#young!roy

Roy swore loudly as he stumbled foot-first into a puddle, splashing mud into his shoe and up his ankle. Central never seemed to prioritize the footpaths on this side of town. It was all about the roads and the buildings near Central Command. The show had to be kept up, after all. He shook his foot in disdain, noticing that Riza hadn’t laughed at his misfortune. Her lack of reaction troubled him more than any of his other thoughts.

“Come on,” Riza spoke up as she took the paper bag from Roy. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Better able to watch his steps, Roy sulked after her. He knew they were heading to the small plaza at the end of the market. The city kept a fountain there, and, although the signs posted forbade it, it was a popular spot for children looking to splash in the water. Perhaps it was the clouds, but the plaza was almost empty. Roy was thankful for that as he sat down on the edge of the fountain. At least he wouldn’t get knocked in.

He removed his shoe and his sock, grimacing at the prominent stripe of mud on his leg. Riza’s eyes darted left, then right, as Roy stuck his foot in the fountain and began to swipe at the dirt. A brown cloud appeared in the otherwise serene water fixture. People passed them by, most of them avoiding eye contact.

Riza had a knack for resourcefulness, whereas Roy had honed his skills in urban survival. By bathing himself in the fountain like this, he supposed that they had to look homeless. Central wasn’t known for its orphanages, and the large city inadvertently welcomed those far from upper-class to the outskirts.

Roy wrung the water out of his sock, letting it splash on the stone at his feet.

In the middle of Riza’s palm sat a small, brown coin, which she eyed with uncertainty. A small “hmph” declared that she’d made her decision, and she balled her fist before sending the coin into the fountain. It landed with a soft plunk and sank steadily to the bottom.

Roy looked at her in surprise. “You don’t believe in wishes,” he stated. “Why’d you do that?”

“Dunno,” Riza shrugged and stuck her hands in her pockets. “Just hoping, I guess.”

“Well, what’d’ya wish for?”

“I can’t tell you that. That’s the first rule of a wishing well.”

“That’s a load of crap.”

“You’ve already stepped in a puddle today. I’m not going to let your bad luck ruin my wish.”

All this talk of wishes and luck confused Roy. Were his sisters having a bad influence on her? She’d never believed in any of this stuff before. Maybe that’s what happened when someone grew up in an alchemist’s house. They learn science and facts and then leave it behind, like some kids did with religion. Selfishly, he hoped that wasn’t the case with Riza. He’d get lonely if she turned into some idealistic zealot.

Rapid footfalls echoed between the buildings, drawing Riza and Roy’s attention to the left, in the direction of the main street. A tall, lanky kid sped past the alleyway, and was pursued not long after by two men, one of whom was wearing a shopkeeper’s apron. Roy hastily tugged on his shoe, abandoning his sock. He had to know what this was about. If that kid was going to get caught, he wanted to be there to see it. It’d probably be the most entertainment they would have all day.

Riza hurried after him, keeping up with his various turns and shortcuts. She skidded to a halt as they appeared onto the main street, a block ahead of the running boy. He clearly wasn’t from around here; if he’d taken the same route they had, he could have been long gone by now. She gasped as he crossed a sidestreet, narrowly avoiding being hit by a car. The horn blared after him.

As he came closer into view, she could tell that the blonde kid was enjoying this all far too much. Riza narrowed her eyes as he approached, scrutinizing his face. She stepped back in surprise as he passed them on the sidewalk.

“Jean?!” Riza asked, shocked.

Upon hearing his name, Jean made the fatal mistake of looking back over his shoulder. He tripped over his own feet and tumbled down onto the sidewalk, skinning his knee for good measure. He swore colorfully as he picked himself back up, but he was too late. The two men had caught up with him.

The shopkeeper bent over and placed his hands on his knees, panting from the effort. The other man grabbed Jean by the collar of his shirt and shook him before boxing his ears for good measure.

“You stupid boy! You steal from this man, in front of my face. Cigarettes, none the less! If we weren’t in the street-” the threat switched into the man’s native language. Roy couldn’t understand what was being said, but Riza and Jean’s faces told him that he was better off not knowing.

Pierre manhandled his son into turning around to face the shopkeeper. He pressed a large hand into the back of Jean’s head, forcing him down into a bow. A few words were hissed in Cretan, and Jean relented.

“Sorry,” He mumbled, his eyes fixed on his feet.

A command barked in Cretan had him searching his pockets. Still bent over in a bow, he extended his arm, returning the unopened pack of cigarettes to the shopkeeper. Having caught his breath, the man snatched the pack out of his hand. “Don’t come back,” he growled at Pierre, shaking the pack of cigarettes for emphasis before stalking off.

Jean’s eyes watered as his father grabbed a good handful of his shaggy, blonde hair to pull him upright. “Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow-”

Ignoring his son’s repeated protests, Pierre repeated “You stupid boy. Maybe I need to say it in Amestrian so you understand me, hm? You may be my son, but I am this close to making you join the military. Straighten you out some. Maybe then you will learn to say ‘yes, sir’ and listen to your father.”

“I’m sorry!” Jean tried to placate his father into letting go of his hair.

“No, not yet, you thief. You think I won’t tell your mother about this, hm? What do you think she will say? To learn you’re a scoundrel. Do you want to break her heart?”

Jean tried to shake his head but found it more painful than it was worth in his current situation. “No, sir.”

Pierre released his grip as a reward for the formality. “Stupid boy.” He saw Jean’s face burning bright red in embarrassment. His son was usually much bolder than this, to be ashamed of a public scolding. He took an instant to follow his son’s gaze and saw Roy and Riza staring at them from just inside the alleyway. It was like a switch had been flipped. “Ma Cherie!” He exclaimed, extending his arms out to Riza. After catching her in an embrace, he spared a glance back at his son. “You run and I box more than your ears.”

“I am sorry you had to see this. My son acting like a fool.”

Riza shuffled her feet, unsure of what to say.

“You see what you do?” Pierre barked at Jean.

“I said I was sorry,” Jean mumbled before looking defiantly away.

“What are you doing here in the big city? I had thought I would see you in Giribaz.”

“We’re here visiting Roy’s family,” Riza explained, gesturing towards her companion.

“Yes, the alchemist.” Pierre caught Roy’s hand in a firm shake. “Good to see you are still here. You’re more resilient than the others.” The man beamed. “Come, both of you. We were going to eat lunch before my son decided to be so rude. Join us. You can eat his share.”

Jean’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “Dad!”