icequeenolivier-blog

[icequeenolivier-blog]

Ah, yes. The bear. It was such a topic of conversation lately; she wasn't oblivious to the whispers buzzing through the corridor when they thought her watchful ear wasn't tuned in.

It baffled her. They were in the north, the untamed, unyielding, unconquerable - and yet she had conquered. She had overcome, overwhelmed, and would do so again and again, as many times as it was required. As many times as she felt like it. Why was it such a novelty that she'd procure a beast that mirrored her own tenacious spirit?

That was a question to ponder another time. For now, she raised a hand to cut the lieutenant off, chin tilted in that imperious way so characteristic of her. "Lieutenant, let's get one thing straight. If anyone under my command was a burden, they would be on a train back to Central before the ink had even dried on their reassignment order." If that wasn't reason to cease and desist that ridiculous self-effacing, then nothing was.

"You're correct, however. I was briefed. And I'm taking care of it." That smirk twitched to life in one corner of her mouth, smug as she kept measuring her steps. "Before too long it might be time to let the bear out to hunt on his own. I won't have any freeloaders on my watch."

maybe she's born with it

Simple, though Riza would argue that they’d communicated with the same sliver of complexity afforded a strategist’s tongue. Haircuts - and other such commodities -  didn’t seem like a triviality, but with Olivier, there was still that measure of uncertainty lodged in the concepts of more personal maintenance. Her curiosity twitched at that; the idea that a woman who was so well put-together and groomed shouldn’t have seemed so sympathetic to the cause… Or was that truly sympathy?

Whatever it was, it garnered her quiet approval - that tomorrow, they would venture out into the wild of that northern city. Finding a trained hand to snip away at the excess hair getting in her way, would be a feat fit to better accommodate her post. It had been long enough - both figuratively and literally - that the idea was no more intimidating than the hundred some odd mass of fur thrashing its head in the basement beneath them.

“Speaking of hair - ” or fur, in that regard. ” - we’re running out of bear food.” Walking down the halls with relative ease seemed to be enough to prompt such conversation in the wake of minimal chaos. “I’m not sure how long we can sustain him. He’s a big guy.” Big bear, really… with an appetite to run ‘em dry. Making the rounds, listening for the creature’s roar, it was no wonder the men were beginning to favor their posts topside - at least now.

It did say something of the lieutenant’s choice of wording, however. The assumption that she would not be venturing out alone, or the idea of blotting the thought out with small talk of a bear, were liberties taken by privileged few. Upon reaching the midway point between the elevator and the office, she stopped and gave her quick salute. “My apologies.” It was silly. “Major Miles should already have given you a briefing. I hate to be a burden.”

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The dog could answer for himself.

There Hayate was, trotting at the woman's heels, though at least he'd come a few paces from where he'd been and now had the decency to hold his furry chin a little higher when he begged. It didn't even seem like begging when the beast could look his victims in the eye, after all - or at least, that was Olivier's philosophy in life. When the chips were down, you bluffed.

"Yes," she said succinctly, but the way that smirk twitched to life under her signature lock was proof enough of what would come next. "And no. At ease, Lieutenant..." Her focus only minutely shifted to Falman, whether or not he had chosen to stand, when she tacked on the dutiful, "...s."

Would it surprise them to know their commanding officer could succumb to the same pangs of fatigue and listlessness that crept in with the cold front? That she, too, could crave company or conversation to keep the demons at bay? True, she was well past being plagued by doubts or second guesses as to who she was or what she'd done in her career, but that didn't mean she was immune to what horrors could lurk in the blinding white. The edges of the world and reason would curl away and lesser men would crumble.

Lesser men also wouldn't brave what they called 'coffee' in those parts.

"Mind if I join you?" It was probably just about the only thing they'd ever heard from the General that didn't come part and parcel with an order.

foul weather friendly

[Ladies, I’m thrilled to be included, but my involvement will be sporadic for a while until my internet sorts itself out.  I apologize.]

