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For the third time in fifteen minutes Riza smooths an imaginary wrinkle out of her skirt and gives a quick, careful look around the room. In her floor length, high necked black evening gown she feels worrying exposed. She has a gun in the holster on her thigh (not easily accessible, but the skirt is of a flimsy material that the dressmaker in the shop Catalina dragged her to assured her would fan beautifully while dancing and she's sure it will tear), and there's another in her evening bag. She can't stop herself from glancing around the room, checking the number of guards, how well the room is secured.
"You should try to relax," Roy tells her, his voice low and close to her ear.
"Sorry, sir. Force of habit." She's a bodyguard as well as a solider.
"There's nowhere better protected than this room right now." He's right. It's the ball celebrating the inauguration of Grumman as the Führer of Amestris.
There's a smile on her face when she tells him, "I'm more worried about the threats from inside the room."
An amused twitch of a smile in return, "Oh?"
"Slightly foolish to dance with Major General Armstrong's date, don't you think?"
Roy glances over to his former dance partner. Olivier's arm is around her, and she glares in his direction. "Olivier was the one being foolish, abandoning Maria like that."
"Why don't you dance with me, sir?" There is no denying that out of uniform and in a suit and tie, he made a very dashing figure.
"I thought we were keeping things professional tonight?" His voice is still low and she can hear the hint of longing in it.
"If Major General Armstrong wishes to challenge you to dual then there's no safer place for you at my side, sir." She takes his hand, he he allows himself to be led to the dance floor. "For the entire night, if need be."