#justasimpledoctor

It had been a long day, but Maes Hughes had something he wanted to do before he went to sleep. He'd sent a short letter back to Sweetwater once he'd arrived at the academy, of course, letting the Abbeys know he'd made it safely, but he hadn't much been in touch since then. There hadn't been much to say, as far as he was concerned, but today...well, Martin would probably like to hear about it. Taking up his pen he stared at the blank paper for a few minutes before finally starting to write.

Martin,

I know, I know, it's been a while. There's not much to talk about usually. Training and classes, it's nothing special. Some of the guys are still having trouble keeping up during PT, which is kinda sad, but I guess I shouldn't be judging since I'm more used to that kind of activity than some of them might be. Keeping to the top of my class, so everything's going well there.

I've got a rival now, I think. This half-Xingese kid in my platoon, I think his name's Mustang. I snagged the last piece of quiche at mess last week and he got pissed about it...or about the company I was keeping, but that's another story, just trying to find a weakness to these bullying jackass upperclassmen. Anyway, Mustang seems to be set on showing me up.

Keeps life interesting, especially since he made a point of grabbing the piece I was after today and throwing my words right back at me. My kind of smartass. He keeps me on my toes, which keeps me near the top of the class. Guess I kinda owe him for that.

As to the jackass upperclassmen, they seem to think they can treat anyone like shit and get away with it. There's this Ishvalan guy they've been talking shit to, and it's probably just a matter of time before they take it to the next level. Hopefully I can figure something out before it gets that far, we'll see. They're a cocky bunch of bastards and don't think anything of some probie cadet trying to get in good with them. Boosts their egos, if nothing else, and puts 'em off their guard.

That's all I really got for now. Don't suppose things are much different down there than they were when I left. How are your folks? Your dad forgiven me for enlisting yet? Tell your ma the food here doesn't even come close to hers. I'll write when I've got more news.

Take care of yourself, Martin.

The sky was still dark when Maes Hughes got out of bed. It was early morning of October 31, 1907, and he was turning eighteen today. No doubt the Abbeys had something planned - eighteen was an important age, after all - but so did Maes, and his plan involved slipping out of the house while everyone else was asleep. He doubted any of them, and especially Martin, would approve of what he intended to do.

Not that that disapproval was going to stop him; he'd made up his mind quite a while ago, and nothing was going to change it. Staying in Sweetwater held no future for him, and his largest desire for much of his life had been to find a way out of it. Now, at last, he had the chance. He was finally of age, without need for the consent of a guardian, and could make his own choices.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

The dull impacts of metal sinking into wood echoed around the backyard of the Abbey Clinic. Maes Hughes was practicing again with the knives he'd found three years ago. They were small, light, equally useful as push-daggers or throwing knives, and he'd been learning their uses ever since he'd taken them off a fallen Aerugoan soldier. Ever since then he'd rarely been without them while outside, only removing them while inside the house out of deference to his foster family.

He was getting better, he noted as he moved to pull the blades out of the crude target he'd set up. It was little more than scrap lumber with the rough outline of a man painted on it. When he'd first started he'd been untrained and the knives had been too big for his hands, meaning he could barely hit inside the lines at all, and rarely where he was aiming. Three years later he could hit where he chose 9 times out of ten, and even group his shots.

The tall fifteen year old looked up at the sky to gauge the time. He'd been out here for almost an hour, and the sun was starting to head for the horizon. Time to head inside and grab Martin for patrol duty. All the men of Sweetwater took turns on patrol, and as soon as a boy was thought old and sensible enough he was included on the roster; they'd lost too many and needed every available man. Even if that meant including teenage boys.

Maes didn't mind. He liked patrol duty. It was dangerous, sure, but it also served to keep the Aerugoan bastards from trying sneak attacks in the town again. Technically the patrolmen's jobs were just to make sure everyone was off the streets by nightfall, but often Maes stayed out late, slipping through the shadowed streets and just watching the city.