“More sugar?”

As they might have done in foul weather at the Central or Eastern headquarters, Falman and Hawkeye were cloistered in a corner of the mess hall, drinking overly caffeinated beverages and reminiscing.  They had considered playing cards, but the absence of Havoc and Breda meant that the betting stakes wouldn’t be nearly as entertaining.  So instead, they were treating themselves to a hearty round of ��remember when,’ and Falman, for his part, was enjoying the nostalgia.

“Incoming,” he noted mildly, spotting the other blonde entering the mess.

[icequeenolivier-blog]

//I'm a horrible RP partner, I hope everyone realizes this. Life likes to eat me. I'm back now and... my drafts are open?

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"I appreciate the consideration, Lieutenant. Tell the men to barricade the exits and place some fresh food in the cage downstairs."

"I'll do the rest."

It was time for training to begin.

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what do you ship

//Probably everything you don't.

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"Well, then, he has impeccable taste in character."

Maybe that Colonel hadn't rubbed off on the dog too much.

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"He likes anyone with food in their hand."

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Ladies of FMA: General Olivier Armstrong

She’s a cruel mistress, and a bargain must be made…

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riza-rp replied to your post: Is that bear /still/ in confinement?

“I would have sooner considered the animal’s liberation from its cell an anomaly.” She paused, careful with her words. “But I didn’t think you were /serious/ about keeping it /here./”

"You'll soon learn that when I give an order, I am always serious."

"The bear can be an asset if we train him properly. In my position, it pays to be resourceful - and careful. If the creature ever poses a tangible threat to my men, I'll slay him myself."

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Is that bear /still/ in confinement?

"Well, Lieutenant, you tell me."

"What kind of commander would I be if I loosed a wild beast inside my fort? Of course it's still in confinement. I'm opportunistic, not imbecilic."

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-

"You're as annoyingly persistent as that Colonel. No wonder the Lieutenant came here, if you were picking up all of his bad habits."

After another moment, she huffed a sigh and ceded, "Fine. This was supposed to be for the bear..."

Opening a drawer, she retrieved the brown paper-wrapped parcel of scrap meat gathered there. With only a hint of that sneer remaining, she plucked one morsel from the rest and tossed it to the dog's feet.

"Now I expect you to leave me alone or I'll feed you to that beast downstairs."

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"Don't think you're getting any more from me, mutt."

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Ha. As if she'd ever be in need of such an indulgent trifle - at least while she was up north.

"Not my measurements, nor do I have exact ones. I can't account for how much his idiocy might have grown since I last saw him."

That would give the young woman plenty of imaginative fodder alone, but it went without saying that when Olivier continued, that smirk had subtly begun to creep into place behind the shadow cast by her hair. "And the bigger the better. I expect it to be the most grandiose," disgustingly pink, "thing you've ever made."

After all, it never hurt to knock your opponent out completely in a preemptive strike.

Sophie paused, and then quickly nodded once she gathered her thoughts back together. It wasn’t like the general to order a dress, usually it was for a repair job or a new coat. 

Adjusting the wire frames on her face she nodded, “Of course, no need to worry about discretion ma’am, is this going to be with you’re measurements, or shall I take others down?” Sophie had a hunch that maybe this was for someone else, especially if it was to be shipped to Central, but she didn’t ask since it was not her business. She walked to the other side of the room and picked up a book she took her orders in and began to write down the details and color. “Any preferred style?”

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The silence was near palpable. It was the tension, really, buttered so thickly there that it hid the nicks and gouges where the figurative knife had cut just a little too deep to leave the surface completely untarnished. In the same vein, that ice could creep over the slick floor of the northern wall, gloss over the metal seams, the nuts and bolts and the spots here and there where great men were taken down a notch by the lady or by themselves.

