Riza Hawkeye Age 11: Dearest Diary Mine. Today I Was Tending The Houseplants As One Does, Hoping As I

riza hawkeye age 11: dearest diary mine. today i was tending the houseplants as one does, hoping as i do every day that my spells will finally work and the vines will come to life and i can place it next to father as he sleeps, and it shall strangle him, and he shall wake up dead, and i shall be free. free!

anyway. i was tending the plants with my ceramic watering can and i heard a knocking at the door, and i opened it to discover the most pathetic boy alive, perhaps. soaked right through with the rain but still perhaps 75 pounds at the most, dressed up like he’s off to church, or his uncle’s wedding. how disgraceful. his name is roy mustang, and i have decided i will NOT be his friend, no matter how he pleads. i have no need for meddlesome boys.

mr mustang, age 13, apparently from central (can you believe it, diary? a city boy, and a scandalous backstory to boot - raised in a brothel, diary! i wonder if he can sing!) came to ask father to teach him alchemy. i don’t see why, it’s a trivial pursuit much akin to the parlor tricks im sure he learned back home (got em again! i hope he knows how funny i am being right now, though he must never read you, diary)

i told him we are not kind to solicitors, and closed the door. father had to ruin my fun, of course, as is his mission in life i suppose. he came downstairs after only 20 minutes or so and let mr mustang in, and took the discussion of tutelage to his office. apparently he’s going to earn his keep in the coops and the garden, which is fine. maybe i can get some meat on city boy’s bones. foolish

roy, still shivering in his wet clothes from 4 hours ago, knocking timidly on the bathroom door: miss riza are you almost finished