[Nagi closes his eyes and leans back, exhaling deeply. The rage seeps out of him like steam. He knows this hurts her. He also knows she can take it.
And he had to make sure. He had to make absolutely certain before this partnership, or rivalry, or friendship or whatever the hell it was went any further. No matter how he felt about Olivier, no matter how much he admired her, anyone who was loyal to Bradley and participated in the system that had ripped his life out from under him was someone he would either kill or die trying to. No one was exempt.
But Olivier, it seems, is fighting the same battle he is, albeit from a different perspective. Bradley is their common foe- as is Mayfield. Just as their methods of resistance against the latter had differed, so did their methods for the former. He remembers what he said to her in their second conversation here, about multiple groups working in tandem being more effective than a single, unified assault...
Their methods couldn't be more different, but their goal is the same. As are their enemies. It's foolish to continue fighting her- worse than that, it's exactly what Bradley would want him to do. And, says that little voice, let's not forget that having Olivier Armstrong as an ally is a much more appealing thought than having her as an enemy.
This is true for more reasons than one, he realizes, and then pushes the thought away.]
I won't be satisfied until I have Fuhrer Bradley's corpse lying in front of me. But for now? Yes. That's all I needed to hear.
I propose a truce, Major General. Continuing our war here accomplishes nothing for either of us. The choice of whether or not to accept is yours to make.
[Olivier is as close to on-edge as she gets, but it's easy enough to deliver the truth. Nagi shouldn't be able to miss the note of pride in her voice, nor the smallest shadow of frustration that still lingers.
It should've been her kill.]
He's dead. I saw the body myself.
If you want details, I'll give them to you, but not like this. The phones aren't secure.
As for a truce... I won't go back on my word. I believe I've already expressed my feelings on the matter at the party, and this revelation doesn't change a thing. We have to work together if we're going to get out of here.
I see. [And it's times like this that Nagi's glad his voice is mechanical; otherwise she'd hear the note of relief in his voice.
Bradley is gone. Dead. His life's mission is over, and it happened entirely without him. He feels cheated, but what does it matter if it wasn't him to deliver the blow? Bradley is dead. He can't hurt anyone else, and maybe now she can rest in peace.
Nagi exhales, deeply.] Shall we meet up in person, then? I'd like to see you face to face.
[He waits. He'd have waited longer, if need be.] Are you expecting a fight? And here I thought you believed me a peace-loving coward. [He's amused, the battle in the blizzard ringing in his mind.]
My sword isn't here, of course. But if having yours makes you feel better, by all means.
[There's a small click, and another silence, then the sound of someone exhaling. If it takes a little vice to keep her from rising to his words, so be it. She won't be baited, and she won't let any of the relief slip into her tone. After all this, she's not really up for fighting just yet. The image of his retreating form and her own palpable disappointment feels fresh again.]
Don't flatter yourself. You're a damn coward, and I could kill you with my bare hands. I just don't want to give you nightmares by not warning you that I'm armed. You might cry.
By all means, feel free to try to kill me. It's not as thought it will last here, is it? And I'll be interested to see if you're more successful the second time around. [He's not entirely sure why he's teasing her like this, and he has the vague sense of being a deer trotting past the cave of a hungry wolf.
Maybe it's because, however much he doesn't want to admit it, the words do string. Traitor. Coward. He's spent years convincing himself that these words don't apply to him, and to have them thrown in his face by her makes his blood boil.] The park. Nice neutral ground. I'd prefer to be alone, but if you'd feel safer with a few bodyguards, I won't mind.
If I really wanted you dead, you'd be dead already.
[The moment he names the location, she's out of her seat, cigarette left in the ashtray to burn itself down. Her voice sounds slightly distant; she's hanging up even as she speaks. There's a little bit of a thrill running through her at seeing him now, something she can't recall having felt for some time. It isn't apprehension, or even anger. It's something she'll conveniently not identify, for fear that it might get articulated.]
Alone is fine. You have fifteen minutes.
[No one is around at the moment. Olivier takes a long, silent look in the mirror, carefully adjusting every piece of her uniform to absolute perfection, hooking her pocket watch in place like it's functional. The sword, too, is strapped on--not because she needs it, but because it completes the picture that she wants him to remember.
