Win

Central Military Headquarters, Amestris, 1912

It was raining.

Roy hated the rain. His hair got wet, his clothes got wet, which made him get cold, which made him miserable. He couldn't even light a fire to warm himself up, as the relentless sheets of water soaked his ignition gloves through, earning him the title of 'Brigadier General Useless'. The rain dampened his ego as much as it dampened his physical form. Roy hated the rain.

The thick torrents beat out a steady, irritating rhythm against the window of the office. It got inside Roy's head until it was all he could hear; the consistent drumming of the rain against the glass. Roy longed for it to go away, so that he could concentrate. If he didn't finish this paperwork by lunch, there'd be a bullet for him. Truly, it was a horrible day.

Realising that he was going to get nothing done until the rain should decide to cease its tirade, Roy stood up with a sigh, and left his office (receiving a disparaging glare from Hawkeye), and walked in the direction of the Mess Hall. The sun was starting to come out, so perhaps he could lose himself in a coffee until the sky cleared.

The back wall of the Mess Hall basically consisted of one very large window, which gave a clear view of Central. Usually, this was ignored in favour of the meagre fare provided by the military, the soldiers ravenous after long hours of toil. Today, however, all eyes were directed towards the window. Entering the hall, Roy noted the mixture of wonder and trepidation on the faces of the soldiers, and turned his own gaze to their focal point.

Major Armstrong stood, muscles rippling, with his shirt in tatters around him, staring out of the window. Looking closer, Roy could make out the signature pink sparkles dancing around his frame, and the tears streaming down his face.

"What does it mean? It's so bright and so vivid!" Armstrong gushed, overwhelmed by the beauty of whatever it was he saw. Roy moved closer to the Major, placing a hand on his heavily muscled shoulder.

"Major, I think you should return to your work now. You're disturbing the new recruits."

Indeed, a group of young Privates sat, frozen, at a nearby table, all thoughts of lunch forgotten, as they gaped at the sight of this well-built man giving in so entirely to sentimentality. Their eyes opened and closed frantically, as they tried to reconcile this display of emotion with the strong soldier they were used to. They were failing.

Roy took the Major's arm and ushered him out, leaving the new soldiers to regain their composure, and eat their lunch in peace. 'So much for coffee,' Roy thought.

Roy hated the rain.

Risembool, Amestris, 1912

Well. That was entirely too uncomfortable. There had been a lot of questions, and for once, he didn't have the answers. He wasn't exactly sure what had happened, if he was honest. It wasn't anything he could have expected.

He'd thought his charge was dead, and he'd gone home, his job done. But upon arrival, he was summoned by the Jewelled King himself, and interrogated for what seemed like a very long time. Of course, the passage of time in his world wasn't the same as in the human worlds; so in fact, it had been a very long time.

He reached down into the tree he was perched atop, picking another apple and swallowing it in one great gulp. The apples here tasted good. Even better than the ones his charge had given to him. Perhaps it was because they were fresh, or because the air was cleaner here than it was in the city. Either way, he had been sitting on this particular tree for perhaps an hour. If anybody had noticed the steady disappearance of the tree's fruits, there was no comment. The humans here seemed far more trusting than the ones he was used to. Interesting.

He surveyed the place that he had traced his charge to. A small, quaint little village, with only a few houses, and a couple of shops in a short high street. Despite not having many inhabitants, the place felt alive with the busy comings and going of those who lived there. A nice setting. But no sign of his charge. He felt the pull of his bond trying to drag him away from here. Unfurling his wings, he rose into the sky, and followed its lead. At least his charge had been an entertaining one. He did not feel much regret as he swooped off to find him.

A sandy haired young boy carrying a large wicker basket exited a nearby house via the front door. His gaze rested on the recently vacated tree. He rolled his eyes and sighed, calling back into the building, "Brother, have you eaten all the apples again?"