I’ve been writing a lot of spicy older Roy lately, so here’s some sweet young Roy to balance it out (I’ll probably do more for this later)
-He was just a ball of endless energy as a kid, and even into his teenage years
-The only thing that could get him to sit down and focus was activities for his hands to keep them busy (and not destructive)
-The standout favorites were coloring books and legos
-Roy would always try really hard to stay in the lines of the coloring book art, finding frustration at any mistakes he made
-Legos were both the best and the worst: he could build almost anything that he overactive imagination could up with, but he would always try to bring them everywhere with him
-This led to many a stepped-on lego and a irked Ollie
-As Roy gets older and more articulate in his abilities physically and mentally, Dinah starts buying him science kits
-This went on for a while… until the Rocket Incident…
-The ban on science equipment was eventually lifted, but with heavy restrictions on reactionary kits
-Eventually Roy started bringing his archery training into his makeshift lab, discovering that he could modify his arrows
-The first Harper Trick Arrow was a Water Balloon arrow
-The first target of said arrow was Oliver Queen
-This creative outlet lasted until he got too old for Ollie to play along with his “childish antics”
-After that, Roy went on to find other means of dealing with this new kind of energy (his psychiatrist would call it “anxiety”)
-Dinah and Ollie should have taught him what destructive activities were like
This one came out naturally after @firewoodfigs and I were talking about a slow unraveling, theorizing how young!Roy must’ve spent so much time and effort to win young!Riza’s friendship, only for her to become estranged from him later and refer to him as “Mr. Mustang” the next time they saw each other.
Perhaps Riza simply couldn’t wrap her head around why Roy had to leave, and why he had to leave for the military of all bloody--!
How did that go down in the Hawkeye mansion? Did Roy ever get the chance to explain his decision? Did Riza start to avoid him up until the day he finally took the train to Eastern Command? What exactly must’ve made it so hard for her to accept..?
While at the Academy, Roy is permitted leave and visits his sisters and the Madame. He gets the chance to explain how his apprenticeship didn’t exactly end well. The Madame, of course standing as his mother, could infer that Roy was much more upset about his childhood friend...
They wouldn’t be able to stay much longer. Roy could sense it, looming in the distance. They’d already been in Central too long. Master Hawkeye hadn’t sent for them; that wasn’t something he would do. He would, however, show his anger when the two returned for not having sensed that they should have taken a train about a week ago. Riza had to have known this, but Roy could tell that she was in denial. She was so much happier here, in Central.
He'd hoped that a trip to the market would be enough to push these thoughts out of his mind. Yet, here he was, trudging along with a bag in his arms and all of this weighing on his shoulders. They weren’t talking about it, but in that strange way she had, Riza knew exactly what was wrong. Their efforts at distraction were half-hearted at best.
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!”
“I was just kidding. I won’t let you starve. That’s your mother’s decision to make, not mine.”
(obsidianmagpie) “What’s the last thing you remember?”
He looks up at Dana, looking confused. The past 10 years have been erased from his mind, all because of one fight. He screwed up pretty bad and when he sees them, he blinks a little. He’s in the hospital, laying in a white bed, with white sheets. And... a person before him that he can’t seem to recognize. He woke up to the sight of this person, and looked at them with his mouth slightly open, squinting at Dana as if trying to understand who they are, or why they’re here.
He had no answer as to their identity and wouldn’t ask at the moment, and for the few seconds he’s been awake, all he can see in his last memories were trains, and men like him in white, dirty coats and blue military uniforms. He lost 10 years of his life, 10 very important years of his life. He has no idea what’s changed. He probably thinks he’s 19 years old. In fact, that’s exactly what this is.
