Chapter Text
“There you go! That’s it, Riza!” Her father gives her a rare smile as she hits the target dead center for the fourth time in a row. She smiles back at him. “Finish off the round and then we’ll go eat.” Six more shots fire off and six more holes cluster around the red circle in the middle of the bullseye. Over salami sandwiches, Riza’s father tells her how proud he is of her. Riza would do anything to keep the feeling of being needed by her father. Anything.
BANG! A decisive shot rings through the still, cold night. From her perch in an abandoned belltower, Riza peers through the scope of her rifle and watches her target fall off the bridge and into the river. A cloud of dark red billows out around him as he floats downstream. Check, Riza says to herself. That’s one more job finished. Now she can get home and have some tea before she has to turn in her paperwork. Black Hayate would be glad to see her; this job took longer than expected. She should get him something nice on her way back.
The kettle begins whistling and Riza takes a break from playing tug-of-war with Black Hayate to pour the boiling water into her mug in which a chamomile mint tea bag already rests. He follows her, panting, and rests his head on her feet when she sits at the table. Riza lets her thoughts roam as she blows absentmindedly on her tea. The fingers of her right hand tap softly at the sides of her mug as her mind makes its way to reminiscing. Recalling the feeling of the trigger the first time she pulled it; the feeling of anxiety the first time she pulled it with the intent to kill; how that feeling gradually got more and milder as time went on; how now all she feels when she downs a target is the recoil of the gun or on occasion the pain from altercation with a bodyguard or particularly determined prey. This is standard for her now-- she doesn’t think too hard about things until she stops focusing. Without a specific thing in mind, Riza often finds her mind straying to these sorts of abstract thoughts.
Riza is pulled from her reverie when her landline rings loudly. It must be dad, she thinks as she stands to answer. Black Hayate remains on the floor but his head and eyes follow her to the hall where the phone is mounted. “Hello?” Riza speaks firmly into the receiver and awaits an answer.
“Riza, honey. Welcome back. I trust everything went smoothly?” Riza flinches slightly at the pet name. She was correct in her guess; her father had indeed called.
“Yes, he should be en route to the dumping ground by now. I’ll be finished with my report by morning; I’ll bring it to you then.” The biggest hiccup had been waiting for the right moment. Once it came, everything fell into place.
“Oh, don’t worry too much about the paperwork. It’s really not as important as you make it out to be.” That’s a fundamental difference between the two of them: they both value running things smoothly but Riza places heavy importance on paperwork and making sure everything is properly filed away while her father focuses on the intrapersonal connections and leaves the paperwork to others. Most often herself. Riza feels no need to rehash what has already been said so she stays silent and her father speaks up again. “Roy and I were hoping to talk with you over lunch. It’s been a few days, after all.”
Would it really be just to catch up? Or something else? “Right. Shall I come over around one, then?”
“I’m planning on waking up late, so let’s meet at one thirty. I’ll let Roy know. He’ll pick you up a bit beforehand. Dress up; we’re going somewhere nice.” Riza makes a small noise of affirmation. “Sleep well tonight. You did well.” There it is again, that rush of satisfaction and pleasure at knowing she has done well. That she's necessary. Irreplaceable.
“Goodnight, father.” Riza closes the call and hangs up. Now to prepare to sleep… She should probably set out her outfit for tomorrow before she sleeps too. First, though, she has tea to finish and a shower to take.
The clock reads one twenty when Riza hears a knock at the door. Dressed in short tapered white slacks and a matching white vest over top of a black collared shirt and scarlet tie, she says goodbye to Black Hayate and grabs the briefcase containing her report and a pistol. Finally prepared, she steps out to meet Roy. He stands there with the usual silly, smug smile on his face, holding an arm out to her. She politely declines the offer. “Good afternoon, sir.” His smile strains a bit at her greeting.
“You know you don’t have to call me sir. Roy is fine. I'm just your father's apprentice, after all.” She descends the stairs side by side with him in silence, the only sound the clopping of their dress shoes on the concrete. This is another conversation that has been all but run into the ground… Those two men really seem to say the same things over and over again. She follows him into the rear of the automobile and he signals the driver to move on.
“What is today's venue, sir?” Riza speaks with a hint of curiosity in her voice. So he has no more information now than she did when she finished speaking with her father. She figures Roy may know more.
