what else to do, entered nervously.

It was a surprisingly clean and well-organized back room, well-lit and seeming quite pleasant. The Ishvalan man escorted him through it, and into the main room. It was well lit, with several chairs that looked like they could fold down into beds each contained in a small cubicle like area with tools and equipment, and lots and lots of art and examples of tattoos hanging on the wall.

The blonde woman sat in one of the chairs, while talking to the short haired lady that sometimes came by, who was sitting on a couch in the waiting area. Both looked up at the entrance, and both frowned at Falman. He broke out in another sweat.

“What’s this?” the blonde woman said. “Miles?”

“We ran into a little trouble out back,” he said. “Buccaneer’s collecting Neil.”

“Was he hurt?” the short haired woman asked.

The Ishvalan—Miles, apparently—shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He nodded his head at Falman. “He threw a garbage bag and hit Neil in the face and knocked him down.”

The blonde woman raised an eyebrow and looked at him. Falman thought he might pass out. “He did what?” she asked.

Falman parted his lips, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. “I didn’t mean to” and “it was an accident” didn’t seem like they’d be acceptable to this woman.

“Actually,” Miles said. “It was in defense of us.” The woman clearly wanted more, so he continued. “On our way back from getting Neil, we saw this man getting robbed in the back alley. We stepped in and stopped it, and, after a warning message to take back to his bosses, we let him go. He apparently didn’t give up, though, and must have done something. This man yelled a warning at us and threw the bag of garbage he had. The robber ducked, and Neil happened around the corner at the time. It smacked him in the face instead.”

“Kid had a knife,” the big man—Buccaneer, Falman guessed--said, coming in with the man Falman presumed to be Neil. “And was trying to turn back on us. At least, that’s what the shop across the street says.” He looked over at Falman. “He saved us some trouble, it seems.”

“He stabbed you in the arm!” Falman blurted out and was a bit embarrassed that it was the first thing he said.

Both women looked at him alarmed, and the short haired one rose from the couch to hurry over to him, taking his arm—the wrong arm, Falman noted, and wondered why she had picked that one.

“Aw, Doc, you don’t have to worry,” Buccaneer said. “It wasn’t that arm.”

“Wait—your other arm got stabbed? Let me see,” Neil demanded.

“It’s fine. If it can’t hold up to that—” Buccaneer started.

“Let me see anyway,” Neil insisted.

“You had better have him look, just in case,” the blonde woman said.

Buccaneer sighed, but let himself be guided over to a chair, shedding his coat on the way. Falman blinked in surprise when an automail arm was revealed. That certainly explained a lot.

“You,” Falman jumped when the woman addressed him. “Let Doc look over you as well.”

“Oh—no, I’m, um, I’m fine, really, and I, um—”

“Uh-uh,” the other woman, Doc, said, and gently bullied him into a chair. “Let me check you over, free of charge!” she said with a grin.

“Do you usually charge?” Falman asked.

“When I’m at the clinic I do. Gotta make a living somehow. And usually whenever I’m called over here.”

Falman wondered how often that was, but he was distracted by the sound of Miles and the woman talking.

“—had a Drachma tattoo, General.”

“They’re getting bold. We’re going to have to prove it to them again.”

“I know.”

“General?” Falman murmured under his breath.

Doc must have heard him, because she responded. “Yep. That’s what she’s called around here. But that’s because she’s earned it, to be honest.”

Falman wasn’t sure what to make of that, so he said nothing.

The woman—Doc was all he learned of her name—was quick and efficient, and told him that he wouldn’t have anything to worry about, except maybe some residual soreness. He was taken from there back out into the waiting area of the tattoo parlor, where the others had gathered and some sort of drink was being passed around. He felt it would be rude to refuse, so he took a cup and, after he finished it and thanked them for helping him again, he went back to the flower shop to finish locking up. Buccaneer went with him, just in case, and asked Falman some questions about the shop and the flowers while Falman worked. He seemed genuinely interested in learning about the flowers, and Falman gladly shared his information. Not long afterwards, he locked up and headed home, bidding a farewell and thanks to Buccaneer.

The next day Falman said nothing to his boss, and his boss didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. But, on one of his breaks, Falman used what flowers he could to make a bouquet of thanks and delivered it next door. The general was busy with a customer, but Miles took them and put them in a vase where they could be seen.

After that, odd things began happening. There was an uptick in traffic in the flowershop. Men were coming in for various bouquets, usually wanting Falman to fulfill their order. More than once Buccaneer dropped by with some lunch for Falman, or Miles with some coffee. After the General dropped in, they received a few orders from some fairly well-off individuals.

Odd things also were happening with Falman. He usually waved to the Briggs artists, but he somehow often found himself over there at night, hanging out with them after he had locked up. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but it did. He learned that the Briggs Crew—as they called themselves—kept watch over this neighborhood. They weren’t quite a gang in the traditional sense, but they did keep a group called Drachma out of the place. Drachma wasn’t happy about it, but facing down the General wasn’t a good idea, it seemed. Most of the stores and businesses around either knew about this and were grateful, or, as Falman had been, had no idea. The Briggs Crew didn’t care either way. All they wanted to do was keep their area safe.

The crew seemed to consist of the tattoo artists, the doctors and nurses from Doc’s clinic, the mechanic shop across the street, the automail shop next door to the mechanic’s shop, A restaurant called “the cafeteria” that served awful food but somehow stayed in business, an electronics repair shop, a delivery service, a gym that had some pretty intense training, and several individuals who’s places of work weren’t affiliated in any way.

And somehow, for some reason, Falman had been adopted into them. He didn’t feel like he deserved to be, and wasn’t even sure it was a good thing, if he were honest with himself. But they seemed like decent people who just wanted to keep their neighborhood safe, so he went along with it.

It wasn’t until some months later that he had to prove his loyalty.

Falman was on his way home one night when it happened. He was walking down the sidewalk, nearing the edge of the neighborhood when he thought he heard voices. Not wanting to deal with a confrontation, he slowed, and listened in.

“—can’t let her keep bullying us around like this.”

“Yeah. The boss said we’re gonna make a move. Specifically, on her.”

“On the General herself?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s pretty bold. What’s the plan?”

“We cased it out. She usually sends her two right hands home before she goes. That Ishvalan, he heads out sooner, and the bear, he usually sticks around. But about once a month he leaves a little earlier. She’s alone then.”

“Not totally. Someone usually comes by.”.

“Right. That’s why we’re part of the distraction.”

“Distraction?”

“Yeah. All over. It’ll stop anyone from getting there. And that’s when she gets taken out. She’s gone, and then it either all falls apart, or they go crazy and end up getting arrested.”

There were murmurs from the group, and Falman, who had stopped, slowly began to back away. Unfortunately, he was so caught up in what he had just heard that he neglected to see the garbage can behind him and ran into it. It fell with a clatter, and Falman froze, his eyes widening. He could hear the talking stop and then—

“Hey! Who’s there?”

“Ice ‘em!”

Falman bolted.

Falman liked to think of himself as being fairly in shape. He wasn’t going to win any contests or anything, but he could hold his own, generally speaking. But with his slim physique and prematurely gray hair, most people underestimated him, which he was fine with. He didn’t usually set out to impress. However, tonight he wished he were in better shape, and he could only hope that he was underestimated. Shouts followed him, and he was half sure he saw a couple of guns being pulled out. He veered into a side road, heard shots, and knew he was right.

Heart pounding, Falman zigzagged between the streets and alleys, hoping to lose his pursuers. It and out and around he went, until he finally found a hidden area to duck into. He hid there a moment, breathing hard, trying to catch his breath.

He had to tell them. He had to let them know. He had to make sure that the Briggs Crew knew a set up was coming for the General, a plot to kill her.

But… was he brave enough?

He hadn’t meant to be involved in this in the first place. He could just walk away, call the police, let them deal with it. He could have nothing to do with this, just like he should have since the beginning.

But the whole reason the Briggs Crew was a thing was because the police weren’t doing their jobs. The police wouldn’t interfere. And could Falman really walk away knowing about a plot to kill someone and not doing anything about it?

No. No, he couldn’t.

His breathing had calmed, and he was less winded than before. Looking around carefully he slipped out of his hiding place. He had to go back to the tattoo parlor and warn them.

“Hey, Flowerman.”

A voice from behind him spooked Falman, and he whirled around. A man stood there, not far from him, knife in hand and smiling at him. It took Falman a moment to place him as the guy who had tried to mug him a few months back. Falman took a nervous step back.

“Remember me?” the man said. “I think it’s time I got that money from you.”

The man lunged at him, but Falman jumped back, putting himself out of the man’s reach. The man lunged again, and Falman retreated once more. He glanced back behind himself nervously. There was another exit to this alleyway, but it was covered in junk and trash. Still, it might be his only escape. The man lunged again, and Falman backed up once more. Again and again, until Falman was close enough to the trash that was piled up—parts of boxes and crates and full trash bags—that he could feel how unsteady the whole pile was.

Which, actually, gave him an idea.

It was a terrible idea, but it was an idea.

The man lunged again, and Falman had no where to go but forward. He twisted his body so that, hopefully, he could avoid the knife, or at least avoid the worst of it, but he pulled on the stacked garbage as he did, yanking it hard and bringing it crashing down on the man. He wasn’t sure exactly what he felt in his side—could be the knife, could be some debris—but he wasn’t about to let that slow him down. He pulled himself out of the edge of the pile of trash, put a hand to his side, and sped on as fast as he could manage. He ducked in and out of alleyways, doors, and any place he could hide, until he finally was throwing himself against the front door of the tattoo shop. Startled heads whipped up to see him. He was relieved to see that both Miles and Buccaneer were still here, and his relief made his knees week. Miles opened the door, practically catching Falman in his arms.

“Falman?” both the General and Buccaneer were looking at him alarmed. “Buccaneer, go get Doc!” she ordered.

“No!” Falman gasped out. “No, wait! I have to tell you—” He paused as he tried to catch his breath the concern of the three didn’t fade. “I heard… heard a plot… they’re gonna wait for a night when you’re alone, General. Then they’re… they’re going to cause disruptions and keep you alone… and then they’ll kill you. Drachma that is. I heard it!”

He still hadn’t gotten his breath back yet, and his knees felt like they were growing weaker. Was the fading adrenaline affecting him that much?

“Had to tell you…”

“Alright, easy, cub,” Buccaneer said, easing towards him. “You told us. We’ll be prepared. Now let us take care of you.”

“Huh?” Falman looked down, and suddenly realized that it might not be relief that was making him weak at the knees. It might be blood loss. “…Oh.” He suddenly felt very weak and felt himself slipping more towards the floor.

“Buccaneer. Pick him up. We’ve got to get him to Doc now,” The General said. “Miles, after we get him there, start the alert. No one is to go anywhere alone. Be on the lookout. Use our contacts.”

Miles nodded. “Right, General.”

Buccaneer came over and took a hold of Falman, lifting him up. Once he was secured, the four of them set on their way to Doc’s which wasn’t busy this time of night. As they moved, the General looked over at him.

“Thank you,” she said.

Falman didn’t have time to say more before they were heading into Doc’s clinic, and she was taking over, issuing orders and clearing people away. Falman actually wasn’t that sure of how long he was under her care, but Doc fussed at him about how even shallow stab wounds could kill and needed to be treated properly even as she cleaned him up, stitched him up, and laid him back with a unit of blood. She left him resting with the remote to a small TV in the corner. He had spent about thirty minutes in there when the door opened again. Falman looked over at it.

The General walked in a book in her hands and a stern look on her face. Falman looked at her nervously.

“You risked your life for me tonight,” she said without preamble.

“I, uh, I think they were going to kill me either way,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You could have gone to the police.” She pointed out.

Falman shook his head. “They wouldn’t have done anything about it. There’s a reason they’re not here much.”

She nodded, “You’re right. Still, you risked your life tonight for mine—and for all of Briggs. That isn’t something I take lightly.” She put the book on his lap, and Falman had the distinct impression that, if it hadn’t been for Doc, she would have thrown it at him. “You’ve proved yourself,” she said. “When you find one you want, it’s free of charge and by my hand.”

Curious, Falman abandoned the remote and opened the book. It was a sample of dozens of different kinds of bear paw tattoos. He blinked at it, then looked back up at her.

“If I do this, does this mean I’m part of a gang?”

She laughed. “No more or less than a biker gang.” He wasn’t sure if that was reassuring or not. “Pick one or don’t—it’s of little consequence to me. But just know, you’re in. You’re Briggs.”

With that she turned and walked out of the small room, leaving Falman there with the book. He looked down at it. How had he, a man who worked in a flower shop, ended up involved in all of this?

Well, there was no turning back now.

Grinning to himself, Falman opened the book to pick out his bear paw tattoo.

#writersmonth2021 #Vato Falman #Olivier Mira Armstrong #Major Miles #captain buccaneer #Briggs doc #Neil (Briggs)#fma #Fullmetal Alchemist #fma fanfic #fullmetal alchemist fan fiction

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wyatt-rhys · 11 months ago

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Two Months Earlier...

Moonlight Mysteries, a little too trite for the Frenchmen, but the forum did offer a wealth of information that just could not be passed up. It was after all where he'd first got the evidence that had brought him, his sister, her husband and their children to Newfane. Of course only with his sister privy to the exact reason as to the why. As much as he might've approved of his sister's choice of life-partner, he had sworn her to secrecy on the matter, just as their parents had once sworn them to, before their own untimely and violent deaths. Tied to their métier by blood of their distant grandfather, Jean Chastel, Olivier and his sister, Alizée had given up more than just time in the pursuit to rid the world of something truly monstrous.

He looked at the latest speculations or whispers as he liked to call them, reading, analysing and casting aside ones he deemed fictitious. It was hard sometimes. Annoying really, to have to sift through all the fiction, and worse, the naivety of people who had a deep fascination and desire to become one of the very beasts he hunted. He knew they had no real idea of what it was like to come face to face with one, but still they almost disgusted him as much as their own gross obsession did. They were as sick as the people who sympathised with the likes of Charles Manson or Ted Bundy. And if he hadn't just accepted a coffee from his dear, younger sister, he'd have felt the urge to spit.

Scanning for a common phrases and words, Olivier found himself pausing at the mention of a flower. Something foreign. Something weed-like, that had recently been introduced the Washington area and some of the forum users were suggesting it was making Werewolves turn without the aid of a moon. "Olivier, mon frère.. we're heading out for dinner, you sure you won't come?" He thanked her, but waved her off, this rumour needed verification, because if it was true.. their world was about to get even darker.

Present Day...

Some freak accident. He found himself once again back in Bakersfield, tending to a wound that had miraculously healed almost completely overnight. As he ignored his mother's voice drifting in from behind his closed bedroom door, he focused on the news report detailing a tragic accident that claimed the life of a young senator's daughter. The report omitted any mention of Seb or the other attendees from the party, perhaps because they were deemed undesirable—a motley crew of outcasts unlikely to attract much attention. A part of him had hesitated to accept the finality of his friend's demise so quickly. Yet, even amidst the fog of pain clouding his mind, he couldn't deny that the nightmare he thought he had dreamt last night had become his new reality.

He'd have forced himself to break away from the memory, if she hadn't made it clear she no longer wanted to be trapped in her own; at least with him lingering about. Instead, he stayed there and shrugged his answer back to her, "let's just say all I know about whatever the hell this is, is that he considered it a gift to him and the rest of them. He used my mom's life against me and manipulated me to help convince people to come to his 'Full Moon' party once a month." He looked up at her eyes, pleading with her to understand him, "I just wanted to keep her safe. I didn't want to hurt anyone." But, he had, hadn't he? A kiss, a bit of weed, and an homemade pamphlet to his Alpha's hunting den. And then, once the moon hit its peak, he had torn into their flesh, just as a few months earlier one of his new 'brothers' had torn into Seb's. "I'm sorry you had to lose her and than yourself all in the one night. It doesn't seem fair, but what about this does?" He stole a glance at the clock on the wall, remembering when the movie was supposed to end and seeing that their time was nearly up, "we should probably get back." He was kind of hoping Jeremy had taken the moment to slap a wet kiss on Kelsey's lips, so he wouldn't have to spend the rest of the night explaining to them why he and Leah, hadn't come back after he'd followed her outside. He didn't like his chances, as he took out a few rolls of cash he'd shoved into his jeans earlier and left them in the middle of table. Enough for both milkshakes and decent tip for Rosie too. He might've not been very rich, but his mom had put herself through nursing school waitressing and he wasn't about to shorthand the memory.

Stopping just short of the front doors of The Curtain, Wyatt reached out and took up Leah's elbow with a few of his fingers before dropping them almost as immediately as he had, "I'm not going say anything.." You know, just in case there was even a slither of doubt in her mind that he was about to go off and tell Jeremy and Kelsey about her complicated, fragile past. Watching as the doors to their cinema opened up from behind the glass of the entrance, Wyatt stepped around her and walked back inside, crossing over to Jeremy and Kelsey and their curious but also confused faces. "I'm not feeling the best.. can we go?"

The way he said her name felt like sandpaper as he weighed the taste of it upon his tongue. Part of her almost lashed out, almost entirely blinded by the fact that he’d never come to know how precious something as simple as the girls name was, but she was also offering up pieces of her life without giving too much away. And even she couldn't damn him for that. Afterall, it was her way of ensuring that no matter how much she held out to him within her open palm, it would never be enough to cause enough harm to matter. After so many years - decades, even, it was the only way that Leah knew how to remain in the present, while also, subtly, living in limbo that an immortal life would forever encapture.

Hues flicker upwards in an instant as he asks for more and it coils around her heart and squeezes, barbed thorns threatening to pierce their way through if she doesn’t give him something. But he isn’t a threat, and Leah knows that. Although she was, for all intent and purpose, purely human sitting there in that diner, she’d been around long enough to know she could reach out with a singular claw and carve a wound in his throat so deeply that he’d bleed out in a matter of minutes. It’s just a question though, and Leah has to reminder herself of that a few times before her gaze softens just enough to no longer be clouded by the need to keep everything close to her chest, “I don’t know,” she mutters, brows knitting together as she mindlessly drinks from her straw, “They tried to figure it out, but they never did… Said it was just some freak accident,” What she’d suspected, and she was constantly talked out of, was that it was set by something other than natural causes. Magic. The feeling of spiders crawling hot across the back of her next, and a voice echoing quietly in the cavern of her ear wasn’t something she’d ever forgotten, nor the figure within the flame. She wasn’t crazy, no matter how many times her brother and father swore to her there was nobody else in the building. “or whatever.”

Please stop., she pleaded, somewhere in the back of her mind as she decided she didn’t want to talk anymore, choosing instead to focus rather intently on how quickly she was now getting through her shake. One glance, and she already sees Rosie setting about making more - there was nobody else inside the diner, bar a few stragglers who were clearly more interested in their coffee intake than a milkshake. Does fire shift all of us like that? “Fuck,” it’s muttered beneath her breath, in something of a raspy laugh, “Your alpha really didn’t teach you shit.” And somehow, Leah is quick to believe that the responsibility of teaching him something now falls into her lap as Rosie brings about the next two shakes. Briefly, she thinks back to the night she’d attacked and bitten Hunter, and the guilt she carried for it even now. Despite not being the greatest role model in the world, there’s been at least some effort made to offer up any kind of advice that might keep the other alive. Whoever had ripped innocence from Wyatt between their maw clearly hadn’t put much weight into guilt. After almost a century, she only wished she could be so carefree - even if she’d perfected the art of pretending. “Right, well.. No. Not exactly. Fire isn’t really something we have to worry about anymore than anyone else.” It still burned, and scarred and killed. Smoke still filled their lungs in an attempt to choke. “You were bitten, weren’t you? I figure you’d probably know at least something if you’d grown up born this way.” Unless his parents really were fucking assholes - not an improbable possibility.“It wasn’t the fire that made it happen, or well..-- maybe in some roundabout way it was, but usually when we’re born this way and not created…” Try as she might, it was always difficult to talk about this kind of thing without giving listening ears something worth listening to, and the longer she thought on it - pausing to chew at this inside of her cheek, the more irritated she grew. What, the asshole in the trench coat at the end of the counter was going out her? It settled a slight growl in the back of her throat as she lent in a little closer to the table between them, “The moon dictates what happens to the ones like you,” if she was correct at least, “And me? It’s usually an emotionally significant event that makes it happen.” And maybe that was the most heartbreaking thing of all - something so significant would stick around to haunt each and every one of them, until they took their last breath.

