trans_9 | Curse You, 1914 Style Restrictions [Open!]

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Curse You, 1914 Style Restrictions [Open!]

Roy thought that he had left heat of this kind back in Ishval, and he can't say that he's finding it much more pleasant than he did the first time. Also, he can't decide whether the humidity thrown into the equation makes the experience better or worse.

At least he has real clothes again. It has taken him a few months, but, finally, he has found slacks and a jacket that suit his tastes, as well as a decent shirt and functional suspenders. The shoes could be better, but he's willing to cope as long as he doesn't have to put the plantsuit back on for a good long while. Unfortunately, the aforementioned heat is trying to convince him that the clothes in which he is most comfortable are highly, highly impractical, the waves of hot rising from the pavement singing "Exchange the shirt for something lighter, Colonel! Try a T-shirt, maybe, or maybe just forgo the shirt entirely! We promise you won't regret your decision!"

He's fairly sure that he will regret the decision, though, so he settles for rolling his sleeves past his elbows, folding his jacket over his arm, and snagging a pair of dark glasses to block out the sun.

Now to find Riza, and perhaps shade and cold drinks.

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Still, color him surprised for her kind of, sort of exploding on him. Guns or not, Riza is usually the one looking exasperated with his exploding (literally and figuratively). Consequently, he's not about to let her out of his sight, whether or not it would be wiser to let her steam in solitude.

The look he returns says blandly: Since now, Riza, because would she really prefer he calls "Hawkwye" or something equally flippant? "Lieutenant" is a mouthful.

He waves her apology off in a delicate a manner he can manage, because honestly, she doesn't have to apologize--she just... has to not ever do it again. At least not without fair warning. Though he supposes it was very justified--the issue of potentially abused power is precisely why he keeps her around with orders to shoot him in the back, after all. The thought sobers him further, and he studies her quietly, the edges of a deeply thoughtful frown making themselves known around his mouth.

After a moment, he straightens and arches an eyebrow at his subordinate.

"Being professional is not the issue here," he says, musing inwardly that some whiskey really would be nice. Permitted they have whiskey on Zokez II...

The stern line dipped into a frown at his expression. And Riza's features challenge that. Using their first names meant that something between them had inevitably changed, and she wasn't aware it had. Or at the very least, wasn't sure she was willing to accept that quite yet. She was fine with Hawkeye and Lieutenant, it is what she heard all the time. Riza almost wondered if you're just being lazy.

Tugging Hayate's leash as he tried to sniff at another tourist, she kept her expression the same as he frowned and arched the eyebrow. She can read that, and yes, Roy, she's not pleased about that almost little fact. Even if you didn't have your gloves and it was probably joking.

When he spoke it took her a moment before she gathered the words to reply. And then evenly, she finally speaks. "I wasn't particularly aware there was an issue here, Colonel," the end was said in an edge of almost defiance. She wasn't calling you your first name.

Don't read too far into it, Riza--he's simply tired of formality at the moment, and also take into consideration the fact that he has had over six months of life in Stacy in which to reassess his world views. Despite his yearning for his old life, he has fallen out of the habit of using rank by way of addressing people. There's probably some laziness in there somewhere, too.

"Well, then, if there is no issue, shall we?" He stops short of calling her "Riza" again, because, though he hadn't been particularly aware of the shift in his mind that allows her to be both "Lieutenant Hawkeye" and "Riza", the woman in question is obviously disconcerted by that change in protocol. He'll consider that later--for now, he's gesturing invitingly at the establishment, because now that he thinks of it, he really would like some whiskey, alien or not.

She's frowning at you, Roy. Are you forgetting who her father is? She's going to read and think into this rather she prefers it or not. And the fact you've been calling her Riza again so much recently, something you hadn't done since she was a child, is bugging her for some reason. It's definitely out of protocol. Just as hugging was... Or her crying. Finally she breathed and sighed.