Before, they've only met on the battlefield and in dimly lit rooms. With luck, he'll have no concept how absolutely intimidating she can be in broad daylight, and she will use that to her advantage. Her head is held high as she passes through the streets, preferring to take her time, to walk, to make him wait for this moment. It's absolutely not because she's suddenly denying his existence, or because she's worried that what might happen could change Mayfield entirely for her. Absolutely not.
The only old enemy she regards as an ally won that place by killing Bradley. Nagi Kengamine will have to do something exceptional, she resolves, to ever gain her complete trust. She's only sticking with the truce in order to keep her word, or so she tells herself as she heads for the most shaded part of the park: A small grove of trees, just in case blood needs to be shed.]
[Nagi, meanwhile, has for the first time in Mayfield done the impossible: cleaned up nicely. Gone is the sandal-wearing hippie in ruffled clothes: Nagi's selected clothes he thought he'd never wear, pressed and ironed by the drone wife before she was replaced. A pressed shirt and pants, black boots, and the black overcoat he'd originally sworn off in favor of simple sweaters. His normally messy hair is neatly combed for the first time since his arrival in Mayfield.
The overall effect is the transformation of Nagi Kengamine from a quiet, unassuming man- the sort of man you might expect to see shelving books in a library or teaching high school geometry -into the military commander he now knows himself to be. He wishes he could have regained his sword; he feels naked without a weapon in hand. But if he wasn't willing to face Olivier Armstrong without the comfort of a sword nearby, he wouldn't be willing to face her at all.
Nagi is waiting for her in the grove when she arrives. He's leaning against a tree, arms crossed, eyes closed. He could sneak glances, try to see if she's coming, but he doesn't. When she's here, she'll speak. ...Either that, or shove a blade between his ribs. Either way, Olivier will make her presence known when it's time.
He knows he should be afraid of her. She's terrifying. A goddess of war walking among mere mortals. But she is also alive, vividly so, and a dead man has little to fear from the living.]
[The soft crunch of boots on snow should announce her presence well enough for Nagi, so Olivier says nothing at all. Instead, she regards him with the most practiced disdain, looking down her tall, regal Armstrong nose at the fine gentleman he's crafted himself into.]
They gave you your dignity back? [She circles around to stand a few feet in front of him, perfectly squared, like a regiment readying an attack. But it's a silent motion, once more. She's at a loss for words, it seems; the feeling in her gut that says he's the enemy is fading quickly, turning into something much less white-hot and much more confusing. If she refuses to address it, will it go away?
The facade slips when the light wind teases a piece of her hair into her eyes; she reaches up to push it away, and only as she touches it does she realize the mistake she's made. Acting human in front of your enemy isn't a mistake that's like Olivier at all. Seeing him as a civilian up to this point in Mayfield has obviously made am impression on her that even a heated battle can't erase so quickly; or is it, perhaps, that she simply sees him as an ally because their common enemy is dead?]
Dignity has nothing to do with what you wear, Major General. We both know that. [He opens his eyes, but does not move: his gaze locks on hers. Another man might have strained not to blink, but Nagi knows her better than to engage in childish staring contests. She'd probably win, anyway.
His head tilts a bit as he looks at her. He's met her plenty of times here in Mayfield, but not like this, not with these memories: it's like he's seeing her for the first time again. She is beautiful, he thinks, and to his mild surprise there is no lust in the thought. Hers is not the beauty of a society dame nor an exotic dancer; this is like looking at a waterfall, or more aptly, a mountain. The woman is a force of nature.
He catches the look in her eyes as her hand moves across her bangs. She's on edge. That makes two of us.]
I'm sure you didn't come here to discuss my wardrobe. You say that Bradley is dead. I want to know how.
[He seems to be seeing her for the first time, the same way she's seeing him. Neither is seeing the person they thought they'd known, and both seem to hesitate. It's a delicate position, but Olivier can work with it, if she must. He may have looked like this in Amestris at some point, but all she can remember is his strained, haggard visage trying to beat her back as his men fell. Until now, he had always looked defeated to her. He's almost too put-together to tolerate.
Ahh, and graciously, here's a hideous topic to distract her.]
