#there's so much worth fighting for – you'll see ;; pre separation arc

[justaradioguy]

@doldoldolcetto

The bar at the Devils Nest was never too busy, especially since all the unsavory types came long after nightfall and it was only sunset. It was the perfect time for Dolcetto; early enough that the boss wasn’t out yet, and late enough that a few regulars were already settled near the bar, expecting their usual drinks. He was in the midst of passing a row of shots on a tray to Martel when the bell above the door rung, swinging as the door was gently pushed open.

Everyone in the Nest immediately felt the presence of the newcomer, trying to catch a glance of them. He looked…short. Kid-level short.

Dolcetto looked in Martel’s direction, quickly turning back to the bar once she nodded. It wasn’t unusual for teens to come and test their luck, trying to fool Dolcetto and the rest of the Nesties with fake ids and a fake overbearing “adult” presence. Hopefully the kid would leave after being told to, and if not… Dol and Martel had plenty of experience kicking out unruly patrons.

The kid quickly made his way to the bar, pulling out an id and placing it on the hardwood bar. Dolcetto glanced it it, gathering information while occasionally flicking his eyes up to the person in front of him.

“Y'sure your actually uh,” He paused to pick up the id, squinting his eyes to read the age, “twenty-three, kid?”

A quick sweep of the id proved the man in front of him (though short) was definitely twenty-three, but also part of the military. Shit. Shit. Military officials brought trouble, and it didn’t help the Nest was full of fugitives, Dolcetto included. He could try to take the soldier out to the back and deal with him, dump the body near one of the old warehouses. But in the possibility more soldiers came and investigated the disappearance…

Maybe he could stall for time till Greed came out?

He wasn't surprised at all when the bartender questioned the validity of his ID.

It didn't stop him from being a bit disappointed, though. With a heavy sigh, he lowered his head for a moment before looking back up. "Yes, I'm twenty-three. I do acknowledge the fact that I look like an infant."

Maybe the joke was funny, at least. He sure hoped so, especially considering the longer Kain looked at the man before him, the more offput he was seeming to become. Had he done something to upset the bartender somehow, or was there something off inside the bar?

The sergeant looked around, finding nothing horribly worrying - no fights, no threats, no people too drunk and rowdy for their own good. He was the problem here, but what had he done in less than five minutes?

Glancing back down at the wallet still in his hands, he figured out... maybe part of the issue, given he'd accidentally mixed up his civilian ID with his military ID. Perhaps Dublith was not-so-friendly to military. There were lots of places like that. And, really, for good reason - the Amestrian military wasn't exactly friendly as a whole.

But Kain was not the violent type, nor was he a snitch, nor was he entirely supportive of any of the top brass. No. He just wanted a G&T, not to scare the daylights out of some poor guy working at a bar.

"If you want me to, I'll leave. I'm not here for anything but a drink though, honest."

[justaradioguy]

@farginen asked: 📔

Feb. 10, 1911.

You know, when I joined the military, I didn't expect the unit I would eventually be assigned to be like this. Everyone seems tame enough, and I don't think that they hate me, but there's one exception: I think Lt. Hawkeye hates me. She seems like a good person, and it's only been like two days, but she seems so... irritated. Is she just like that? Is it me? It's probably me. I just wish I could figure out what it is she expects out of me. I don't want to let her down, and I think it'd be nice to see her happy about something.

Feb. 8, 1917.

Has it really been six years exactly since I started working for Mustang? Yes. Does it feel like it? Not at all. Time flies, and simultaneously drags on forever.

I didn't even think this journal still existed. I'm surprised it made its way back to me from way down south. Anyway, I feel like it's... right, in a way, to write in it one last time before I retire it and move on to one that's less... heavy.

Not that working alongside them was ever heavy, or that I have regrets about following them. They are some of the best people I have ever had the pleasure to meet in my life, Roy and Riza and the guys.

Isn't it weird how I write about them with their first names now? I used to think that it was dangerous to even think of their first names, like they'd just... materialize and hit me over the head with a pistol.

They deserve to be known as that, now, though, even if only by me, even if only in this journal. They've done wrong, both of them - the blood on their hands isn't something that can be cleaned easily. I'm not naive enough to claim otherwise.