"There isn't, sir," came the reply. An almost relief washed over her, but she didn't let it show. Watching him, she raised a brow. Well, she wasn't drinking, but it really was best to make sure he didn't get drunk on alien liquor. After a moment, in the familiar way, she moved forward and opened the door for him, stepping aside as she did. At least that had a tinge of familiarity.

Very good point, dear woman. He just hopes you don't misinterpret him too far. He has simply grown distant from "protocol" and turned more towards the natural gratitude for your being here. Yes, it puts a dent in his military-grade efficiency, and yes, he knows that, and maybe, just maybe he'll switch back to pre-Stacy interpersonal relationship regulations. With some prodding. Maybe.

Nodding his thanks at her for holding the door, Roy breezes into the tavern, sizing the place up with a few sweeps of the eye. After considering the arrangement of the establishment for a moment, he folds his coat over the back of one of the chairs at a table near the window. He watches Hayate pad in, wondering if there's a ban on pets in restaurants on alien planets, then decides that Riza can handle the dog herself and crosses to the bar.

When he returns to the table, he is juggling three glasses: one is almost whiskey-colored, and consequently he seems more concerned with the cornflower blue drink in his left hand that he has been assured is white zinfandel. Except that white zinfandel is usually rose-colored. The third glass is brimming with water. Secretly praying that the translator core hasn't failed them all, he places the "zinfandel" and the water in front of Riza, slipping into his own chair with his "whiskey".

"To alien alcohol," he says drily, lifting his glass, waiting for Riza to choose between her two options.

There will be no maybes about it. Using first names signifies that the goal is over, that their professionalism is over. And Riza is not accepting that so very easily. Riza will also make sure you understand this very well. But for the moment, she pauses as he enters before letting Hayate enter. Frowning at the pup she thought about if it were fine if he came in, but pushed past that worry.

If they wanted him out they could tell her, but of course Riza would be stubborn about that. It wasn't like her dog was untrained. In fact, as if to prove that point, Hayate raised his nose into the air some and walked proudly to the table. She rolled her eyes, before watching the Colonel go to the bar. With a sigh, she sits herself across from where he would be and puts Hayate's leash down. (And to keep up the act, the pup didn't even try to edge away.)

However, Riza's eyes narrowed when she saw Roy and the three drinks. The oddly colored zinfandel at that too. Her expression was stubbornly set. Really, Colonel? Her expression seemed to be reading, especially as he put the drink in front of her. Although, her lips did upturn slightly at the fact he also put the water in front of her. Very well done, sir. Riza looked up at him as he spoke and lifted his drink. Mouth set wryly and after a moments hesitation, the hand picked up the zinfandel... Might as well, she thought drily, lifting her own glass.

"And what sort of alien alcohol is this supposed to be, Colonel?"

Well, he can't say he's looked at it quite like that. He doubts he'll have much sway in her opinion on the matter, though, no matter how much arguing space she gives him. If he even decides to argue in favor of first names, which he probably won't, because a) he's lazy and b) it's not topping his list of priorities.

He smiles lightly at her choice of drinks, setting his glass down and quirking a skeptical eyebrow at the blue liquor.

"I have it from the bartender that it's Zokez II's rendition of zinfandel wine. Apparently they have blue grapes." He sounds amused with the concept, which, in fact, he is, though he supposes that it's not saying much for the quality of his sense of humor if he finds blue grapes humorous.

Looking at the wine, Riza was skeptical. She wasn't certain she wanted to try it... but she did like this sort, more than she probably cared to admit. (Not nearly as much as that water right there, though, really.) Still, it was hard to believe this was at all the zinfandel she even remotely liked. She eyed it a minute, before turning back towards the Colonel with her own raised brow.

"I certainly hope they have something relatively more normal than this," she commented. And not beer, for some reason Riza did not like beer. After a moment, she took the tiniest sip of the wine before her eyes turned to look outside. From here, she cold glimpse the water and a bit of her features softened.