A crushing thought, that most of them felt their heart break well before their body ever did.

#002 fear the heat

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gayoperatorgunclub · 5 years ago

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For the OTP ask thing 26, 34, 39, 47 and 81. For your fav ship, it's up to you which one you choose!

ohohoho! i’m actually gonna pick more than one, so here’s doc/lion, doc/monty, twitch/cav, blitz/rook, and blitz/monty!

Doc/Lion-

26 (How good would your OTP be at parenting?) - i think they’d be pretty good at it, seeing as olivier actually has a son, and gustave gives off Dad Energy

34 (Who makes fun of the other for having a crush on them, and who has to remind them that they are in a relationship?) - olivier definitely makes fun of gustave for little things like handholding or wanting to cuddle, saying stuff like “oooh you like me” and gustave just stares at him and is like. we are married.

39 (Who sleeps in the other’s lap?) - GUSTAVE!!!!!!!!! he is a cuddly man and is Certified To Be Huggable. he’s shaped like a friend. love is stored in the combat medic. olivier will get an email from him thats just like: come to the medbay i need your help with something. and so he goes and gustave just motions for him to come in, gets out of his chair, grabs olivier’s wrist and tugs him closer, pushes him into the office chair, and climbs up onto his lap, his back to olivier’s chest, and grabs olivier’s arms and wraps them around his torso, and goes back to work for a few minutes, but he ends up falling asleep once olivier starts rubbing his tummy or sumn. whatever it’s very cute

47 (Who proposes?) - i’ll probably use this setup for a lot of different ships, but there’s a post that talks about how a girl proposed to her girlfriend 3 times, 2 without a ring (1 because she panicked, another because she thought her gf was gonna propose and wanted to beat her to it) and lemme just say that olivier proposed to gustave at least 10 times, from handing him a ring pop while drunk and carrying him home to plan the wedding, to talking with lera about their upcoming date and she mentions how it’d be the perfect opportunity for someone to propose and so olivier panics and rushes to the medbay and is just like “gustave i love you so much you’re the man i want to spend the rest of my life with will you marry me” and gustave, who has had a stressful day, walks over to him, wraps his arms around him and presses his face into his chest, and starts crying. worry not though, when olivier finally actually proposes it’s remarkably well planned out, very romantic (perhaps in a park or on a beach or some other picturesque location, since i hc doc to be something of a nature lover so maybe olivier takes him for a picnic out in a meadow or something. it’s very aesthetic. gustave cries. and says yes.

81 (Who said “I love you” first? and who ends their arguments in a fight with “Because I love you”?) - olivier woke up in a hospital bed with gustave sitting next to him, holding his hand, and olivier looks over at him and says “je t’aime beaucoup” before passing out again. gustave will only end an argument with “because i love you” if they’re arguing about something stupid like olivier wanting to eat nothing but croissants for a week and gustave has to be like “no you cant do that because i want you to stay alive and healthy because i love you” since i read the prompt and thought “hm. manipulative.” this almost always results in olivier either calling him a “trick ass bitch” or leaving a voicemail on his office phone that’s just this

Doc/Monty-

26 (How good would your OTP be at parenting?) - they’re both great at being the dad friends to other operators, but i feel like they’d think they were too old to have kids of their own, as much as they would adore it. they’re everyone’s first choice for babysitters though, and if any other operators have kids, they're referred to as uncle gustave and uncle gilles or something cute

34 (Who makes fun of the other for having a crush on them, and who has to remind them that they are in a relationship?) - i think neither, but gustave would probably see gilles holding flowers obviously meant for him and be like “you are a lovesick fool” and gilles is like “sir we have been married since it was legal???”

39 (Who sleeps in the other’s lap?) - GUSTAVE!!!!!!!! again, he’s a cuddly man and gilles is an absolute Unit, so they’re both more than happy to curl up around each other and sleep in eachother’s arms

47 (Who proposes?) - gilles. it is, quite literally, the perfect proposal. (gustave is blissfully unaware of the fact that it’s almost happened many times before, mainly whenever gilles enters their bedroom after returning from a mission to see gustave wearing one of gilles’ hoodies, curled up in a pile of pillows in bed, and has to restrain himself from waking him up to ask if he’ll marry him.

81 (Who said “I love you” first? and who ends their arguments in a fight with “Because I love you”?) - gustave was being carried out of his office by gilles after deciding that fine, he can finish the paperwork tomorrow, and he sleepily mumbled “je t’aime, gilles” before going limp in gilles’ arms, almost giving him a heart attack. luckily, gustave was still breathing. gilles definitely uses it as a last-ditch attempt to get gustave to go to bed, like “PLEASE come to bed, gustave” “why should i? you know i’ll come to bed once i’m done with these files” “because i love you, you hypocritical fool!” then manhandles him to bed

Twitch/Cav-

26 (How good would your OTP be at parenting?) - NO! they are either mischievous older sisters, cool cousins you see once a year, or wine/vodka aunts. no matter what, they will bastardize your children. taina taught maxim’s niece how to make a molotov “just in case the bourgeoisie tries anything” while emmanuelle is off to the side like “USE A DRONE TO BE ABLE TO LAUNCH IT FARTHER FOR MAXIMUM DAMAGE”

34 (Who makes fun of the other for having a crush on them, and who has to remind them that they are in a relationship?) - taina will be like “why are you staring at me? do i have something on my clothes?” and emmanuelle is like “no you’re perfect it’s just that i love you and want to see you” -OR-

emmanuelle: haha you like spending time with me

taina, in emmanuelle’s lap while they watch animal planet: no.

39 (Who sleeps in the other’s lap?) - it depends! usually it’s emmanuelle, but sometimes taina will enter a room and say “you look cold. i suppose i could help” and just. wraps herself around emmanuelle and falls asleep. everyone else is too scared to say anything, especially after emmanuelle almost stabbed james in the neck when he tried to draw on taina’s face

47 (Who proposes?) - emmanuelle: she panics and throws the box at taina and runs, while julien sprints after her yelling “TELL HER YOU LOVE HER AND WANT TO MARRY HER WE ALL KNOW SHE’LL SAY YES”

taina: they are in a diner after a mission. halfway through their meal, taina gets up and takes a knee in front of emmanuelle, taking the box out of a secret pocket in her pants. julien has to tell emmanuelle, who is nearly asleep in her pancakes, to look a bit to the left. she does, and taina’s like “i love you. we’ve already sworn that we’ll be together forever, but i think the tax benefits are too good to ignore. take your time with your response. thanks” and power-walks away. vicente meets her outside and just starts laughing while she punches him while saying stuff like “i talked about TAX BENEFITS! TAX BENEFITS?????”

81 (Who said “I love you” first? and who ends their arguments in a fight with “Because I love you”?) - emmanuelle for both. it’s not that taina doesn’t love her, it’s just that she shows her affection through physical gestures. however, whenever taina actually says “i love you” emmanuelle just melts

Blitz/Rook-

26 (How good would your OTP be at parenting?) - TERRIBLE IN THE BEST WAY POSSIBLE. they are both Children themselves, so putting an actual child in their care is stupid. the one time they were entrusted with caring for a child, it involved face paint, an easy bake oven, a staggering amount of chocolate, and the child’s parents finding the three of them passed out on the couch while minecraft let’s plays played on the rec room tv

34 (Who makes fun of the other for having a crush on them, and who has to remind them that they are in a relationship?) - julien will find little love notes around elias’ room and tease him about them, and elias is just like “aren’t you the one who came up with a ridiculously elaborate plan for us to go on a date without it actually being a date instead of just asking me out??”

39 (Who sleeps in the other’s lap?) - both. depends on who is more sleepy at any given time. it’s usually julien tho

47 (Who proposes?) - elias: very romantic, heartfelt, they’re both crying while dominic and olivier threaten anyone who even glance at them sideways

julien: it’s a ring pop (but a limited edition one he’s been saving for a special occasion), they’re at a rainbow holiday party, and dominic is playing wonderwall

81 (Who said “I love you” first? and who ends their arguments in a fight with “Because I love you”?) - elias, before they were even together. they were at another holiday party and he was feeling sentimental, so seamus convinced him to go talk to julien and the first thing he says once he’s stumbled over to the couch is “you. you are an angel. i love you.” except he said it in german so now julien thinks he’s done something wrong, which leads to a 6 month period during which they’re both pining fools who think they’ve done something to upset the other, while seamus is in a perpetual state of looking into the camera like he’s on the office. neither. they are both enablers for the other’s stupid ideas (example: julien trying to give himself the ability to breathe fire by swallowing many on-fire marshmallows, and elias trying to shield-surf down a mountain in the french alps breath of the wild-style

Blitz/Monty-

26 (How good would your OTP be at parenting?) - gilles? the perfect father. elias? he’s a little confused, but he’s got the spirit. he has no FUCKING clue what children enjoy or what’s appropriate for a specific age group, so he usually enlists the help of several other operators (none of whom are any good with kids) and together they attempt to care for a child. think lunchables, mcdonald’s, and ice cream as every meal and staying up until ungodly hours. gilles is off to the side, watching amusedly and making sure nobody is ever in any serious danger. elias may be clueless, but he’s not completely incompetent, and the kid has a great time, always pestering their parents about when they can visit uncle elias again

34 (Who makes fun of the other for having a crush on them, and who has to remind them that they are in a relationship?) - neither, really. they’re both pretty lovey (is that the right word? idk they just really enjoy being together and find any quirks or evidence of crushes extremely endearing)

39 (Who sleeps in the other’s lap?) - ELIAS!!!! gilles would CRUSH this poor little man!!!! of course, this doesn’t stop elias from summoning super-strength to carry gilles to bed and hold him on his chest the way gilles does for him whenever gilles returns from a particularly long or grueling mission

47 (Who proposes?) - elias: he gets nervous and starts to tear up multiple times throughout the proposal, before he even gets on his knee, prompting gilles to worry that he’s sick, or being sent back home, or that he’s going to break up with him. luckily, elias manages to pull himself together and finally pop the question, and the way gilles immediately tackles him, muttering things in french while peppering his face with kisses is answer enough

gilles: it is the Perfect Proposal, and elias leaps into his arms while frantically saying yes and kissing him all over. dominic yells at them to get a room, but with a sincerity that lets elias know he’s truly happy for them

81 (Who said “I love you” first? and who ends their arguments in a fight with “Because I love you”?) - gilles. they were cuddling on a lazy sunday and during a lull in their conversation, he quietly whispers it into elias’ ear. coincidentally, that is also the day gilles learns elias’ ears are especially sensitive, and having someone whisper into them is one of elias’ biggest turn-ons. honestly? neither. but gilles would probably use it when elias announces he’s going on a shield-surfing trip with julien and has to be “tricked” into staying non-alpine land

#ask #anonymous #r6s doc #r6s lion #r6s montagne #r6s twitch #r6s cav #r6s blitz #r6s rook #doc/lion #doc/montagne #caveira/twitch #blitz/rook #blitz/montagne

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fullmetalscullyy · 4 years ago

Text

a conspiracy theory - chapter 10

co-written by @snowdog49 and @jeanhaavoc

summary: Detective Roy takes on a challenging task… To find Olivier Armstrong’s sword. However, he has a beautiful woman to distract him along the way. Will he, Jean, and Ed be able to find the sword in time, or will they succumb to the conspiracy?

warning: graphic depictions of violence

tags: conspiracy, pining, unresolved sexual tension, private detective au, royai, havolina, mystery, violence, modern au, coffee shops

rated: m | words: 3629

read on ao3

The cafe was much busier than Roy had expected. The tables were mostly full, making Roy grateful to find the one he did. The music he loved was faintly playing in the background, almost drowned out by the conversations around him. He arrived early to be sure to get them both a pastry and her coffee, but now he was just sitting there waiting. Looking around, he thought he should have grabbed a paper. Then he could have at least watched his new favorite law getting passed. Roy groaned. When all this was over, he was so going to take the money and buy a vacation for a month. He wasn’t going to do so much as turn on a TV.

The light ring of a bell on top of the door brought his attention to the familiar blonde into the cafe. Wearing a simple blouse and work slacks, she looked like she was ready to go to work. Her hair was pulled up into a clip, the ends swaying as she looked to find him. Roy was sure he looked almost childish with the grin on his face, but his heart was pounding away. He was so happy to see her. Once the eye contact was made and a step was made in his direction, an open smile grew on her own lips. She was just as happy to see him and the realization sent shockwaves through his body.

“Hey,” she greeted.

“Hi. I got you coffee,” he answered, showing her the cup on the table. “And a pastry,” he added quickly.

“You’re too nice,” she thanked, sitting down and putting her purse on the seat next to the window. “How have you been?”

Roy held back a laugh but a chuckle escaped. “I’ve been very busy.”

“Is it this case? The… sword one?”

He nodded. “It’s getting complicated!”

She laughed.

“But tell me how you are?”

Riza sat back in her seat and sipped her coffee. “I’ve also been busy. Mondays are generally pretty hectic since I have to catch up over the weekend, then Tuesday is a recovery day. So Wednesday I generally take some time for myself.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” he commented seriously. “I may have to implement that into my own life.”

“It’s nice,” she added. “Then we can meet for morning breakfast here.” She nodded to the pastry. “Raspberry danish and a coffee. That sounds perfect to me.”

His chest swelled with warmth. It spread across to his shoulders and up his neck, confirming the fact that he’d like that very much. Roy could think of no better way to spend the middle of his week.

“For all the work that I do, I take every spare moment for myself.”

Roy frowned. “Don’t you have a team?”

She shook her head. “Not really. I can handle the work, but I would’ve liked two more people. Thankfully, I have my own office so that I can hide away in there and play some music while I number away.” Her fingers danced as if she was typing.

He chuckled. “My office is an open space. It’s difficult when one person is playing music. My partner, Jean, puts headphones in, but we have to throw a paper ball at him to get his attention.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” she sighed. “Just tune out the bullshit of the rest of the office.”

“It’s that, and Jean and the office manager have a love affair going on,” he rolled his eyes. “I have to watch them make lovey-dovey faces at each other.”

“Sounds like you need to hire a pretty lady that you can make goo-goo eyes at.” She took a gentle sip of her latte, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

“Are you looking for a job,” he quipped with a grin.

She laughed. “I might be after next month!”

“Oh?”

“With a large company like mine, giant purchases require loans and paperwork. I have to move one number here and there,” she moved her hand side to side. “And it's just a few more extra steps than I’d like it to be. My boss is very particular on how things are done.”

Roy chuckled. “You’d like working for me. Just pay the power and phone bill,” he chuckled.

“I’m sure you have an income that you need to balance.” Riza took a sip of her drink.

“It’s simple with the work we do. You will barely have any work.”

“Maybe I’d like to stay busy.” She raised her eyebrow.

“You can work whenever you want, and for how long you want. I’m an easy boss,” Roy tried to sweeten the pot to hire her. He reached for his pastry while she was laughing but his hand felt a warmth land on it. Looking over, her hand rested on his for a mere second. In the next second they retracted their hand and laughed nervously. “Sorry,” he said as he realized he had reached for hers. “You go first.”

She pulled the pastry towards her. “I guess you’re stalking my raspberry danish now too?” She chuckled, keeping the mood light.

Roy went to say something but closed his mouth and shook his head. A sheepish smile found its way onto his face, but inside his stomach was doing somersaults.

“So, tell me, how’s this sword mystery going?”

Roy bit his lip as he tried to decide how much to tell her. “Well…” He took a drink of his own coffee. She pushed the pastries back across to him, letting him pick up his own. “We think that we’ve found a group of people who are associated with the owners. So, we are diving into wondering if they stole it now.” His finger began to tap the side of his coffee cup nervously.

Her eyebrows rose as she took a drink.

“It’s like this club they are with. You know… Like little kids with a secret word to get in?”

“All the bigwigs who run this country are in it?”

Roy’s finger stopped tapping his cup. He squinted at her gently before raising an eyebrow. “Ms. Riza, how do you feel about conspiracies?”

She smiled as she leaned forward. “Sometimes there’s truth behind them.”

“What do you know?” He leaned eagerly forward to her, shifting in his seat, now only a short space between them now. He caught the scent of her perfume as it wafted towards him, and Roy faltered. He only then realized how close they were.

“Why don’t you ask me what you need to ask me, and I’ll tell you.” Her voice wafted to his ears like a gentle breeze. “I can’t just tell you anything.”

“You want me to interview you?”

Riza’s finger circled the rim of her coffee cup. “I promise to tell you the truth.”

Roy leaned back in his chair and slowly brought his cup to his lips. “How long have you known?”

“I had my suspicions since you said you were looking for a missing sword.”

“Were you at Selim Bradley’s birthday party?”

Riza nodded.

Roy never remembered seeing her name on the list. It made him even more suspicious. “Did you happen to see a specific sword?”

“Ms. Armstrong’s? Yes.”

Roy nodded. “Where is it then?” A sideways grin slid upon his lips.

“At the office.” Riza sipped her coffee nonchalantly.

“You have got to be kidding me.” He stared straight at her through his black hair over his eyes.

Riza shook her head.

Roy had one more question to ask. “Who do you work for?”

“King Bradley.”

He dropped forward, his forearms on the table. “Then why didn’t you tell me before.”

“You never asked,” she smiled, but he could see the nerves behind it. “I did tell you at dinner you could ask me anything. And I think it’s not about a stolen sword, but about control over the senate. I’ve been watching the numbers. Bradley hasn’t donated to Senator Raven’s campaign for the past 6 months. He’s bribing him.” She took a drink of her latte. “I trust you more than just the average officer. I think you can handle this more professionally than me just coming forward to the law.”

Roy grabbed her pastry and put it in its bag. “We need to go to the office.” He looked around. “We can’t talk about this here.”

Riza watched him for a second, but Roy waved her up. “You have no idea how big this is,” he continued. “You’re the link to all our answers.”

“Roy,” she said as she stood up. “I can’t just take the morning off work.”

“Just a quick talk at my office.” Even though it was on the other side of town. “This is exactly what we’ve been trying to find out.”

“Mr. Bradley’s expenses have almost doubled. I think he’s getting ready for a large purchase.”

Roy grabbed her arm gently, leaning closely to whisper to her. “Do you know about the Gatekeepers?”

“That,” she whispered, lifting a finger, “I should not talk about in public.”

“Please,” he begged. “I promise it won’t take long.”

He must have looked earnest and desperate enough because, after a short pause, Riza nodded slowly. “Alright.”

“Thank you,” he breathed.

He hurried towards the door, remembering his manners in his excitement, and held it open for her. Once again, his mind was running a million miles a minute, but when he looked in her face, noted how her eyes darted from side to side as she walked, he faltered. Forcing his brain to calm down, Roy took a deep breath and tried to slow his heart rate too.

“Sorry,” he began as they walked towards his car. “This is just… really big. And I got a bit excited.”

“I understand,” Riza replied. She clutched the strap of her purse close to her body. “And I’m happy to help if I can.”

Roy lengthened his stride to reach the passenger’s door before her. Opening it, he held it open for Riza. After she thanked him, he walked around to his own side, his steps heavily with urgency. Putting the car into drive, he maneuvered his way out of the space with his fingers tight on the steering wheel. As he drove, he had to remember not to let his mind run away with him. He had to stay focused. He didn’t want to interview Riza, but he wasn’t going to let a source get away from him if he could help it. After all, he also didn’t want to scare her away as a potential date. After all this, Roy still had intentions to date Riza.

“I promise this will be quick,” he reiterated. “I can even drive you to your office afterward if you like?”