Two men engaged him outside of the walls of the main complex in Central City. One was my man--Buccaneer--and the other was a Xingese. They weakened Bradley, but he escaped. Scar, the Ishvalan terrorist, was later the one to strike the final blow. Shortly before the last battle, I saw the corpse personally.
[The distant look in her eyes is probably telling, but she gets it whenever she recounts the events of home; they're factual, of course, but Mayfield has dulled them. And now, she believes, Mayfield steals them as well. This entire situation is far too uncomfortable, and she can see no other resolution than perhaps stabbing him in the neck and subsequently fleeing--which, admittedly, feels quite childish. With a short cough, she swallows the discomfort again.]
And that's all I wanted to hear. [This makes it real. Hearing it from her lips. Because...] I believe you.
[Nagi leans his head against the tree and lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. He feels... good. Better than he has in ages.
He can finally let go.
After a moment, however, he remembers the woman standing in front of him. She wants something from him. And, he knows, he wants something from her. What, exactly, he doesn't know.] What about you? What's become of Briggs?
[His relief is strange for her to see; she's never seen a soldier honestly react that way; but, then again, she is a wall of iron will. No sane man would show her a moment's weakness.
Olivier doesn't know what Nagi is expecting from her, nor does she understand what she's really seeking. She's told this story once or twice here in Mayfield, but never has it meant anything to anyone. Perhaps she's simply seeking understanding. Perhaps it's something more. Regardless of the reason, she gives the cause in inglorious detail, her own faults laid bare.]
...Someone spoke up for me, so I narrowly avoided being court martialed over the deaths of hundreds of soldiers under the guns of my own forces. Apparently, even if the evil son of a bitch you're trying to overthrow is a monster, it's still a problem if you to attack him and his forces. I've been back at Briggs for a little over a year. Drachma hasn't done a damn thing. I'm... bored. Waiting.
[Again, she's honest beyond any normal turn; but in order for things to work here, it seems Nagi needs to understand things completely. They're going to be forced to work together, regardless of the situation, and she might as well lay the cards out in advance.]
Why does any of this matter? Are you looking to avenge your men and your pride, too? I'm practically ruined, if Mustang keeps going up the damn promotion chain. It could get dirty if Grumman dies. That's all you need to hear to be satisfied, correct?
[No, this is what she needs. Suddenly, she understands. Not being able to finish their fight was a great disappointment for her. Perhaps she's seeking her own closure.]
Did you respect me as an enemy, or did you see me like the rest of them?
Sounds like typical Amestris politics to me. Maybe now you see why I left.
[He shakes his head.] I'm done with vengeance. My men died in battle, with pride. And my pride doesn't need avenging. As for your question...
[His eyes open, and there's something of the old Nagi there: the hostile edge in his gaze is gone.] You must be joking. You? Lumped in with the rest of them? A blind man could spot you in a crowd full of those buffoons. I haven't had a fight like ours in my entire life. I've started to wonder if anyone has.
[In that moment, one word--pride--catches the remnants of Olivier's distrust and hatred with a hook, ripping the emotions from her body and casting them aside. They're more alike than he knows. Pride is the one and only thing she lets her men keep, the thread that ties them all together. They are not mere soldiers of Amestris. They are Briggs.
What remains, for Olivier, is the faintest sense of kinship. She's actually willing to go out on a limb. Her voice raises in pitch ever so slightly, not an affectation, but definitely intended to get a response.]
Sorry to tell you, but I've had an opponent who was faster and hit harder.
[Just one. And he broke several of her bones in the process.]
I don't think you'll be able to match it in a million years. In fact... I thought he might be one of yours when I first encountered him.
And he had to make sure. He had to make absolutely certain before this partnership, or rivalry, or friendship or whatever the hell it was went any further. No matter how he felt about Olivier, no matter how much he admired her, anyone who was loyal to Bradley and participated in the system that had ripped his life out from under him was someone he would either kill or die trying to. No one was exempt.
But Olivier, it seems, is fighting the same battle he is, albeit from a different perspective. Bradley is their common foe- as is Mayfield. Just as their methods of resistance against the latter had differed, so did their methods for the former. He remembers what he said to her in their second conversation here, about multiple groups working in tandem being more effective than a single, unified assault...