"I suppose it's better than the desert. What do you think, Colonel?" The words were light, which was probably better compared to their other recent conversations. Even if Ishval did enjoy replaying in her head when she saw the sand. That was a bit strange, but she had learned to ignore it for the most part.

Managing to down the dregs of his space whiskey, he smirks at Riza.

"I'm sure it's the epitome of normal to the inhabitants of this planet. If we offered them a bottle of Amestrisan wine, they would no doubt be appalled that it's red." He sounds almost pedantic, empty glass cupped in one hand elegantly, eyebrow quirked. ~~God but he can be an ass sometimes.~~

Following her gaze out the window, he watches the surf quietly. He hasn't exactly seen the ocean before, and he had been surprised at how calming it was--he'd always heard metaphors about rolling waves and violent storms when related to the sea, anecdotes of tough voyages and the sinking of ships. He's glad that his hotel room has a good view, especially considering that he spent last night watching the tide go out before having the best night's sleep he's had in at least eight months.

"It's infinitely preferable to the desert, Riza," he says, her name slipping out before he can stop it. He had been watching that, because it so obviously makes her uncomfortable, and it takes him a moment to realize that his tongue has already begun to loosen with drink. Odd.

Blinking, he stares rather disconcertedly at his glass, nothing that he's only had the one whiskey, and that it ordinarily takes at least two to get him anywhere near tipsy. Looking a bit nervous, because something terrible is dawning on him, he glances at Riza's glass, sees that it, too, is empty, and then has a very tough decision to make. To inform his Lieutenant that the alcohol of Zokez II seems to have a rather high alcohol content compared to their puny Amestrisan spirits and thus avert the catastrophe that will inevitably be the two of them drunk in the same room, or to buy her another drink?

Hmmm.

Leave it up to her, his conscience says, having him quite quickly clearing his face of any and all concern, replacing the expression instead with a smile.

Gesturing towards her glass, he lifts his own, silently asking if she wants more, because he's going to indulge, and he may as well offer her the same privilege, right? When in Rome, do as the Flame Alchemist does.

She frowned slightly at his first remark. Why was she feeling that was somehow not supposed to be as factual as it was? She closed her eyes a moment. There was truth in his statement, of course, she couldn't deny it. They were alien to them as they were to her. Ugh, somehow that didn't feel right, and probably never would either. ~~Hey, at least she hasn't run into some weird lava-like alien yet.~~

Her eyes remained on the water. This was nothing like Ishval, of course, but the sand still held that deft reminder. Inside me the war isn't over. No, it will never be as long as I live. The small cornered frown at the thought, albeit true, having no place here in this time, in this moment. It wasn't like Ishval, but the sand that did remind her of the blood-covered one there. Pressing down on the thought, she kept her eyes level on the water. Despite her Colonel's dislike for the substance, considering it rendered him useless, she really did love the feel of water. Seeing the ocean was calming for her just as it was for him.

At his words, she turned back the frown caressing her lips some. Riza. Why didn't she not mind that? She was being nostalgic that was why. Riza withheld a breath that wanted to escape. Funny, he really had always been there... And a long time ago he did call her Riza. Not Lieutenant or Hawkeye, it was strange when she thought about it. But she kept that to herself. "I'd certainly have to agree, sir," she finally responded thoughtfully. At least, it was much better than the desert they both had experienced.

Her fingers laced against the cup with the water in it, watching the Colonel a moment. She had a relatively higher-tolerance for alcohol, easily matching with the Colonel--- he would be a fool if he didn't think she realized the slight difference of her mind-set was taking place. Actually, for a moment she preferred it to the nostalgic memories hitching in her gut. What the hell, Riza? You were supposed to be stronger than this. She continued to watch him a moment and when he gestured to the drink the frown deepened some.

After a pause she sighed. Standing up, she slowly and gently pulled the cup from his hands and moved to grab the one that held her own alcohol in it. "I've got it, Colonel," she responded, before glancing down at the pup, "stay with him Hayate. I expect you to be a good babysitter." Black Hayate stood at attention with a yip and a wag of his tail. Riza, satisfied, without another word turned around and went to the bar before Roy could say anything. Several minutes later she returned with the two drinks already filled, and placed his in front of him.