"Are we friends?" she finally asked, low, crisp, a certain briskness to the tone that belied just how closely he was treading to that razor sharp cliff and the edge of her blade - or in this case, tongue. "Because being friends is a luxury ill-afforded persons of our rank in the line of duty when we're ever on the cusp of war."

Friends... what a silly sentiment. To the world, friends were liars, deceivers, they would smile when the world would frown, cushion and buffer those they 'cared' for and in doing so keep them from ever being hurt by the truth. But the rough grains of honesty were what polished a person, just as the keen claw of a pick freed a diamond from the rough. Olivier was hardly one to tiptoe in niceties with her friends.

No, she hadn't 'spoken' to anyone recently - because words were chaff in the wind, useless, vulgar. There was more to be said for the camaraderie born of simply sitting, shoulder to shoulder, bearing the same responsibility, making the same choice. That was a bond forged by the frigid weather of the Drachman border, or the sands of Ishval, or the urban jungle of Central. It was the flower that bloomed in the real cracks, a thing so fragile that to speak it would kill it.

Maybe they were friends. Maybe the snide cynicism was proof she could be herself; this was herself, and though he might chalk it up to pride, there was always the undeniable and outstanding fact that, "You don't know me... and you know no one like me."

And the Colonel? Well, the part he played came a dime a dozen fresh out of the Academy.

The difference was she knew what a damn good actor he was, in his own way. Still an idiot, but perhaps he was onto something always playing the fool instead of the knave. There was always just a little bit of credit she had yet to give him lingering there beneath the surface - but it'd be a Briggs day in hell before she'd let it bubble to the surface.

Instead, she offered an even lower, "It's getting to you, is it? Roy Mustang, with such big dreams, such grand plans, such lofty aspirations, and you're beginning to realize that we live in a country that would cut off its nose to spite its face and you may very well be that nose someday." They all could. Being a fine soldier, holding one's head high, it just painted that target that much bigger.

"The first thing you do is find someone or something to prove to yourself you're not expendable," she said, and the faintest hint of something there spoke to how much she assumed that's what this phone call even was. She'd been there, and now as she brushed the pads of her fingers across that marred wood, her fingers finally clenched as she concluded, "But that would be chasing a lie, and whatever you might think, you won't find that here."

Amuse Me

A boyish smirk stretched over Roy’s lips whilst she spoke, and he gripped hold of the telephone tighter. Even if he left the conversation hanging with victory on his part Mustang wouldn’t feel satisfied. Why, the two could go on at each other all the way through the night and he knew neither would hang up. 

— He wouldn’t, at least, because although Olivier may have a smart-ass reason to excuse herself from their verbal war, Roy believed refusing to drop out simply emphasised how much he could take her insults.

However these insults were suddenly nonexistent. As far as the Colonel was concerned they weren’t anyway. Olivier had said extremely cruel things to him, but her tone had lightened this evening and he spotted a hint of amusement. Success? Maybe. Making Olivier chuckle wasn’t what he was after though.

‘I’m not cheap, Olivier, and I do know how to treat a friend.’ The emphasis on the word “friend” almost sounded sarcastic but it was pretty clear where this discussion was headed. His heart skipped a beat. ‘These cracks are deep, a little dusty and will certainly reward you.’

Roy closed his eyes.

‘Unless you’ve forgotten me completely — which I doubt — you know I wouldn’t invite you South for small talk. Despite popular rumour, I don’t fool around.’ Mustang grabbed the glass of alcohol and took a swig. ‘Yes, you can sit high and mighty on your throne, but I know you’re still very human.’

He placed the glass down.

‘I’m immune to your huge ego. You bite, but I can bite back. I’m no longer your little lamb, princess, and we both have wants. I know you’re a woman who refuses to accept loneliness but tell me: when was the last time you spoke to someone? And I don’t mean throwing out orders or discussing activities within the Fort — I don’t mean work.’

Then Roy sniggered. 

‘Don’t flatter yourself though: there are certainly other ladies I’d rather ring at this time in the evening. Whether or not they’d keep my brain busy is a different matter.  … You’re too proud, Olivier, and one day that’ll destroy you.’ 