But I will say that they want to make it better. They don't care about themselves, not really, from what I can see. They care about others. They care about repairing what's been broken longer than any of us can comprehend. And, surprisingly enough, they care about me too. They are good people, and they are human, and they deserve to be known as something other than a rank.

It's hilarious how a little under six years ago I thought Riza hated me. If I could talk to myself back then...

"No, Kain. She *is* just like that. And you wouldn't trade her exasperation or Roy's procrastination or Black Hayate's goofiness or the hell you've all endured - together and apart alike - for anything. You will follow your friends to the ends of the Earth, and you're pretty damn sure they'd do the same for you if you need them to. You're having dinner with them later. Isn't it great that you finally got exactly what you've always dreamed of?

I think it is."

[justaradioguy]

@doldoldolcetto

Dublith was... quite the town.

It was almost like Central City - there were distinct areas that were "worse" and very obviously so.

Areas that Kain didn't quite feel afraid of, even though many people advised him to be. After all, people lived in them. And regardless of how rough around the edges people on the "worse" side of a town were, they were still human beings that deserved the exact same kindness he put out to anyone else. He had never been too quick to pass judgement on people because of their background.

This side of Dublith was no exception. He found himself walking without much of a destination in mind, taking in the worn buildings and the townspeople giving him a side-eye. Really, any break from work the past week was a welcome one, given how busy it had been. He loved his job, but he also needed to rest as much as the next guy.

That was why the bar he entered, he decided, was his destination for the evening. Again, he noticed some odd stares. The sergeant assumed he was probably just out of place because he looked twelve, which...

Fair, as much as he hated it. As he approached the bar, he fumbled to pull out proof of the fact he was in fact twenty-three.

"Hello!" he chirped, greeting the bartender with a smile a bit too warm to belong to anyone who frequented the place. On top of that, it distinctly marked him as "not from anywhere even close to southern Amestris" - he never really bothered to try and hide or manipulate his accent all too much. "When you get the chance, could I maybe bother you for a gin and tonic?"

[justaradioguy]

anonymous wants to peek into the past ->

"⏰ + meeting Mustang"

from the "memories" meme | accepting

It's a cold day in February, but unfortunately not quite cold enough to snow.

No, on this particular cold day in February, it is raining. Not in a fun way, where he can go stomp through a puddle a bit too aggressively, but in the kind of way that makes everything seem so dull and meaningless.

There's a cup of coffee in one hand and the other is positioned over a telegraph key when papers are put down in front of him, pushed forward as if they're important. He looks up, but the lieutenant who delivered them has already started to walk away.

He picks it up to skim over the front page and see what it is.

Orders to transfer.

With his name on them, spelled out plain as day - he is being moved effective immediately.

At least he doesn't have to move command centers entirely - as far as he's aware, Colonel Mustang is definitely in another part of East Command.

He's not quite sure why someone like that would ask specifically for a lowly nineteen-year-old communications officer, but he's not about to question the decisions of Roy Mustang.

No, he packs his things up, bids everyone else in that office goodbye, and heads on his way. He only has to ask for specific directions once, and after that he manages to find his new direct superior's location just fine.

What is not just fine is that he finds himself standing in a room full of people who drastically outrank him. Three lieutenants, a warrant officer, and a colonel.

Not a single other NCO in sight.

His body moves faster than his brain can think, arm snapping up into a perfect salute before he can even be addressed.

"Sergeant Fuery?" the Colonel asks.

"Yes sir?"

"At ease. Your workspace is right there."

"Yes sir."

"How long are we playin' the formal game for, chief?" one of the lieutenants - a tall man with blond hair - questions, not lifting his head from the stack of paperwork he's getting through.

"Long enough to watch him, probably," another replies. He also doesn't look up, so all Kain can really tell is that he's got reddish hair and a go-to-hell type posture. "Or scare him. I dunno, it's a 50/50 with Mustang, and I'm not playing."

He looks back at the man in question, trying to figure out what sort of situation he's been placed into.

And the Colonel at second glance looks almost nothing like anything Kain had in mind. He's... young for his rank, or at least looks to be that way, and he seems like he's examining everyone in the room (especially him) under a microscope. He isn't someone to be underestimated - Fuery can gather that much.

Finally, Kain manages to shuffle over to the empty space next to the taller lieutenant who'd spoken first, putting his bag down. Something keeps drawing his gaze back to Mustang, who has yet to take his eyes off the sergeant, and it finally clicks that maybe this is a test of some kind.