“I appreciate that, but dropping me off back at Metric will be fine.” Out the corner of his eye, he noticed how she gripped her paper cup a little tighter. The tips of her fingers were turning a lighter shade of pink.

Roy didn’t want her to be afraid, especially of him. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable either. Though the ride was with little conversation between the two of them. He wanted to continue to talk to her, continue to ask her about the case, but his body was on fire. His mouth felt dry. All he could think about was how he was more upset that it was her rather than some stranger off the street. He begged the universe that she could still consider him a love interest and not just a detective after this.

Pulling up outside his office, both exited the car at the same time and entered. Rebecca looked up from her work, looking a bit bored, but froze, eyes growing wide with excitement, when she saw Riza behind Roy.

“Hey, Roy,” she greeted slowly, elongating her greeting. She couldn’t have sounded more curious if she tried.

“Rebecca, I’d like you to meet Riza,” he introduced. He turned, gesturing towards her. “Riza, this is my office manager, Rebecca.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Rebecca offered her hand for Riza to shake, which was grasped firmly. Her eyes dropped to the coffee cups and Roy watched as her eyes began to sparkle. Rebecca’s smile grew even wider, turning her full attention to Riza.

“Likewise,” Riza replied politely.

“So, you’re Coffee Shop Girl?”

Roy groaned.

“Coffee Shop Girl?” Riza inquired, amusement clear on her face.

“I knew you were real!” Rebecca cried. “Yes, Jean owes me 100 cenz.”

“I’ve been meeting Roy at the coffee shop for a little while, yes.” Then she turned to face him, her cheeks red, eyes teasing. “Have you been telling people about me?”

He resisted the urge to slam his head against his desk.

“He won’t shut up about you,” Rebecca helpfully chimed in. Roy could not be more thankful that Jean was not there.

“We’re here for the case, Rebecca. I’ve brought her in to ask her a few questions,” Roy explained, reaching into his desk for a pen and paper.

“You’re asking your date a few questions about the case?” she exclaimed, mouth popping open in her horror. “Roy, I knew you were hopeless Buddy, but come on!”

“This is important!” he argued. “It benefits the case.”

Riza blinked at the interaction between them, watching nervously.

“Yeah, but not poor Riza here! I am so sorry about him,” she gushed to Riza. The latter just laughed quietly in response. “He doesn’t get out much.”

“Rebecca,” Roy warned, shaking his head as he glared at his co-worker. He unfolded a chair they kept in the corner and offered it to Riza. It was just a cheap one they had to hand in case they interviewed anyone at the office, but it was barely used. Still, the seat and the back were cushioned so at least there would be some comfort there for her. “Please, take a seat,” he offered her in a much softer tone.

“Thank you. And honestly, I don’t mind,” she reassured Rebecca. “This is important and I trust Roy.”

She’d already told him that, but it still made his heart race. His fingers paused as they typed over his keyboard, and he hoped the other two women didn’t notice. To have it announced so openly was music to his ears.

“Good,” Rebecca relented. “I’m glad.” She turned her attention towards Roy, lifting a finger to point it at him. “Just make sure you make it up to her with a proper date.”

“I will,” he replied defensively, then caught Riza’s eye. “I will,” he repeated, his tone earnest. He realized this was not the ideal date and personally, he would much rather have remained in the coffee shop, but he couldn’t let this go. “I promise. Sorry, I know this probably isn’t what you had planned.”

“Like I said, I’m happy to help. I want to help. I don’t mind. This seems too important not to offer my assistance.” Her smile was open and sincere, warming Roy to his core. “But I look forward to seeing how you make it up to me,” she added dryly.

“So, there will definitely be a next time? I haven’t blown it?” he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

Riza shook her head. “Not at all. You’re very dedicated to your work.” She giggled. “I’ve always wondered what you did when you were working.”

Roy glared at Rebecca when she snorted loudly from her desk.

“It’s admirable,” Riza continued. “I respect you for that.”

Their eyes lingered on one another for a moment longer than was necessary, and Roy shot her a grateful smile.

“Okay, so.” Roy took a deep breath, looking over all that was in front of him. “Rebecca, can you take some notes too?”

“On it,” she called, sliding along the floor in her chair to grab a notepad.

“You saw the sword at the party, correct?” Roy asked Riza.

“Yes, I did. Ms. Olivier set it down. I didn’t see anyone take it, but I did notice it was gone before she did. I tried to look around to see where it had gone but saw no one suspicious leaving the scene. It was as if it just vanished into thin air.”

“What happened when Ms. Olivier noticed?”

“She wasn’t very happy. She looked angry and was in a very heated discussion with… I can’t remember who, to be honest.” She tapped her chin as she tried to remember. “But the man was pretty off guard when she made her scene. Then, she left and I didn’t see her after that.”

“And where is it being held now?”

“At Bradley’s offices.”

Roy nodded, taking quick, shorthand notes. “Have you seen the sword at this office?”

“I have. I saw it in one of the cabinets behind his desk. I didn’t think it was a big deal, until you said you were looking for it, then I knew what it really was.”

Roy’s head shot up sharply. “Behind his desk?”

Riza nodded. “Yes. Have you been inside his office?”

“I went to his house. That office?”

“No, he has business offices. They’re on Williamson street.”

“The cabinets there are identical to the ones he has in his home office. They have those two shelves, then out of view behind his desk is another cabinet below them. It holds some of his whiskey and I saw it there when he opened it one day.”

“He drinks whiskey in his office?” Rebecca muttered to herself.

“It was for a celebration, which I politely declined.”

Rebecca’s head lifted, obviously not realizing she’d voiced that thought out loud.

“What was the celebration?” Roy asked carefully.

“He’s very close to sealing a deal with Senator Raven. Money has been moving out of his accounts consistently for the last few months. I didn’t think much of it, but when I had to do invoices for the company I needed to know where this money was going. It’s directly to Senator Raven, and I think Bradley is bribing him.”

“Do you have any idea why?”

“The development out in the west,” Riza nodded. “That’s all I can think of. Raven is very heavily invested in it, and so is Bradley because it would increase his profits exponentially, making him one of the richest men in Amestris. Bradley is pushing for Raven to pass this development by bribing him. The money Raven gets goes straight back into his campaign. It’s a win-win for both.”

“That still doesn’t explain why the sword though,” Rebecca interrupted, her voice a gentle reminder.

“No…” Roy replied, trailing off. “But it does explain their connection and confirms it. It’s still something very corrupt.” He looked down at his notes. “And is a lot bigger than I thought,” he muttered to himself.

“So, why would Bradley steal a sword?” Rebecca asked.

“Is this going to be off the record?” Riza interjected suddenly between Roy and Rebecca’s back and forth.

Roy blinked at her. “Yeah, it can be anonymous. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Riza bit her lip. “I would prefer that please, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course,” Roy reassured her. Thinking back, he remembered how nervous she looked earlier. “Is something wrong?” He dropped his pen on his desk, forgotten about, as he turned his full attention towards Riza.

“I… noticed another addition to Bradley’s books. A worrying one.” She shot Roy a look.

“Do you fear you’ll be targeted?”

“Absolutely,” Riza replied, but there was no fear in her voice, only conviction. Roy’s stomach sank. That wouldn’t happen on his watch.

“What’s the addition?” Rebecca was hesitant with her question.

“It’s a contract. There’s a name attached to it - Solf J. Kimblee - but when I enquired about it for the invoices Bradley told me to ignore it. But I couldn’t just ignore it. It’s my job to ring everything through, and it's just been sitting there for a week, untouched, because I don’t know what to do about it.”

“What kind of contract are we talking about?” Roy really hoped his gut was wrong.

Riza’s eyes were on her lap. Her fingers wrung together there. “I think this Kimblee guy is a hitman.”

Silence fell over the office. No one moved and no one spoke as it sunk in.

“Marcoh,” Roy whispered, his voice quivering.

Riza looked at him seriously.

“He’s the only one stopping Raven… Do you have definite proof of that?” Roy asked, his voice low.

She shook her head. “No, but I can try and find -”

“No.” Roy cut her off, straightening his spine. “Don’t do anything other than what you were already doing.” Dread was churning up the inside of his stomach.

“Yeah,” Rebecca agreed. “Leave it to us, we’ll deal with it.”

“Thank you.” She let out a long breath. “I don’t think I’ll be a suspect but…”

“Just…” Roy scrambled inside of his brain for a moment, trying to find the right words. “Be safe, okay?” His request was earnest as he met Riza’s gaze. If he’d realized how deep this went earlier, he may have been able to do this on his own and not involve her at all. Guilt was beginning to replace that dread in his stomach. Roy reached inside his desk drawer. “Call me if you need anything, and I mean anything, all right?”

“Thanks,” she breathed. She met his eyes with a shaky smile.

“Or just come down to the office,” Rebecca added. “Roy’s here all the time anyway,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood, which he appreciated. “Here, have my number too.” Rebecca shuffled some papers around as she tried to find her own business cards. “Just in case you can’t get through to him.”

“I really appreciate that.”

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #royai au #snowdog49 #a conspiracy theory #emma writes #collab fic

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atamascolily · 4 years ago

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lily watches fma:b, eps. 53-57

I don’t even know anymore. TOO MANY FIGHT SCENES, NOT ENOUGH EXPLANATIONS.

okay, so that really was a naked winry in the credits?? OKAY THEN.

Mrs. Bradley is giving a radio interview about the central forces to build support for Mustang's coup

I like how all the radios are very 1930s, whereas the headphones the DJ is wearing look so much more modern

anyway, Mustang's plans to win the hearts and minds of the people through judicious applications of the truth is going swimmingly

commander: "as long as they don't bring a tank..."

CUT TO A BRIGGS TANK ROLLING THROUGH THE STREETS AHAHAHA

Roy teases hawkeye about her breakdown the last time they were in that particular room (where he killed Lust to save her) which is a LOW BLOW and Hawkeye snarks at him

scar yells at him to stop flirting, lol, and hawkeye's like, YUP, GOT IT

Roy says the zombies aren't homunculi because they're not self-repairing, but... I don't get why not. They have philosopher's stone juice in them... is that not enough? Or is the problem there's no central personality that takes control to utilize it??

roy to envy: okay, which one of u assholes killed hughes?

[okay, I would TOTES believe that Roy and Hughes were secretly lovers because THIS IS JUST SUPER-INTENSE, okay?]

also: IS THAT OLDER ED IN THE END CREDITS AHHHHHHH

nvm, it’s young!Hohenheim in Xerxes.

hawkeye ventures in after roy and envy and it becomes unclear which one we're looking at

flashback episode! hawkeye has PTSD after the ishval situation and we see her stripping to give Roy the secrets to flame alchemy her dad tattooed on her back... uh, WHYYYY? and now she's like "please burn my back so no one can read my tattoos and learn how to do the human flamethrower thing you just did here in ishval"

this is so messed up. like, so so SO messed up.

not only is hawkeye his subordinate in this, she's ALSO supporting him in his alchemy without being an alchemist herself??

(and the fact that the notes are on her BACK where SHE can't see/use/control them is EVEN WORSE ARRGGHHH)

anyway, I would have appreciated this backstory MUCH EARLIER thank you.

also, it turns out it's ROY who's disguised as Envy because he calls hawkeye "lieutenant" and not "Riza" when the two of them are alone... which ALSO implies they're sleeping together...

anyway, riza gets a few shots in but roy shows up and starts burning envy again, which triggers her PTSD

WHY IS ENVY'S TRUE FORM A LITTLE WORM, WHAT THE HELL WAS FATHER THINKING HERE??

(and apparently, he can't shapeshift in that form? Or just... doesn't?I got nothing)

ed shows up to be the moral conscience here

scar's like "i'm fine with you murdering him for revenge, lol"

Roy calls Hawkeye's bluff by asking what she's going to do after she shoots him and Hawkeye straight up implies she's gonna kill herself

(I used to ship this in 2006. I really did. Roy was an asshole and Riza deserved better, but he was also smart and charming and kinda funny and it worked and now...in this continuity, I just can't. I just can't anymore.)

I can't believe Envy is just sitting there quietly in Ed's hand and hasn' teven tried to bitehim yet. I assume that's Ed's metal hand, so it won't do any good, but still...

I can't believe Ed and Scar and Envy are just WATCHING this incredibly intimate scene with Roy and Riza, wow, awkward.

okay, envy has a breakdown and bites ed, not necessarily in that order. and then straight-up kills himself so no one has to kill 'em off and thus Roy's virtue is saved.

envy pulls the philosopher's stone out of its mouth - which looks an awful lot like gluttony's - and then shatters it. WHAT. WHAT. WHAT.

I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS

o hai izumi, glad you're finally here!!!

[most badass entrance EVER]

sig and armstrong have an instant bond that comes from being STRONG MASCULINE MEN, LOL.

sloth: well, at least if I die I can finally get a nap

[thank goodness that fight was over, it dragged on WAY too long for me]

izumi is genre-savvy enough to know she needs to GTFO before Father catches her since she's a "sacrifice"

... and that's our cue for Hohenheim vs. Father

Hohenheim implies that Father is so bland because he put all his interesting personality bits into the homunculi - again, I have NO IDEA WHY he would do this. Hohenheim says that humanity needs the bad bits to be fully human.

okay, so now father takes hohenheim's philosopher's stone - I don't know why he gave it to him in the first place??? but it doesn't work because Hohenheim did something...? and the scene cuts so we don't get to find out yet.

I sense a threesome in Buccaneer's future, lol.

Olivier has a chance to take Bradley's seat but is genre-savvy enough to know that it means DEATH so instead they find the secret passageway to Father's lair

and just as it looks like Briggs has won, Bradley shows back up!!

hohenheim conspired with the souls inside his philosopher's stone, working together with them just like al to break father's human shell.

this is is contrast to father and his ilk (see:envy) who view them as energy sources)

536, 329 people. WOW. that means there was a million people in Xerxes SOB.

unfortunately, that's not enough to kill father for good. I'm... not sure why hohenheim thought it would??

the new form eats its old body, which is super gross

meanwhile, bradley slices a missile shot from a tank with his SWORD.

what the fck did I just watch

he knows falman's name.calls him falman-kun.bc that’s not creepy at all.

AWW YEAH GREED

anyway, Greedling gives me life, and I'm sorry he's probably going to die

meanwhile, that unnamed scientist with the golden tooth is being evil and creepy, sigh,so they have to fight him plus all his experiments

(i'm so bored. just GIVE ME ANSWERS OKAY and also please name your minor characters if you expect me to care about them?)

where the hell are they hosting the Fuhrer Prepatory School, out of curiosity??

okay, I'm not sure why Ed is SURPRISED there's a transmutation circle centered on Central, given what he already knows, but...

I don't understand how this circle is able to grab Izumi, Ed, and Al...???? WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED????

[also, I really hate the gates’ design in this version and the fact they look like Father/Pride is probably NOT a coincidence]

mood: grumpy and confused.

#fullmetal alchemist #lily liveblogs

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oveliagirlhaditright · 1 year ago

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Thank you so much for the reply! I really enjoyed reading your thoughts here! And I definitely agree with a lot of them.

You seem to be of the same mind of Maximillian Dood and The Night Sky Prince in a lot of areas. Max's favorite part of the game is the same as yours.

And The Night Sky Prince was kind of disappointed that this game turned into another "we have to kill god/fight our fate" Final Fantasy game, just because the majority of the Final Fantasy games have been doing that lately? (It's too bad that with Dawn of the Future, Final Fantasy XV fell into that. Because it was probably the first one in ages that did the opposite of these things, and was about accepting your fate, and had the gods be good and stuff.)

And I know fate is a large theme in Final Fantasy, but you'd still think that if they're going to write about it, they'd be able to subvert things more, or have it at least be less in your face. Like, Night Sky Prince brought up Final Fantasy X as an example of that. In some ways, Final Fantasy X is also about changing fate, of course. But it goes about it in a way where it's less obvious than the other games, so that you might not even notice it. And where it feels like there's so much more to it than just that. And I can't help but to agree with him.

Night Sky Prince also ended up missing some of the Game of Thrones elements in XVI--and the war of nations that the game started with, and that we were promised--like you did. And the fact that the game kind of turns away from that is probably a good thing for the FF purists (and maybe serves as a twist?), but if nothing else, at least the game was original for a Final Fantasy when it was doing the Game of Thrones things, in his eyes.

For me... I definitely agree that the last act was the worst. I don't hate Ultima. There's stuff about the story with him that I like--videos I've seen on YouTube about how he's a villain deconstruction are definitely interesting--but I almost wish they had brought him into the story earlier, or made it clearer that he was the Big Bad earlier on? Because is it just me... or does this game almost feel like Tales of Vesperia in some regards, where the plot doesn't seem to always want to know what it wants to do, and keeps going from one thing to another? It's not nearly that bad, of course. With Tales of Vesperia, it was that numerous writers for the game had different ideas for the story and instead of deciding on one, they just opted to put them all together. With this game, I think they did have a clear story and vision from the start... but I feel like they were trying to be secretive? And to do a man-behind-the-man type thing quite a few times, which left me wondering what we were really building towards more than once? IDK. I think that's part of my issue with the last arc. But it's definitely the weakest one, for sure.

Oh my gosh, I love your theory about the dark summons so much! Ahh! I didn't think about that. But something like that would have been so cool!

And, yeah... the inconsistency about how Dion was fine after Clive took his summon and why Jill gets sidelined still bothers me. Is it because they wanted to do the tragic love thing with Clive and Jill, somewhat? Or because of all those years Jill was forced to fight in wars against her will, which got her closer and closer to petrification? A little bit of both?

Oh, dang. Anabella forcing all of the Dominants to give Olivier their blessing would have been so cool, if such a thing were possible.

I also wondered how Clive was able to skip getting Leviathan with Ultima's plans for him, tbh (I'm also wondering if Typhon was a summon?). I'm hoping the DLC we're getting (that seems like it might be about Leviathan?) clears that up. And right now, I'm definitely buying into the theory that Medicine Girl was Leviathan, but she hadn't awakened. But we'll see.

I don't want a sequel explaining what happened to Clive or Joshua, either. A lot of fans hate the ending (which is understandable, and definitely their right to) and they want that clarity of what happened, but I think getting rid of how the ending of the game is ambiguous would ruin it. First of all, I like the sort of nod to FFVII's original ending there, which itself was ambiguous. But more than anything, it fits in perfectly with the theming of the story. Final Fantasy XVI is a game seeped in lore. You can have the lore explained to you any time you need it, even in cutscenes. So the fact that the Final Fantasy XVI's ending is the one time you can't, and you don't know for sure what happened there, was clearly an intentional design choice. You're supposed to be able to choose for yourself what happened to them, like that whole thing about how Cid wanted to build a world where a man could choose how he died, but it wasn't how he met Clive that he realized he should be trying to create one where you could choose how you lived: Clive finally created that with the ending. And offering that choice through the player is just really genius.

I'd be all for a CId prequel. Haha. I think most people would be. He definitely is the best Cid the series has ever had. Though it seems like that might be what the upcoming DLC is about? Which also would be cool. I just hope the DLC is expansive enough to cover all we'd want with a Cid story:)

And, yes: Clive is just the greatest. How I love him so.

The last we talked about Final Fantasy XVI, you'd just seen someone get punched by a certain someone. Are you any further now? Like, have you seen the ending of the game? And if you have... I guess the developers of Final Fantasy XVI have said that this game has so much lore, they could make a sequel with it, which is most definitely true. LOL. Who knows if they'll ever actually do that (if so, it'll be very far off), but if they do, what do you think it'll tell? What would you want it to do?

