Fandom Fullmetal Alchemist: Amestris at War IC

[Rusty of Shackleford]

"Then I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, “Come.” I looked, and behold, a white horse, and he who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer."
-Revelations 6:1-2

Central City, Amestris
8:13 AM, September 13, 1937

Central HQ was...well, Central HQ. Busy. Especially now. There were...rumors. Bad rumors. Rumors of rebellion, and ones that weren't to be taken lightly. Fuhrer Mustang had made a series of extremely controversial decisions, such as making peace with the various nation's Amestris had been at war with for years, decreasing the power of the military, and most controversial of all, returning Ishval to the Ishvalan people. Amestris was split down the middle. Some praised Mustang, as he was ending the ceaseless warmongering Amestris had been stuck in for years. For others, he was a disgrace, a failed war hero too afraid to face up to his orders. Everyone was on edge, no matter their opinions. Most people were busy with something, whether it was paperwork or whatever else they were up to. Among the many offices, there was one on the eastern side of the building. This was the office of Colonel Lockheed and the soldiers under his command. They had been assembled a few months ago, after the rumors began, just in case they were true. Some of the brightest minds and most skilled soldiers were in this team, and currently...they had paperwork. But twas the job of a dog of the military.

Eastern Central
6:10 AM

"Benjamin."
"Mmm...wonder why she's calling me that..."
"Benjamin..."
"This late at night? I have work tomorrow..."
"BENJAMIN!"
Ben jolted awake, finding himself in his chair, with a black haired avatar of anger staring at him. The man rubbed his eyes, yawning as he said, "Okay, okay, jeez! I'm awake! What is it, Em?" Emily, the woman, pointed to the clock on the wall, which read 6:10. It took him at least thirty minutes to get ready, an extra twenty on the metro, and then ten walking. "Shit..." he muttered, jumping up as Emily chuckled, crossing her arms as her boyfriend frantically got ready. He dashed to the bathroom, brushing his teeth about as haphazardly as he normally did, while also trying to get his uniform jacket on. Emily sighed, saying, "You know, if you stopped passing out over your work, maybe you wouldn't be late." Ben groaned, saying, "I know, oakay? I wash jusht weally focushed on finishing it!" Recently, the two had been doing research on using electric alchemy to manipulate electromagnetism. Not only would it get funding for Emily down at the university, but Ben was going to submit it to renew his State Alchemist license. Emily finished buttoning the blue jacket, patting Ben on the chest as he said, "There. Now comb your hair, get some pants on, and get the hell out." Ben smirked, spitting into the sink as he said, "As you wish, First Daughter." Emily rolled her eyes, saying sarcastically, "Shut up, ass." Ben threw on his pants, grabbing his gloves and various other supplies before kissing Emily on the cheek, and bolting.

He entered the office briskly, looking at the clock as he saw he just missed getting there on time. He groaned, trying to get to his desk without alerting Lockheed. He already had the Fuhrer breathing down his neck, so another CO would be wonderful right now. He didn't even say hi to his co-workers, like normal. He immediately saw the massive pile of paperwork on his desk, groaning as he said, "I got my State Alchemist license for this...I graduated from the best university in Central to file paperwork all day..." He got on it, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. He had a date with Emily at six, and he really didn't want to have the First Lady having her sniper rifle aimed at him. Not before he got this paperwork done, at least. Lockheed would bring g him back from the dead just to make him finish it, and Ben intended to stay dead when he died.
High Moon
Melted Ice Cream
@M.Joc_Casl
idalie
AI10100
LadyOfStars
​

 

[AI10100]

Jiao-Long McAllister
Status: Healthy
Weaponry: Eighteen throwing knives, one hangun
Location: Eastern Central | Colonel Lockheed's office
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It had been a few months since he was assigned to Colonel Lockheed's team because of the rumors of a revolution brewing up - talks of overthrowing Roy Mustang from his position because of his "questionable" decisions. Jiao-Long always held Fuhrer Mustang with high regard. Perhaps he was biased to think that since he had grown as a soldier under the watchful eye of elite marksman and wife to said Fuhrer. His parents seemed to like him too, so that was enough of a sway for Jiao-Long to convince himself that there was enough reason to think that the Fuhrer was doing a good job.

Nevertheless, people were entitled to their own biased opinions as well. Jiao-Long was just here to do his job, and that was to serve under the Fuhrer. He wasn't too opposed to stomping down a rebellion if it comes to that. It would be nice to get some action in his blood. There weren't many wars or battles to get to before, aside from the petty gangs that were getting a bit too arrogant for their own good. Though, so far, there weren't many things to do aside from paperwork. He'd gotten used to desk work after the second month in the military. He remembered how he had been ecstatic to be praised as an excellent marksman - but what is a marksman without a fight to get to? Well, whatever, it'll come.