Their methods couldn't be more different, but their goal is the same. As are their enemies. It's foolish to continue fighting her- worse than that, it's exactly what Bradley would want him to do. And, says that little voice, let's not forget that having Olivier Armstrong as an ally is a much more appealing thought than having her as an enemy.
This is true for more reasons than one, he realizes, and then pushes the thought away.]
I won't be satisfied until I have Fuhrer Bradley's corpse lying in front of me. But for now? Yes. That's all I needed to hear.
I propose a truce, Major General. Continuing our war here accomplishes nothing for either of us. The choice of whether or not to accept is yours to make.
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It should've been her kill.]
He's dead. I saw the body myself.
If you want details, I'll give them to you, but not like this. The phones aren't secure.
As for a truce... I won't go back on my word. I believe I've already expressed my feelings on the matter at the party, and this revelation doesn't change a thing. We have to work together if we're going to get out of here.
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Bradley is gone. Dead. His life's mission is over, and it happened entirely without him. He feels cheated, but what does it matter if it wasn't him to deliver the blow? Bradley is dead. He can't hurt anyone else, and maybe now she can rest in peace.
Nagi exhales, deeply.] Shall we meet up in person, then? I'd like to see you face to face.
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You really want to know? Fine. I'll meet you somewhere. I'm not coming unarmed, though.
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My sword isn't here, of course. But if having yours makes you feel better, by all means.
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Don't flatter yourself. You're a damn coward, and I could kill you with my bare hands. I just don't want to give you nightmares by not warning you that I'm armed. You might cry.
Where do you want to meet?
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Maybe it's because, however much he doesn't want to admit it, the words do string. Traitor. Coward. He's spent years convincing himself that these words don't apply to him, and to have them thrown in his face by her makes his blood boil.] The park. Nice neutral ground. I'd prefer to be alone, but if you'd feel safer with a few bodyguards, I won't mind.
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[The moment he names the location, she's out of her seat, cigarette left in the ashtray to burn itself down. Her voice sounds slightly distant; she's hanging up even as she speaks. There's a little bit of a thrill running through her at seeing him now, something she can't recall having felt for some time. It isn't apprehension, or even anger. It's something she'll conveniently not identify, for fear that it might get articulated.]
Alone is fine. You have fifteen minutes.
[No one is around at the moment. Olivier takes a long, silent look in the mirror, carefully adjusting every piece of her uniform to absolute perfection, hooking her pocket watch in place like it's functional. The sword, too, is strapped on--not because she needs it, but because it completes the picture that she wants him to remember.
Before, they've only met on the battlefield and in dimly lit rooms. With luck, he'll have no concept how absolutely intimidating she can be in broad daylight, and she will use that to her advantage. Her head is held high as she passes through the streets, preferring to take her time, to walk, to make him wait for this moment. It's absolutely not because she's suddenly denying his existence, or because she's worried that what might happen could change Mayfield entirely for her. Absolutely not.
The only old enemy she regards as an ally won that place by killing Bradley. Nagi Kengamine will have to do something exceptional, she resolves, to ever gain her complete trust. She's only sticking with the truce in order to keep her word, or so she tells herself as she heads for the most shaded part of the park: A small grove of trees, just in case blood needs to be shed.]
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The overall effect is the transformation of Nagi Kengamine from a quiet, unassuming man- the sort of man you might expect to see shelving books in a library or teaching high school geometry -into the military commander he now knows himself to be. He wishes he could have regained his sword; he feels naked without a weapon in hand. But if he wasn't willing to face Olivier Armstrong without the comfort of a sword nearby, he wouldn't be willing to face her at all.
Nagi is waiting for her in the grove when she arrives. He's leaning against a tree, arms crossed, eyes closed. He could sneak glances, try to see if she's coming, but he doesn't. When she's here, she'll speak. ...Either that, or shove a blade between his ribs. Either way, Olivier will make her presence known when it's time.
He knows he should be afraid of her. She's terrifying. A goddess of war walking among mere mortals. But she is also alive, vividly so, and a dead man has little to fear from the living.]
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They gave you your dignity back? [She circles around to stand a few feet in front of him, perfectly squared, like a regiment readying an attack. But it's a silent motion, once more. She's at a loss for words, it seems; the feeling in her gut that says he's the enemy is fading quickly, turning into something much less white-hot and much more confusing. If she refuses to address it, will it go away?