I have indeed seen the end of it by now! To be honest, I kind of have mixed feelings on the plot of the game as a whole. Love the characters, Clive especially is now one of my favorite Final Fantasy protagonists, but I can't help but feel that the game is a little disjointed in spots. They advertised it as the story of Clive's life spanning three eras, but those three eras don't have equal weight and end up coming across as Prologue #1, Prologue #2, and The Actual Game if that makes sense given that you've actually played the game and I've only seen other people play it. And, honestly, when I think back on it, I kind of liked what Prologue #2 with Clive in his late 20s was putting forward the best out of all three sections

I liked the darker and more personal angle that they were putting down, with a story about a man whose latent powers went berserk and he ended up hurting someone close to him, desperate for revenge without realizing that the one he wants revenge against is himself. But then it feels like they resolve that angle very fast and everything after that is a very classic "god is evil kill god" Final Fantasy plot. It's a well-done version of that plot to be sure, and I can really respect how well they tried to capture the feeling of old-school Final Fantasy games, but given how much of the marketing was about this game being darker and more mature, to me it felt like the themes got almost less mature as it went on, going from personal grief, this desperation to rebuild, the price of revenge, etc. to a more generic "free will good" story

Spoilers from here on out

That said, the developers are correct that there's so much lore, and to me that's the best part of the game. I've always found stories that heavily feature elemental-themed areas a lot of fun, like Avatar: The Last Airbender or One Last God: Kubera, so this game giving each summon a specific element and, for the most part, keeping it one summon/element per faction was really interesting to see brought to light. I think the fact that they touched on different factions viewing their Dominants differently was a good start, I just wanted to see a bit more of it on-screen because again, like I said, they started doing that at the beginning, but then it kind of got completely overwhelmed by the "Ultima wants Clive to have all of the Dominant powers" stuff and then never bothered to really look back at how the people felt about losing their nation's Dominants (also they way that they handled Clive taking the powers was kinda weird? Like, Dion carries on just fine and can still transform but Jill gets benched? What?)

Ahhhhhh I just... I almost wish that Ultima had just been an interesting background element and that the game as a whole had focused more on the infighting between the nations and Dominants and Bearers, rather than the other way around. I just found Ultima so generic and uninteresting, and that the game focused too much on making Clive this Super Awesome Chosen One because of it, when I found he was at his best when he was just a kind, awkward man struggling with this unprecedented power he was stuck with and the trauma it brought him

Because to be honest, at the start of the game I wondered if, maybe, what was happening was that they were gonna pull some classic Final Fantasy Dark World stuff and have it be that every Eikon had a dark counterpart. So Ifrit would be the Dark Eikon of Fire to Phoenix's Light Eikon of Fire and they could have used other classic FF summons as the Dark Eikons, like Garuda vs. Sylph. And the Light Eikons could bless people with their power like how Clive had the blessing of the Phoenix, while the Dark Eikons could steal powers. But, no, it's just Ifrit being Super Special and everything. Also... why... was Joshua the only one who could seemingly bless others with his power? Dion couldn't give Terrence a Blessing of Bahamut or anything and give him some light powers? Jill had to let Clive absorb her Shiva powers rather than blessing him with them becauuuuuuse...? And, man, it could've been so interesting if they had a sideplot on Anabella trying to force all of the Dominants to bless Olivier to match Clive or something. Or maybe not even a sideplot, that sounds like I would've liked it way more than the Ultima stuff because of how much more personal it has the potential to be and the game could've been a race to take the power of each Dominant before Olivier could get their blessings. Olivier was so underutilized

As for the lore, I think they do a really good job fleshing out Bearers, so really if they had more to look into, it would be the unanswered questions. Like, we know that Valisthea is only one continent on this world (Cid isn't originally from there, and IIRC neither was Barnabas's family), so what are the others like? Where is Leviathan? Are the theories that the Medicine Girl was Leviathan's Dominant, just not yet awakened, true? (Also, if Ultima needed Clive to have all of the other Eikon's powers, why were we even allowed to skip Leviathan? Shouldn't we have had to track them down? Why did they end up lost?) If the truth is that Ultima's people descended from another world and created humanity, then where did the idea of the Goddess Greagor come from? And what about the legend surrounding the star, Metia? Is Metia magical or is it just a cute legend thing?

Hmmm. If they ever did more with FFXVI, it would have to be a prequel, wouldn't it? Because I think where it left off was exactly where it should have, with some hope for the future and the world moving on, bittersweet with all of the losses that it took to get there but worth it all the same. (I know that there's a lot of theories about who "Joshua Rosfield" is in the end, and I actually prefer that it's ambiguous. Whether you think Clive succeeded in bringing Joshua back at the cost of his own life, or that Clive took Joshua's name which is the one that I think has the most in-game hints to it, or even if you want to think of a third option like one I've seen where Clive survived, but the "Joshua Rosfield" in question is actually his and Jill's son named in Joshua's honor, sacrifices were made and hope remains)

So I think the route with the most potential might end up being a Cid-centric prequel about what life on other continents is like. And I would never complain about more Cid, especially in regards to how he was chosen by Ramuh and what about how things are on other continents is that made him so averse to how Valisthea does things. I think that Cid is really something special due to his status as an outsider looking in on Storm and Ash and how his different perspective compared to everyone there is such a catalyst for what happens in the plot and it's a real shame that most of what we get of Cid is posthumous. So if FFXVI was to get its own sub-series, that's where I'd take it

#reply #bluerosesburnblue #liz #ffxvi #ff #thanks for answering!!!:)#ffxvi spoilers #ff16 spoilers #final fantasy 16 spoilers #final fantasy xvi spoilers #ff spoilers #final fantasy spoilers

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the-quiet-winds · 5 years ago

Text

Things are Shaping Up to be Pretty Odd (part two)

[A bit of modern fun and fluff with @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts. Ironically finished a few days before Olivier nominations came out.]

[part one]

[Part 2: We Won’t Tiptoe About]

Jane scours the racks, searching for things that met Katherine’s foggy criteria.

“Can I help you find something, miss?”

A young attendant is standing near her with curious eyes. Jane straightens up and nods slightly. “I'm looking for something for my daughter. She wants to be a little more...conservative in her style.”

The salesgirl narrows her eyes slightly and Jane is prepared to defend Katherine no matter what, but then the woman smiles. “Follow me, I think we have a few that are just what she’s looking for.”

The attendant leads Jane to a section in the corner of the shop. Even from a glance it was clear the dresses were made to cover more skin than the others, but they were still beautiful.

“Your daughter, is that the girl who was talking to you before?” The assistant asks. Jane nods, and the assistant flicks through the dress rack. “She’s very lucky to have such long legs, so she can wear perhaps something that reaches to the knee and not look cut off by it, if that’s the style she’s going for.” The assistant glances at Jane with a dress in her hand. It was plain white, an almost blouse-like high neckline with short capped sleeves and a skirt that went out in an a-line to around the knee. “I know it’s not particularly exciting to look at, but see if she likes this style,” the assistant offers the dress to Jane. “If she does, then we have plenty of more interesting patterns and colours in this cut. If not, then we can keep looking.”

Jane smiles brightly. “I'll see how she likes it.”

The attendant grins, then offers another option. “If she wants a more of a modern look...” she trails of as she flicks through some choices. “This is very popular amongst girls her age.”

She holds up a long, black jumpsuit. It, too, had capped sleeves, but the neckline scooped slightly lower to show off what Jane would assume to be one’s collarbones. She hands it to Jane.

“Take both of these and see what she likes,” she instructs kindly. “We’ll choose where to go from there.”

Jane makes her way to the dressing room, where Katherine is sitting on the small bench, back in her shirt and jeans, looking rather glum.

“I have a few more choices, love.” She holds them up with a hopeful smile. “I have a feeling they’ll have something here you’ll like.”

Katherine looks at the options, gaze lingering on the skirt of the dress and the neckline of the jumpsuit. She doesn’t seem particularly convinced but she shrugs and reaches out to take them anyway.

“I'll wait just outside,” Jane reassures her, stepping out of the dressing room and closing the door behind her. She waits patiently, hoping that Katherine would like at least one of the options, or if not that she’d at least have a better idea of what she wanted to wear. After several minutes Katherine emerges from the dressing room in the black jumpsuit, face slightly nervous.

“...What do you think?” Jane asks her.

“I like the pants,” Katherine admits with a tiny smile. then it fades. “But not so much the top.”

Jane nods. “That’s a start, love,” she assures. “Go on and try the dress.”

Katherine emerges a few minutes later in the dress, a similar nervous look about her.

“How about this one?” Jane asks.

Katherine shrugs, still vaguely distant. “I don’t like it that much,” she says quietly.

The attendant stops by a moment later. “No good?” she asks. Katherine shakes her head shamefully. The woman tsks lightly. “There’s no shame in that, lass.” She pauses to think, then a light smirk appears on her lips. “You know, we do tailor women’s suits.”

Katherine glances as Jane almost questioningly and Jane gives her a reassuring smile. “What do you think of that, love?”

“I don’t know,” Katherine says slowly. “I... I’ve never worn a suit before. Do you think I'd look good?”

“I hope you don’t mind me interrupting,” the assistant smiles, “but personally I think you’d look lovely. And if you’re worried about boring fabric then you don’t need to; we make a wide variety with all kinds of materials, and we can add a little bit of sparkle if you’d like.”

Katherine lights up a bit at that and nods her head.

“I'll go grab a few samples,” the salesgirl says with a light laugh, bustling off towards the backroom. Jane hustles Katherine back inside the dressing room to change again.

The woman returns, arms laden with jackets and pants and shirts. “I think most of these should fit her well,” she says, handing a set to Jane. The pants and jacket were a matching steel grey, the shirt a light blue. “Just for size, lass,” she calls to Katherine as Jane hands them through the curtain.

As Jane waits, she’s slightly confused to hear a quiet giggling coming from inside the dressing room. She almost calls out to ask what Katherine’s laughing at, but soon Katherine emerges, a slightly giddy smile on her face.

“It’s not what I'm used to,” she says, adjusting the jacket, “but, I dunno, I think it looks quite cool.” Her eyes immediately go to Jane for validation.

Jane smiles brightly. “I think it’s ‘quite cool’ too, love. You look great.”

Katherine blushes pink as her hair. “The colors are weird though,” she says with a slight goofy laugh.

“Leave that to me,” the attendant says. she steps back and scans Katherine quickly, then speaks again, “I have an idea.” she retreats back to the backroom then returns with new material. She hands Katherine a dark cream shirt to hold up. “Perfect.” The attendant pulls out her fabric, black with pink, orange, yellow, and green flowers in bold patterns. “What do you think of that?”

The fabric is vibrant and eye catching, and Katherine finds herself staring at it for several moments before remembering to reply.

“I- I like it a lot,” she says, slightly shyly. “It’s like, impressive, but not something that, y’know,” her voice drops slightly, “men will stare at for the wrong reasons.” She directs the last part away from the attendant, although judging from the woman’s kind smile she heard it anyway.

Jane puts a reassuring hand on her upper back, stroking lightly with her thumb.

Another attendant comes up behind the first, a garment bag in her hands. “I think I found the only one in that size, but,” she pulls the bag away, revealing the patterned suit in all its glory.

Katherine can only stare at it. Jane laughs and nudges her lightly. “Go on now, love, let’s try it on.”

Katherine takes the suit almost reverently and Jane laughs slightly at the adorable way her wide eyes stare at the fabric. She disappears into the dressing room in a rush and Jane notices one of the attendants, an older woman, stifle a laugh. The attendant sees her looking and smiles. “Her enthusiasm is so cute.” Jane smiles back, realising the woman was being sincere and not making fun of Katherine.

When Katherine exits the dressing room she has a beaming smile on her face.

“Give us a twirl!” one of the attendants says, and Katherine obliges, her ponytail swishing after her. The attendants give her a little round of applause which makes her laugh, but then she turns to look at Jane. “So, mum,” she says with a half-giggle, “what do you think?”

Jane is speechless for a moment, tears in her eyes.

Katherine feels her esteem crumbling, afraid that she had upset Jane. Of course she shouldn’t wear a suit, she reasons, she should wear a dress like all the other girls will. Jane was a traditionalist. She would like Katherine to wear-

“Kat,” Jane breathes. “You look amazing.” She looks her up and down, a radiant smile on her lips, and brings up a hand to rest on Katherine’s cheek. “My gorgeous girl.”

“You- you really think so?” Katherine’s smile grows again, relieved. Jane nods, pride welling in her chest.

“I do, love.” She takes another moment to marvel at the suit, then reaching up to gently pull Katherine’s hair free of its hairband. She arranges it over her shoulders and then smiles at Kat, the tears back in her eyes. “Goodness, look at you! You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

The three attendants all nod in agreement. “You do look lovely, lass. I think it’s just what you needed,” the first one says.

Katherine blushes, but it’s Jane’s opinion that really matters. Hearing her say those things makes her feel like butter inside, sending the genuine affection and pride in her words. Before she knows it, she throws her arms around Jane. “Thanks mum,” she whispers.

Jane returns the hug immediately, hand rubbing gentle circles on Katherine’s upper back.

“I'm only telling the truth, love,” she chuckles. When Katherine pulls back she grins at Jane.

“And you know who else is gonna look amazing?” She grabs the dress Jane had tried on earlier from the chair where it had been placed and presses it into Jane’s hands. “C’mon, put it back on! We’ve got to take some selfies.”

Jane laughs at Katherine’s enthusiasm, but relents and puts the dark purple gown on again. She smooths it out gently, a smile on her lips as she joins her daughter in the main room.

All the attendants start fanning themselves. “You both look so beautiful!” They fawn.

Jane throws an arm around Katherine’s shoulder, pulling her close. “You really do look lovely, Kat, absolutely perfect,” she murmurs, low enough so the attendants don’t hear.

Katherine’s smile is radiant and she mumbles another thanks. “You do too, mum. And... thanks for helping me find something. I know I'm difficult sometimes but-”

“You’re not difficult, Kat,” Jane says firmly. “You just needed to find something you were comfortable with, and we found something in no time at all, didn’t we?” She presses a kiss to the side of Katherine’s head. “And it’s perfect for you, love.”

Katherine blushes slightly and curls further into Jane for just a moment before she pulls her phone out of her pocket. The attendants see what she’s doing and reach out to retrieve it.

They take one normal picture, one posed, and then one more, where the two other attendants are holding black screens with the boutiques name on it in front of the pair, only their heads visible.

“Placement, you know?” One laughs. “Plus you can’t show off your looks before the red carpet. Gotta knock them dead.”

So Katherine ultimately posts the one with the screens. “Ready to hit the Kholer carpet with my always #1,” the caption reads. “Love you so much @janeyseymour,” it continues.

As soon as they get home Jane makes sure both outfits are neatly put away, ready for the ceremony. The time flies by, and with each passing day the atmosphere amongst the queens gets more and more excited. Both Katherine and the cast album were up against some steep competition and nobody wanted to jinx it, but the idea that they might actually win was getting more and more real by the second. On the morning of the Kholer Awards, all the queens were practically buzzing. Even Parr’s normally calm demeanour had shifted.

Of course it wasn’t that easy, because they still had a show that afternoon.

It was an energetic performance, full of buzz and light about the awards that evening, something Parr and Aragon both were sure to mention at the shows conclusion.

The queens reconvened in the theater lobby an hour and a half later, ready to go. Jane wore her gown, hair pulled up into an elaborate bun.

Katherine enters a moment later, and Jane can barely keep herself from bursting into tears again. The suit looks just as perfect as it did two weeks ago, Katherine’s hair curled and pulled into soft ringlets over her shoulders.

“Kat,” Jane whispers. “You look...amazing, love.”

Katherine gives her a beaming smile. “Thanks, mum. You look beautiful too.”

“What the hell, Kitty?” Boleyn’s voice yells from behind them, signalling the arrival of the other queens. “Who gave you the right to look that amazing?” Jane stifles a laugh as Boleyn wraps an arm around Katherine’s shoulder and pretends to ruffle her hair (although without actually touching it). “Aw, my little baby cousin is all grown up!”

Aragon ignores both Boleyn’s teasing and Katherine’s yelp of mock-annoyance as she approaches the group. “Come on queens, one photo before we go,” she instructs in a business-like fashion, despite the fact she looks about as giddy as everyone else.

Jane and Katherine occupy the right side of the picture, Jane’s arm looped tightly around Katherine’s waist. They hold still for the picture, then didn’t let go until they got to the car.

Except the car wasn’t there.

A limo had apparently been rented for the evening, courtesy of the Kholer Awards.

It was a smooth and fun 45 minute ride to the awards show, but as soon as they arrive and Katherine sees the paparazzi and the people waiting for them, the color drains from her face.

Jane notices almost immediately and takes Katherine’s hand. “I'm here, Kat,” she says softly with a gentle squeeze of her hand. Katherine gives her a weak smile, looking slightly nauseous.

“We don’t have to stay long on the red carpet if you don’t want to,” Jane reassures her. “and I'll be with you every step of the way.”

Parr notices the conversation and leans across. “If you’d like the rest of us to handle the press, then you two can go on ahead. It’s up to you, kid.”

Katherine swallows and clutches Jane’s hand tightly, not intending to let go. She takes a few breaths, then reopens her eyes, a fresh determination and renewed excitement in her expression.

The six of them exit the limo and are immediately swallowed by the press and the paparazzi.

“Katherine Howard!” one interviewer calls out. “How does it feel to be nominated for such a prestigious award?”

She feels Jane squeeze her hand. “It really is an honor. That song means a lot to me,” she answers honestly.

The interviewer nods enthusiastically. He looks at his phone quickly then back to Katherine. “Our viewers are loving your look, Katherine! What inspired the suit look for you?”

Katherine grips Jane’s hand just a bit tighter and for a moment Jane wonders if she should usher Katherine away, but then Katherine speaks.

“It just felt right. My mum actually helped me pick it out.” The adoption was common knowledge at this point and the interviewer looks over at Jane with a smile.

“Would you like to add anything to that, Jane?” He asks.

“Just that I'm so proud of Katherine,” Jane says, “and that I'm so happy to be here with her today.”

The interviewer looks pacified, but there are still a dozen more to fight through before they enter the gala, all asking similar questions about Katherine’s bold suit, how Katherine was feeling being nominated against West End legends, and even one or two asking about how Jane and Katherine were getting on together. They answer as many as they could, then manage find the others and make their way to their seats, eagerly awaiting the beginning of the show.

The awards start with the smaller categories. The girls were disheartened when they didn’t win orchestrations or choreography, but the other two were the big ones they were waiting for.

“And the Kholer Award for Best Original Cast Album goes to…,” the announcer pauses and Jane and Katherine hold each other’s hands tightly. “The Light on the 23rd Floor: A New West End Musical!”

The atmosphere amongst the entire group deflated slightly, even as they clapped along to congratulate the winners. Katherine hears Aragon muttering something in Spanish under her breath but she’s focused on Jane, who gives her a half-smile.

“It’s okay, love. being nominated was honour enough,” she whispers. “And we’ve still got your category to be announced.”

Katherine, on the other hand, already knows the outcome, or at least she thinks she does. There would be no way she’d win if the cast album didn’t, not when the queens sounded so amazing on it.

The announcers carry on with the awards: best lights, best supporting actor and actress, best musical direction, innovation in music, best live performance by an actor in a musical.

Then, after ‘The Light on the 23rd Floor’ had their performance, Best Live Performance by ann Actress in a Musical was to be presented.

“This year, theater critics travelled to the seven new shows that opened on the West End and evaluated every performer, narrowing the list down to just four actresses. The nominees are: Rebecka Smalton, Basketcase; Loelle Jackson, Icecaps; Tabitha O’Connors, Light on the 23rd Floor, and Katherine Howard, Six the Musical.”

Katherine feels Jane take her hand and grip it when her name is called, but she is so nervous she can barely react.

“And the award goes to…,” the silence seems to last forever. “Katherine Howard, Six the Musical!”

It doesn’t quite hit Katherine that she’s won until Jane turns to her, beaming with pride, and whispers, “you did it!”

She gets up, legs slightly shaking from adrenaline, and she’s ushered to the stage as the crowd applauds and cheers- for her, she realises. They heard her story and they like her. A giddy grin grows on Katherine’s face as she ascends the stairs to the stage and the presenters hand her a glass trophy, engraved with ‘Best Live Performance by an Actress in a Musical.’

