Lighthearted: A Series of Fortunate Events
Summary: In response to the overall misery I've been sensing from my peers recently, I've decided to write a series of fluff-tastic Royai one-shots/drabbles. Hopefully I'm successful, as fluff isn't my usual cup of tea.
DISCLAIMER: ALTHO IT MIGHT BE MOST EXCELLENT TO OWN ROY, I DON'T. NOR DO I OWN ANY OF HIS FRIENDS OR ASSOCIATES.
Concept One: Coffee
Concept One, Idea A
Title: Epiphany is Not Just A Town In Upstate New York.
Roy Mustang, for all his (excuse the pun) firepower, was really nothing but a great big, flamin' (again, the pun!) pansy, Riza Hawkeye decided as she mixed his coffee. Honestly, she thought, what kind of a man took SIX bloody sugars in his coffee?!
Riza herself drank her coffee black. No sugar. No cream. Straight-up, right to the point, caffeine saturated, black coffee. The kind that made your eyes water. The kind that made every muscle in your face twinge. The kind of coffee that put hair on your ches..
She paused a moment, spoon spinning and clinking aimlessly in Roy's cup.
Riza quickly mixed twice as much sugar into her own coffee, and poured a good measure of cream in as well.
Concept One, Idea B
Title: Roy Mustang, Upstanding Military Officer.
Roy looked up as Riza entered the room. Balanced precariously on top of a stack of files were two cups of steaming coffee. She walked with precise, measured steps, confident, although her load was a dangerous one.
This happened every morning, without fail.
Every morning Riza Hawkeye would retrieve their work for the day, along with two cups of coffee. Everyday she would enter, poised, the cups balanced on top of the files, and everyday Roy would hope, nay, pray, to whatever God there may be, that the cups would fall.
A devious, mischevious, lowdown'n'dirty hope it was, he knew, but the benefits of that spill would be worth the initial discomfort of his irksome conscious.
And so, with a diligence previously not witnessed from the Colonel, he set about with his nefarious scheming.
In the end, a perfect opportunity presented itself, and he leaped upon it. Well, technically, it leaped upon him. But we'll save the specifics for a later time, as Maes Hughes was involved, and anything having to do with Maes Hughes, and more directly, involving Maes Hughes SPEAKING, can get tedious.
The opportunity itself was little Elysia Hughes, and her weapon of choice, a thick, chunky pencil. It was well-suited for Roy's crime, seeing as everyone knew who it belonged to, but wouldn't DARE blame her. Especially if they valued the connection their neck made with their head. Daddy was protective of his little girl, suffice to say.
Roy arranged for little Elysia to "forget" the pencil, quite conveniently, on the floor, and more accurately, RIGHT SMACK DAB IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FLOOR.
He avoided it, checked on it, stared at it, obsessed about it, right up until he left that night (his victim had had a well-deserved day off, all part of his devious scheme). And as he had flicked out the lights that night, he whispered a few words of encouragement to the pencil, as if to inspire it to be more roll-ee than usual.
"Give 'er hell, soldier", he said to the writing utensil, then tipped his hat and walked out.
And now, remembering that moment, he was struck with how brilliant his plan was. How simple. How perfect.
And how now, after literally days of planning, it was all coming together…
Hawkeye entered the room. Files. Coffee cups.
"Luitenant. Good morning.", said Roy, gruffly, careful not to look up all too obviously from his desk, where he was "reading" the paper. In truth, he secretly followed her movements from the top of his paper, eyes no more distracted by the headline screaming "Showgirls Coming To Central!", than by the black and white picture of several cabaret dancers lifting up ridiculously fluffy looking skirts.
Roy was focused today. He was a man with a plan.
"Good morning Colonel", she replied.
She came closer to the pencil.
Roy held his breath…
Roy watched, anxiously.
And closer yet she came!!!
And then, in a moment best described with the brilliantly accurate onomanapeoiaic word "thump", she tumbled to the floor.
"Oof!", Riza muttered eloquently, as she went down.
