'Here you go, kid,' the butcher said, handing over the meat Miles had requested. The Ishvalan said his thanks, paid and left the shop, before proceeding his way home. He pulled up his hood over his head from the rain.
His journey didn't take very long. The Armstrong manor was just outside the centre of the city, so, on foot, it would only take him about twenty to thirty minutes. His worst part was going through a small alleyway near the end, but it was tiny and it only took him a minute to walk through. It was winter though, and dark was drawing in quickly.
Miles whipped his head around his shoulder when he heard laughing from behind. His eyes spotted three much larger teenagers walking behind him, banging shoulders against each other, and exchanging grins. They were Amestrians.
He faced forwards again and held onto his bag of meat tighter. He could hear the boys ever so close now, and his heart hammered against his chest.
Suddenly something heavy pushed him into the wall. He yelped in surprise, and gasped when he dropped his bag of meat. The teens laughed out loud and one of them punched him furiously in the face. Miles felt a tooth become loose. He scrunched his eyes closed.
'God, what a pillock,' one of them sniggered.
Miles then heard a voice so close he felt the boy's breath across his cheek, 'Look, little kid, stay out of this place, yeah? You're not wanted here. You're disgusting. If you really want to fit in, then paint your skin white and get some kinda contact lenses for your eyes, because, not being funny, you look damn ugly.'
It hurt severely. He was released and he fell to his knees, still keeping his eyes shut.
'Mm, this meat yours?' he heard the rustling sound of a bag, 'Looks nice. For you? Doubt it. Ishvalan scum like you don't deserve this sort of stuff. You religious bastards.'
'Tossers,' one muttered.
A strong hand caught him by the collar, 'You come out here again, I'll kill you. And I'm not joking either.'
Miles shivered when he was pushed back into the wall, and the sound of laughter and footsteps faded down the alleyway. When he opened his eyes he noticed that the bag had been opened. The meat was gone.

'I don't quite understand how a boy is unable to deliver food,' Philip Armstrong murmured to himself as he scratched his head, 'Not exactly a tricky task.'
'Why don't you go and do it yourself if it's not so tricky?' Olivier sneered, but only received a punishment of no dinner and to go straight to bed. She deserved it, she figured. Her father was desperate for to be brought up well and to turn into a polite and delightful young woman.
She hated the thought.
When dinner was finished, she heard a knock at the door and allowed whoever it was to enter. It was her younger sister, who was carrying a plate of bread and baked beans smothered over.
'I quickly got away with giving you this,' Amue said.
Olivier took it from her, 'Thanks. How did you not get dad to see it?'
'Oh. Alex caught his attention whilst I did it.'
The eldest nodded and responding to her rumbling stomach by eating the food her sister had delivered to her. Amue planted herself onto the bed beside her and sighed. Her younger sister was actually growing incredibly quickly, and was almost Olivier's height. Her figure, inherited from her father, was more muscular than skinny. But like all Armstrongs, her hair was a golden colour, that flicked dramatically.
'How did that boy lose dinner?'
Olivier shrugged, 'I don't know. I don't really care either. Not our money we lost.'
She ignored her sister's look and finished her food.
'I'd better take this downstairs early in the morning, so no one sees it.'
Amue removed herself from the bed and laughed, 'Good luck doing that. The maids are up at something like five o' clock every morning.'
'I can do it.'
'Dad says you're going to have your private tutor tomorrow. I can't wait 'till I get mine. But what you do looks really good.'
Olivier pulled a face, 'It's okay, I suppose, but I'm not the one learning Alchemy.'


She woke up on time for her tutor. He was thin, and much more younger than Olivier's previous one. He was a tad wet due to the rain outside. His brown hair slightly covered his eyes, and he tended to brush it out of the way so many times it began to annoy her. He was incredibly polite to her parents, and she found she was very, very curious as to what was inside his rather large bag.
He and her were escorted to a large room. Nothing was inside it. Olivier wasn't so sure if she had seen this room before or not. She turned to face the tutor who was now unzipping the bag.
'How's the practising coming along?'
Now she knew what was inside the bag, 'I'm getting there. Lately I haven't had much time.'
'Sure. Moving and all of that.'
There was a soft knock at the door, and both turned their gaze towards a young boy who entered. Miles bobbed his head in respect, 'Can I get you both anything?'
The tutor suddenly looked very confused. He quickly glanced towards Olivier, and then back at him, 'Um, no.'
The Ishvalan nodded, and turned to Olivier who had the same answer, but in a more lighter tone, as if, she too, was puzzled. She was puzzled. Puzzled as to why her tutor suddenly had transformed into this rude man. His politeness and light-hearted personality returned as soon as the boy was gone.
'Here,' and he removed a long blade from the bag, still sheathed. He passed it to her, 'That too big for you?'
She shook her head. Indeed the blade was almost as big as her, but carrying it was not a problem. A typical Armstrong gene was powerful strength. The tutor seemed to know about this, as he didn't bother asking if it was too heavy.
'So, Olivier,' he said, removing his own, 'Show me what you know.'