Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, and I don't own MSA. I don't know whether or not there is an MSA Magazine, but if there is, I don't own that either.
Notes: This is a series of oneshots about photography. They'll all be set in the same AU, and although there won't be an interconnecting storyline, each oneshot is in chronological order, and may refer to past events.
"Photography" by Dailenna
Snapshot One: Smart and Sassy don't mix well for Roy Mustang
On any normal day at work, a bright flash of light capturing the other occupants of the room in their various poses would signal the entrance of one Mr. Maes Hughes – it was his mode to begin with a candid picture, just in case that was good enough to make the magazine. Monday the twentieth of March, 2006, was no different in its beginning, other than that as Maes walked in – and blinded the men already in the room with the camera hanging around his neck – so did a petite blonde woman, clutching an identical camera in her hands.
After his eyes had lost the black dots swimming in front of them, Roy Mustang finally noticed her presence. She hadn't said a word yet, but hung back, listening to whatever it was that Maes was saying in her direction. Some sort of instruction, evidently, as she nodded and moved off to the cupboard where Maes kept his tripods and spare cameras.
The studio of the professional photographer was a mess – a white screen hung up as a background behind the models, and nothing stood between that screen and the position that the camera normally occupied, but the rest of the room was in a shambles – props, make-up, costumes, the latest trends in fashion and mechanical things that Roy didn't understand were scattered all around the place.
Yet somehow, the blonde managed to find the particular tripod that Maes had asked for, because in a moment it was set up with the camera atop it.
Roy stepped forwards, slightly confused. "Maes, who's this?"
Looking up from the tripod he was correcting slightly for angle, Maes asked him to repeat the question. When Roy did so, Maes glanced over at the woman by him and back at Roy. "Oh, this is Riza. She's our new photographer."
The woman leant over to shake Roy's hand, a placid smile on her face. "Nice to meet you," she said.
"I'm Roy–" he started before she interrupted.
"Roy Mustang. I've seen your previous work in MSA Magazine, and I was at the November show in Milan. You're the fashion industry's favourite newcomer, you know?"
Stunned, Roy stared, nonplussed for a moment before mumbling back a quick thanks. It seemed that she knew enough about him already, and he'd only been in the modelling business for a year or so. He felt out of place; she knew about him, and he didn't know anything about her other than her name, physical appearance and that she was a photographer.
"Right, folks, are we all ready?" Maes called.
Jean, the other model for the day, Kain and Heymans, the technicians, Vato and Denny, the article writers, Maria, the make-up artist, and Schieszka, Maes' gofer, all gave their assent and the day started with Maes and Riza taking turns at controlling the photo shoots. While in the first few rounds, Maes would lean over and give her a pointer or two, it seemed that she caught on fairly quickly because soon enough Maes went out for a lunch break while she kept shooting away.
The group worked together for a week on three different designers' products and labels, and by the weekend Riza had settled into the group easily. She seemed more of a listener than a talker, to Roy, but that wasn't to say that she didn't speak at all. She'd smile along with a conversation during breaks and add in her own semi-sarcastic comments (sometimes Roy wasn't sure if she was being serious or if she was just very good at being able to keep a straight face) but when it came to business, she required no nonsense.
Maes had stood back and watched in amusement as she ordered around the men in front of the camera, and laughed when she told Roy off for scowling at her once. What a great friend he was.
But despite all of that, when the crew went out for drinks on Friday night, she got an invite – she was now part of the crew as well, after all.
Unlike all of the others, when Roy stumbled out that evening – drunk on low-carbohydrate drinks, of course – he didn't think the events of that evening were half as funny as they all made out. In fact, the reason he was drunk was his attempt to forget what had happened.
It just so happened that over the last week, Riza hadn't escaped Roy's attentions – of course not, she had been yelling instructions at him from behind that tortuous bringer of temporary blindness the whole time – and after finishing his second drink, Roy had casually sauntered up to her with a cool smile.
She had smiled back at him, but hadn't spoken a word, instead waiting for him to bring up the matter on his mind – she had been waiting for him to embarrass himself, he now realised. How she could stand around looking so innocent while covering up such a vile interior was beyond him. How she could just–!
But now we're getting ahead of ourselves. Let's go and see what the conversation was that left Roy stumbling out so bitterly.
The smoky bar was filled with amiably chatting people, amongst them the fashion section of MSA Magazine. The group had discussed the current political situation with surprising vehemence for sometime before Kain led the conversation over to animal shelters, and Roy was just returning from getting some more drinks when he noticed that Riza stepped aside to make a phone call.
A few minutes later when she rejoined the group, Roy picked up a new beer – again, low-carbohydrate – and stepped over so that he was standing by her side. She gave him a casual glance, and he smiled as charmingly as he could manage.
"I know that you've been wondering all week," he informed her, "so I thought I might just cut to the chase – do you want to have dinner on Saturday night?"
The change in her expression was only subtle – the slight raising of an eyebrow – but somehow it seemed that the focus of the entire table had suddenly centred on the two of them. Roy's smile didn't slip so much as a millimetre. Finally, the words that escaped her mouth managed to form themselves into one of the least fathomable answers he had heard.
"Mmm, I'm sorry," she said with a shake of the head. "I don't go out with guys who can't think for themselves–"
Roy's blank stare was rewarded with a "that's you, Roy," from Heymans, and he nodded dully. He supposed that that was true. It must have been if Heymans said so, anyway.
"–or who wear more make-up than I do–"
Now that he thought of it, all the make-up she was wearing was a little bit of lip-gloss. No, wait – now that he looked closer, it wasn't even that: it was lip-balm. He was still wearing foundation and a teensy bit of eyeliner from the day's work.
"–or who are prettier than I am."
Well, she was pretty, but he wasn't going to deny that one.
"So in summing up, I don't go out with models, and I won't go out with you." The pleasant smile on her face was somewhat patronising, although Roy didn't notice that as much as the fact that he had just been turned down by a woman. Him, the hottest thing this side of a Western Australian summer. His ego wasn't aided much by the explosion of laughter from the table.
Somewhat put out, he moved away a little and for the rest of the night he could be found sulking, and attempting to drown the memory of his rejection in his beer bottle. The main resolution that came from that attempt was that he wouldn't try to ask out a woman in front of a crowd again.
Thus ended Roy Mustang's first week of working with Riza Hawkeye.