route_1065 | (no subject)

Who: Roy Mustang and OPEN
Where: Around Goldenrod
When: first two weeks of October
Summary: Roy Mustang runs into Homunculi, jerks, and makes himself at home in pokeworld
Rating: PG
Log:

Goldenrod was a decent sized city, and Roy preferred that to the forests and roads. They obviously had enough technology for cars and trains, but the absolute lack of them was startling and strange. On the other hand, this was a place where small ledges were completely impassable and music followed where-ever he went, so expecting anything to make sense was a questionable proposition at best. He was also slowly acquiring an entourage of Pokemon. The only one he regularly kept in her pokeball was the water creature, so he could often be seen with a Growlithe trailing behind him and a Hawlucha perched on his shoulder or backpack.

It was ridiculously easy to find a job, despite the fact that he had no work history, and no education, and no proof of identity beyond his trainer information. That was creepy in a way that made him incredibly uneasy in the quieter moments. He found a place to stay located near a library and all manner of recreational diversions, including several he had never even heard of. The game corner in particular warranted further investigation.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"You insulted me, and you thought it'd never catch up to you."

Dislodging his grip was going to take some real effort. Blake wasn't letting go without a fight. The look of irritation on the bastard's face was cheering him up already. He hauled him closer and got right in his face.

"Now, I'm gonna be nice and give you a chance to apologize."

Roy made a face of slight disgust as he was pulled even closer.

"Bullying and threatening is hardly a way to ask for an apology. If you start acting like a reasonable, civilized person I'll consider it." Damn, Blake had a good grip. "Is this is how you act as an officer of the law? I have serious concerns for the well-being of people where you live."

Blake with no authority was pathetic and amusing. But if Blake acted like this when he had actual authority over people? That was a nightmare all its own.

"You're not in any position to be making demands, asshole." Blake's had years of experience with strongarming and pushing people around. He clamped on people like an alligator's jaws, and only let go to do worse.

Especially the stubborn, arrogant sons of bitches who refused to be intimidated like a good boy. Double especially when he had a whole lot of frustration built up and nowhere to throw it.

Blake took pride in his work as a cop. He did not like having his judgment questioned. In fact, he disliked it enough to slam the bastard against the nearby building's wall.

"Don't you fuckin' dare act like you got a right to question how I do my job."

This was getting out of hand. Roy let go of Blake's hands after he was slammed against the wall hard enough to feel it. He pulled his gloves off and slipped them into a pocket, revealing the thick, almost matching scars from where swords had been stuck through his hands and the fainter scar on his right where he'd carved the transmutation circle.

The irritation and disgust were gone, replaced with a much more serious expression. "I strongly suggest you let go." His entire demeanor had changed from the smug bastard Roy Mustang to the serious, no more nonsense Roy Mustang.

Blake got a feral smile on his face when the bastard took his gloves off. He was finally going to take him seriously. That expression faded when what he saw wasn't the manicured, soft hands of a desk jockey but ones with the kind of scars that come with a long story.

However, Blake was not a man who backed down just because of some clear evidence that he was engaged in a bad idea.

"You do, do you," he sneered, leaning closer. "Or what?"

"My patience is at its end. I'm not going to just stand here and let you continue to handle me like this," As far as Roy was concerned, he'd behaved very well so far. Above and beyond what could reasonably be expected of him when being treated like this.

"As for the 'or what', I'll let you use your imagination."

"I'm not scared of you, you little prick." The bastard's shirt was wrapped around his fists. These little fancy bastards always thought they were better than you. Never a fucking hair out of place. Blake couldn't wait to show him he pissed off the wrong guy.

"Go ahead and hit me if you have the balls."

It was truly a pity there was no one around to take note and remember the fact that Blake had, quite literally, asked for it. But Roy wanted to, and with such a clear invitation, he no longer felt any need to hold himself back.

"Since you asked so nicely," Roy said, although he lacked the cheerful tone to deliver the line properly. He threw a right hook at the side of Blake's head.

Blake figured the bastard was all talk. He wouldn't really do it.

He figured that right up until the fist hit his face.

"Motherfucker!" he shouted as he let go and stumbled back. Now he was really and truly pissed off. Anger burned good and clean in his gut.

He came up swinging right for the smug son of a bitch's jaw.

Roy took the hit, though not as direct as it could have been, but it would still leave a nice looking bruise.

He moved away from the wall he'd been pressed against. "You did ask for it. Can't handle a fight?" He asked as he went for another punch, a straight jab this time.

Blake had a moment to gloat as the reverberations carried up his arm.

"I can handle a pansy like y-!"

The bastard's fist cracked across his face. There was now pure rage painted across it to go with the fresh bruise.

With a wordless roar he charged, set on pummeling the shit out of him.