Happy Lunchtime Havoc Day!
Apr. 27th, 2009 05:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rajHappy (late) Lunchtime Havoc Day!
THis wouldn't have been so late, except I decided at the last minute I wanted to go ahead and ink and color the sketch. XD Hopefully I can get at least ONE of the Havoc Day celebrations posted on time...
Art:
Title: NOM
Characters: Roy and Havoc
Rated: G
(Large version at deviantArt, if you want.)
Fic:
Title: Lunch Break
Characters: Havoc, Breda, Mustang
Rated: PG-13
Word Count: 562
Notes: I don't think they actually have pizza in Amestris, but hey, let's pretend.
“Havo! Lunch!”
Breda slapped an enticingly greasy paper bag down onto a stack of reports from the field sergeants that Havoc had yet to read, staining the topmost report with a few spots of oil. Not that Havoc cared. He lunged for the bag and began to tear it open, his stomach growling almost loud enough to cover the rustle of paper. He hadn’t eaten in the whole ten hours since he’d come into work that morning, not since Colonel Mustang had received a full five day’s worth of backlog from the brass along with orders to have it finished before they left for the day. Their whole unit hadn’t had a break all day.
“Did I ever tell you I love you?” Havoc mumbled, finally getting through the layers of paper to the gigantic slice of pizza from the Creatan diner just outside Headquarters. Really, he thought, looking delightedly at the melting cheese and chunks of sausage, those Creatans knew what they were doing when it came to food, even if they couldn’t negotiate a nonaggression treaty to save their lives.
“No, but I’m not surprised,” Breda returned, sitting down to gnaw the crust of his own mostly finished slice. “I’d always thought there must be a reason why you’re so terrible with girls.”
“Ha ha,” he grumbled, and moaned with delight around the first cheesy mouthful. “Oh god, it’s better than sex…”
“Who knew he was so easily satisfied.”
Havoc grinned, wiping tomato sauce away from his mouth and reaching into the bag for the little twist of paper full of grated red pepper the diner always included. “I’ve been working like a dog all morning, don’t I deserve a little—”
The office door burst open, revealing none other than Colonel Mustang, looking uncharacteristically flustered and carrying what looked like another five day’s worth of reports under his arms.
“I’ve been here since six o’clock last night,” he announced, slapping the papers down on the final few inches of free space on his overflowing desk. “Someone remind me why I joined the military in the first place.”
“Low pressure workload?” Havoc suggested, smiling innocently. “Exciting travel opportunities?”
“You shut up, Lieutenant,” he growled, hastily scrubbing his gloved hands back over his hair and gathering a few documents up. “Work enough for ten Colonels dropped on my head. Hearing personal reports through my lunch break. And now I have a meeting halfway across base. Working my fingers bloody, and who appreciates it?”
“We like you, Sir,” Havoc said, finally reaching the twist of red pepper.
“How kind,” Mustang said, turning to rush for the door again. He paused momentarily. “Why does it smell like a grease fire in here?”
“Breda brought us back some lunch,” Havoc said, pointing.
“Wonderful, I haven’t eaten all day.” And he snatched Havoc’s slice up and headed for the door, sinking his teeth into the crust.
“Wait, I didn’t mean ‘us’ as in the three of us, I meant 'us' as in just him and—!” Havoc yelled desperately, but Mustang was already out the door.
Havoc stared in horror at the now empty grease-spotted bag and the useless pepper in his hand. His stomach growled.
“I hate that man,” he said, voice trembling. “I hate him so very much.”
“I’ll let him know when he gets back,” Breda offered, licking a few stray crumbs away from his own fingers.
THis wouldn't have been so late, except I decided at the last minute I wanted to go ahead and ink and color the sketch. XD Hopefully I can get at least ONE of the Havoc Day celebrations posted on time...
Art:
Title: NOM
Characters: Roy and Havoc
Rated: G
(Large version at deviantArt, if you want.)
Fic:
Title: Lunch Break
Characters: Havoc, Breda, Mustang
Rated: PG-13
Word Count: 562
Notes: I don't think they actually have pizza in Amestris, but hey, let's pretend.
“Havo! Lunch!”
Breda slapped an enticingly greasy paper bag down onto a stack of reports from the field sergeants that Havoc had yet to read, staining the topmost report with a few spots of oil. Not that Havoc cared. He lunged for the bag and began to tear it open, his stomach growling almost loud enough to cover the rustle of paper. He hadn’t eaten in the whole ten hours since he’d come into work that morning, not since Colonel Mustang had received a full five day’s worth of backlog from the brass along with orders to have it finished before they left for the day. Their whole unit hadn’t had a break all day.
“Did I ever tell you I love you?” Havoc mumbled, finally getting through the layers of paper to the gigantic slice of pizza from the Creatan diner just outside Headquarters. Really, he thought, looking delightedly at the melting cheese and chunks of sausage, those Creatans knew what they were doing when it came to food, even if they couldn’t negotiate a nonaggression treaty to save their lives.
“No, but I’m not surprised,” Breda returned, sitting down to gnaw the crust of his own mostly finished slice. “I’d always thought there must be a reason why you’re so terrible with girls.”
“Ha ha,” he grumbled, and moaned with delight around the first cheesy mouthful. “Oh god, it’s better than sex…”
“Who knew he was so easily satisfied.”
Havoc grinned, wiping tomato sauce away from his mouth and reaching into the bag for the little twist of paper full of grated red pepper the diner always included. “I’ve been working like a dog all morning, don’t I deserve a little—”
The office door burst open, revealing none other than Colonel Mustang, looking uncharacteristically flustered and carrying what looked like another five day’s worth of reports under his arms.
“I’ve been here since six o’clock last night,” he announced, slapping the papers down on the final few inches of free space on his overflowing desk. “Someone remind me why I joined the military in the first place.”
“Low pressure workload?” Havoc suggested, smiling innocently. “Exciting travel opportunities?”
“You shut up, Lieutenant,” he growled, hastily scrubbing his gloved hands back over his hair and gathering a few documents up. “Work enough for ten Colonels dropped on my head. Hearing personal reports through my lunch break. And now I have a meeting halfway across base. Working my fingers bloody, and who appreciates it?”
“We like you, Sir,” Havoc said, finally reaching the twist of red pepper.
“How kind,” Mustang said, turning to rush for the door again. He paused momentarily. “Why does it smell like a grease fire in here?”
“Breda brought us back some lunch,” Havoc said, pointing.
“Wonderful, I haven’t eaten all day.” And he snatched Havoc’s slice up and headed for the door, sinking his teeth into the crust.
“Wait, I didn’t mean ‘us’ as in the three of us, I meant 'us' as in just him and—!” Havoc yelled desperately, but Mustang was already out the door.
Havoc stared in horror at the now empty grease-spotted bag and the useless pepper in his hand. His stomach growled.
“I hate that man,” he said, voice trembling. “I hate him so very much.”
“I’ll let him know when he gets back,” Breda offered, licking a few stray crumbs away from his own fingers.