They step back and gesture towards the microphone, expecting her to speak. Katherine then realizes she doesn't have anything prepared, she was so sure she wouldn't win. She steps towards the mic and clears her throat nervously. She catches Jane, about twenty rows back, and she gives her a little thumbs-up.

Katherine looks down at the trophy then back to the crowd. "I never expected this to happen tonight," she speaks honestly, a lightness in her voice. "Or ever for that matter. I'd like to thank the critics association, the Kholer judges, our fans, and my amazing co stars. Aragon, you keep my head on straight where I know I would lose it, Anna, I know I can count on you for back up when I need it. You’re the best friend I could ever ask for. Boleyn, you infuriate me, but I still love you with my whole heart, and Parr...you're one of the sweetest souls I've ever met. I love you all so much."

Then she sees Jane, smiling and teary-eyed and her throat constricts slightly.

“And finally, to Jane,” Katherine tries her best to keep it together. “For, um, for those of you who don’t know, a few months ago Jane formally adopted me, and so this is for my mum. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.” She tears up slightly, choking on her words, but powers through. “You’ve helped me more than you’ll possibly ever realise, and I wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn’t for you.” Even over rows and rows of seats, Jane meets her eyes and Katherine feels her heart burst with love, giving her enough confidence to finish her speech. “Lastly, I just wanted to say... this award is for everyone who has a story like mine. Thank you to everyone who’s let me tell my story, and to everyone who’s listened to it.” She raises the trophy once in the air as the audience applauds, and she thinks she can hear a group of distinct familiar voices cheering for her in the twentieth row.

She leaves the stage and walks up the aisle, a spotlight trailing her as she goes. She doesn’t even make it to her seat before Jane pulls her into the tightest hug.

Unbeknownst to them both, a camera had followed, and their heartfelt moment was broadcast for the who audience to see, but neither really cared.

“I'm so proud of you, love,” Jane whispers tearily. “So, so proud.”

Katherine can’t find the words to respond so she just hugs Jane tighter, hoping that Jane realises just how much Katherine loves her and that this award was just as much hers as it was Katherine’s. They only break apart when a kindly-looking usher apologetically interrupts asking them to return to their seats. When they sit down, Jane wraps an arm around Katherine’s shoulders and Katherine gently leans against her, resting her head on Jane’s shoulder as she clutches the trophy in her lap. Neither of them pay much attention through the rest of the awards, as much as they try to, far too overwhelmed by pride and happiness and most of all, love.

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tag list: @percabeth15 @kats-seymour @qualquercoisa945 @jane-fucking-seymour @a-slightly-cracked-egg @justqueentingz @annabanana2401 @wolfies-chew-toy @broad-way-13 @tvandmusicals @lailaliquorice @aimieallenatkinson @sweet-child-why03 @gaylinda-of-the-upper-uplands @funky-lesbians @thinkaboutitmaybe @haniawritesthings @messanaa @rigatoni-ravioli @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @ladiez-in-waiting @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify @katherines-choker @why-only-have-one-fandom @missmarvelmixer @le-mlp-nerd @0-hufflepuffle-0 @drawinglinesinarbitraryplaces @lesbabe6 @wicked-books-101 @insertmusicaltheatrepunhere @toomanyfamdom @zoalis @rainbowmoose01 @broadwayqueer

#six the musical #katherine howard #jane seymour #anne boleyn #catherine parr #catherine of aragon #anne of cleves #julie and jess write #things are shaping up to be pretty odd

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aaaaamorphous-entity · 5 years ago

Text

Alright so my siblings and I started discussing the possibility of a Fullmetal Alchemist/Fate (Fate Metal Alchemist?) crossover in which the 7 sins are summoned as Servants, and these are the thoughts so far:

(It’s long so under the cut.)

Wrath and Olivier

- In the words of my older sibling, “We need at least one Master-Servant pair that’s pants-shittingly terrifying”.

- Most likely team to win a one-on-one match against the other War participants, except MAYBE Pride and Scar.

- If not the ones to win the Holy Grail, certainly one of the three final contending teams.

- Least likely to form alliances. One of the few chinks in their armor.

- If you think going after the Master will be easier than dealing with the Servant, then you are hilariously incorrect.

- Wrath is most likely to be a Saber, but if the slot were already taken, he’d naturally be shuffled into a Berserker class.

~ * ~

Pride and Scar

- Tension

- So much tension

- They don’t like each other one bit, but they don’t hate each other depending on how you mash the canon of the two series.

- Scar can and will yeet Pride at the enemy as a distraction for his own quick escape if he has to.

- Okay maybe Pride hates Scar a little.

- Another Master you Just Don’t Tangle With if you can help it.

- Not as tactically strong as Wrath and Olivier, but in terms of sheer power, they’re pretty damn dangerous.

- Even less likely to form alliances than the last pair.

- Despite this, their sheer power individually and combined are likely to make them one of the last three teams standing.

- Pride could easily wind up being shuffled into Lancer, Caster, or Archer classes, and all three are equally devastating.

~ * ~

Greed and Ling

- Let’s be honest, this one was obvious.

- They butt heads a lot to begin with but they’ll bond with a little time, whether they like it or not.

- They’ll get sidetracked a lot between Ling wanting meals and Greed being...Greed.

- Going after the Master is still a pretty bad idea if you aren’t a Servant.

- Lan Fan and Fu work as Ling’s support. Maybe Lan Fan helps supply mana?

- Fairly likely to form alliances, depending on who the other party is.

- Strong, stealthy and moderately strategic between the two of them (and the bodyguards), they are likely to be one of the three final teams. Unlikely to win without alliance support, though.

- If Greed got shuffled into Rider class for lack of anything better being available, he’d be Pissed. Refuses to lift a finger until a proper mode of transport is procured. (Alchemy-mobile? Alchemy-mobile.)

- If not Rider, he’d be a fairly solid (if not super stealthy) Assassin.

~ * ~

Sloth and Mei-Chang

- A fun unlikely pairing with some entertaining/cute dynamics.

- Mei will indulge some degree of Sloth’s laziness and let him sleep when she doesn’t need him or after he’s done some heavy lifting. But once it’s go time there’ll be shouting and stomping feet and ineffective pushing/pulling in an entertainingly useless attempt at getting him up.

- Illya + Berserker themed team because yes.

- Mei can and will ride on Sloth’s shoulder sometimes.

- In terms of strategic planning, they’re fairly weak. In direct combat they compliment each other nicely, with Sloth providing a very in-your-face distraction while Mei attacks from a distance.

- Going after the Master is much easier in comparison to the previous three, but still challenging and dangerous if you let your guard down. If Sloth gets called, then whoever’s going after Mei better hope their Servant is on hand to provide support.

- They’ll probably last an intermediate amount of time, until they run up against a more strategic or highly damaging team like Scar and Pride.

- Heaven help the rest of the War if they team up with Scar.

- Fair chance Mei would temporarily put aside her differences with Ling for the sake of defeating a greater threat. Just as likely, if not more so, for her to side with the Elric Brothers.

- Sloth is a Berserker.

~ * ~

Lust and Mustang

(Yes I’m aware of the irony of using that right pic.)

- Another unlikely pair who seem like they could have interesting dynamics.

- They get along decently. Not friends necessarily, but fairly compatible rather than combatible.

- Lust occasionally flirts with Mustang just to get a rise out of him. He’ll typically brush her off, complain, or remind her that they’re in the middle of a war. Occasionally she manages to fluster him, though.

- Riza provides support, similarly to how Maya was Kiritsugu’s. Quite possibly also supplies extra mana to bolster Lust.

- In terms of strategic thinking, they’re one of - if not THE - strongest teams. That being said, they’re severely lacking in actual strength compared to teams like Wrath and Olivier.

- Highly likely to form alliances to advance themselves, just as likely to double-cross depending on who they join forces with.

- We’re back into “laughable to even try” Masters to attack if you aren’t a Servant territory.

- Depending on who they allied with, if they did, they might make it to the later/last stages of the War. Independently, they’d likely only get to late-intermediate stages at most, given Lust’s weaker combat abilities in comparison to most of their competition.

- Lust would most likely be a Lancer, but Assassin would be a decent second choice for her.

~ * ~

Envy and the Elric Brothers

- Ed is the main Master and Al works as the co-master, similar to Archibald and Sola-Ui from /Zero.

- Ed does not get along with Envy At All and it’s hilarious.

- Al isn’t super fond of Envy either, but he at least tries to be a mediator and act as the level-headed one of the group.

- People always mistake Al for the Master.

- Envy and Ed are constantly sniping at each other and getting into arguments. They fight with each other as much as they do anyone else in this damn War.

- You can bet Ed’s misused at least one command spell out of frustration-fueled stupidity. Al went up one side of him and down the other for it.

- They’re very likely to ally with other teams, though Ed and Envy are both highly suspicious and wary of betrayals. Teams Mustang, Mei, and Izumi are their best bets.

- If they team up with Izumi, she’ll kick Ed and Envy’s asses and whip them into shape.

- Still not likely to last that long in the War independently, though. At best, medium-intermittent stages before they get crushed by a more powerful and competent team.

- Envy would be a terrifying Assassin primarily, but I could see them getting slotted into the Rider class more smoothly than, say, poor Greed.

~ * ~

Izumi and Gluttony

- Izumi terrifies poor Gluttony and commands his absolute obedience.

- Despite this, she does keep him decently fed where she can.

- Gluttony’s one of the weakest, if not the very weakest Servant in this War. The only reason they last any amount of time is Izumi’s prowess as a Master.

- If you even look at that Izumi, she’ll trample you to death with her hooves.

- They’ll ally with others, if Izumi finds the other party acceptable. (Mei-Chang, the brothers, possibly even Ling and Greed. As well as Izumi and Olivier got along in their own canon, I don’t know how well their relationship would fare in this AU.)

- Even allied, Gluttony isn’t likely to last long. Probably the first Servant to die in the early stages of the War. Despite this, Izumi would stay involved, likely to help the brothers or Mei. (Backstory for this crossover will determine who.)

- Gluttony would be shoehorned into a Caster class (the False Doorway in his stomach just barely fits).

- He’s not very suited to most classes, the best fit probably being Berserker, given that tantrum he threw the night before the Promised Day.

~ * ~

Final Thoughts/Notes

- Hohenheim would be a terrifying Master or Caster, either way you cut it.

- The Father is the scariest Caster available in this AU’s roster.

- Most wishes are fairly obvious. The brothers want their bodies back. Izumi wants a child. Mei-Chang and Ling wish to save their clans. Mustang wants to rule the country. Scar wants justice for his people, or to ensure their safety and place in the world, depending on what stage his character development is at. The only one I’m not solid on is Olivier.

- Is The Truth the Grail??? I have no idea, but (incoming F/Zero spoilers) they kind of remind me of corrupted Irisviel, after she was merged with the Grail.

- Greed’s death is tragic and heart-touching, just as it was in his original canon.

- Envy could have been a devastating Assassin...if Ed were even remotely suited to being a Master for one. As it stands, most of their potential would be squandered thanks to Ed’s morals, ideals, and dislike of them. (Yes they/them pronouns for Envy imo.)

- Feel free to add your own thoughts. The hashtag #Fate/Metal Alchemist is just barely existent and it could really use some lovin’.

#Fullmetal Alchemist #Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood #Fate series #Fate #Fate/Metal Alchemist #Fate Metal Alchemist #long post #Fullmetal alchemist spoilers #fmab spoilers #fate zero spoilers

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lamiaward · 6 years ago

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What if we were both high ranking military officers who kissed and were both girls?

I wanted to write some things for pride month and I had this vague idea of Olivier flirting with Riza to piss off Roy mostly but also genuinely liking the woman and I definitely ship Olivier with Riza so Oops? But also I definitely ship Roy and Riza as well so there’s also some of that (also Riza is definitely bi and in love with Roy but she can at the very least appreciate how attractive and everything Olivier is and probably admires her as well). Anyways that all turned into whatever this fic is lol.

I haven’t read the manga in a while so some parts might not be canon compliant but I did try to look things up and keep it somewhat canon compliant. And in my head this takes place sometime after Father is yeeted towards Truth. I might change the title this all I could think off oops.

Anyways you enjoy whatever this fic turned into! And happy pride!!

Olivier Mira Armstrong was terrifying. She was ruthless, ambitious and a damn capable general. Riza knew all these facts about the woman, and she actually got along reasonably well with the general. She respected her, definitely, and she was a little easier to deal with than her brother( for one, she did not share the unfortunate habit to walk around half-naked).

However, she was also confusing Riza. Greatly.

General Armstrong had never been “touchy-feely” (as she described it herself, usually with a tone of utter contempt for those who did fall under that category). She was obviously friends with some of her underlings, and even affectionate towards them – in her own way- but she was hardly the one to hug them or otherwise be physically affectionate.

This is why Riza’s heart stuttered when Armstrong, upon seeing her, immediately pulled her closer in a hug. She was slightly stiff, but it wasn’t unpleasant, not necessarily, and when Riza somewhat broke through her own stupor and managed to hesitantly hug her back, Armstrong squeezed her once before letting her go.

“Hawkeye. It is good to see you” it wasn’t a smile, but it was something. It was definitely more friendly than whatever Armstrong greeted most of the other soldiers with (and far more friendly than her expressions around colonel Mustang).

Riza thanked her ability to keep her expression neutral even when her heart was racing slightly, and she had no idea what Armstrong thought she were doing. “ Major general. How is the North holding up?”

Armstrong cracked a grin. “ Good. It is getting a bit chilly, but that is good for character building” she slapped Riza’s shoulder. “You lot should visit again sometime”.

Riza arched her eyebrows slightly. “ I never thought the day would come that you invite the colonel to visit out of your own free will”.

“ He might freeze to death” Armstrong pointed out, almost gleeful. “And otherwise, he is a weakling who despises the cold so at the very least, I get the opportunity to watch him suffer”.

“ We are simply not used to such temperatures”.

“ From what I remember, you were holding up pretty well”

Riza studied the other woman, still trying to figure out her angle. “ I don’t mind the cold as much. What brings you to Central?”

“Business. And I heard there is a shooting range around here somewhere?”.

“There is” Riza’s eyes flicked to the sword Armstrong always carried. “ I thought you preferred the blade?”

“ Blades are superior to guns , but that doesn’t mean I can’t shoot one. Your ability with them has even impressed those at Briggs, so I thought I would test my skills against yours”.

“I am on duty right now, general Armstrong, but I could meet you after”.

“Mustang really is hopeless without you, isn’t he?”

“ I will see you later, general Armstrong”

“ All right, good luck babysitting Mustang”.

Armstrong sounded normal enough (and derisive about the colonel as always, so normal business there as well) but what the hell was she doing, hugging Riza and- Riza didn’t even know. It was just off.

Surprisingly, Riza actually had a good time with Armstrong at the shooting range. She was harsh and demanding but Riza could appreciate that. It didn’t hurt that the woman was a good shot, either. Riza liked it when someone could actually (or almost) keep up with her.

“ With skills like yours and that reputation, I wager you could work with anyone and anywhere. Why Mustang?“ Armstrong commented when they finally took a break ( despite her claims she didn’t believe in those).

“I hardly thought you were the type for idle gossip, major general”.

Armstrong sneered. “Hardly that, I am not my weakling brother. I am asking for myself”.

“ Are you inviting me to join the Briggs soldiers?” Riza questioned.

“Something I don’t offer lightly. We could use a shot like yours, though I’d have to give you some blade lessons as well “.

“I don’t like blades. But thank you for the offer”.

“That sounds like a cheap excuse, bordering on cowardly” Armstrong spat.

“ I also already have a position”.

“As Mustang’s bodyguard. I suppose with a moron like him, you really need the best”.

“ Unlike with the Ishval massacre, I made the right decision”.

“ At least you didn’t run”.

“The major is of Ishvalan heritage, is he not? I’d thought you have a clearer idea of the atrocities we committed against the Ishvalan population than others”.

“ I hope you don’t waste your time feeling sorry for yourself and for that war. It won’t help the Ishvalan population- actions will”.

“ I don’t. But I also do not absolve myself of my crimes. Which is one of the reasons I will always remain loyal to the colonel - I believe in his vision”.

Armstrong smirked slightly. “The blind man with a vision. You have to admit, that thing did have a sense of humour”.

“ I did not find it particularly entertaining, and the colonel regained his eyesight”.

“Unfortunately. Do you need to loiter any longer or can we continue to shoot?”

“Give it your all, major general”

Armstrong smirked at Riza. “ You bet your ass I will, lieutenant”

Riza filed away the way Armstrong’s voice lowered and she (playfully? This was Armstrong so surely not) bumped shoulders with Riza as part of whatever angle the major general was working. But even if Armstrong had ulterior motives, it was still a surprisingly good evening.

----------------------------------------------------------------

It became somewhat of a habit. Riza would run into Armstrong and they would do something together, never just something ‘fun’ but something practical like going to the shooting range or cleaning weapons. That suited Riza just fine.

She couldn’t imagine Armstrong doing something as “asinine” as just having a drink, or going to a bar in the first place. Conceivably , she must have at some point (for one , Riza figured that alcohol was popular amongst Briggs soldiers to ward off cold and boredom) but Riza just could not imagine it.

Perhaps that’s why she said what she said what she did.

“ You could join?”

“Join what? “.

“As I told you, I cannot cancel my plans with Rebecca again. But you could join, we are just going for a drink”. She neglected to mention that Rebecca would probably drive Armstrong mad within three minutes- her best friend was the exact opposite of the harsh, ambitious major general.

Armstrong smirked. “ All right. Are you going now?”

“ In my uniform? “ Riza shook her head with a smile. “Rebecca would not let me live that down. She already believes I am too “devoted” to my job. I am going to change at home”.

“ Is this Rebecca a civilian friend?”.

“She isn’t. I met her during my time in the academy and we kept contact afterwards. She’s a damn good shot, but her ambitions never really lay with the military”.

“Why would she even join then? The military can’t use people who aren’t committed, that’s no – “.

“ Did you even bring civilian’s clothing?” Riza cut in.

“ No. Why would I? “

As Riza stayed silent while trying to figure out how to solve this issue, Armstrong smirked slightly. “If you are going to offer to borrow some of your own civilian clothing to me, I can assure you they won’t fit”

“ Well, you can hardly show up in your uniform”

“ Don’t break your head over it, Hawkeye. I will figure something out. Just let me know where I will be meeting you”.

Riza nodded. “ All right. I will meet you there”

After having taken a quick shower and changing into her black jumper and favourite pants, Riza rushed to the bar. Rebecca was already there, with two drinks in front of her.

“You better be late because you were hooking up with some hunk” she called out.

“I was trying to put on clothing, not take them off” she replied. “ Or would you have preferred I showed up in my uniform?”.

“ No, I’m pretty sure you already sleep in that thing. It’s ugly as Hell, how do you- “

Riza sat down, and emptied the glass meant for her. “ I wear it at work , and I am hardly going to break military regulation and start a relationship at work”.

Rebecca smirked. “What about the colonel?”.

Riza felt her lips tug into a smile besides herself. “ He’s a notorious womanizer remember? Besides, he is busier than ever”.

“I remember him sleeping on the job a lot, so I doubt he’s that busy. What about that Armstrong?”

Riza was relieved she had finished her glass , or she might have even choked. Well, she wouldn’t have, but her reaction would’ve been a bit more noticeable at least. “ What- we’re barely even friends Rebecca”.

Before she could argue against that more, Rebecca spoke. “ I thought you were good friends? I mean, he’s a bit of a weirdo, but you gotta admit, he has those muscles and he seems actually capable of empathy. There are not a lot of men you can say that about”.

Right. The major. Not his confusing sister who Riza found herself spending more and more time with. “ There would still be the issue of conflicting interests. And I have never thought of him like that”.

“Well, there’s alwa-“

Someone slammed a chair down next to them, prompting both Rebecca and Riza to look up. Riza blinked slowly, staring at the unfamiliar sight of major general Armstrong in civilian’s clothing. She wore black slacks, an open blazer and a simple blouse that was unbuttoned quite low. The sleeves were rolled up.

