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Roy is at the door, checking his instructions one last time because this home makes no sense. He’s here for Alchemy training, he’s here because he’s frankly brilliant and far exceeding any tutors even Madame could find, and now he’s standing outside a house that looks to be half ready to fall over if he knocks too hard.
“Hi. I’m Roy Mustang, I’m looking for instructions to Master Hawkeye’s residence,” he mumbles to himself, rapping quickly on the door. Seconds after his hand connects with the wood a booming voice explodes from somewhere inside.
“Girl! The door!”
Footsteps click in the silence.
“GIRL?”
“I’m here.” The door swings open, and the owner of that quiet and shivering voice is revealed – just a girl.
“Oh,” she huffs out, amber eyes widening just a touch. She’s quite a bit shorter than Roy himself, with slim features and short butter gold hair that looks like it was hastily finger combed. “I. Is there something we can do for you?”
Roy blinks. Clears his throat and then blinks again, finally tearing his eyes away to look at the invitation in his hand. “Is . . . Have I found the Hawkeye residence?” His voice is failing him and he can’t say why.
“Is that Mustang, then?”
Roy’s hand stops; he didn’t realize he was reaching forward until a man’s voice booms out again and a strawman stumbles into the entrance behind that girl.
“Ah. Um, yes it is. Roy Mustang, sir. I’m looking for the residence of Master Hawkeye.”
The man truly is all straw – dry and scattered hair, clothing pieced together, skin shadowed and pale.
“You found it, Boy.”
Immediately everything disappears – the ragged path up the lane, the crooked door and the soft girl and everything falls towards the Strawman who now holds his lessons and future in his hands. He sketches a weak bow, small carpetbag held in front of his body. “My apologies, Master Hawkeye. Madame sends her regards.”
Master Hawkeye huffs out a breath, pushing past the girl. “Better if she sent your tuition.”
“Oh! You’re the apprentice.” The girl’s eyes shoot wide, hand covering her mouth in embarrassment as both men turn to look at her, one with gentle curiosity and the other with irritation to still see her there.
“Riza, get to the dinner. Mustang and I will eat in my study.”
“Riza?” That’s the first piece of information Roy has about her and he repeats it, wants to ensure he doesn’t forget it.
“Don’t worry yourself,” Master Hawkeye says as Riza scurries away. “She’s just my daughter. She won’t interfere with your studies.”
Roy watches her disappear around a corner before stepping into the entrance, removing his hat and clutching it in one hand. “Thank you for accepting my application, Sir.”
Master Hawkeye narrows those straw eyes at him, sniffs like he’s found something disdainful about the whole situation. “Just start telling me what you know about Flame theory.”
Roy spends the next two hours before dinner answering questions, wincing as his knuckles get rapped every time Master Hawkeye believes he’s not thinking through his responses thoroughly enough. Riza materializes sometime after Roy’s hand has started to swell a little, red and stinging, setting a tray with two bowls of thin, clear broth in front of them. Roy smiles at her, wide and reassuring, just to see the small twitch she offers him. She has a face that doesn’t look like it smiles often, but it’s quite lovely when she does. She reminds him a bit of one of his sisters.
“Now listen, Mustang. Flame Alchemy is research and perfection and it doesn’t allow distractions. You’re quite a bit younger than I thought you would be with your research I’ve seen.” Master Hawkeye still hasn’t spoken directly to his daughter and Roy feels a twinge of . . . something at her solemn face. “Just ‘cause you’re young doesn’t mean I’ll tolerate any exchanges in my house between you or the girl.”
Riza’s eyes shoot wide and she’s bright red as she scurries away, fingers twisting in the edge of her apron, horrified at her father’s implications between herself and Roy that she doesn’t fully understand.
Roy’s voice comes out colder than he’s ever heard himself. “I assure you, Master Hawkeye. Your daughter is safe with me, always.”
//
“Madame.” Roy executes a bow, smooth and practiced, only to come up to a hand cuffing the back of his head affectionately. “OW!”
“RoyBoy!” Madame has one of those voices that booms, finds all the space in a room and occupies it without a hesitation. “What did I tell you about coming to visit without dragging work with you!”
