"So... You from the countryside?"

Downward cast eyes tore from the implausibly clean sidewalk to travel up a great distance; a young blond-haired, blue-eyed man, newly graduated from the military academy, escorted Edward Elric to the train station under Colonel Roy Mustang's order. As it would seem, the man too smug for his own good had been tossed shiny new soldiers to form a team of subordinates. It was a development nearing the age of one month.

The boy bobbed his head. "Aye..." The freshly dubbed Fullmetal Alchemist inwardly cringed, cheeks lightly heating in embarrassment. "U-uh... Y... Yeah." High voice had strained with mild difficulty, throwing a more proper pronunciation pattern together, abolishing a voice that caused city folk to turn toward each other and quietly chuckle, 'What a bumpkin!' "... 'N... Why do'ya ask?"

A short pause—the cause explained by a puff of cigarette smoke sent in the air. "Your accent; it really took me off guard," Jean Havoc wouldn't mention all the other quirks. In fact, it was likely such a mundane thing as region would have certainly been another person's last question about the kid. "I grew up in the area, myself." Another drag was taken from the tobacco.

Allowed the time to plan ahead, Edward could form a reply void of any hick-like pitches. With reassurance that the soldier wasn't secretly mocking a since-birth trait, the braided alchemist would put forth no extra effort to fit in with a society obsessed with smooth, pristine voices. Not in this conversation, where strangers' ear's shouldn't be in the first place. "Kinda weird comin' here, eh?"

Havoc nodded with silent agreement. Flicking ashes toward the ground, soiling the perfection of a walk way, he drew a short breath of nicotine. The ominous train station was in view and nearing. Men with suitcases in hand and newspapers underarm bustled about. "It's not so bad, once you're use to it all," A woman tending to beautifully colored floral arrangements stopped her work for a moment to beam in the blonds' direction. "The women, for example." From the tone, a smile was surely accompanying that light wave of a hand. Being the ripe age of twelve, Edward made an exaggerated gagging noise, muttering something about 'cooties'.

"I'd recommend doing something about the accent, though," Jean drew in the remaining fraction of his addiction, dropping the stub as his steps promptly ceased a few yards before the entry gate into the station. A boot came down on the burning ember, hand drawing up in a formal salute. "Best avoid the harassment from the start." Words came from experience.

It took Edward a moment of wondering about participation in the gesture. As a cloth-buried prosthetic begun rising to mirror the older blond, a hand dropped down on his head, ruffling loose hair. Wide-eyed with bemusement, the small boy looked up once again. "Don't let your self get too serious just yet, Boss."

Though the sentiment was a year too late, it fueled a brightly burning gold's determination. 'That's right; I have things more important than a stupid accent to worry about!''

Author's Notes:
This was just a random spur-of-the-moment drabble I came up with and managed to jot down in a night (barely). I have no clue when Havoc and company officially joined Roy, so bare with me! Also, excuse my poor skills at portraying ol' Jean! I've never tried getting into his mind-set!
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and comments are appreciated so much! In fact, I appreciate that you read this at all!

I am never the Cow nor will I ever be the Mighty Cow. Fullmetal Alchemist belongs to Ms. Arakawa.