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His hair stuck up at several strikingly odd angles, and Chris Mustang dragged a wet comb through her son’s cowlicks as she gave him his instructions for the evening. “You listen to me, Roy Boy. You’re nine now, which means you have to be a big boy.”
Roy grimaced, round black eyes dropping to his penny loafers.
“Please behave. You need to play with Olivier Armstrong while I speak with her father. The Armstrongs are an important client, got it kiddo?”
“Yeah.” Roy sighed, scuffing his shoe against the bar of the floor as Chris rubbed a smudge spot off his cheek.
“Yes, Ma’am.” Chris corrected.
“Yes Ma’am.” Roy said mournfully, glancing over at the alchemy book he was abandoning for the Madame’s top secret mission. It was awfully exciting to be included, but having to play with a girl wasn’t really going to be much fun. Roy gave one last pout before he strode after his foster mother, adjusting his sweater vest and tie as he scrambled to catch up.
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Less than an hour later, Roy found himself on the wrong end of a wooden sword.
“And this,” Mr. Armstrong said, sounding a little apologetic, “—is my darling daughter Olivier.” He breathed as the small blonde girl in a blue shirt and a little boy’s trousers advanced.
“Grab a sword, coward!” She cried, as Roy shrunk back towards the Madame. This had not been part of the agreement, he wasn’t supposed to be attacked by some girl with fierce blue eyes and a snarl. Blonde hair swung behind her back as she continued to stalk forwards. “—Fight me!”
“Have fun, Roy Boy.” Chris said, patting his combed hair with her hand.
Roy shot his foster mother a look of utter betrayal, which was merely met with a shrug. Sorry Kid.
Roy dove for the other practice sword on the floor, rolling neatly in a somersault as he picked it up, tucking his feet back underneath him. He hesitantly hefted it in his hands, and scrambled back as she thrust her sword forwards at him.
“You Drachman Scum!” Olivier cried, chasing after him.
“I’m not Drachman!” Roy cried, eyes widening. “I just want to play!”
“We’re playing Drachma versus Amestris! And I’m going to slaughter you.” Olvier scoffed, tossing her blonde hair back over her shoulder. “Now fight, you coward!
“—Can’t we play International Diplomacy?” Roy asked, feeling desperate.
“No!”
Roy gulped.
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Two hours later, a manservant broke them both up and dragged them in front of their respective parents. Olivier beamed proudly, despite sporting a black eye and a ripped trouser knee. She had her sword tucked in a sheath loop attached to her belt, and had slapped the back of Roy’s knees one last time with the blunt side of the sword one last time before she’d marched in front of her father.
“Amestris still stands.” She announced.
Roy raised his brow at her, trying desperately to brush the dirt off of his pants. He worried at the rip in his vest, and Chris stepped forwards, eying the split on his cheek that was running bloody just under his left eye. His neatly combed hair had begun to stick up again, and Roy shook gravel out of his clothes, wincing as the cuts on his hands were brushed against.
“We played Border Warfare and International Relations.” Roy explained, adjusting his tie.
“He fights okay.” Olivier said, walking over to her father. “Until next time, Drachman.” She spat.
“Sounds fun…” Chris said, trying not to look puzzled. “See you next time, Mister Armstrong.” She said, before she herded Roy outside of the Armstrong Manor.
Chris took out a cigarette, and her silver lighter, lighting up. “Do you want to talk about it Roy Boy?”
“Girls are crazy.” Roy said emphatically, before marching ahead of her. “—And I fight better than okay!” He added hotly.