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The trip to the shop had been a fluke, a whim, a silly trifle that barely fluttered through her mind as the General prepared to head back to the fortress. She hated coming to North City needlessly and, indeed, her time had been squandered with the drivel they called 'business' at the headquarters there.

But that didn't mean it had to be an entire day wasted.

"I need a dress made in pink silk. I'll pay you for your discretion and the shipment of the garment to Central."

She looked up from the coat she held in her hands, and noticed that it was the General. A smile crossed her features politely and set the coat aside, standing. 

“Good Morning ma’am, what may I help you with today?”

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Huh. So Roy Mustang could adapt in his environment - at least to a point. He'd gotten direct, which would serve him well given his current audience.

But that hardly let him off the hook. "As inclined as I am to agree that I could deliver some much-needed schooling to the next generation of sniveling ingrates, your charm is, as always, incredibly lacking. Do you really think it's appropriate to proposition a woman you just equated to the monster that sleeps under children's beds?"

Maybe he did. It went without saying that her ego was large enough to quilt the notion that she was by far the most attractive - and admirable - female in his acquaintance. Olivier wasn't vain so much as she was confident; she knew what she had to offer and she knew that most men wouldn't scoff at just what that was.

All of it, including that to which the Colonel alluded.

She leaned forward, arm now flat upon the table, palm splayed and thumb brushing against the polished grain of the wood, nail tracing a hidden groove acquired over time. "I suppose if you're that desperate for a helping hand..." And the smirk was back in her voice, that whisper of smug contentment that cushioned all her boasts, "...You should have thought better than to phone a woman across the country, you idiot."

He'd walked right into that. But there was a certain camaraderie belied by the way she let slip a laugh, a ghost of a thing barely half-blown as she straightened in her chair again. "Contrary to your belief, I'm a very busy woman. You may have caught me alone," not lonely, she'd never credit him that, "but I doubt the same could be said tomorrow or the next night."

True, she was virtually married to her job. Yet in the game of satisfaction, a thing too easy gave none at all. So she pressed even further, that expression thick in her voice when she remarked, "Even if I had occasion to head south, I'd need a little more than cracks as incentive to spend some of my precious time on you."

She was softening - but only just.

Amuse Me

There was something infuriating about this woman, and she wasn’t actually pulling on any of his nerves. In fact, Mustang considered Olivier’s snarky comments entertaining and he would be grinning if it weren’t for this rotten feeling in his stomach. Subconsciously he shoved his hand down one side of his boxers, and sighed heavily.

Suddenly the alcohol didn’t look very tasty.

‘Your lot can continue making igloos. Though you may scrunch your nose at us you’ll be surprised how efficient we can be. So to just your assumption, maybe you should come visit sometime. It’s about time I sent you a basket of roses after all — I know how much you adore them.’

Anything linked to feminism Olivier would happily burn until there was literally nothing left. The colour pink drove her insane, and he would make sure to wear pink when they next meet, just for her.

Then he wondered did Olivier have friends who rang her up in the middle of night? Rephrase that: did she have friends?

While Roy preferred to refer her as the Wicked Witch of the North and imagine her to sleep hanging from the ceiling wrapped in her own wings, he knew she wasn’t that bad. There was something delicate within the cold, rather ghastly walls. Somewhere. One just had to search far and deep, and probably end up being murdered in the process.

‘My apartment has been so bright and glorious lately it needs a little horror in it again, and you’re the perfect specimen to actually bring the horror and scare little kids in Central with that terrifying glare of yours.’ Roy smiled. ‘Some children have nightmares about you, y’know?’

And, to Roy’s shame, he, too, dreamt of the beast although the tone was far more lighter and left him sweating for different reasons entirely.

This was what frustrated the man.

Sod Olivier to Hell, she knew. 

‘I have a couple of cracks you may want to inspect, Olivier.’