ONE: All Tomorrow's Parties
Notes: FMA is obviously not my property. Originally written for starsandtildes at LJ. In which non-specific winter holiday parties are problematic. Featuring Roy Mustang.
"Pigs," Olivia snarls, pushing past him through the door, not even noticing as he holds it open for her. No more office parties, ever, and the idiots who wrote that reg about woman officers wearing proper feminine attire can warm their toes in hell. Damn them all.
"I'm a gentleman," Roy says, the words softened on his lips. His tongue's gone a trifle heavy--there was more than champagne in that punch--but his arm is strong and steady, warm against her bare back. "Allow me to walk you home."
Olivia smiles. Her lips are rich and red and full, perfect as a velvet bow. Her teeth practically glitter.
"Are you terribly fond of that hand?"
The knife flashes in her grip, liquid bright, as she slits Roy's glove from wrist to fingertips.
"Not especially," he says, still grinning as she stomps off--marching away as best she can in heels, peacock blue skirts flouncing almost knee-high in the cold.
He lets her go. She'd never respect him if he bled on her, and he'll probably never get a view like this again.