“The Midnight Star,” he says. “Apparently your father has been looking forward to this lunch for quite some time. He looked very excited when I departed earlier.” Ah, is that so? She thinks. There are a few things that her father would wait to discuss for such a long period of time, but only two that came to mind that would also make him so eager. There is no point in dwelling on it, however; the car stops in front of the restaurant a few minutes later. Roy helps her out of the car and it drives off to park as they enter the lobby.
The owner of the Midnight Star owes a lot to Berthold Hawkeye (as many people in East City do). As such, it is incredibly easy for Berthold to get a table on short notice, even though normally the reservation waitlist is months long. Its high class is evidenced in the luxurious lobby filled with plush seats, dark wood, and rich wall hangings. The two of them don’t have time to sit on any of the cushions before they are guided to a medium-sized round table in a quiet corner of the restaurant. Riza’s father is sitting there thoughtfully when he sees them approach. He stands quickly and opens his arms to them, gesturing for them to sit with him. “Welcome, you two. The ride was comfortable, I hope?” The false affection had Riza on edge.
Roy answers as the two of them sit down. “Yes, quite. Thank you, father.” Berthold insists that everyone in the Falken Family call him that; he says it makes people feel more comfortable around him. Whether or not he truly believes that, Riza does not know. She does know, however, that with the aura her father exudes calling him father likely does more to make others feel as if they’re under his thumb than anything else. No amount of flowery words or familiar terms can cover up the malice and death embedded deep in his soul. Those closest to him have learned how to control their own emotions in his presence to limit the power he has over them. By now, Riza is a master and Roy is not far behind. “What was it that you wanted to discuss, again?” It seems as though Roy wants to get this over with as much as she does.
“Oh Roy, my boy, we’ll get to that! But first, let us eat!” More artificial warmth. It must be something great for him to be attempting to soften his personality so drastically. A waiter approaches at that moment and Riza turns her attention to ordering. After requesting the daily special-- a rouladen plate with potatoes and beets and greens-- she listens stoically to the small talk between Roy and her father. It is all routine: the weather, the political climate, stocks, and recent events within the family. She is glad that she doesn’t need to speak up until the small talk is over and is able to eat her meal in peace.
With everyone’s meals finished and their places cleared, Riza’s father begins to speak again. “I asked the two of you here to discuss the matter of my succession.” That would be it. That was one of the two possibilities Riza had contemplated, with the other being his desire for herself and Roy to get married. She’s quite pleased it is the former. “I’m getting on in years and in our lifestyle, there’s no way of knowing when I might leave this world.” This is true. Assassinations, poisonings, and kidnappings are quite common in the world of organized crime. They get more and more plausible the higher up on the food chain you are. Bigger risk, bigger reward. “Riza, you’re my only daughter. If you would like to head the family, I have no objections. You do what needs to be done and you keep nonsense to a minimum. You also have a bit of a niche carved out for yourself already, however, so if you would like to continue as you are you may. Roy has been apprenticing under me for many years now, so he’s absolutely qualified to take my place instead. Additionally, he has already agreed to do so provided you decline the offer.”
Riza does not need to consider for very long. She knows that the ambition necessary to lead the family and help it progress is as innate in Roy as it is absent in herself. He is the best choice by far for the job. She will continue to support the head as she always has: as a contract killer and paperwork machine. She doesn’t need anything beyond the feeling of being needed by the head for her skills rather than only for the tattoo on her back that writes out one of the biggest secrets of the Falken Family.
“I have no objections to him being your successor.” She can almost hear Roy’s thoughts to her left. And here I thought I would finally get to hear you say my first name… Tough luck for him.
Her father nods and turns to his apprentice and claps him on the shoulder. “Congratulations, young man. You’re now next in line to head the Falken Family. I hope you live up to the name.” It sounded like wishes of success if you looked only at the words, but the tone carrying it quickly turned the phrase to a heavy threat. Roy looks nonchalantly at Berthold, however, and firmly shakes his hand.
“I intend to, sir.” Neither Roy’s voice nor gaze wavers until Riza’s father lets out a sharp bark of laughter.
“I can rest easy knowing the Family is in your hands, boy.” The words are genuine, and they reflect Riza’s thoughts perfectly. There is no better man for the position than Roy Mustang. He will definitely carry the Family into a new and strong age.