“Apologies, Madame.” He rubs at the back of his head, lips twisted ruefully. “I’ll try to work in a less all-consuming position in the future.”
That earns him another cuff, and this one Riza privately feels is entirely deserved.
“Instead of smarting off, why don’t you show me the manners I taught you and introduce me?”
Roy pivots with a smile, hand extended to invite Riza into the interior of this strange little bar in the middle of East City, populated by strange women who talk to Roy like there’s history between them. “Madame, this is my Lieutenant, Riza Hawkeye. Lt. Hawkeye, Madame Christmas is the woman who helped make something out of me.”
Madame’s hands are as large as her voice, curling around Riza’s and offering a few firm pumps. “Tried to, anyway. RoyBoy’s treating you well?”
“He’s been an exemplary commander, Madame.” She looks to Roy, hoping against hope that some part of why she’s here will be resolved with this introduction because the bar is clearly a space as familiar to Roy as his own clothing, and she feels passionately out of her depth. Something about a woman Roy called Madame flits at the edge of her memory but it’s just out of reach.
Madame even laughs large. “Oh, Child. If you’re here with my Roy, you don’t need to keep up that story.”
“I . . .”
“IS THAT ROY??”
It’s hard to discern who was the first to send out the call but once it’s out there a group of five or six young women materialize quickly from the stairs at the back of the bar, swarming around Roy like hummingbirds to hyacinth.
“Roy you’ve been such a stranger!”
“Lisette, I -” Riza catches one glimpse of Roy’s frantically waving hand before he’s swarmed and enveloped.
“What have you been doing with yourself that’s more important than visiting us?”
“We thought you being back in East City meant we’d see you more, not less.”
“At least tell me you brought us something nice this time to apologize.”
Madame watches the chaos with a fond smile on her face, softening the cigarette lines around her lips, as quietly peaceful as Riza has ever seen even as her own stomach rolls with a familiar sense of dread and longing.
Her face must show more than she intended for it to, or maybe Madame is as versed in human emotions as Riza would expect for a proprietress of bars near the edge of the military compound. She turns back to Riza and all she sees in her eyes (dark, like Roy’s) is warmth and sweetness.
“Riza, is it? Take a drink with me. Give Roy some time to catch up with his sisters while I get to know the Lieutenant he’s brought to me.”
The world rolls off her shoulders with the force of an avalanche. “Madame, that would be very kind of you.”
//
“Y’know, RoyBoy over there never seems to bring anyone important around here.”
Riza looks up from her drink, follows Madame’s gesture to see Roy still being fussed over by a half dozen of his sisters, slapping their hands away from his hair with increasing levels of frustration. “I was under the impression he introduced General Grumman – “
“I said important, girl. Not influential.” Madame waves her hand slowly, smoke chasing after her fingers. “There’s a difference. Roy’s introduced a lot of influential people to me and the girls, but none of them have ever been important to him.”
She can’t pretend to understand what Madame means by that, but she takes a slow drink anyway and switches tacks. “I didn’t know he had family in the city.”
“Can’t be too public – if word got out that Roy Mustang’s auntie and sisters flittered around this place . . .” She shrugs, finishes her drink and gets up to pour another. “We’d be useless for information at that point. People drop all sorts of details when they’re too relaxed to realize who they’re talking to, and we all want to look out for our Boy.” Madame swirls the bottle at Riza who pushes her glass closer, accepting another finger of whatever Madame has in that bottle. It’s clearly not used for the clientele – tucked under the counter and sealed with a crystal stopper that says it’s worth more than the rest of the drinks along the wall combined.
“Colonel Mustang grew up here, then?” She looks around again, taking in the high, smoke stained ceilings of the room and the hard lines of bottles and sturdy glasses.
Madame lids her eyes, resting her head on the back of her steepled hands and smirks. “He was always a good boy, but too damn smart for his own good. It’s why we sent him to learn from your father.”
Riza flinches in a way that she hopes is missed, but Madame continues without commenting on it. It feels more like offering grace than missing the gesture. “Now you have to tell me, Lt Hawkeye. Is he a good man?”
Every ounce of breath exits her body in a beautiful rush. “Madame, the best.”