"Please don't drink too much."

The words were simple as she returned to her seat. Settling down in her seat and avoiding a sip of the drink for a moment. She was curious about something---

"Colonel, what is your fascination with my first name lately?"

Well, well, well, Roy would never have thought Lieutenant Hawkeye to suffer from xenophobia. Good thing she's not making that particular thought audible, else he would likely mock her for it.

He can see reminiscence--and not a particularly kind brand--in her face as she continues to watch the water, and he hopes she's not thinking unduly depressing things. Admittedly, the sand had rather elicited memories of Ishval at first, so he knows the feeling. He wouldn't be surprised if she was thinking along the same lines.

Left alone with Hayate at the table, Roy sits in silence for a good thirty seconds, eyes fixed rather disbelievingly on the chair that Riza had occupied until a moment ago, before he looks at the dog and says, "That just happened, didn't it?"

Hayate wags his tail in response, and Roy has to fight the urge to turn around in his chair and make sure that she isn't going to go throw his glass in the street. That would be rather aggravating. Then again, he's sure that she would have just dragged him out by his collar if she were planning on concluding the drinking session, and anyway, it's not like he's drunk. ~~Yet?~~

Consequently, he is gladdened at her return with more provision, and takes the proffered drink under his care quite promptly, her suggestion duly noted and acknowledged as he starts off his second glass.

Staring at her rather blankly, hand habitually wrapped around the fresh glass, it takes him a moment to construct a viable answer to that question.

"I wouldn't call it a fascination. It's more of an abrupt breaking of preceding protocol, and a frequent slip of the tongue," he says almost sardonically, sipping his whiskey delicately. It occurs to him to wonder how long it will take him to be entirely gone, because really, this is not normal.

Edited 2010-06-19 06:47 (UTC)

For now Riza is staying away from the zinfandel as she took a sip of the water. She learned that trick long ago, water or bread and the like lessened the effects of alcohol some. Which at this point made her grateful, as the expression on her features lamented. Shaking her head, Riza stared idly at Roy.

Pressing a finger to her eyes she sighed. Her mind couldn't help but be boggled by this little fact at all.

"It seems we need to bring you back in shape then, Colonel. Using first names breeches in professionalism, and I was still in the idea that we were of a strictly-professional relationship."

The words were said carefully, as she turned amber eyes to him solidly. Questioning if this strictly-professional relationship was for some reason changing. She'd felt it back home, hell there was enough times that it seemed so logical and illogical... but you couldn't when there was a goal in mind or blood or your hands anyway.

Why was the use of her first name bugging her so much?

She sighed, pulling the alcohol towards her.

"I apologize if I'm out-of-line, sir."

He pauses with his glass near his lips, eyes flickering into focus as her words register. He is intent on the subtext of that sentence--the last one, to be precise--and he decides to take a nice, long time to answer here. Wouldn't want to say the wrong thing, would he, what with this being turf as delicate as it is.

Sipping at his drink with an air of thoughtfulness, he fixes his eyes out the window again. In most circumstances, his silence would be answer enough, but there's a lot to be said here, so this is obviously not a set of those circumstances. This is Riza Hawkeye he's dealing with here, after all.

It's true, he has considered stepping beyond the limitations of professionalism before, and he has to admit, the inclination has been lurking at the back of his mind fairly much since he saw her in the Obs. Deck a few weeks ago. The decision still remains to be made, though, because their dynamic as a functioning, efficient team hinges on the hypothetical dynamic that would inevitably surface--and potentially interfere--if they involved themselves in something... non-platonic.

He looks back at her, considering, and with a blink he remembers that the decision has been made for a long time.

Setting his glass down, he eyes her across the table, expression pleasantly blank. Meditative.

