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Fables on My Street

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1. a breaker or destroyer of images, esp. those set up for religious veneration.


It's different for the ones who saw him in action, in Ishbal. For Riza and Havoc, they didn't just see the Flame Alchemist; they also saw Roy Mustang, who could laugh hysterically at Hughes, and who was touched by his subordinates' devotion to him; the man who had to drink after missions to forget, and the man who wanted to save every other generation from the same ordeal.

For Breda – who'd been stationed in a different district – and Falman – who's specialized skills had kept him in a safe zone – and Fury – who'd signed too late to really be sent anywhere – stories were all they really had to go on, the myths that inevitably built up around every state alchemist. It's noticeable in the way they treat him; not just with the respect their commander deserves, but in the almost reverential way that Breda follows his orders to the letter or Vato gazes at his ignition gloves or the way the Kain openly beams when Roy compliments him.

Some days in the office are worse than others, and when they occur Havoc looks across his desk and makes eye contact with Riza, who never graces him with much more than a quirked eyebrow – which is more than enough. The message is clear.

As always, Havoc pulls the tiny square box from his inner coat pocket, lets a cigarette fall out into his palm, and holds it expectantly in front of Roy.

"Hey, Chief," he asks. "You got a light?"

Roy glares at him, entirely unamused. Riza keeps a small smile on her face, staring down at her paperwork even though Havoc knows she's not missing a single thing. The other three men are staring as though they can't believe Havoc's nerve. Everyone is silent.

It usually takes a few moments for the tension to break; Roy rolls his eyes, shrugs into a glove and snaps his fingers. Havoc thanks him politely, and the entire office gets back to work, a little more relaxed than before.