FMA Fic - “A Perfectly Marvelous and Completely Foolproof Plan”
Title: A Perfectly Marvelous and Completely Foolproof Plan
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Wordcount: 1729
Genre: Humor
Rating/Warnings: K+
Summary: In which matchmaking is a talent that has been passed down the Armstrong line for generations.
Author’s Notes: For tierfal, also for the pulped_fictions secret Santa exchange - I tried to fit a bunch of her favorite military characters into one very silly fic. :D
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Act One: The Problem
Alex Louis Armstrong does not believe in ghosts. As a rule, Armstrongs do not believe in anything which is not solid, concrete, and tangible, and roaming spirits of the dead fall firmly into that category.
“Hey, over here!” says Brigadier-General Hughes. “Don’t tell me you can’t hear me.”
Alex Louis Armstrong is understandably distressed.
“I must be going mad,” he laments. This is terrible. How will the Armstrong family be able to hold their heads up? He’s quite certain Olivier would never hallucinate the ghost of a fallen compatriot.
“You’re not crazy,” Brigadier-General Hughes insists. “C’mon, just hear me out.”
Unfortunately, though the Armstrongs do not believe in ghosts, meticulous politeness is a skill which has been passed down through their family for generations, and the fact that the man speaking to him is nothing but a figment of Alex Louis’s imagination is no excuse not to show him the famous Armstrong manners.
“Brigadier-General,” he finally manages. “Forgive me, but I was under the impression that you were deceased.”
“I am,” says Hughes, sighing mournfully. “But I can’t move on until I settle the unfinished business I have in this world. You know the drill.”
Alex Louis really doesn’t, but he refrains from saying so, because Armstrongs do not argue with figments of their own imaginations. Instead, he settles for asking, “What is this unfinished business? And flattered as I am by your decision to come to me for assistance, I must admit that I would have thought Colonel Mustang would be your first choice.”
“I can’t ask Roy,” Hughes says grimly. “It’s about him.”
“Surely you have no scores to settle with the Colonel,” Alex Louis says, agitated. “He was your best friend!”
“Exactly,” says Hughes, and his eyes narrow dangerously. He folds his arms, and the corner of his mouth turns up in a slightly maniacal smile. “If he thought death was going to stop me, he’s wrong. I’m not crossing over to the other side until I get him a wife!”
Act Two: The Plan
Maes did not come all the way back from the Other Side for this.
“Must be beautiful, intelligent, and enjoy plotting to overthrow corrupt governments, pyromania a plus?” he reads, casting a disdainful eye over the personal advertisement they’ve drafted. “We’re never going to find him a girl with this! Can’t you come up with someone we know?”
“Do not impugn my romantic acumen!” Armstrong booms, frowning. “Matchmaking is a talent that has been passed down the Armstrong line for generations!”
“Well, then get matchmaking,” says Maes. “Who do you think would make a good wife for Colonel Mustang?”
“Hmm…” Armstrong seems to consider the question deeply. “Perhaps… Miss Sheska?”
“Too polite, I think,” says Maes after a moment of thought. “He needs someone who can stand up to him and kick his ass when it’s called for.”
“Well, perhaps Lieutenant Ross, then.”
“Too sensible. It has to be someone with enough of a soft spot for him to put up with his crap.”
“Well, then,” Armstrong suggests, “how about Lieutenant Hawkeye? She’s as strong as they come, but she certainly seems to care for him.”
“You’re right,” Maes says. The more he thinks about the idea, the more brilliant it sounds. “If she didn’t like him, he’d be dead by now. And he trusts her, which is all that really needs to be said. Damn it, why didn’t I think of that before I went and got myself killed? I could’ve had so much fun ribbing him about it!”
“She certainly seems the best candidate,” Armstrong agrees, stroking his mustache pensively. “How shall we endeavor to encourage a relationship between them?”
“Oh, I’ve got that one,” Maes smirks. “Oldest trick in the book.”
Act Three: The Execution
Roy is not sleeping when he hears them. He’s just resting his eyes. At any rate, the door to his office is closed, so his subordinates would have to be talking in ludicrously loud voices to have woken him up from the other room.
“But are you absolutely sure?” Breda practically shouts.
Ah. Apparently they are.
“Yes!” Fuery shouts back. “Don’t let the Colonel find out-” And that’s ridiculous, because at that volume, everyone in Amestris is about to find out whatever he’s going to say. “-but we think Lieutenant Hawkeye’s in love with him!”
Well. This is certainly an interesting development.
“How do you know?” Falman demands, and Roy wanders over to the door to hear more, then immediately regrets it when Havoc’s reply almost blasts his eardrums out.
“Because we looked through her trash and found a secret love letter she’d written to him!”
“Yeah!” Fuery adds loudly. “It was splattered with tears!”
