(no subject)
The door opens this evening to admit Roy Mustang, along with a blast of cold wind and rain from the autumn storm that has set in over Central City. Roy removes his hat and shakes the water from it; he's turning to head for the fire and a cup of hot coffee when he suddenly looks down at his feet.
It seems someone else has come into the bar to escape the wind and wet -- a soaked and bedraggled kitten that's just tripped over Roy's boots. The small creature is black from nose to tail, save for a white front foot, and it looks up at Roy with a plaintive meow before butting its head against his ankle.
"..." is the Fuhrer's considered response, delivered with years of practise at making punctuation audible.
Five minutes later, Roy and a somewhat dryer kitten are installed comfortably on the floor by the fireplace, and are wholly botherable.
It seems someone else has come into the bar to escape the wind and wet -- a soaked and bedraggled kitten that's just tripped over Roy's boots. The small creature is black from nose to tail, save for a white front foot, and it looks up at Roy with a plaintive meow before butting its head against his ankle.
"..." is the Fuhrer's considered response, delivered with years of practise at making punctuation audible.
Five minutes later, Roy and a somewhat dryer kitten are installed comfortably on the floor by the fireplace, and are wholly botherable.