#lots of good stuf.f... that i need to edit. oops

[egoiistas]

Black Tie

Day 2 of Royai Week Rated: T(?) | Words: 2709

It is the end of line, Colonel.

We’re here on this day. It has taken us 15 years, but we’re here. Your efforts will always be appreciated and recognized as one of the drivers of the new era for Amestris. Effective immediately, you are hereby relieved of your duties as adjutant to the Fuhrer and will be given your own unit, quite like back then. I hope you don’t take this personally, but this is how it was always going to be. We’ve met our goals and now the professional thing to do is to go our separate ways.

Signed, Fuhrer Roy Mustang

P.S. Please come to the inauguration ball. I’d like to see Grumman again and he needs someone to escort him.

Riza felt incensed. Disposable. Discarded. Her knuckles turned white as the executive order she clenched in her fists. She slammed it on her desk, the sound of the impact resonating in her office. She gripped the back of a nearby chair before she lost the feeling in her feet.

She prided herself on her ability to process and mask emotions; at this moment, she felt stunned. She tried reasoning with the unreasonable inner turmoil. She asked herself if she created this illusion; if there was even a  flicker of promise for a definitive future. In truth, they never established the epilogue after their end-game. If they had, it was vague and verbless. But even in the worst scenario, she never imagined she would be tossed to the side - as if her bullets no longer made sense.

An uncharacteristic rapid beat pounded in her chest. She studied the Fuhrer’s order again, expecting a discrepancy. A sign. A joke. A forgery. Her trained eyes didn’t spot a tell; he signed the unmistakable signature she knew by each curve and loop himself. Riza reread it one more time.

The post scriptum felt like a slap on her face and her cheeks flushed from frustration and embarrassment. The paper underneath her hand wrinkled as she balled her fists. She stormed out, focusing on her footsteps instead of the tightness in her throat.

Riza headed to Catalina’s; the balmy spring air wafted freely, almost mockingly, around her. Upon arriving, she sat in Rebecca’s kitchen as the words around her sounded muted. She was only half paying attention, but after so many years of experience, she could predict Rebecca’s rants.

She looked up as she was handed a warm drink, a glint catching her eye as she glanced at Rebecca’s outstretched hand. Riza was unable to tear her eyes away from the wedding ring on her friend’s hand. She remembered that wedding, a sunny day in Southern Amestris. The happiness, vibrant and true, was unparalleled in the time they had been together. She was content now having what she always wanted, married and with Havoc no less.

“Riza!”

Riza glanced up again, startled by Rebecca’s change in volume.

“Are you even listening?” she reprimanded with fists to her hips.

“Yes, of course,” Riza intoned.

Rebecca’s arms crossed in front of her. “Then what did I say?”

She placed the mug back down after a sip. “That he’s a no-good man and never will be. Don’t put myself down, because you’re more than that jerk’s adjutant.”

From the corner of her eye, Becca relaxed. “Oh.” But she still huffed as she sat, placing warm hands over the terse ones still on the mug. “But I also said that you should just quit the military, move away, go explore Aerugo like you said you always wanted to, something!”

She has a point, she mused. Nothing was holding her back. She wasn’t married, and she didn’t have kids. The country wasn’t in danger anymore. She had her own back to watch now.

However, something about leaving everything behind shook her. The more she mulled it over the more she realized it wasn’t so much the fact that he ripped her partner from her. But it was the way he did it and the lack of forewarning that bewildered her.

“All right, fine. Don’t say anything.” She sniped. “I’ll tell you what’s going on with me. You know how Jean’s in the East, right?”

That’s right, Riza remembered, and nodded.

“Well, I wanted you to know that he and I are going to be trying for a baby when he gets back!” she shrieked and grabbed Riza’s arm, shaking it in excitement. Riza looked at her; she wasn’t even pregnant but she was glowing, practically brimming with excitement. “I can’t believe this, Riza. I am going to be on cloud nine.”

Riza understood the appropriate response, it was the inner storm within her that stopped her from expressing as such. She attempted her best by lifting her eyebrows and smiling openly at her, “Rebecca! How exciting.” Her face fell as she looked back to the mug, furrowing her brow as she took another sip. She was bothered by this and she couldn’t understand why. She suddenly felt like she didn’t want to be there anymore.

She looked to the time and acted. “Oh Rebecca! I’m sorry. I just remembered I have to meet grandfather for something. I have to go,” she lied.

Rebecca was understanding  and walked her to the door. “Remember,” she started with a wagging finger, “you’ll be the first to know about the pregnancy and I expect no less than a wonderful baby shower when the time comes.”