Roy takes a moment to entertain the rather charming image of Riza Hawkeye writing him love letters and crying over them. He knows he’s beautiful, but really, it hurts him to see women - and men - driven to despair by their love for him. Being gorgeous and brilliant can be a curse.
“That’s terrible!” says Falman. He’s the quietest of the group, but that isn’t saying much. “Do you think we should tell him?”
“Tell him?” Breda snorts, and Roy takes a moment to wonder how it’s possible to shout a snort. “Are you kidding? The Colonel’s a decent guy and all, but when it comes to women, he can be kind of a bastard. He’d break her heart.”
“You have a point,” yells Havoc. “Maybe we should… uh… go tell Major Armstrong we had this conversation and get his help to talk her out of her feelings?” There are extraordinarily loud noises of assent, and a moment later, the sound of the outer door closing.
Roy massages the bridge of his nose.
Act Four: The Mishap
Lieutenant Hawkeye is out on the firing range when she notices the branches of a nearby bush moving suspiciously. Frowning and readying her gun, she sidles closer to investigate it.
“Do we really have to do this in public?” Falman’s voice hisses from the foliage. “I know Major Armstrong said it was important, but this is against at least six different rules.”
“It’s true,” Fuery’s voice whispers worriedly. “And if the Colonel finds out, he’ll kill us.”
“I’ll do it,” Havoc’s voice mutters determinedly. There’s a pause. “Wait, give me a moment.”
“You sissies,” Breda says, then raises his voice to a level probably audible across the entire firing range. “No, really? You think Colonel Mustang is in love with Lieutenant Hawkeye?”
If any of the others were about to reply, they’re silenced by the loud click as the lieutenant in question levels her gun at the bush.
“No,” she says, “I don’t. And I suggest you stop spreading rumors about him and get back to your duties, soldiers.”
“Well,” the bush says meekly a moment later, in Fuery’s voice, “that didn’t go as planned.”
Predictably - and wisely - they flee, and their would-be victim sighs and goes back to target practice. Even if their prank hadn’t been so clumsily executed, they wouldn’t have convinced her. Riza Hawkeye is a soldier: tough, professional, and willing to act as an unseen bodyguard. She’s a faithful lieutenant, but that means letting someone stand on her shoulders to reach the heights on which he has his eyes set. She’s not glamorous, she’s not special, and she doesn’t demand attention.
She’d like to be the kind of girl Roy Mustang falls in love with, but she doesn’t think she is.
Act Five: The Result
Alex Louis Armstrong has conceded that ghosts may be more than a figment of his imagination.
Brigadier-General Hughes is extremely persistent.
“Come on, Roy, show up already!” he complains. “I’m getting impatient!” It’s the morning after Colonel Mustang’s staff were convinced to aid them in their romantic subterfuge, and everyone involved is waiting in the office to see the fruits of their labor. Lieutenant Hawkeye has already come in, but she seems to be in a somewhat disagreeable mood, so none of them have decided to risk interrupting her work.
Just when they are beginning to despair and Brigadier-General Hughes has begun to complain vociferously in a way that can only be described as whining, Colonel Mustang appears, and the lack of surprise shown by his staff seems to suggest that he is rarely punctual.
“Good morning,” he greets everyone pleasantly, making his way over to Lieutenant Hawkeye’s desk and producing a bouquet of flowers. “Do you happen to have something I can put these in, Lieutenant? Ah, that’ll do.” He deposits them firmly in the mug on her desk, arranging them to his satisfaction, and she blinks at him impassively.
“I was drinking that, sir.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, peering into the mug. “I hope you like them, though.”
Lieutenant Hawkeye takes a deep breath and stands up to face him. “It’s kind of you to try to console me, sir, but I’m afraid we’ve both been the victims of a similar prank.”
“I’m perfectly aware of that, Lieutenant,” says Mustang with a small smirk, and Hughes makes a small choking sound. “You, writing me maudlin poetry and crying over it? I know you better than that. Self-pity isn’t your style.”
“In that case…” Lieutenant Hawkeye blinks a few more times, looking bewildered. “May I ask what the flowers are for, sir?”
“Thinking about tear-soaked love letters reminds me of the ones I receive on a regular basis,” Roy says. “And that reminds me of how grateful I am that you’re not like the girls who send them. You could love me a hundred times more than they do, and if you thought your feelings would be an inconvenience to me, you wouldn’t say a thing.”
Lieutenant Hawkeye is silent for a moment, then finally says, “Yes, sir.”
This isn’t turning out at all the way Alex Louis and his cohorts had planned.
“Oh, and Lieutenant?” Mustang says. “Do you know what those flowers represent?”
“No, sir.”
Mustang smiles. “They represent beauty unknown to the one who possesses it.”
This is not turning out the way Alex Louis and his cohorts had planned, but that doesn’t mean it’s not turning out well, and he would like to take some credit for that.