"We are not on active duty right now, and are in fact unlikely to be so for several months at least. As things stand, the largest issue is that we will soon be involved in a battle for what appears to be the whole of existence, and life or death situations tend to become emotional despite all preparation." In other words, 'what's the point in keeping it professional at this point?'

A faint smile grows on his face as he returns his attention to his alcohol, flashing her a look as he says, "As far as I'm concerned, there isn't a line to be out of, Riza," and takes a swallow.

Riza found it amazing how sober she felt as this conversation continued. Even though she could feel the buzzing in her mind, the situation of this unintended conversation was enough to sober her so she could think and speak levelly. The face was set, and instead of looking towards him as he looked out the window her eyes turned the pup at her feet. Said dog's ears perked and he turned his head worriedly at his master, and wagged his tail.

With a small smile she returned her attention to Roy as he put the glass down. Amber eyes found themselves set on the cup as precipitation flowed down the sides. Her mind listened to the words and the double, easy meaning behind everything he said. Life and death situations, huh? A voice thought quietly. She certainly wasn't unfamiliar with those by now, she thought. For several seconds those moments passed her eyes; being strangled by Gluttony, finding by Lust Roy had 'possibly died, and then him collapsing in front of her, the threat from Pride, neck being slit, and finally the horrifying moment of seeing Roy go blind. No, she wasn't unfamiliar with that part at all.

Her attention turned to him, and she saw the look and heard the words. As he swallowed his drink, she let out a sigh. It took her several minutes to think. Her hands were covered in blood... but so were his. In so many ways they fit more than in a platonic way. Salamanders never burn, the small smirk of a smile tried weaseling it's way onto her features. She warded it off before speaking.

"Active duty or not, if we are to part of a battle for the 'whole of existence', we still must help protect the people we can. That is our duty as soldiers. And as for life and death situations," she paused to close her eyes a moment, "I'm well aware of the emotional torrents that come inevitably from it. And considering that much, no it can never be prepared for but it is something we face in our line of work. After all we could wind up in a ditch someday and that would be it." Yes, she used his own words against him.

She's quiet a moment.

"...No, there are many lines I feel can still be crossed, sir, but you are correct. I suppose that is not one that is a line anymore in this situation," she said carefully. There was nothing there stopping them beyond themselves, was there?

Edited 2010-06-19 09:12 (UTC)

He lifts his eyebrows at her, letting her finish speaking before he interjects, because the beginning of that almost sounded like doubt at their ability to protect people. Which, he supposes, makes sense, considering her state of mind of late concerning her belief that she has become a liability to him. "Liability" still isn't the word he would use, but that is not the point at the moment.

"I'm quite assured that if we tried to protect almost anyone on this ship, we would get shot. Remember that the crew members were selected for their ability to fight and fend for themselves, and, a few of the smaller people aside, they all take that very seriously as a matter of dignity. They would be offended if we even suggested it, honestly," he says, and really, there's a lot of truth to his words. Which is not to say that he won't keep his eyes on the people around him, but when dealing with superheroes and incomprehensibly powerful warriors, the point is rather moot.

"And that's true," he says, looking at bit grim, but after a moment, there is a noticeable twinkle in his eye. "But, as you said, neither of us are strangers to life-or-death situations, which means that we both know that there is absolutely no point to avoiding emotional baggage. It all comes out in those moments, whether it's been voiced or not."

As for the rest of her words, he simply smiles at her and leans back in his chair. He doesn't feel the need to say much of anything right now, though he's quite sure that a great deal remains to be said.

She closed her eyes at his words, shaking her head. "I hadn't meant that in such a way, sir, as I'm sure you know. People were chosen to fight and fend for themselves, perhaps, but that only makes it more evident that we're not the only ones in the world, in the universe. If we come in contact with people that are defenseless, I wouldn't want to not do anything," she stated carefully. Defenseless people, even children. Protecting people was what Riza knew and felt a soldier should do.