Riza smiled. “Of course, Rebecca. You know I’m here for you.” The door opened for her and Rebecca reached out for a hug.

A chuckle sounded in Riza’s ear. “Same, you emotionless dolt,” she said, squeezing her slightly. “Look at you, going through your first breakup.”

Riza snapped away from her hug, eyebrows pointed angrily. “It’s not a breakup.” Rebecca shot her a “Do you see yourself?” look. Her lips thinned. “Bye Becca.”

The Colonel pushed back thoughts of where her life went at 33, nearly 34, and tried to cast off  any feelings of regret. The purpose she dedicated her life to was important and virtuous. She accomplished plenty for the Amestrian military and could do so much more now that she wasn’t tied to the hip.  Her personal feelings were irrelevant in the situation, and she made a point to dust it all under the rug, no matter how much it stung, no matter how much of the countryside girl was still left in her.

Her grandfather heard of what happened. She didn’t question how. She felt like her grandfather was the last person she’d entrust her intimate feelings to. Yet she did and the retired Fuhrer listened with diligence. 

“Men like Mustang are ambitious and goal driven,” he declared and she nodded diligently. ”For him to relieve his most trusted subordinate must mean he has other plans for you. The Fuhrer’s seat couldn’t have been given to a better candidate,” he boasted and Riza didn’t try to hide the drop in her shoulders. When she made no effort to further the line of conversation, he asked her, “What was the issue?”

She shook her head, unable to make reason of it herself.

“If you feel strongly about it, darling, then why don’t you leave the military?”

The statement stunned her for a moment, something she would have never considered. It sounded absurd to her. After 17 years of military service, what else would she do with her life? How could she make a living?

She didn’t realize she had voiced her thoughts out loud, until an elderly hand rested on hers. Her eyes must have betrayed her sadness, not only because she felt it, but because there was a comfort in Grumman’s too. “You wouldn’t have to worry about that,” he said. “I’d take care of you for the days I wasn’t able to.”

Her emotional stability felt as sturdy as a plate on a pole and his proposal suddenly caused earth the shake underneath her feet. It wouldn’t be the first time she took care of her only relative.

He told her, “Think on it, dearest. But in the meantime, I feel springy enough to go to the Inauguration Ball.” The old man tried to jump quickly from his chair and gave a yip of pain, holding his lower back.

Riza dashed toward him to steady him by the arm and his back.

He groaned at his mistake and slowly sat back down. “I still want to go.”

It took place within Central Command. The courtyard was cleverly converted into a grandiose reception area as it took advantage of the cooler temperatures in the evening. On an elevated stage, a 16 piece orchestra played forgettable music.

Her eyes followed the new Fuhrer as he made his lone appearance from where she sat. She clapped slowly and without feeling. He dressed in a dashing suit, tailored to fit his athletic physique. He received comments on the progressive nature of his appearance, wearing a suit and tie in lieu of the expected military uniform. Eloquently, the Flame Alchemist commented on how he’ll have more than enough opportunities to wear the uniform and the crowd soaked it up, his charisma in full swing.

After the dinner, the Fuhrer gathered everyone’s attention. He made a speech of gratitude for their attendance, for their support, and for the ones especially who supported him from the beginning. He listed his friends in the academy and gave a heartwarming address in memoriam to his dear friend, the late Brigadier General Hughes. He personally thanked, by name, the rest of the old Mustang unit and those who helped him rebuild Ishval. “But my most sincere gratitude goes further back than my years in the military, I wouldn’t be who I am today if it wasn’t for her. In my times of darkness, in my times of happiness…”

As she felt herself hold her breath, she kicked herself. She couldn’t help it, especially with emotions running high at such a gratifying statement and she could swear he looked in her direction.

“…Chris Mustang, my foster mother, raising me after the untimely death of my parents.”

She smiled, despite herself. He didn’t name her. Nowhere in his touching speech, or his thanks. She looked towards her grandfather, who was smiling and possibly tearing up from the emotion. She clenched her fist from a fury she couldn’t place. She felt unlike herself. She wasn’t looking for a mention or anything like that. But to be completely ignored, to be tossed aside and overlooked in the same week was more than she could handle.

She tried to speak to Grumman, “Can you be-”

He shushed her and she felt taken aback. He eyes turned to her from the Fuhrer’s speech. “I’m trying to listen.”