After all, being victorious is a talent that has been passed down the Armstrong family for generations.
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Wordcount: 1729
Genre: Humor
Rating/Warnings: K+
Summary: In which matchmaking is a talent that has been passed down the Armstrong line for generations.
Author’s Notes: For tierfal, also for the pulped_fictions secret Santa exchange - I tried to fit a bunch of her favorite military characters into one very silly fic. :D
-
Act One: The Problem
Alex Louis Armstrong does not believe in ghosts. As a rule, Armstrongs do not believe in anything which is not solid, concrete, and tangible, and roaming spirits of the dead fall firmly into that category.
“Hey, over here!” says Brigadier-General Hughes. “Don’t tell me you can’t hear me.”
Alex Louis Armstrong is understandably distressed.
“I must be going mad,” he laments. This is terrible. How will the Armstrong family be able to hold their heads up? He’s quite certain Olivier would never hallucinate the ghost of a fallen compatriot.
“You’re not crazy,” Brigadier-General Hughes insists. “C’mon, just hear me out.”
Unfortunately, though the Armstrongs do not believe in ghosts, meticulous politeness is a skill which has been passed down through their family for generations, and the fact that the man speaking to him is nothing but a figment of Alex Louis’s imagination is no excuse not to show him the famous Armstrong manners.
“Brigadier-General,” he finally manages. “Forgive me, but I was under the impression that you were deceased.”
“I am,” says Hughes, sighing mournfully. “But I can’t move on until I settle the unfinished business I have in this world. You know the drill.”
Alex Louis really doesn’t, but he refrains from saying so, because Armstrongs do not argue with figments of their own imaginations. Instead, he settles for asking, “What is this unfinished business? And flattered as I am by your decision to come to me for assistance, I must admit that I would have thought Colonel Mustang would be your first choice.”
“I can’t ask Roy,” Hughes says grimly. “It’s about him.”
“Surely you have no scores to settle with the Colonel,” Alex Louis says, agitated. “He was your best friend!”
“Exactly,” says Hughes, and his eyes narrow dangerously. He folds his arms, and the corner of his mouth turns up in a slightly maniacal smile. “If he thought death was going to stop me, he’s wrong. I’m not crossing over to the other side until I get him a wife!”
Act Two: The Plan
Maes did not come all the way back from the Other Side for this.
“Must be beautiful, intelligent, and enjoy plotting to overthrow corrupt governments, pyromania a plus?” he reads, casting a disdainful eye over the personal advertisement they’ve drafted. “We’re never going to find him a girl with this! Can’t you come up with someone we know?”
“Do not impugn my romantic acumen!” Armstrong booms, frowning. “Matchmaking is a talent that has been passed down the Armstrong line for generations!”
“Well, then get matchmaking,” says Maes. “Who do you think would make a good wife for Colonel Mustang?”
“Hmm…” Armstrong seems to consider the question deeply. “Perhaps… Miss Sheska?”
“Too polite, I think,” says Maes after a moment of thought. “He needs someone who can stand up to him and kick his ass when it’s called for.”
“Well, perhaps Lieutenant Ross, then.”
“Too sensible. It has to be someone with enough of a soft spot for him to put up with his crap.”
“Well, then,” Armstrong suggests, “how about Lieutenant Hawkeye? She’s as strong as they come, but she certainly seems to care for him.”
“You’re right,” Maes says. The more he thinks about the idea, the more brilliant it sounds. “If she didn’t like him, he’d be dead by now. And he trusts her, which is all that really needs to be said. Damn it, why didn’t I think of that before I went and got myself killed? I could’ve had so much fun ribbing him about it!”
“She certainly seems the best candidate,” Armstrong agrees, stroking his mustache pensively. “How shall we endeavor to encourage a relationship between them?”
“Oh, I’ve got that one,” Maes smirks. “Oldest trick in the book.”
Act Three: The Execution
Roy is not sleeping when he hears them. He’s just resting his eyes. At any rate, the door to his office is closed, so his subordinates would have to be talking in ludicrously loud voices to have woken him up from the other room.
“But are you absolutely sure?” Breda practically shouts.
Ah. Apparently they are.
“Yes!” Fuery shouts back. “Don’t let the Colonel find out-” And that’s ridiculous, because at that volume, everyone in Amestris is about to find out whatever he’s going to say. “-but we think Lieutenant Hawkeye’s in love with him!”
Well. This is certainly an interesting development.
“How do you know?” Falman demands, and Roy wanders over to the door to hear more, then immediately regrets it when Havoc’s reply almost blasts his eardrums out.
“Because we looked through her trash and found a secret love letter she’d written to him!”
“Yeah!” Fuery adds loudly. “It was splattered with tears!”