She tore her eyes off Armstrong to look at Rebecca. “Right, I forgot to tell you. I invited major general Armstrong to join us”

Rebecca turned around, mouthing “Armstrong”. Riza recognized the look on her friend’s face, but she was too late to interfere.

“All right, sit down – Olivier, was it? “ Rebecca leaned forward. “ Are there any good men in the North?”.

“General Armstrong is fine. And I’d say my men are the best – certainly better than those in central” she said the last with a glance at Riza.

Rebecca looked far too interested. “Really? Are any of them single? “.

“Most of them are”

“Any way you could set me up with any of them?”.

Armstrong rolled her eyes. “ Is it so hard to get a man nowadays? I thought all you had to do was smile and the oaf thinks you’re desperately in love”.

Riza stifled a laugh, but Rebecca didn’t seem to think it as funny. “ Getting a man is easy yes, but getting a good one.. You seem like the type with impossible standards, so haven’t you noticed Olivier?”

“ General Armstrong. And I am not exactly looking for men”

Riza glanced at Armstrong. She had guessed that long ago, although the major general had never outright told her. And since people were terrified of “the Northern wall of Briggs” , no one would think to outright ask it.

Armstrong studied Riza quietly, before slowly dragging her eyes over to Rebecca. Rebecca shrugged. “ More for us, then. Right, Riza?”.

Riza rolled her eyes. “ I told you, I am not looking for a man. I am busy enough with my job, and I am happy being on my own”.

Rebecca leaned towards Armstrong. “She means the colonel”.

“I doubt that”.

Rebecca snorted. “Have you ever seen them together? And during that business with those homun-whatever- some very interesting rumours there”.

“ Lieutenant Hawkeye could do far better than Mustang. And I have enough trust in her mental capabilities that she would not fall for his so-called ‘charms’”.

Riza smiled. “ I will take the compliment, and ignore your insults on the part of my superior”.

Armstrong smirked at her. “ As you always do”.

Rebecca glanced between the two, then suddenly stood. “ You know what, I am going to get more drinks. For one- “she smiled mischievously at Riza “ that might actually remove that stick from your ass. And also because I really want to be able to say I have seen the ice queen drunk”

She sauntered away. Armstrong turned to Riza. “ How did you two ever become friends?”.

“Rebecca has a great sense of humour- however aggravating she may be at times- and she is the most loyal person you can imagine. She made life at the academy more easy”.

Riza nodded at the other woman’s outfit. “ Where did you get that?”.

Armstrong smirked. “I persuaded someone to give it to me” .

“ It’s – you look good. It suits you”.

Armstrong nodded. “ You look very nice as well. Although I prefer you in your uniform”

For some reason, Riza flushed slightly at that. “ You have ample opportunity to see me in my uniform” she pointed out.

Armstrong smirked. “ That I do. Are you ever going to agree to a sword fighting practise?”.

“ I have told you, I prefer guns”

“ Why? Guns are the coward’s option. Blades are magnificent- and part of a long tradition”

“That may be, but I prefer the distance a gun offers. And it is quicker as well”.

“ Wouldn’t have taken you for a coward, Hawk’s eye” .

“ I am not. I simply do not take pleasure from killing. Guns should protect people, and not- “.

“ Guns, blades, any weapon was made to kill. It is foolish to deny that, and weak as well”.

“ So what you enjoy killing?”

Armstrong shrugged. “ I see it as part of my duty, that’s all”

“Fine, but- “

“Well, don’t you two look cozy” Rebecca said and put three large glasses on the table that were pretty much overflowing. Riza suddenly realised she and Armstrong had automatically bent towards each other as they had argued, and a quick glance at the other tables showed that the few people that were there had very obviously been listening to the conversation as they quickly looked away and struggled to start conversations.

She took one of the glasses. “What did you get us?”.

Rebecca smirked. “ The good stuff. Cheers!” she took her own glass and empty half of it , then whistled as Olivier took hers and emptied it in one go. “The ice queen knows how to drink!”.

Rebecca leaned forward. “The question is, can you drink Riza under the table? “.

“Rebecca- “.

Rebecca hushed Riza. “ Ah come on, it will be fun! You remember what fun is, right?”.

“ I will need plenty of alcohol to deal with you anyways” Riza said drily, then emptied her glass as well.

Rebecca flagged the bartender. “Three – no wait six more please! The special for three of them, and surprise us for the other three”.

Armstrong arched her eyebrows. “A surprise? He could be putting poison in there”.

“From what I’ve heard, there are quite a few people who would like to poison you, yes”.

“Rebecca” Riza admonished, but Armstrong actually chuckled.

“True enough. Let’s see what your surprise turns out to be, I can probably take it. I don’t know about you two”.

Riza inwardly groaned. Rebecca was competitive as hell so she already knew where this was going. Great.

Predictably, Rebecca rolled up her sleeves. “ Oh you’re in for it now, ice queen”.

Armstrong didn’t look impressed. “I doubt that”. She looked at the bartender, who was walking over with their order. He put it down with a friendly smile, which rapidly disappeared when faced with Armstrong’s general expression. As he skittered away, Armstrong grabbed one of the glasses, Rebecca immediately following suit.

Before Riza could remind them they were not teenagers, they were adult women who were (arguably) intelligent enough to figure out this was not a good idea, they both downed their glasses and grabbed the next.

Riza gave up pretty quickly, deciding that if they wished to do something moronic she was just going to lean back and enjoy when it all fell apart, and she was the only one without a raging hangover.

It was actually pretty fun because Rebecca always had funny stories which were even funnier when she forgot half the names or description (“you know the guy he had one of those things like a beard but small sized and it’s just not a good look”) and they both looked like they were having fun as well so that was good.

“You’re too sober” Armstrong suddenly exclaimed, flagging the bartender over. “More drinks!” she called out , leading to the bartender looking at the table as though they were having an existential crisis (there wasn’t a bit of space left only alcohol, more alcohol and food).

“ I don’t – “

The bartender called people over, and five minutes later, all the old glasses were cleaned away and new ones had replaced them. Riza quickly grabbed a few before Rebecca and Armstrong could take their alcohol consumption to dangerous levels.

“ YESSSS “ Rebecca screamed when Riza quickly downed two, and grabbed the next one.

Armstrong just pushed two more her way. “ You’re far behind, Lieutenant”.

“ I am not as eager to get a hangover as you two” Riza replied, but still drank the two glasses.

“So you concede defeat before even trying?” Armstrong said, holding up another glass. Something about the woman’s expression made Riza react before she could think. She grabbed Armstrong’s hand, yanked it towards her own face, and tried to drink the glass.

Predictably, she got alcohol over her clothes but she managed to finish it with a triumphant expression. “ Hand me another one” she said.

Rebecca pushed another one her way. “ Are you going to hold hands with the ice queen during?” . Her eyes flicked to Riza’s hand meaningfully.

Armstrong let go of the glass, and Riza put it down, feeling strange about no longer holding on to the other woman. She quickly grabbed the glass Rebecca had pushed her way and emptied it. “ That’s all?”.

Rebecca smirked. “ Hardly. You’re still behind”.

Riza drank one more glass, after which Armstrong and Rebecca continued drinking as well.

“ You know, I could beat you” Rebecca said, leering in Armstrong’s direction.

“ No, you couldn’t “.

“ I could! Just because you’re like Ri- Riza and the only whatever you want to take is your job doesn’t mean I am not great “. She finished her glass and slammed it down before placing her elbow on the table. “Let’s arm wrestle, because I don’t have my gun on me right now”.

“ Nor would I have let you use it since you are inebriated “Riza pointed out.

Rebecca waved her off. Riza was really counting on the major general to be sensible one but of course she wouldn’t. She threw off her blazer, and placed her elbow down as well.

“Give up already, ice queen” Rebecca said.

“Or what? You’ll lose and I have to concede you can never beat me in anything?”.

Rebecca smirked. “ Do you hate Mustang because he actually gets to kiss Riza?”.

“No he is simply that incapable, and also my competition”.

“ Also he doesn’t get to kiss me since he is my superior”.

“ He’s also plenty good-looking though” Rebecca pointed out, grimacing. Her arm was starting to tremble, and Riza saw it coming before it did. Rebecca did her usual move and tried to kick Armstrong to make her slip up.

Except Armstrong simply trapped Rebecca’s ankle between her legs. “ That’s the best cheat you have? Absolutely pathetic”.

“Well what’s your idea then if you’re brilliant as well?”.

Armstrong smirked. “ My idea?” she paused significantly, before suddenly bringing her arm down. Rebecca cursed as her hand was pressed onto the table. “ I win “.

Rebecca massaged her hand. “ You’re mean, woman”.

Riza shook her head. “ You could’ve predicted that”.

“ As my best friend, you’re supposed to be on my side”.

Riza arched her eyebrows slightly. “I doubt- “ she cut off when faced with Olivier Armstrong’s hand in front of her.

“ Your turn” Armstrong said.

“What?”.

Armstrong grabbed Riza’s hand. “ We do this at Briggs all the time, to decide who has to pay for the last round”.

“ You don’t have bars around”.

“ There’s one actually. It’s only a two-hour trek through the snow”.

“ Of course it is. Fine”. Riza extracted her hand, rolling up her sleeves before she grabbed Armstrong’s hand. The moment she did, the woman started exerting force. Riza slowly felt her arm starting to move down, and pushed back.

“Give up lieutenant you will never win”.

Riza didn’t bother to reply, simply used all her force to keep her arm from being pushed down. The woman was definitely stronger than her, although not too much stronger. And she obviously did this a lot, whereas Riza hardly joined arm wrestle games.

Riza suddenly had an idea. She blamed the alcohol. Definitely the alcohol. And not how Armstrong’s dry wit matched her own and how she had a way of looking at Riza that had more of an impact than the alcohol and how the whole situation with the colonel sometimes frustrated her when she woke up from the usual nightmare in her empty apartment.

She leaned in very close, lowering her voice significantly while pressing her knee against Armstrong’s. “ You know I never miss a mark”.

Armstrong actually wavered for a second, and Riza immediately pressed the advantage. At the last possible moment, Armstrong pushed back again. They were in stalemate for a moment, Armstrong’s arm nearly touching the table.

“ Bold words , but it’s actions that matter”.

Riza hooked her free foot around Armstrong’s ankle, using it to pull her even closer. “ Is it actions you want?”.

“I’ve been flirting and touching you to piss off Mustang enough that he’d develop an ulcer”.

“ Yes, I know that”.

Armstrong arched her eyebrows slightly. “ How?”.

“ You hugged me because Fuery was behind us and you know he would report it to the colonel. Havoc likes to visit the shooting range frequently, especially after the injuries he sustained in the field, so you know he would see us and likewise report. The incident with my hair- “.

“That one was actually not pre-mediated, it was merely annoying me” Armstrong cut in. Ria wasn’t particularly surprised that the major general had decided to suddenly reach out and almost tenderly brush her hair behind her ear only because the loose strand had annoyed her.

“ You did not hug me after the first time until you were entering the colonel’s office and I was there as well. Every action around me has been calculated to cause as much frustration on the part of the colonel as possible”.

Armstrong didn’t look particularly- anything, really, now that she was found out. “I don’t really do apologies. I did, however, actually enjoy spending time with you. It’s why I thought it would work in the first place”.

“ Because I am one of the few Central soldiers that don’t “annoy and bore you to death”?

“ Yes. And some other reasons”.

“ Major general?”.

Armstrong suddenly flashed a wicked grin and bent her head slightly so her lips were close to Riza’s ear. “ Call me Olivier, Riza “.

Riza was taken aback enough to forget about the arm wrestling for a second. That was all Olivier needed; the next second, Riza’s arm was slammed down.

Olivier didn’t let go at first, then slowly pulled back. “ Rounds are on Rebecca”.

“Hey! Riza just lost after whatever sexual tension you two were enjoying I feel like she should pay”.

Olivier looked at Rebecca for a moment. “ You would lose from Hawkeye. So you pay”.

“I can pay half” Riza offered, not ready to deal with Rebecca’s screaming. Rebecca closed her mouth, then shrugged. “ Fine. Ice queen pays next time though”.

Riza handed her some bills, watching Rebecca for a moment as she struggled to stand up and staggered toward the bar.

Olivier leaned in. “How serious were you that you never miss your mark?”.

Riza studied her lips for a moment. They looked very soft. As far as she could see underneath the suit, Olivier was built like the goddamn powerhouse she was , with broad shoulder and well-defined muscles. “ How drunk are you, Olivier?”.

“Not drunk enough to forget I have wanted this the first time I saw you assemble your gun. What about you, Riza?”.

“ I don’t even know” she answered honestly, and leaned in even more. “ This, however, is a very public place”.

“ Hm “.

“ And I want privacy because if I start to kiss you, I want to follow it up with other things too”.

Olivier smirked. “Such as?”.

“ Well- “.

“Bill paid! Stop the bloody tension already and go take her home Riza”.

Riza slowly moved back. “ Rebecca- “.

“ I will get a cab, so you can finally get some”. She smirked at Armstrong. “ It was nice that you joined, ice queen”.

Olivier inclined her head “ Goodnight”.

Rebecca straight-on cackled. “Not as good as yours, I am sure”. She gave Olivier a clumsy hug, then pulled Riza up to hug her properly before disappearing after some choice comments that had Riza pushing her away.

Olivier stood up as well. “Where exactly is this home of yours?”.

“Not far from here”.

“Perfect” Olivier said, moving closer to Riza. She pushed her shoulder against hers, and Riza felt their fingers brush for a moment. Her breath actually stuttered for a moment.

She licked her lips. “ Are you ready to go?”.

Olivier smirked. “ Wherever you want me”.

Riza certainly did not mind the images that provoked. Not that the one in front of her wasn’t already very much appreciated- the suit really did look very good. She really needed to take her home. And perhaps on a proper dinner sometime.

She didn’t work under Armstrong- surely that meant this did not violate the fraternization rules? And if it did, she couldn’t bring herself to care. She deserved at least a night, surely. Or whatever they would give each other.

Whatever had never sounded better.

#riza hawkeye x olivier mira armstrong #armstrong x hawkeye #olivier mira armstrong #riza hawkeye #riza hawkeye x roy mustang #pride month project #I plan to write more for these two esp because I am so out of practise when it comes to writing fanfic gods #but first! different pride projects :')

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demetrius-haggarty · 2 years ago

Note

Theodora,

I appreciate your support, you know I do. But you have to admit that I'm not the most intuitive when it comes to magic. If I can do something with my hands, then why bother with a spell? I takes me a lot of time to properly cast something and I can only really remember it if I use it daily. Like when I was forced to stay with my great aunt — to this day I can cast Protego practically in my sleep.

*Demetrius shudders a little writing that. He could cast a lot more than just Protego as a result.*

But we are learning so many useless spells that as soon as we are done — they are out of my head! My gramps says my wand is partially to blame as well since it is not mine, just a hand-me-down.

Sorry, I'm rambling again. I also might have overshot with the idea of a greenhouse, we'd still need to get the materials somehow. I have the instruments, there's plenty of wood and stone around, and charming said instruments is one of the rare things I can actually do. The main frame would look rather crude though, I'm sorry. Unless you're ok with something more natural looking.

But getting something like glass? I honestly do not even know where to buy some, and it's rather expensive, too. Maybe while looking for protective charms we you can also see if there are any charms we you can use on the window frames? Something that would keep the moisture and temperature in on top of protection? Oh, if there is something like that I'm not even sure we need the window frames... A nice veranda perhaps? Just surrounded by a bunch of protective charms?

*Meech scratches his head reading the part where Theodora calls him a natural leader. The only natural thing about it is the chomping cabbages he can lead into battle. He doesn't want to have anything to do with leading people. Or following anybody. He's much better on his ow— oh, unbeliefable? Is that a pun? Meech gets distracted from his own distraction by trying to wiggle his brain enough to come up with at least something in return. Language like that often eludes him and he is glad Theo highlighted the important bits to him.*

Thank you for your ecourage-mint. If it's not too much work, do ask the girls if they want to join. I already sent an owl to Professor Weasley to see if we are good to go. I can also ask Olivier, I think he's fond of plants, too, though I've heard that he is rather busy those days.

Always happy to hear from you,

Meech.

P. S. I don't think being a leader suits me, Theo >:( I makes me a bit uneasy and I don't want to ruin anything accidentally. I know what you would say to that so don't say it! Maybe we can all be leaders or nobody leads? Anything other than me leading, really >:D

Demetrius,

Thank you again for inquiring as to the state of my plants after the terrible storm that rolled through. It seemed to come out of nowhere! Almost had me wondering if a Thunderbird was at fault...though I could have SWORN Professor Howin said they were native to North America...suspicious.

Anyhow...I had to write you for two reasons:

To implore you to please teach me more of those protective charms you are currently using for your garden... a good amount of my dittany plants were taken out by the storm, and I'm still crying about it like a mandrake looking for ways to hopefully avoid that for the next time around, and need your help!

@ask-wren-zhang mentioned something about a 'Shrub Club'? What do you know of this....and more importantly where can I sign up?

Your Fellow Herbology Nerd,

Theo

Theodora,

I was so sorry to hear that some of your plant friends did get damaged in that storm! It is sadly what nature does. Back home when our crops get damaged we just accept that those events come unexpectedly and that we should be happy for what is still left intact. I feel bad for thinking that way but sometimes it also means less work for me later in the season since it's not like my gramps is going to walk around collecting vegetables, it always ends up being me >:(

Regarding your reasons, I wish I had answers for the first one but you've seen me in most of the classes that we share: I am kinda rubbish as magic. The only protective spells I am great at are the ones we learn in DADA and mostly because I happened to use them a lot. But who said magic is the only answer? Well, sure, we you we can do some research into proper spells but I think you will do a much better job at those than I. I can, however, do a lot of regular stuff, building some supports, maybe protective covers, some sort of a makeshift greenhouse even, for some of your more precious babies? Mandrakes do need to be protected! My hands were made for crafting and building while you can do some research into the protective charms at the same time! Maybe you can even teach me a thing or two. But only if it's not too much studying...

Now. The Shrub Club? I cannot believe this title actually spread, I've only mentioned it to Magnolia (@justmagnoliaellistor) in passing once, and then Wren (@ask-wren-zhang) knows about it somehow, and now you! I, er, didn't think that far ahead when I got this idea… Perhaps somebody else should do the organizing… But the idea is simple: we just love plants. We talk about plants. We talk with plants. We plant the plants. Everything is plants! We can try and organize our meetings a few times a week in one of the smaller greenhouses? I do not think we really need any papers to sign, I certainly do not have that much parchment left to last me until the end of the month to make people sign things. I'm not really comfortable organizing anything on my own anyway... Just a word from you is enough so that I know who is curious.

Your proud (but unsure?) Shrub Club leader,

Meech

#Shrub Club #Theodora #d. h.#Meech's handwriting was never too clear or neat #But anyone reading this letter could see that something went even more wrong than usually #when Meech was writing the name of the his French Hufflepuff friend #it came out worse than it usually would have #as if the writer tried not to make a big deal out of writing the name #and the opposite happened #the name clearly standing out from the rest of the paragraph.

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hellfire-damnation · 5 years ago

Text

Hum Hallelujah || Marginally Catholic

[Backdated: Mid-June, before the bar fight and after prom.]

Claude has a good night’s sleep, which prompts singing and a conversation about parents and one’s good behavior.

TW: None, this is just a good ol’ wholesome conversation.

@every-last-inch-of-me

CLAUDE:

It had been one of the rare times last evening that Claude did not wake up covered in sweat, his chest heaving. Whatever he had done to stave off the night terrors he did not know, merely that he was grateful for the lone night of respite. The feeling was a foreign one to him, so strange that he had no clue how to identify it until it was too late. It had already swallowed him whole and, truth be told, Claude almost didn’t want it to ever let him go. There was something serene about a clear mind. His medication helped with that, had been doing so for a while, but he had not felt like he had this morning in a long, long time.

