Snippet #1368265

How many times had she stood in front of the mirror, full of malice and vinegar, leaning close to her eyes to identify the different shades of red. Ishbal. It was an ugly reminder that her people hardly tasted freedom, while she served the State like a faithful hound—the people who had once been to blame for the massacre, not completely, but partly. How many times had she rocked back on her heels, wondering where her allegiance really was. If she were faced with a certain situation that dealt with her people, and defending her friends—what would she do? Abby cursed foully, shook her head a few times and turned on her heels. Now was not a time to debate her future. It never was. For now, she was a military dog along with the others, pledging her loyalty to her Fuhrer, Isaac, her fellow Alchemists and soldiers. Risking one more look in the mirror, she hissed something and strode out the door.

As soon as she stepped foot in the hallway, the Fuhrer—Mustang, the Flame Alchemist—offered a sly smile, and his greeting. She immediately stood stock straight, saluted him and added, “Sir” for good measure. Earlier in the day, Mustang had approached her and informed her that she would be aiding Isaac on a rather urgent missions. Homunculi. Only small amounts of information were divulged. Other than that, she was left in the dark. There wasn't much else she hated than that. Of course, she hadn't questioned Mustang and only bowed her head, fumbling her fingers over the enveloped he'd given her. Still, she hadn't opened it yet. Abby watched as Mustang retreated down the hallway, and continued on her way towards Isaac's medical office.

She rapped her knuckles on the door, curled her hand around the door handle and pushed it open. Abby spotted Isaac moving numbly around the room, gathering things with a look that clearly screamed he wasn't impressed. A small smile touched her lips before she threw him a perfect salute, accompanied by a 'Sir' greeting, and closed the door behind her. She knew he hated being called sir, but it was a habit she couldn't quite shake. “I'm assuming he's already talked to you,” She sighed warily, placing her hands on her hips. “ Has he told you anything else besides, 'Meet in the mess hall in an hour?'”