Roy takes a moment to entertain the rather charming image of Riza Hawkeye writing him love letters and crying over them. He knows he’s beautiful, but really, it hurts him to see women - and men - driven to despair by their love for him. Being gorgeous and brilliant can be a curse.
“That’s terrible!” says Falman. He’s the quietest of the group, but that isn’t saying much. “Do you think we should tell him?”
“Tell him?” Breda snorts, and Roy takes a moment to wonder how it’s possible to shout a snort. “Are you kidding? The Colonel’s a decent guy and all, but when it comes to women, he can be kind of a bastard. He’d break her heart.”
“You have a point,” yells Havoc. “Maybe we should… uh… go tell Major Armstrong we had this conversation and get his help to talk her out of her feelings?” There are extraordinarily loud noises of assent, and a moment later, the sound of the outer door closing.
Roy massages the bridge of his nose.
Act Four: The Mishap
Lieutenant Hawkeye is out on the firing range when she notices the branches of a nearby bush moving suspiciously. Frowning and readying her gun, she sidles closer to investigate it.
“Do we really have to do this in public?” Falman’s voice hisses from the foliage. “I know Major Armstrong said it was important, but this is against at least six different rules.”
“It’s true,” Fuery’s voice whispers worriedly. “And if the Colonel finds out, he’ll kill us.”
“I’ll do it,” Havoc’s voice mutters determinedly. There’s a pause. “Wait, give me a moment.”
“You sissies,” Breda says, then raises his voice to a level probably audible across the entire firing range. “No, really? You think Colonel Mustang is in love with Lieutenant Hawkeye?”
If any of the others were about to reply, they’re silenced by the loud click as the lieutenant in question levels her gun at the bush.
“No,” she says, “I don’t. And I suggest you stop spreading rumors about him and get back to your duties, soldiers.”
“Well,” the bush says meekly a moment later, in Fuery’s voice, “that didn’t go as planned.”
Predictably - and wisely - they flee, and their would-be victim sighs and goes back to target practice. Even if their prank hadn’t been so clumsily executed, they wouldn’t have convinced her. Riza Hawkeye is a soldier: tough, professional, and willing to act as an unseen bodyguard. She’s a faithful lieutenant, but that means letting someone stand on her shoulders to reach the heights on which he has his eyes set. She’s not glamorous, she’s not special, and she doesn’t demand attention.
She’d like to be the kind of girl Roy Mustang falls in love with, but she doesn’t think she is.
Act Five: The Result
Alex Louis Armstrong has conceded that ghosts may be more than a figment of his imagination.
Brigadier-General Hughes is extremely persistent.
“Come on, Roy, show up already!” he complains. “I’m getting impatient!” It’s the morning after Colonel Mustang’s staff were convinced to aid them in their romantic subterfuge, and everyone involved is waiting in the office to see the fruits of their labor. Lieutenant Hawkeye has already come in, but she seems to be in a somewhat disagreeable mood, so none of them have decided to risk interrupting her work.
Just when they are beginning to despair and Brigadier-General Hughes has begun to complain vociferously in a way that can only be described as whining, Colonel Mustang appears, and the lack of surprise shown by his staff seems to suggest that he is rarely punctual.
“Good morning,” he greets everyone pleasantly, making his way over to Lieutenant Hawkeye’s desk and producing a bouquet of flowers. “Do you happen to have something I can put these in, Lieutenant? Ah, that’ll do.” He deposits them firmly in the mug on her desk, arranging them to his satisfaction, and she blinks at him impassively.
“I was drinking that, sir.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, peering into the mug. “I hope you like them, though.”
Lieutenant Hawkeye takes a deep breath and stands up to face him. “It’s kind of you to try to console me, sir, but I’m afraid we’ve both been the victims of a similar prank.”
“I’m perfectly aware of that, Lieutenant,” says Mustang with a small smirk, and Hughes makes a small choking sound. “You, writing me maudlin poetry and crying over it? I know you better than that. Self-pity isn’t your style.”
“In that case…” Lieutenant Hawkeye blinks a few more times, looking bewildered. “May I ask what the flowers are for, sir?”
“Thinking about tear-soaked love letters reminds me of the ones I receive on a regular basis,” Roy says. “And that reminds me of how grateful I am that you’re not like the girls who send them. You could love me a hundred times more than they do, and if you thought your feelings would be an inconvenience to me, you wouldn’t say a thing.”
Lieutenant Hawkeye is silent for a moment, then finally says, “Yes, sir.”
This isn’t turning out at all the way Alex Louis and his cohorts had planned.
“Oh, and Lieutenant?” Mustang says. “Do you know what those flowers represent?”
“No, sir.”
Mustang smiles. “They represent beauty unknown to the one who possesses it.”
This is not turning out the way Alex Louis and his cohorts had planned, but that doesn’t mean it’s not turning out well, and he would like to take some credit for that.
After all, being victorious is a talent that has been passed down the Armstrong family for generations.