Crossing the Rapids: The Letter (C1: Royai)Crossing the Rapids: The Letter (C1: Royai) by russian-winters
The dim light seemed to float over her head as she shoveled the piles of papers around her wooden desk, signing things, and filling out forms for the military. It was almost endless, but she finally finished her stack. As for the rest of her comrades, they were sleeping or drooling over their own paperwork. Riza stood up abruptly, looking around and eyeing her men that were slacking off. Her strict demeanor easily traveled to them, and the ones who weren't sleeping were now nudging the ones who were. Whispers were thrown around the room, but the Lieutenant General seemed not to notice as he stared off out the window with vacant eyes. Riza glared at Roy for a moment as he was still facing the window in the other direction, but she eventually turned on her heel with a sigh. Falman watched her, closely examining her every move until her body turned the corner tensely as she left the room. This wasn't their Riza, that was for sure.
"Who's on their period…?" Havoc muttered, thrown of
'SING FOR ME' - fanfic!AUSTRIA'SING FOR ME' - fanfic!AUSTRIA by russian-winters
At a mellow bar, somewhere in Vienna, Austria. March 14, 1937.
The lights were dimmed and there was a soft rumble of conversation. The tinkle of silverware and glasses clinking together was present in the background as a curvy soloist sang a slow piece. Wavy brown hair that went to her waist graced her figure, and long-lashed blue eyes that were set perfectly in her heart-shaped face. On her curvaceous outline was a ruby-red satin halter-dress that draped to her ankles, one side hemmed around her thigh. The young woman's eyes sparkled with a peaceful look upon them while her hips swayed to the rhythm of the music.
Behind her was a well-dressed pianist playing on the bar's baby grand. Though his eyes were closed, his fingers moved melodically with her voice, knowing each and every nook and cranny of the piece she was singing to. Dressed in a suit, the chocolate-haired man sat comfortably in the middle of the piano bench, back straight, his elbows inching around his middle-torso a