He busied himself in the kitchen, still in boxers and a white tank top, hair a bit sleep mussed and glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. There wasn’t meant to be anyone by for a few hours yet and the Frenchman hoped to make a bit of headway on his final projects for his specialization and look into the music for the play. He had memorized the sheet music and could play it in his sleep, but the harmonies he did not quite know off the top of his head. He could get by, but Claude liked to be prepared.

Singing the words to one of the songs he’d had to learn to play the music for, Claude stirred honey into his tea, leaned back against the counter and staring out the window to the lake, past the cemetery and onto the field behind. Saint twined through his legs, purr rumbling against the side of his leg as the tomcat tried to get his attention.

GASTON:

Gaston was up uncharacteristically early. Or late. Depending on how you look at it. There had been a handful of patrons desperate to keep the night alive and - though his license to sell technically ended at 1am - he'd let them stay. He wasn't the type to turn away good business and he'd learned ways to get around those kinds of things, should the police come calling.

By the time he'd finished wiping the bar and turning the chairs, the sun was already rising, crisp and fresh through the eastern windows.

He'd crossed the path to the church, using the spare key to slide in through the back in hopes of finally retrieving his confiscated bottle of vodka while the priest was asleep. Only, he realized as he made his way up to the living quarters, that the priest wasn't asleep at all.

Gaston lingered by the door to the kitchen a moment, just to listen to the dulcet tones of the other man's voice and watch the gentle whir of his fingers against the spoon. He hadn't realized he could sing at all. Let alone in a way that hummed off the floorboards and danced with the dust and made the room feel whole. His mother had liked to sing in the mornings, though her voice had been a lot softer and a lot less trained. And for a second, as the golden light poured across the table, it almost felt like home.

When the tune met a break, he stepped into the room, coaxing Spider the cat towards him with the tips of his fingers and letting out a soft laugh. "Alright, Susan Boyle. No need to show off."

CLAUDE:

The priest continued his singing, the sound carrying throughout the empty space around him, not realizing he was being watched. There was a certain peace in the moment, here, that was rare for him to obtain. It was something he very rarely felt comfortable doing if it was not given a reason or, rather, if he did not feel up to it.

And, then, the floorboard creaked behind him.

Claude's voice cut off abruptly and he looked up, startled, as he took in the form of the man standing across from him in the kitchen. His heart leaped into his throat and, for a moment, all he could do was stare. He looked away after a moment, chewing at his lip as he tried to calm his nerves. He hadn't even heard the man come in. Saint, for all the good he had done him, pranced over to the other man with his tail curled, happy to see him.

"My mother used to sing," he said quietly, levering himself up onto the counter. He plucked a mug from the shelving next to him and held it out towards him as he stared out the window. "It is one of the few things I remember of her."

GASTON:

His fingernails worked behind the cat’s ears, feeling his soft and albeit scruffy head press fondly into the palm of his hand. Gaston had always loved cats. They were comforting little creatures that desperately need all the attention and were simultaneously excellent at independence. He felt a solidarity with them, likely for that reason, that he didn’t get with dogs. Most of all with, of course, his Zoom Zoom. But after Zoom (singular: the original Zoom), Spider was a close third.

He glanced up as the priest began to talk, raising from his knees and moving over to take the cup. He hadn’t known the priest had parents. Well, he had, in that everyone had had parents at some point in their life. If only for the conception. But he hadn’t known Father Frollo had known them long enough to remember them. “So did mine,” he mused as he dropped a teabag into the mug. “Maybe it’s a mum thing. Definitely makes waking up a bit less shit.”

Gaston, by contrast, wouldn’t dare sing, lest someone heard him. Mostly, because he wasn’t very good at it, or at least had never tried hard enough to find out. The closest thing he did to singing was getting drunk and shouting along to songs.

He lifted the kettle and filled his cup, before leaving it to brew a moment. “What was her name?” He asked as he leaned back against the countertop.

CLAUDE:

The priest watched for a moment as the tomcat arched his back and pressed forward into Gaston's hand, craving the attention the other man sought to give him. It was amusing, really, watching such a large person interacting with such a small animal and feeling a fondness for it that he might not show otherwise. Of course, Claude knew that was a lie, that Gaston was fond of many things, but he would not tell a soul.

Turning back to the window, the Frenchman hummed quietly to himself until Gaston came to join him, the last few notes echoing off the ceiling and the stained glass. The humming paused when Gaston spoke, and Claude turned a curious eye to him, the edges of his eyes crinkling as he offered up a small smile. "It probably is, though I do not think all mothers sound the same." But he did agree, from what he remembered of her it made everything...better. Both of his parents had.

"Amélie," he whispered, voice soft "her name was Amélie." It was one of the few things he knew to be true, just like the likeness of her that stained his arm. Well, the parts of it that were intact. "There is a picture of her and my father in my room. You may get it, if you like. It is on the bedside table. But...it is what I used for the angel." He tapped a forefinger against his shoulder, huffed a laugh.

GASTON:

Gaston nodded. That was true enough. His mother had sounded soft and gentle and ever so young. Probably because she was. If she'd been alive today she would have been -- oh Christ, he'd forgotten her birthday… forty nine? Nearly fifty?

It was one of his biggest regrets, that he'd never listened to her as much as he could have done. Or his father for that matter. He'd spent so much time trying to be cool and wishing they weren't there, to tell him what to do or clip him round the earhole when he came home from a party late, that he sometimes wondered if it was him that had wished them out of existence.

His eyes trailed to the scarred angel and he nodded. French names were always so pretty compared to their British counterparts. His own mother's, which had strangers often pronounced in English, took a certain softness in their native tongue.

Quickly fishing the teabag from its cup and dropping it in the bin on the way past, he dipped into the next room and brought the frame back with him, passing it to the priest. "You look like her," he hummed.

CLAUDE:

Claude could feel Gaston's eyes trailing over him but, for once, it was a time where he did not mind. He'd been the one to point out the angel, after all, and truthfully he did not mind if Gaston looked. He was comfortable with him, perhaps almost solely with him, and he had ceased to try to figure out why. Gaston was a good person, even beneath all of his bluster and bravado, and it endeared him to the man.

He listened as Gaston tossed the tea bag in the bin and his footsteps disappeared into the room over, came back a moment later. Turning, the priest saw the exact picture he'd spoken of. It was an old one but one of the few he had been allowed to keep. There had not been many pictures taken of he and his family, or so he had been told, and it was one of his most precious memories.

Glancing up, Claude quirked a smile at the other man and murmured a quiet thank you. He supposed he did look like her, more so than he ever would his father, but there were traits of Marc Olivier there, as well. Taping the man over the glass, the priest took a drink of his tea before speaking.

"We lived in the Vercors region. My father was a vintner, a farmer. We had land. I do not think...I do not know what my mother did but-" a pause, a slight smile, "I suppose she helped him. I suppose, if things had been different, I would have, as well. I remember we had a dog. A scruffy little thing, though I do not know what happened to him."

The thought, in a way, made him sad. He knew what had become of his parents, what had happened to him, but the dog that had been his childhood friend? He had no idea.

GASTON:

Gaston nodded, gazing between the faces in the picture, the clothes. It was very much of the time. Truth be told he couldn't imagine Claude as a farmer. Though he knew full well that it was an occupation that trickled through generations like water in the sand. If his parents hadn't moved to England, it was likely what he'd be doing now himself. His grandfather was certainly hoping for it. Even if these days you had to spend three years at University thinking about it.

That was part of the reason papi had always been a bit of an arse about his father. Anne-Sophie was an only child and Gaston was certain his grandfather had expected her to take on the farm.

While Christian's family had been farmers too, his mother was also the mayor of the small town and wanted her son to go on to better things. When she'd seen he'd had a passion for brewing, she'd encouraged him to explore it as far away from the small world of rural France as possible. And papi, of course, had decided that it meant the LaCarrieres looked down on him and his existence.

Saint hopped onto the counter and curled between them, purring quietly. "You sure he didn't get reincarnated as a cat?" He teased. It seemed the priest had a fondness for scruffy beasts.

CLAUDE:

The quietness washed over them and Claude let it be, content, for the moment, to sit in it. There was nothing stilted about this kind of conversation, not with the other man. He had found, and rightfully so, that they did not always need words to feel like it was a conversation. The priest could see the gears turning in the other man's head as plainly as if he were speaking aloud, but he would not push him to voice whatever it was he was thinking on.

Still, when Saint hopped up onto the counter, delicate paws clicking against the tiles and a scratchy meow bellowing at him, Claude had to smile. Unfurling one hand from around his cup, the priest scratched behind the tomcat's ears, earning much louder purring for his troubles. He chuckled quietly at what Gaston said, eyes crinkling as he glanced over to him.

"Mmm perhaps. It is hard to say. Saint is certainly scruffy enough, isn't he?" He wondered what had happened with Gaston's own parents, though he knew from the silence of it that it had been something much like his own case. "The last time I saw him was just before I was taken to the church by a..mmm concerned neighbor. I am sure he lived with one of them." Or, at least, that was his hope. He would not have known, truthfully, whether or not that was the case.

GASTON:

"Maybe. Or maybe he went to a pets trust. Got taken in by a loving family and died of happily of old age." Gaston nudged the priest in the ribs and smirked. "Look, you've got me putting sparkles in the shit now."

Though he knew for sure there could be a reality in that. His parents had got the first Zoom from a shelter when he was still only toddling. They never knew the extent of her background, just that she'd been taken from her mother very early and was a little strange. Gaston had always been convinced that she thought she was just as human as the rest of them. She'd felt a little like she was. And he'd loved her for it.

He took a lingering sip of his tea, warming his hands on the cup. Considering the time, he was feeling surprisingly awake. No doubt the tiredness would catch up with him eventually. But for now, their little chat was keeping him occupied. "Did he have a name?"

CLAUDE:

The priest nodded, considering the question as he took another swallow of his drink. "I am sure, though if he did I do not remember it. I was...six or seven I think. It has been three decades since they passed. It is easy to forget such things." Still, he smiled at the ribbing, the smirk on Gaston's face. It was something easy to hold onto, simple where things in his life had not been.

Gaston LaCarriere was many things, Claude supposed, but complicated was not one of them. Not to him, anyway.

The priest found himself still staring after a moment, noticing the dark circles under Gaston's eyes and the way his shoulders seemed to slump. Even with the smile on his face, he still looked tired. "You have not slept yet, have you," he murmured, voice dropping with concern. Watching his face for a moment, the Frenchman sighed and then shook his head, unfolding himself from where he was sitting and hopping off the counter beside the other man. "Finish your drink and then go use my room or the spare. I do not care which. But you should rest."

GASTON:

The barman shrugged and tilted his head, blowing on his tea as he raised the mug to his lips. He wasn't sure he'd ever forget a name like that. But then, he'd forgotten his mother's birthday and really, that was almost the same thing. After all, he hadn't even had trauma to contend with. Just nine years of distance and twenty of disinterest before that.

His gaze raised at the comment and he shook his head. He was tired, true enough. But he was very much of the opinion that as long as he didn't think about it, it wouldn't hit him half as hard. And it had been working. Almost. Though at even the mention of a bed, he could feel his eyelids growing heavy.

"Nah, it's not like my house isn't a two second walk away and-" He stifled a yawn and took a quick sip of his drink in an attempt to revitalise himself. "If I go to sleep now, I'll forget what I came here for. Unfortunately, it wasn't a solo rendition of Les Miserables."

CLAUDE:

Claude felt the corner of his mouth curling upward at the stifled yawn. It was almost like talking with a stubborn child, except Gaston was a grown man and should have known how to regulate his own sleeping habits. And, yet, here he stood, settled into the corner of Claude's kitchen with a mug of tea and fighting valiantly against the pull of sleep trying to claim him. The priest folded his arms across his chest and leaned a hip against the counter, quirking a brow at his friend.

"Mmmhmm. And I suppose you have a better reason to loaf around my kitchen than you do using a room?" Shaking his head, he allowed the small smile on his face to grow, eye contact breaking when Saint mewled at them again. The tomcat rubbed up against Gaston's side for a second before padding towards the priest across the countertop. Normally, Claude would have chided him for walking all over the place and set him on the floor, but the early morning light and the precious rest he'd gotten was enough to curb his tongue.

He looked back to the other man after a moment, shooting him a skeptical look. "If you had wanted to go back to the bar you would have. You are not missing much if you sleep, you know. Just some poorly done singing." He paused, cocking his head to the side for a moment before humming to himself. "Which will continue if you actually go to sleep. I have to run through the rest of the play anyhow."

GASTON:

Gaston rubbed the cat with his elbow and glanced at the priest with drowsy eyes. Though, by this point, he was fuelled by determination alone, he really wished Claude would stop talking to him about things like sleep and bed, because the thought itself was beginning to work its way into his mind. Give it a couple of minutes and he'd be asleep standing up, if the tea didn't kick in quick enough.

"You trying to say I'm here to bask in the joy of your company?" He asked, eyebrow raised, as a faint smirk tickled the corner of his lips. "I'm here to claim back my booze. Thank you very much. It's been in your custody for long enough. I'm taking it out on bail." After a final, quick blow, he took a burning sip of his tea and glanced at the cupboard that looked like the most likely suspect.

CLAUDE:

Cocking his head to the side, the priest felt the corner of his lip pulling up at the stubborn set to Gaston's forehead. Even in his tiredness, the other man was trying so desperately to stay awake. "I was saying that, yes, but if you are so unappreciative you know where the door is, nounours."

Turning his back on the other man, Claude checked the clock with a sigh, fishing around in the cupboards for a bowl and whisk. Carrying both in his arms, the man deposited them on the kitchenette's island before gesturing to the other man. "That hasn't seen the light of day since it was taken. If you're going to stay pass me some flour and eggs would you?"

He was making breakfast. If Gaston was staying, he could help or he could go sleep.

GASTON:

The barman fought the urge to pull a face at the priest. He did know exactly where the door was, yes. But he didn't want to leave quite yet. Not without the drink he came here for and, now, not without the breakfast he'd just invited himself to.

Breaking his gaze from the suspect cupboard, he grabbed the ingredients and slid them across the counter top towards the awaiting bowl, before settling back into his original position. "Probably hasn't. But I plan on showing it the beauty of sunlight. It deserves that kind of happiness in its short life," he said, rocking his palms against the corner of the granite. "And let's be fair, you can't just rob a man of his hard earned drink."

He stifled another yawn, popping himself back upright, and moved with his cup of tea towards the living space. "If you're making breakfast, I'm gonna go sit down."

CLAUDE:

"Mm does it? I don't think so. At any rate, you won't be finding it in here." He spoke as he worked, deftly cracking eggs and whisking the contents of flour, milk, and egg together to form batter. It was a simple task, easily done with half an eye on the contents. "Pancakes or waffles?" He called after the retreating footsteps, already planning on one or the other.

"Oh but I have. You left it here. It is now mine. You can earn it back with good behavior." The lilt to his voice was amused, a small smile catching at his mouth while he said it. It was easy, companionable, even if the conversation was a tad off-color. He found that was how these things usually went with Gaston and he had almost come to expect them.

Turning back towards the other, Claude leaned against the counter with a raised brow, waiting for him to respond while the pan warmed.

GASTON:

The barman lolled his head back against the cushions of the couch, closing his eyes and blindly coaxing the cat over with pinched fingers. There was something soothing about the company of a cat that he just couldn't resist. It was probably why he spent more time than was strictly necessary tricking his own cat into spending time with him. "Pancakes. Whatever. I'm easy," he said before furrowing his brows as Claude's words finally settled in his tired brain.

"But wait one fucking second there," he started, raising his head and looking to the man with an eye cracked. "I'm fucking living and breathing good behavior right now. Pretty sure I've got enough good behavior backdated to get me my drink back and a whole crate of beer in interest."

CLAUDE:

Satisfied with that form of a half-answer, the priest could not help but chortle quietly to himself. "I am not the one who said it." Turning back to the pan, the Frenchman nodded to himself as he ladled dollops of batter onto the heat. "But pancakes it is." He let the silence drift again, filled by the sound of Claude's own quiet humming and the popping of batter against the heat of the pan.

When Gaston broke it a few moments later, the priest could not help but laugh once more. He gestured with the spatula in his hand, shrugging a shoulder as he turned at the waist to quirk an eyebrow at him. "Backdate it longer. At any rate, the liquor is not here. Not where you can find it anyway."

GASTON:

Gaston raised an eyebrow and let a laugh out from his nose. Sometimes he wondered if the priest was always as daring, as cheeky, as he was in Gaston's presence. If the old ladies got the teasing and the innuendoes, or at very least, the friends he spent the rest of his time with when he wasn't at his bar, giving him judging glances and flirting with his cat - if he had any, besides the girl he'd seen him dancing with at prom.

His hand broke from the cat for a moment to stifle a yawn, and he nuzzled into the cushion beneath him. "I'll backdate it right up your arse."

CLAUDE:

"I'm sure you would but buy me dinner first," the priest deadpanned, flipping one of the last pancakes before pressing it into the heat of the frying pan. When the last one was finished, Claude reached over and flicked the heat off. Beside him was a pile of pancakes, complete with butter and syrup beside them.

"Come get food before you fall asleep, Gaston," he called over his shoulder, padding across the kitchen to wash the spatula in the sink.

GASTON:

Through the haze of sleep, Gaston smirked a little. The ambient noise of Claude cooking had laid the perfect foundation for his tiredness to consume him. Though not quite so much that he missed the little joke. God, he was never living that down.

His head slipped down slightly into the cushions of the chair. He'd thought he'd heard Claude speak again, but somehow the words didn't take root and instead he drifted into the warm clutches of sleep.

#ch: gaston #p: hum hallelujah #r: marginally catholic #//we've been working on these for ages so that's totally why you're getting them all now

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rixmatthews-blog · 5 years ago

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Adeste+ Lisbon 2019 - Day 1

Apology in advance: some of the Portuguese names of places don’t have the correct accents above them as I couldn’t work out how to do this on my mac. I’ve tried, I promise. Not just being lazy. If you’ll forgive me for this, then enjoy the below. Thank you.

---

After a lovely weekend exploring the beautiful Lisbon (my first time here but it certainly won’t be my last) walking many miles and drinking more than one glass of port, it was with a sense of excitement, anxiety and anticipation that I started the Adeste+ Summer School today, defined on the literature as “a programme aimed at expanding cultural participation by bringing the audience to the centre of cultural organisations.”

With a cup of strong black coffee (quietly reminding myself how hard it is to walk and drink at the same time…), a notebook, my laptop, a socially unacceptable quantity of unusable pens, a broken umbrella and very little else - certainly no real sense of what to expect or the format of the week ahead of me - I arrived at the São Luiz Teatro in the centre of Lisbon, a beautiful theatre in the heart of the city celebrating its 125th birthday this year, owned and funded by “the municipality” (the city).

After meeting some of the other lovely delegates (over a welcome coffee and delicious pastry or two) from Italy, Croatia, Spain, The Azores, Amsterdam and Poland to name but a few, we were taken into the main auditorium. Having thought “ok this is all going to be ok - I’m going to quite enjoy this”, my earlier anxiety very quickly re-surfaced when Aida Tavares, the Artistic Director announced that this seemingly traditional 700-seat three-tiered proscenium theatre (think Lyric Hammersmith, Apollo Shaftesbury Avenue or The Old Vic) would be the perfect place for us to make our presentations. Presentation? sorry did I just hear PRESENTATION? WHAT PRESENTATION? SHIT! WHAT DID I MISS? WHAT EMAIL DIDN’T I READ PROPERLY!?

(Breathe Richard, breathe).

It quickly transpired that all that was meant by “presentation” was to introduce ourselves by name and organisation - much more in-line with my level of preparation. Phew. Ok this - THIS - I can deal with.

We found out more about the theatre in which we were sat - and in the best possible way - it quickly became clear that it was much less traditional than its architecture; EVERY production they programme in the main house has relaxed, audio described and sign-interpreted performances; the Artistic Directors of all the theatres across Lisbon work together and collaboratively as one eco-system working together for the same audience; as well as the main auditorium, there is also a 100-seater black box space in the basement which programmes for young audiences and families; unlike a recent season announced at our National Theatre in London, their current season has seen work from 30 women and 11 men; their ticket prices are incredibly accessible - top price in the main house is €17, and an annual subscription for €10 means customers get 50% off. Prices in the black box are €3 for first-time attenders. Move me to Lisbon now.