Maybe he's testing whether Kain can stand alongside everyone in this room. That's his best guess, so despite the sheer difficulty of the task and the urge to put his head down, he decides on staring right back. He can always correct an action much easier than an inaction.

"What would you like for me to do first, sir?"

[justaradioguy]

@alchemic-elric has a question ->

"Yo Fuery, how'ya been?"

The master sergeant's been working almost without ceasing for hours now, focused intently on getting his reports in order. It's that point in the week where the more physical, field-related tasks are finished up until something inevitably breaks or needs troubleshooting again.

It's that point in the week that Fuery hates.

He doesn't often heavily relate to Mustang, but if there's one thing he'll almost always agree on, it's that field work - even routine maintenence - is infinitely better than dealing the stack of papers almost tall enough to cast a shadow on his desk.

For a moment, the voice that grabs his attention doesn't register and he assumes it's Sergeant Biel - she's been bothering him for just about everything today.

However, Biel definitely doesn't address him with 'yo', nor does she sound so... orotund.

No, that voice definitely belongs to Edward Elric.

A smile is already forming as he sets his pen down and looks up.

"I've been alright, thank you for asking. A bit busy, but you know, it is what it is. I'm glad to see you back safe - it's been a while, right? How are you and Alphonse?"

[justaradioguy]

@doldoldolcetto

Dolcetto nodded, listening to the other man speak as he polished a glass, eventually placing it on one of the many hooks above the bar. He was unsure of what a telegraph sounder was; the words sounded familiar enough for him to recognize that he heard them before, but too complex for his Amestrian vocabulary.

"Well," he began, turning back to Fuery, "I hope y' are gettin some rest. Th' military's hard work. Always has been--wait."

He glanced down to the cocktail which was resting on a flimsy paper coaster.

"y' want me t' top that up for you?"

Kain watched as the man polished up a glass, curious as to what exactly his stance was. On one hand, he seemed very much apprehensive of a soldier being in a bar like this, and on the other hand, he was acknowledging the military being 'hard work'.

"I'll have plenty, don't worry. My commanding officer's the one who basically told me to get lost until I'm functional again," he replied. "Whatever that means. I was perfectly fine."

He followed the bartender's gaze down to the glass on the counter, then shook his head. "No, thank you. I'll let the first one settle before I make the decision to drink more."

Some people referred to him as weird or childish for being cautious or not wanting to get absolutely wasted. Kain just considered himself rational and wary of the fact he was in an unfamiliar public space. A drink or two to unwind was one thing.

Getting so screwed up that he couldn't remember how to get home was a completely different thing. He'd rather keep making conversation, anyway, now that he felt like he wasn't extremely unwelcome.

"You said it's 'always been hard work', sort of," he noted. "Were you enlisted at any point? You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

[justaradioguy]

@doldoldolcetto

Dolcetto slipped the payment into a lockbox by the side of the bar, holding onto his tip until he deposited it into the modified pockets of his shitabaki.

It was a big tip, especially for something as simple as a gin and tonic. Thanks to the other mans rambling on it, Dolcetto garnered plenty of information on the officer. Communications meant he probably dealt with relaying information or that he worked with radios. Either way, the man could know dozens of military secrets, operations, or if Dolcetto was lucky enough, police patrols around Dublith. It was rare for the military to take control of local police departments, but if it ever happened the information would be incredibly helpful.

If Dolcetto could get anything out of the soldier before his smoke break, it would be a potential life saver.

He leaned back against the bar, trying to seem as nonchalant and friendly as possible.

“y'mind tellin’ me what a guy like you’s doin around here?”

That was…not the friendliest. Hopefully the other man didn’t mind.

Fuery took another sip of his drink, tilting his head to the side a little.

At first, the bartender seemed like he hadn't wanted to talk. Now, he was asking what Kain was doing there - 'a guy like you', he'd said.

Made sense. This didn't exactly seem like a military hangout. Not like he'd know much about those anyway.

"Oh, uh, you know," he replied with a shrug. "I was just walking around. Needed some time off. I've been working almost nonstop the past couple of weeks since someone knocked out half the telegraph sounders at East Command. So I drove a while, ended up in Dublith a few hours ago, wandered around to explore, and now I'm here."