Ishval had tried shattering that. And indeed, she'd questioned the fact of why soldiers, meant to protect people, were killing them. Defenseless people, for the most part. After a moment, she opened her eyes and listened as he spoke once more. The look in his eye could hardly be ignored and she shook her head, with the thinnest of smiles.

"Neither of us have done well against it professionally, either, it would seem," she whispered to herself in thought. But would those moments even be considered professional? She doubted if anyone else had been around, beyond Alphonse, Mei and the chimera... it would be considered such, but she shook her head. Either way, apparently there would never be anyone to court marshal them for things like that either. They were safe in that remark. Dropping her eyes a moment, the thin smile remained as she thought.

Perhaps she could test these unknown waters some, because now she didn't know what was going on or where this was going anymore. Why it'd started really. But it had always been there, hadn't it? They just needed the initiative. She thought a moment, and then spoke almost humorously.

"Since you're calling me Riza again, should I go to calling you Mr. Mustang, then?"

Edited 2010-06-21 17:48 (UTC)

"Ah, well, point taken," he says, amending his previous thought. He'd looked that part over--the crew may be able to look after itself, but the point is not for them to be safe. He agrees with her wholeheartedly on that point, and he doesn't have to say anything for it to be understood--protecting the defenseless is a key to his purpose in everything. He smiles simply.

The depth and double meaning in that whispered statement is caught entirely, and he chuckles, because damn is it true. He wouldn't have done half the things he'd done since waking up on this infernal ship if he had talent for avoiding emotional baggage.

He stops chuckling when he hears that question, though, and his rather blank stare in her direction speaks to the absurdity of the suggestion to his mind. Mr. Mustang?, he thinks, blinking in a very baffled manner. Are we kids again, or what?

"Riza. You're not twelve anymore," he says rather blankly, a thick layer of mirth hiding somewhere under there. Because really, this is quite amusing.

"I'm glad to hear it," she said slowly. Really, she was. She didn't want there to be misconceptions of behavior between the two of them. Already, things were difficult enough to think through with the apparent trappings of time against them. Still, they could still work efficiently, just as always. She had no fears there.

Turning her eyes toward him at his chuckles, she rose a brow. Ah. Apparently he had caught that whispered phrase. However, any amusement from that dissapated at the baffled expression on his features.

Riza couldn't help but smirk her thin trademark smirk at that. There was something rewarding in that confused look, but beyond that, Riza's eyes remained the same to keep her words hidden a moment longer.

Picking up the drink, she took a moment to respond. "Nonetheless, sir, I'm afraid it's been years since you called me Riza, so I am quite unaccustomed to this behavior. If you do not wish for me to call you Mr. Mustang, what, then, do you want me to call you? Because I'm afraid I'm at a loss otherwise," the words were light and simple, obviously wanting affirmation for whatever just exchanged between them, "...Or does calling you Mr. Mustang make you feel much older than you care to believe?"

He gives her a highly bland look at that, because Riza? Dear? You're being deliberately obtuse, and he's not sure if it's a good thing. So he's not going to reward you with an expression. At all.

Tonelessly, he says "I have a first name, you know. I believe you're aware of the mechanics of it. After all, it only contains one syllable."

Her expression is point blank. She realizes she's being obtuse and she'll continue to be such for a bit longer. It's amusing watching the expressions on his features she's normally not the one pulling out. Still, she kept the face straight and almost lackluster.

When he spoke, Riza resisted the urge to sigh. First names. The thought of that was strange in itself, especially considering she couldn't remember a day in her life where she called him Roy. It was always Mr. Mustang, Colonel, Sir, Colonel Mustang and so many more variations.

She kept the thoughts to herself.

"Of course I am well aware, sir, but you'll have to forgive me as I've never been allowed permission to call you such," Riza responded, the words continuing to have that easy double meaning. Permission, you must understand that much Roy. She's still probing about what's happening now.

Edited 2010-06-28 06:10 (UTC)

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Curse You, 1914 Style Restrictions [Open!]

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