We also heard about a fascinating, innovative and frankly quite genius project which I LOVE called “The audience receives” from an independent theatre company who were working with the venue to develop audiences from “positive non-attenders” (e.g. people who are already warmed-up to the idea of going to the theatre, but for whatever reason don’t actually go). The idea of the project is to give members of the public not only cultural access, but also cultural governance. Participants are worked with on a long-term basis - 2 years. Within year 1, participants go to rehearsals, meet artistic teams, see shows and discuss them afterwards through focus groups. Within the second year, participants are actually handed the venue - they sell tickets at the box office, they work backstage, and ultimately they programme the theatre. I really love this. It reminded me that effective audience development isn’t a quick process, it needs real time and investment (in this case 2 years) and it needs genuine and authentic buy in and a passion to make it work across the whole organisation.

For the afternoon - which is also where we will be based for the rest of the week - we headed to the Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation just outside of the city centre, a brutalist complex in a style similar to the Barbican in London, surrounded by beautiful gardens and, even better, with at least one lovely cafe selling wine (it’s just a fact - before you judge, I was very good and self-restrained. I can’t be falling asleep in the afternoon session now can I).

The afternoon session kicked off with some introductions, and a keynote speech from the brilliant Anne Torreggiani, CEO of The Audience Agency (partners on Adeste+), and it was also great to see other Audience Agency peeps again Penny Mills and Jonathan Goodacre (who I’ve worked with on various projects in the past).

Some of the thinking and methodologies behind the programme/Summer School were explained, primarily a “Design Thinking” approach to audience development. This was totally new to me, but it basically means trying by doing - or “protyping” - making mistakes and learning from mistakes - and ultimately putting the audience member first: asking their opinion, involving them and learning from them. (There’s other stuff to, I’ll expand on this in later posts as this one is far too long already). Although “Design Thinking Audience Development” is a bit of a fancy term, I totally endorse all these ways of working, and while colleagues, friends and family throughout my career and life have reassured me that it’s ok to make mistakes (and I’ve never quite 100% believed them - sorry everyone, nothing personal) it’s really refreshing to hear this in a very formal and academic setting.

We also heard some case studies from a couple of other arts organisations in Lisbon with a brilliant audience development ethos at their heart - including Teatro Luis de Camoes (affectionatley known as LU.CA) which is a theatre producing brilliant work for children and young people, and Carpintaris S. Lazaro, a new contemporary arts centre.

So that was Day 1. I met a lot of lovely people and took in a lot, not all of which I’ve properly absorbed yet, but once it’s downloaded from my brain it will probably appear in this blog. After the lectures and seminars had finished, I had a walk around the beautiful Gulbenkian grounds, I met an elderly cat, and I met a duck, who was resting its beak on the footpath (seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do). Both are pictured below. I spoke to my wonderful partner Olivier, and I remembered how lucky I am to work for Graeae, and to work with colleagues who I can also call friends.

All in all a great start to the week. Bring on day 2. NOW for wine.

#adeste

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aquietwritingcorner · 4 years ago

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Comfortember 2020 Day 17: Flashbacks Word Count: 1282 Author: Katie/Ally (aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl) Rating: T Characters: Alex Armstrong and Riza Hawkeye Warnings: Summary: Soldiers who come back from war have a lot to deal with. Alex has been back for longer than his fellow soldier. Maybe he can lend a hand, when Riza needs it. Notes: I think these two being at least friendly if not outright friends would be nice to see more of.

Flashbacks

A sound caught Alex’s ear as he walked across the grounds of Eastern Command. He was, for the moment, stationed here, although he expected that change at some point in the future, thanks to his family’s pull. He already knew that his family name was the main reason he was able to retain his rank and position. He was positive that Olivier had done something for him, too, although she refused to talk to him, so he had no idea what.

But regardless, this was where he was, with troops that had returned from Ishval flooding the city, many of them, like him, awaiting new orders. He was honestly looking forward to a transfer. Although he’d serve anywhere with pride and honor, it was hard for him here, with the knowledge of how he had failed fresh on people’s minds. Some refused to have anything to do with him. Others simply kept their reactions to the bare minimum. Many were unsure of him, didn’t know how to react to him, so remained polite, but weren’t warm. A scant few were kind to him, and those he valued.

Maes Hughes was one of those few, and through him he had gotten better acquainted with Roy Mustang and been introduced to Riza Hawkeye. Roy Mustang was calculating, a man that had more to him then met the eye, and he and Hughes were up to something. Alex had the feeling more then once that he was being evaluated for something, although what that was, he didn’t know.

Riza Hawkeye had interested him, though. It was clear that she and Mustang had some sort of history together, something different and deeper than what Mustang and Hughes had, although those two were clear and loyal friends. She was a thin whisp of a girl, a pretty thing, or would have been if she didn’t look so haggard. Her eyes were tired and pained, and there seemed to be some sort of struggle going on within her. But still, her tired and thin smiles, and the verbal barbs that she’d throw at Mustang, not afraid at all to call him out had warmed Alex to her. It was a refreshing honesty, and he wondered if she would do good under his sister. She certainly looked like she could use some sort of mentor or someone to help her with whatever she was struggling with. Olivier was tough, but she cared about those under her command. She would help Hawkeye, if Hawkeye was open to it.

He had thought about writing his sister or trying to find an official way to contact her, but he hadn’t yet done it, not about Riza Hawkeye. In fact, the post office was where he was heading now, to see if his family had written him and to try to send another letter to Olivier, when the sound caught his ear. It sounded distressed, scared, and he couldn’t help but follow it. It took him a moment to find the source, as whoever it was had hidden well, in one of the odd corners that existed after buildings had been built and crowded into the grounds. It was in one of these areas that he spotted her.

“Warrant Officer Hawkeye?” he said.

She gasped and jerked around, her handgun aimed at him. He stopped, not wanting to startle her further, but after a moment she seemed to recognize him.

“Major Armstrong,” she said, her voice a bit shaky. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just heading to the post office,” he said, watching her closely. She had drawn her gun back from him, but she hadn’t holstered it yet. Interesting.

“What?” she said looking at him a little confused. “The mail doesn’t reach out here. Who would be fool enough to deliver letters here?”

That didn’t seem to make much sense, but then again, there were several things about this that didn’t. She seemed to be on high alert, she was breathing rapidly, and something in her eyes just seemed off.

“Warrant Officer are you alright?” he asked her.

She let out a bark of laughter that seemed more sardonic then anything. “Is anyone alright out here? But no, sir. I’m not wounded, but I’ve lost my rifle. I have no idea how I’m going to get out of here—begging your pardon, sir, but it seems like we’re both pinned down now.”

Understanding dawned in Armstrong. She thought she was back in Ishval. He had no idea what had prompted this, although he supposed what mattered now was making sure that she was safe and that she didn’t hurt anyone else. She had recognized him, but did that mean that she’d recognize others? He wasn’t going to risk it, not with her being armed and such a crack shot. That was just inviting danger.

But how to deal with this? Well, she didn’t seem to think that he was a threat, so he decided to move further into the space with her.

“Perhaps we can wait it out,” he said, playing along for now. “You found a hidden and defensible location here. I can hide us better, if you wish, and we can wait for them to leave or for backup to arrive. It would be better than fighting a losing battle.”

She considered this for a moment. “Alright,” she said. “If that’s what you think is best, sir.”

He nodded and then, pulling on his gauntlets, very gently raised up a wall at the entrance, and then another from the wall to give them a sort of cover without blocking them in completely. She would be concerned with cover from above as a sniper, he knew. She had already been eyeing the rooftops suspiciously. The walls weren’t very thick in actuality, but it was enough to fool her in her current state. She looked over it with a critical eye, and then nodded, apparently deeming it good enough to protect them.

“Why don’t you sit down?” he suggested. “Nothing is going to get in her without warning.”

She looked, he noticed now, exhausted. Had she even been sleeping? Or was she like him, plagued with nightmares? He was after he had first returned. He still got them, although not as badly now that he had time to process events and had sought out help for it. But she wasn’t long returned. It would be within reason to think that she wasn’t sleeping well or at all. And he had no idea if she would even know enough to seek out someone to help her. It wasn’t a common thing, although Alex felt that it should be after soldiers returned from war.

She hesitated at his offer. “…What if they come?” she asked.

“Then I’ll wake you,” he said.

She still hesitated. “….do you promise?” she pressed him.

“I swear it to you, Riza Hawkeye,” he said.

She nodded and made her way to a corner where she rested with her back in it. He noticed that she kept her gun out, in her hand, and he was suspicious that it wasn’t the first time she had slept like that, and that, if she had her rifle, she would be holding onto it while she slept instead. She tried to stay awake, just resting, but her body was too tired, it seemed, and after a few moments, she nodded off to sleep.

Armstrong didn’t move. He’d do as he said, and he’d watch over her for as long as she slept. If she felt safe with him guarding her back, then he’d accept that honor and let her sleep for as long as she needed to.

After all, he understood.

#comfortember #comfortember 2020 #Riza Hawkeye #alex louis armstrong #fma #Fullmetal Alchemist #fma fanfiction #fma fanfic #Fullmetal Alchemist fan fic #fullmetal alchemist fan fiction

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kiruuuuu · 6 years ago

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Monty/Bandit continuation in which Bandit hatches and follows through with a plan. (Rating T, it’s very slowly getting better, ~2.2k words)

The other parts of Protection Mountain can be found via tags or here on my Masterpost! (Mobile version here)

“You’re going to collapse if you keep going like this.”

“How convenient, the hospital is right there.”

Blitz doesn’t seem to appreciate his sarcasm and glares at him from the side. “Look, starving yourself isn’t going to achieve anything, except worry him to bits the next time he sees you.”

“Which will be when?”

A sigh. “I don’t know. He took the brunt of that explosion. It’ll be a while, I assume, Six is already asking me whether it’s possible for me to come back.”

“Fucking go, then. I don’t need a bloody babysitter, especially not one who’s doing such a terrible job.” Regardless, he nibbles at the nougat-filled croissant Blitz forced onto him. He’s switched to demanding Bandit eat in his presence and, unfortunately, the outside of the hospital offers barely any distractions he could use to his advantage, therefore Bandit doesn’t really have a choice. It’s a miracle he’s not getting thrown off the property as a whole but figures security would rather have him where they can see him. “Your boytoy is probably missing you horribly, too. Let me wither away in peace and go back before Six gets her knickers in a twist. But if she wants me to come back as well, tell her she can shove it right -”

“She wouldn’t.” Blitz absent-mindedly begins taking his own croissant apart without eating any of it, gaze locked on his fingers. Talk about hypocritical. “She knows, Dom. They all know. I get daily inquiries about how he is, but more often about how you’re doing. They know you don’t read their messages and they probably know you’d break down due to the reality of it all if you did, so they ask me instead. We all know how much you love him. How much you love each other.”

“Shut up.” The croissant tastes like cardboard and the nougat reminds him of dark chocolate, so he looks around the ugly courtyard, turns his head away to blink away the tears. It’s becoming a trend and he hates it. “You’re bored out of your mind anyway, I can tell, and you’re fucking sick of me. Go back.”

“You’re going to do dumb shit if I do.”

“This isn’t fucking Romeo and Juliet, I’m not gonna drink bleach a day before he gets released out of the ICU. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Blitz side eyes him and they both know they’ve been friends for long enough that he’s worryingly aware of the kinds of thoughts buzzing around Bandit’s head right after Montagne was injured, when it was still unclear whether he’d make it. “There’s other dumb shit. I don’t know what you’re going to do, I just know you will. Trying to beat up Olivier falls under that, just so you know. It wasn’t his fault, even if both of you seem to think so.”

“Are you even listening to yourself? If I do stupid shit regardless of whether you’re here or not, it obviously doesn’t matter.”

And Blitz just sighs. They know he’s going to leave regardless, though he’ll inevitably keep checking in.

The pattering of small drops on his umbrella is meant to be soothing but if anything, it erodes his patience. He’s sick and tired of spending his days doing nothing, letting his mind run wild, but he’s afraid of the alternative. It’s imperative he spends as little time as possible in the hotel room he used to share, just like he needs to be in the vicinity when it’s visitor hours. He can’t afford to miss Madeleine in case she stops by that day, needs to be here if – if anything happens, but even if it did they probably wouldn’t tell him. It’s illogical to sit here regardless, on his usual bench, slowly feeling his shoes and socks soaking up the rain and cursing himself for not bringing another jacket. He’s freezing and his exhaustion exacerbates the icy feeling in his bones.

But how could he be anywhere else when Montagne is right here?

His days feel empty not only because of how little he actually does for how much time passes but also because there’s no joy in them. Every memory is sullied by worry – even if Montagne recovers fully mentally, what if he can never walk again? The possible long-term consequences are incredibly intimidating, so daunting that he’d rather not consider them at all. Still, when he thinks back to any wonderful moment between them (and they are endless), they loom threateningly in the background, casting a shadow over it all.

Someone comes to a stop in front of him and the boots are too heavy to belong to Madeleine. When he looks up, lifts the umbrella to reveal a dark expression, he scowls in return. “Get the fuck out of my face”, he hisses and decides to maybe leave it at a warning this time. The scratches on Lion’s cheek have healed by now.

“Come on”, the Frenchman growls, rips the umbrella out of his hand and begins walking towards the front entrance of the hospital. Despite how much Bandit wants to stay just to spite him, he might actually end up with hypothermia if he does, and so he eventually gets up and jogs after the thief. Lion shakes off as much water as he can before he returns the umbrella unprompted. “You’re allowed back in, I vouched for you. If you cause trouble again, we’re both banned, so don’t start shit. Got it?”

Bandit heaves a deep breath of relief but can’t bring himself to thank him, not after all he’s done. He nods and they venture forth together, take the stairs, greet the receptionist who squints at Bandit and sit down next to each other. He doesn’t know what Lion wants or why he did it, but the last thing he needs right now is a fucking talk. Fortunately, Lion seems to agree, merely crosses his arms and remains silent.

They sit like this for at least an hour, Bandit tense, Lion unmoving. He doesn’t know whether it really is a test of patience or whether Lion isn’t aware of the anguish his presence alone causes, but it’s beginning to piss him off. “You don’t deserve to be here”, he murmurs eventually, propping up his head on his knees, leaned forwards while Lion is leaning back.

“And if I wasn’t, you’d bitch about that too.”

He’s not wrong. Bandit remembers Blitz’ words: It wasn’t his fault, even if both of you seem to think so. Bullshit. He peers at the other man from the corner of his eye and notes how he, too, seems to have suffered. He looks exhausted, both mentally and physically. “Fucking bastard”, he mumbles.

“Cunt”, says Lion, unperturbed.

“You’re blaming yourself, aren’t you?”

The Frenchman’s brows draw together. “I’ve thought about it a lot. The whole mission. And I’ve come to the conclusion that we didn’t make a mistake, instead we were missing intel we had no way of acquiring prior to going in, intel we weren’t aware of missing. With all the information we had when we planned it, I think I’d agree on doing it all the same way again. I’ve retraced all our steps and it was the best possible approach. Just because the outcome turned out bad doesn’t mean there was a mistake in the decision making.”

Bandit mulls it over. He’s done the same thing but exceedingly more biased, frantically looked for people at whom he could point fingers. Ultimately, he came up empty and this revelation was a whole other punch to the gut: sometimes, life is simply unfair and accepting this isn’t easy. “Yeah”, he offers eventually. “Doesn’t answer my fucking question though.”

“Yes. I am.” Lion uncrosses his arms. “Of course I am.”

And this is unexpected, a show of weakness possibly meant as an armistice. “Me too”, Bandit says and feels a curious gaze on him. “He wouldn’t have been on this fucking mission if not for me. We requested to be deployed together, so we did. This wasn’t really his normal gig, too messy.”

“You can’t know whether he wouldn’t have been sent anyway.”

“No. I can’t. But that doesn’t change anything for me.”

“I have absolutely no fucking idea what he sees in you.”

Bandit catches himself before he agrees, swallows the words with a wistful smile and then shoots back: “And I can’t understand in the slightest why he’s friends with you.” They look at each other and shrug. “He’s just like that, I suppose. He sees something pitiful and he has to nourish it.”

Lion huffs in amusement. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

“Have you met his sister? Madeleine?” A shake of the head. “She’s the only one visiting him at the moment.”

“Oh? What is she saying about his condition?”

“I don’t fucking know, I don’t speak French.” Lion snorts derisively. “Don’t give me that, I’ve seen how bloody lost you are with the people who only speak German here. Maybe you can translate for me the next time she’s here. She might come in later.”

“Sure.”

Bandit ponders this for a while. What is he going to tell her? He can’t really divulge any details as to what happened and as for - “Don’t mention anything about Gilles and me though. Our families don’t know yet.”

Instead of only Madeleine, Bandit meets Montagne’s parents that day and it’s the most awkward fifteen minutes of his life. There he is, hopelessly in love with the son of this overly friendly elderly French couple and terrified of them finding out on top of having to pretend everything is fine between him and his translator who seems to hit it off extremely well with them, when instead all he wants to do is kick Lion in the shins for prolonging the small talk to unbearable lengths. Not to mention he can’t go into detail of how exactly Montagne and he know each other, given that he doesn’t want to reveal their relationship and isn’t sure how much they know (or are even allowed to know) about Rainbow. The members of staff (who can clearly put two and two together and have effortlessly figured out Bandit is longing for his loved one as well as meeting his parents for the very first time) try and fail to suppress smirks the entire time.

It helps that he has a lovely conversation with Madeleine afterwards, learns that she’s a journalist and they exchange anecdotes of Montagne which leave all three of them smiling. Having Lion translate back and forth is annoying but required and despite all, Bandit is grateful for his help. Madeleine closes the conversation by saying how glad she is her brother has such devoted friends and she’ll be sure to stay in contact, laments the regulation of them not being able to visit Montagne regardless, hugs them both and remains blissfully unaware of the seed she’s planted in Bandit’s head.

Blitz left the day before and so his nights are lonely and unproductive, only this one is an exception. Madeleine told a story about the hospital Montagne was born in and it gave Bandit an idea – an idea which requires a bit of researching and a lot of unlawful thinking.

The next day, Bandit is busy. He spends a large part of it perfecting Montagne’s signature until he can forge it with his eyes closed and the rest on scouring the internet for certain French phrases and letter templates. He double and triple checks each one he composes, every single one of them absolutely essential to his plan, therefore they all need to be perfect. What little he remembers of taking French in school helps and eventually, he’s decently satisfied with the result.

Further researching reveals a small obstacle which is solved easily by contacting one of his old buddies who knows someone who in turn knows someone who can put Bandit through to someone who does small favours for small currency, and additionally to making that phone call to the French hospital Bandit needs, he even proofreads Bandit’s mangled letters, laughs at him for half an hour and then corrects them.

Finally, after printing and signing them, he drops them in the mail. Now he just has to wait.

A few days later, Bandit enters the registrar’s office of his home town Berlin, the city in which he’s still listed as a resident. It’s an extremely fortunate coincidence but he would’ve travelled half the country too if it’d been necessary.

“Good morning”, he greets the clerk politely and hands over the papers in his hand which are comprised of all the necessary documents: his and Montagne’s ID (which he left at the hotel when they went on the mission), both birth certificates (and France should really re-think how easy it is to get one of these) and a document certifying that Montagne is indeed single after having been married before. Additionally, he carries a writ of consent stating that Montagne agrees to all of it, signed by no other than Bandit himself. He’s proud of this particular signature and is sure it’d even hold up in court.

It’s all highly official and obtained extremely illegally. And with a smile, he announces: “I would like to get married.”

#rainbow six siege #montagne #bandit #montagne/bandit #fanfic #protection mountain #bandit you tire fire #blitz KNEW it

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