Just another day waking up alone. He went through the motions of his morning, brewing tea before going to wash up. He made breakfast and devoured it just as quickly before relaxing with his tea. When he saw that it was an hour before office hours, he dressed himself in the Amestrian Military Outfit and began to head towards Central. The sun hadn't even risen yet but he still briskly walked through the concrete pavements that had once upon a time devoured those that stood there. He lacked the correct memories, but he still remembered the chill of that momentary time in the void and the way her parents held him when they were back.

Being one of the first ones in the office, he took his place at the desk. He didn't want to get on Colonel Lockheed's bad side. Him being a half already has him on his sights, he'd rather not mess up any more and give him a reason to be removed from the team - even with the backing of Riza Hawkeye. As the others came in, he gave each of them a friendly smile and wave before going back to his work. He didn't have much to do after this but he still wanted to keep on top of all of the paperwork.

 

[LadyOfStars]

Micah Thorne
Major ​

The days all start the same since his life fell apart not too long ago. A slowly crawl out of bed and a dull routine that was familiar to every soldier. He stuffed his blue jacket with a small black box, hidden inside was his secret for instant happiness. Golden headband in his hair to hold back the curly locks and he was out the door. There was no one to wish him well anymore, no one to mock him or rush him out the door. Not only were those people gone, Micah lived within walking distance of the office so there was never a need to rush.


He always took his time with the walk so that he could fully awaken himself and let the sunlight energize him. The familiar faces on the road were also military members on their way to work and sometimes he pretended they were all doing a different job other than serving the military. Things were uneasy in Amestris at the moment, but even more so in the offices at Central where the different opinions weren’t really allowed to be spoken. Saying the wrong thing in front of a CO was sure to get you in trouble and you never knew who was for or against Mustang’s changes.


With a heavy sigh he entered the building and rather than take the elevator he climbed the stairs to their office. Anything to get his blood pumping and get him feeling alive. As usual he was second or third to arrive, Jiao-long must sleep here. “Good morning everyone.” He said as he approached his desk, like he said everyday. “Paperwork, yum.” His chair shrieked when his body dropped down into the seat, but it continued to hold for now. A lot of the team’s members disliked their task of filling out paperwork everyday, but Micah looked at it as an opportunity to avoid the dangers of combat.

 

[idalie]

Lt. Elizabeth Crossley​

Elizabeth had always been one of those painfully organised girls, the sort who colour-coded their shopping list and left a wall of pinned notes wherever she laboured. The Lieutenant came early into work, uniform pressed and hair styled as if she’d stepped off a military recruitment poster and sauntered to her desk. Of course, all it took was a strict regimen and getting a good night’s rest. Lillibet indulged in her nightly rituals and the dawn chorus of birds when she rose. Bathing in rose water to soothe her gradually callused palms, progressively getting softer with her work in the intelligence core which she wasn’t sure whether to be gladdened or suspicious of the lack of action, either way, Crossley made sure to keep up her marksman practice.

Curling her hair and wrapping it in a silk handkerchief, she brushed it out till the waves cupped her pale face and ventured to the wardrobe. Ironing out her uniform from the night previous, spritzing perfume to cover up the slight smokey nature of cigarettes, breakfast was small and nutritious to make up for time lost. By then, she’d gathered her satchel of papers and left her apartment; not before watering the plants that lined her window sill. Company where oft she had none. Still, her walk down the slate pavement was quick paced to reach one of the many bus shelters along her path to work. This early there was hardly interruptions and the lack of vehicles owned per person left little to dodge, thus she hopped up and pressed the expense into the drivers hand.

She reached the office and passed another fellow early-riser, Major Thorne, bidding good morning to both Micah and Colonel Lockheed -- saluting with her well-intentioned greeting. Elizabeth sat down at her desk, glancing to the tall stack of papers. Work seemed to never be complete, then again, her father would’ve scolded her for such a thought. As he would say, “the day the work is complete, you must question whether the heavens have fallen,” The cryptic message made sense the further she settled into this military role, young but not cursed with naivety as some had been on their initiation. General Crossley made sure of that, to wake up the small girl to the ideals of the real world. Some would say it took away her childhood, others would argue it prepared her to the gruel and grind of realism.

Pages slipped between her fingers, cursive handwriting looping over the blank spaces in-between. Reports and incidents seemed to infiltrate her pile, each completed in a monotony before her head turned to note Benjamin. Late but checking the nearest clock, not far off. She wondered whether Lockheed was in a disciplinary mood or one of those distracted, depressed passing frames of mind. In those, she would’ve liked to one day have asked where he went off to. Lockheed was a good man, for all intents and purposes. Fondly Lillibet recalled his accepted invitations to meet with her father, the General, over dinner or at military events. Lockheed had even appeared at her graduation, a close and trusted family friend now colleague. Not that she ever dared to use his name spare for outside of the office. There was a friendship and a job, she preferred to focus on the latter.