She glanced back, trying to do the same. Nails were digging into her palm; it was almost laughable. Riza mentally tried to take a step back to wrangle in the hurricane of emotions. She bit her lip as his speech ended and he received a standing ovation. She clapped despondently and Grumman gingerly placed an arm over her wrist. She looked up at him.

“Is everything okay, my dear?” There was genuine concern, but she forced a smile on him to conceal her irrational behavior.

“Yes, perfect,” she responded.

The orchestra began to play and she swiveled in her chair to place her feet underneath the table cloth. Several gentlemen asked her to dance, probably something to do with her status as the previous Fuhrer’s granddaughter, but she graciously declined their offer, hardly in the mood to sway on the dancefloor.

Another hand appeared next to her arm with a “Care to dance?” She looked up and it was a uniformed officer this time, one she didn’t recognize except as Lieutenant Colonel by the stars on his epaulette. Riza offered a courteous smile and shook her head. “You’re too kind, but no, thank you.”

“I don’t want this dance, the Fuhrer does.”

Her arm fell on the round table and it rattled silverware and glassware alike. “Excuse me?”

“The Fuhrer wants this dance.” The man wriggled the fingers for her to take it, but his face remained stoic as he spoke.

“I’m honored, but I politely decline.”

“I’m under the express instruction to convey this as an order straight from the Fuhrer himself, Colonel.”

Her lips thinned, defeated.

A clever play on his part, she’ll give him that. He must have thought through asking her himself and the ruckus that would cause. This way he avoided looks if she were to decline like she just did. She took the hand and name of the Lieutenant Colonel who escorted her to newly established Fuhrer waiting at the end of the dancefloor.

She tried to control her breathing and outward cues of emotions. Unappreciative child or not, he was still the top of the military she was still enlisted under. His hands were behind his back, watching the other dancers. He turned towards them as they noticed them approaching. He smiled and it only made her stomach coil with subtle frustration.

“Good evening, Colonel.”

“Good evening, Your Excellency,” she responded listlessly, for the first time not saluting unnecessarily. She was off-duty, after all.

“I’m honored you accepted this dance,” he said, extending out his hand as the Lieutenant Colonel handed her to him.

“It was my pleasure, truly.”

He guided her to the dance floor and on cue, the music changed as he entered it. A soft, moderate-tempo waltz began to fill the air.

She felt a hand settle on her waist as he took his hand in hers. They began to move in tandem with the rhythm of the song. She said nothing and decidedly felt nothing, but the ire still bubbled under the contained surface.

“Did you enjoy the speech?” he asked her.

She glared at him as he moved her across the floor. She wasn’t sure if he was mocking her or if it was the machinations in her head. She took the high road. “It was moving. Grandfather might have shed a tear.”

“He was always a sentimental old coot.” She hummed in response, wishing to speak little to him. Unfortunately for her, he spoke again. “Can I take you out to dinner some time?”

Her eyes widened and before she could control herself, she moved the skirt of her long dress to extend over his foot as she mashed the heel into it.

Roy held back a pained groaned and smiled. He knew. “Someone’s angry.”

The statement cracked the surface of her emotional dam, and he kept prodding it. “Did I step on you? My apologies. You know military women aren’t suited for these events.”

“Nonsense, I’ve danced with plenty of military women and they dance just fine.” He twirled her and brought her closer with his hand at the small of her back. “In fact, I’d rate you a good 5 out of 10. Average is never bad.”

She stepped back to create the distance between them, biting the inside of her cheek.

“What do you think?”

“I think the song will end soon. I hope it will end sometime soon.”

He chuckled. “No, of dinner.”

“No.”

“Well, I can’t have a reminder of my rejection walking around; I foresee a transfer to the west.”

She chuckled this time, only bitterly. “That’s disappointing.”

“You didn’t take the bait to leave the military and I can’t promote a Colonel into First Lady. Instead, I’ll ask the lovely Colonel to dinner for now in hopes that I can convince her.”

Her heart felt like it stopped at the same time as the music. It finally clicked. “Everything you did: the transfer orders, the speech, the Lieutenant Colonel?”

He smiled smugly as he let her go. “All part of the plan.”

She mirrored his smile, watching him grab her hand and delicately kiss the back of it. “Plan to get a riot out of me?”

He raised his eyebrows as he came up. “An added perk. There’s a certain charm about you when you’re angry.” He led her off the dancefloor and asked her again.

She kissed his cheek and leaned in closer to his ear, whispering before she left him for her seat. “Try harder, Fuhrer.”

BIGGEST THANKS TO @hawkeyedflame who isn’t around rn, but ripped this apart and made it all the better <3