A Perfect 10!, thought Roy, as the coffee splashed all down Riza's front, completely drenching her navy blue, perfectly ironed, military issued jacket, her white, perfectly ironed, military issued shirt, and her navy blue, perfectly ironed, military issued pants. If Roy was any less of a man he'd have let his tongue roll out of his mouth and, if he was about to hit rock bottom, he'd have drooled. It was like a wet t-shirt contest right in the (semi) privacy of his own office. Not that Roy knew anything about wet t-shirt contests. He was a man of dignity.
"Riza?", he said, looking up from his paper. "Are you ok?"
It was more than obvious from his strange facial expression that he was putting forth maximum effort not to laugh. MAXIMUM EFFORT! Extreme effort! Amazing, superhuman effort, not to laugh.
Riza frowned miserably from the floor.
"Sir, I believe Elysia left her pencil here."
Roy got up from his desk and walked over to her, extending a hand to help her to her feet.
"So she has", Roy chuckled, and lifted her up. Riza rubbed her backside, and her frown deepened.
Roy looked down at her shirt.
Riza followed his eyes.
"What a mess", she mumbled, examining the damage done to her previously pristine uniform.
"I think mess right about sums it up", Roy replied.
"Sir, I'm sorry, I just ruined your coffee and the reports are just absolutely-"
"Don't worry Liutenant, I'm sure my coffee and those reports can be replaced."
Riza looked up him and he pulled a hankercheif, waaay too convientiently from his pocket and tried to wipe at the coffee stains on her shirt.
"Sir, with all due respect, you're fighting a losing battle", she said with a slight smile.
"You're right, Hawkeye."
"Sir, permission to clock out and go home and change", she said.
"Hawkeye, you don't have to-"
"Roy, I'm all wet and-"
Roy's mouth went dry and he momentarily forgot what was happening.
"Hawkeye, what I meant was that I keep extra uniforms in the closet. Just in case."
"You do sir? Excellent. Could I borrow one?"
"Of course, go right ahead."
The day went down in military history as the day Riza Hawkeye wore a mini-skirt, which was, coincidentally enough, the only uniform Roy Mustang kept in the closet.
One might've thought he kept it there with this express purpose in mind.
But that just wouldn't be Roy.
After all, he was an upstanding military officer.
Concept One, Idea C
Title: The Anti-Coffee
Roy sat miserably in his chair, paperwork done, watching the rain pour outside. He was wrapped in a blanket, his eyes blood-shot and red, waiting for his shift to be over. He'd come to work sick today, a bad idea, as it turned out.
His headache pounded, he felt feverish and his skin crawled with the occasional flurry of goosebumps when he shivered. The incessant chatter of his subordinates did nothing for his mood, and he ended up sending them skittering from the room with a few well placed expletives. Riza walked in just as they ran, tail tucked between their legs, from the room. She wisely chose to say nothing.
She set the enormous stack of paperwork on her desk and then left again, observing, unbeknownst to Roy, the tell-tale dark circles beneath his eyes. She returned, sometime later, with a pillbox and a steaming mug of something. She set the mug on his desk and brushed a cool hand against his forehead. He turned feverish eyes to her and smiled.
"You shouldn't get too close, you might catch what I have."
"Don't worry about it, sir", she said in return.
She opened the pill box and handed him two, twin, cream colored pills, which he popped in his mouth and swallowed. She then handed him the mug and he took a hesistant sip.
"What kind of coffee is this", he asked.
"Not coffee, sir. Hot chocolate."
"Riza, this'll put me to sleep."
"That is the point, sir."
Roy shot her a puzzled glance.
"What about the paperwork?"
"I'll make Havoc do it."
Roy grinned and sipped the hot chocolate again.
Outside, the rain poured with renewed vigor. Hawkeye made to walk toward he own desk, but stopped when Roy cleared his throat.
"If you really don't mind catching this thing", he began, and open his arms wide, exposing his lap, "maybe you could come sit with me."
Riza smiled softly and slipped onto his lap. It worked out rather well, Riza being quite tiny and the chair being quite large. He spun it so they could watch the rain fall against the window, Riza situating her head against his chest, Roy resting his against the high back of the chair.
Roy wrapped the blanket around them, and they dozed off.
And so...nothing but utter fluff of the most unadulterated kind.
I hope you enjoyed it!