Mentioned: High Moon LadyOfStars AI10100 Rusty of Shackleford
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[M Joc Casl]

Major Vesta Schuler​

Vesta creeped into HQ looking unlike her usual self. Typically she was well put together with a clean pressed uniform and hair down in a high tight bun. Today however she looked like she fought a wind storm to make it into work. Her bun was sliding off her head with hair falling out of it, her jacket was unbuttoned and shirt not tucked in. For someone as vain as Vesta, she was indeed a sight to behold. The lackluster sheen of her skin made the bags under her eyes stand out and the listless stare she shot at passerbys read as "don't mention my appearance." She was sure to catch flack for her disheveled look but she couldn't muster up the energy to be concerned about that right now.

Vesta worked in Laboratory 3 on important military alchemic research. She was known to lose track of time and spend a whole day not leaving her lab. Today though, she had spent the last 3 days in a nonstop work frennzy. One break through seemed to lead to another and then another until finally another dead end. She was researching a way to harness the alchemic process in stasis so that it could be deployed later by non-alchemist. The research was proposed to her in the beginning as a way to strength the State's military defenses. She knew what it was really about, time and time again, alchemist stood against the government and the resulting conflict costed many lives. This research would better arm infantrymen to face threats like this without pitting alchemist against alchemist. So far, the harnessed process could still only be activated by another alchemist albeit with a delay that would make for effective traps and landmines.

Vesta believed in the Fuhrer and loved the Amestris he was creating. There has been too much violence both from within and from without the country, too many people losing loved one and turning to hate. She was ready to put that chapter of history behind her. The real reason that she hadn't left the lab was because with all this talk of revolt and damnation of Fuhrer Mustang, she was worried people would look at her as a threat. She looked too much like her father and acted like him for anyone's comfort. Growing up, she was compared to his genius but all she heard was how she was going to become a monster just like him. It was easier to avoid people and immerse herself in her work.

Though part of that work lay all over her desk. 3 piles of manilla folders and sealed envelopes obscured her work space. With a loud audible grown, she plopped herself into her seat and dropped her head on the tallest stack with thud. Just five minutes of sleep, that is all that she asks...*snore*.

 

[Melted Ice Cream]

Anita Klement​

Seniority. It was such a nice concept to Anita Klement. In theory, it would mean she wouldn't have to rise this early in the morning, do paperwork for who-knows-how-many hours a day, continue her alchemic research(thus leading to her staying up far too late for her own good), all to repeat the process day in and day out. However, that was not the case. Not since she decided it would be "fun" to join this oh-so-special squad meant to keep peace in Amestris. Of course she didn't think it would mean constant action, but there has been so.. so much paperwork.

After being abruptly awaken before the sun was even thinking about rising, Anita's day felt much longer than it had to. For one simple reason. That damned hair. Cutting it all off would make everything so much easier, but that would be about as easy to her as cutting off a limb. Nothing but trimming it in the name of health for nearly 20 years. By the time it was starting to look presentable, the sun was rising, and Anita always made it a rule to leave the hair be after she could see it without artificial lighting.

Eventually making it outside by the time most other employees of Central HQ were, Anita Klement praised herself for being out of her house on time for the first time in three days. That meant she would have to ever-so-slightly break a road law or two in order to make it to Central when she was supposed to. Upon walking through the front doors, clocking in a whole 73 seconds before she was meant to be at her desk, and being in the seat a solid minute afterwards, there was no time to realize the mountains of work that was sitting in front of her. It did, however, eventually make itself known, when her view of the others in the room was slightly obstructed by a considerable pile of folders, which seemed to defy gravity itself by not falling over.

Now that her brain was no longer worrying about doing this thing or that thing on time, and instead it was her hands doing the busywork that would leave her arms sore from the monotonous movement, Anita was allowed to think. And beyond the optimistic ramblings of her inner monologue, the thought of her mother, most likely still traversing Drachma to further the plethora of history books she'd already written. It sure was odd when one name could bring to mind an Automail mechanic, a historian and author, or the correct association of being the alchemist that re-created the knowledge of flame alchemy. Sure, metal arms and legs helped out a lot of people, there was no discounting that, and it certainly wasn't a bad thing to be associated with, but the real issue was when people thought she was in any sort of speaking terms with her mother. The woman who... No. She wouldn't even think about it. They were related, and that's all there is to say about the two of them.

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