The facade slips when the light wind teases a piece of her hair into her eyes; she reaches up to push it away, and only as she touches it does she realize the mistake she's made. Acting human in front of your enemy isn't a mistake that's like Olivier at all. Seeing him as a civilian up to this point in Mayfield has obviously made am impression on her that even a heated battle can't erase so quickly; or is it, perhaps, that she simply sees him as an ally because their common enemy is dead?]
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His head tilts a bit as he looks at her. He's met her plenty of times here in Mayfield, but not like this, not with these memories: it's like he's seeing her for the first time again. She is beautiful, he thinks, and to his mild surprise there is no lust in the thought. Hers is not the beauty of a society dame nor an exotic dancer; this is like looking at a waterfall, or more aptly, a mountain. The woman is a force of nature.
He catches the look in her eyes as her hand moves across her bangs. She's on edge. That makes two of us.]
I'm sure you didn't come here to discuss my wardrobe. You say that Bradley is dead. I want to know how.
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Ahh, and graciously, here's a hideous topic to distract her.]
Two men engaged him outside of the walls of the main complex in Central City. One was my man--Buccaneer--and the other was a Xingese. They weakened Bradley, but he escaped. Scar, the Ishvalan terrorist, was later the one to strike the final blow. Shortly before the last battle, I saw the corpse personally.
[The distant look in her eyes is probably telling, but she gets it whenever she recounts the events of home; they're factual, of course, but Mayfield has dulled them. And now, she believes, Mayfield steals them as well. This entire situation is far too uncomfortable, and she can see no other resolution than perhaps stabbing him in the neck and subsequently fleeing--which, admittedly, feels quite childish. With a short cough, she swallows the discomfort again.]
...That's all there is to tell.
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[Nagi leans his head against the tree and lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. He feels... good. Better than he has in ages.
He can finally let go.
After a moment, however, he remembers the woman standing in front of him. She wants something from him. And, he knows, he wants something from her. What, exactly, he doesn't know.] What about you? What's become of Briggs?
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Olivier doesn't know what Nagi is expecting from her, nor does she understand what she's really seeking. She's told this story once or twice here in Mayfield, but never has it meant anything to anyone. Perhaps she's simply seeking understanding. Perhaps it's something more. Regardless of the reason, she gives the cause in inglorious detail, her own faults laid bare.]
...Someone spoke up for me, so I narrowly avoided being court martialed over the deaths of hundreds of soldiers under the guns of my own forces. Apparently, even if the evil son of a bitch you're trying to overthrow is a monster, it's still a problem if you to attack him and his forces. I've been back at Briggs for a little over a year. Drachma hasn't done a damn thing. I'm... bored. Waiting.
[Again, she's honest beyond any normal turn; but in order for things to work here, it seems Nagi needs to understand things completely. They're going to be forced to work together, regardless of the situation, and she might as well lay the cards out in advance.]
Why does any of this matter? Are you looking to avenge your men and your pride, too? I'm practically ruined, if Mustang keeps going up the damn promotion chain. It could get dirty if Grumman dies. That's all you need to hear to be satisfied, correct?
[No, this is what she needs. Suddenly, she understands. Not being able to finish their fight was a great disappointment for her. Perhaps she's seeking her own closure.]
Did you respect me as an enemy, or did you see me like the rest of them?
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[He shakes his head.] I'm done with vengeance. My men died in battle, with pride. And my pride doesn't need avenging. As for your question...
[His eyes open, and there's something of the old Nagi there: the hostile edge in his gaze is gone.] You must be joking. You? Lumped in with the rest of them? A blind man could spot you in a crowd full of those buffoons. I haven't had a fight like ours in my entire life. I've started to wonder if anyone has.
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What remains, for Olivier, is the faintest sense of kinship. She's actually willing to go out on a limb. Her voice raises in pitch ever so slightly, not an affectation, but definitely intended to get a response.]
Sorry to tell you, but I've had an opponent who was faster and hit harder.
[Just one. And he broke several of her bones in the process.]
I don't think you'll be able to match it in a million years. In fact... I thought he might be one of yours when I first encountered him.
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