The council in Roy Mustang's living room didn't last very long before it broke out into power struggles. The fact that they'd gotten twenty minutes in before the first argument between Roy and Olivier had truly started, was a miracle, Riza supposed, and she fought not to sigh as she shared a look with Gracia from across the table.

"Get your feet off my table while we're strategizing" Roy demanded, flattening his palm against the polished wood as he stood and leaned forwards, glaring at the General at the other end of the table. Olivier's boots wriggled in response and she pushed back in her chair.

"This is my table. I bought it. And I will do whatever I damn well please." She shot back, daring her mother to do anything more than sniff with distaste down her nose at her daughter's poor manners.

"And this is my apartment. Get your boots off the table. No one can think with your dirt flaking off onto the table where we're all planning on eating at." Roy said, jaw twitching as he clenched it. The table paused as a stare off between Armstrong and Mustang ensued, black eyes meeting blue in as near a clash of weapons as they could get without actually drawing swords and gloves in the living room.

The two members of Parliament to Riza's left exchanged looks with each other; Johann Domwell withdrawing a pocket watch from coat's breast pocket to check the time as his partner pulled out her leather briefcase; Emma Whitelaw quietly removing several sheaves of paper from her portfolio, and placing them in a stack on the table. Olivier's feet swung off the table with a grunt of annoyance, and Roy relaxed his shoulders, sitting back down in his chair. He didn't bother thanking her, and instead pursed his lips, waiting for the silence to be lifted from the table by someone else. Whitelaw brushed her greying brown hair back from her face, and cleared her throat.

Riza straightened, and looked over at her. She wore a light grey suit coat and a rather elaborate white button down blouse that cascaded into ruffles from her neck, and a long matching grey skirt that fell about the same length as regulation military skirts did. She cleared her throat a second time, waiting for Olivier's ice blue eyes to snap to her in response. "Domwell and I have agreed that the smartest first step would be to organize an official party." She said, passing the stack of papers to Riza, motioning for her to take the top page and pass it on. At the top of stack, Riza read the list out in her mind: a list of names divided up into different categories she couldn't differentiate.

"A united group," Domwell supplied, "-that will back the campaign in a numerous amount of ways, both ideologically, and monetarily." Roy took his paper and examined the names that he recognized carefully, with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Allies. Of course." He said, passing the paper onwards.

"Allies, but not all friends." Olivier said bluntly, draping her arm over the armrest of her chair. The papers traded hands several more times, stopping with Olivier's copy, as she stared down the list. Armstrong snorted, though whether or not it was because she was unimpressed remained to be seen.

"No, of course not Olivier. I would have never thought you'd be that sentimental." "Oh shut up, Mustang." Olivier spat back, crossing her arms. Her mother gave her an affronted look, which she pointedly ignored. The table fell silent to a series of exasperated and bemused looks while Emma pulled out a pen, and jotted down an note to herself on her pad of paper. When she was done, she popped the cap of her ballpoint pen onto the top of it, and laid it down beside her paper.

"Obviously, the people here will form the foundation of the campaign team," She said, cutting across Olivier's sneer. "We are all here for a specific purpose, but limiting your resources to just the men and women at this table would severely hold you back." Another scribble was made across the stack of papers they'd passed out. "You all have with you a list of suitable party supporters." Domwell took the opportunity to snort, and lean forwards. "-And if this were a list of people we wanted to be friends with, it would be half as long. But they're people we want, which is what matters."

Riza raised a brow, and Olivier nodded. Roy frowned. "Why these people? If they're not people we could be friends with, why them?"

Mrs. Armstrong sniffed deeply, and tapped her manicured nails on the table. "Mister Mustang, if you only rub elbows with pleasant people, you'll find you'll be quite alone in the world of movers and shakers."

"Or high society," Olivier added, with a knowing look. The Armstrongs were a good family, but they weren't surrounded by people who were equally pleasant. And while Olivier could be abrasive, brash, and even rude, she was at the very least predictable and honest. That couldn't be said for every family flush with cash. Domwell inclined his head with a nod.

"The following is a list of the richest, greediest, most ambitious, and least corrupt people we could find in Amestris. They all want the same thing - to feel like they'll have a say when you get into office. These people are in politics, in the military, in trade and business, technology, and into gambling. Some of them are nice people, but the great majority of them are mildly dislikable at best, and I would argue that after a few months of this, you might include us in that definition."

"Well, at least you're honest," Madame Christmas rasped, her painted brows raising in amusement as she folded her hands beneath her chin. "I never liked politicians much to begin with. A whole lot of slimy bastards."

"We try," Emma responded dryly. "That said, we have two objectives for this evening. To form the political party that will back Roy Mustang for Fuhrer President, and to begin planning the wedding event of the year. Gracia, if you would please..."

"-Oh, of course! While the lovely Marie-Louise is in charge of planning our events, I'll be in charge of orchestrating the invitations. It may sound difficult to believe, but between us both, we know most everyone on here. While Reginald already announced your engagement in the papers, we'll be throwing an engagement celebration next week." Gracia said with a smile, showing off her own wedding ring as she gestured in the air to Riza's hand.

"...The people invited, will, of course, be both family and friends, as well as the men and women you both need to meet and convince you're the next leaders of Amestris." Mrs. Armstrong filled in. "People we want in the Amestrian National Progressive Party?" Riza asked, carefully scanning the papers before her as she mentally catalogued faces to pair with the names on the lists. "If you'd like to call it that." Harrington said with a sly look.

"The ANP. I could work with that. Could be something catchy."

Roy ignored the naming games that suddenly punched the table with slews of clever wordplay and acronyms, and focused on the third page of the lists he'd been given. The names he spotted there were printed in neat type-written lines that made him want to sigh in preemptive exhaustion and exasperation. Riza paused her part of the discussion, and looked over her fiancé's shoulder curiously. When the reason for his sighing became clear she turned back to the discussion at hand. Roy let another few moments slip by as he rubbed his temples and leaned forwards over the table.

"Why is Edward Elric on this list?" He demanded. The table paused, Olivier only bothering to continue sneering icily Roy's direction. The Madame looked away for a moment, as if to claim innocence and to swipe on another layer of deep aubergine lipstick, and Whitelaw and Domwell exchanged battling looks before Whitelaw set her papers aside.

Gracia spoke up first.

"He's invited to the wedding, of course. I thought the Elrics would enjoy seeing you both-"

"-With all due respect Gracia, please don't try and pretend he's only on our political potentials list because he's a well behaved wedding guest in the making." Roy said, irritation seeping into his voice. Riza set her hand over his under the table, before she gave him a stern look. "-I'm sure Edward will behave just fine."

Whitelaw nodded slowly. "With all due respect, sir, we didn't just put the Elrics, or Edward in particular on this list because we thought it would make for an excellent invitation. Edward has a…certain draw that has connected him to a multitude of people."

"He won't do it. He'll refuse, pointblank." Roy said flatly.

Olivier made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat in response, lips curling in annoyance. "Coward."

"-Oh of course, just because I know that he's washed his hands of politics means I'm a coward-"

"-Actually, Roy," Gracia cut in firmly. "-We've already asked Edward to be a part of your campaign team. He seemed more than enthusiastic to join, after I told him he could make the Best Man's speech at your wedding. I thought he'd be able to say something very fitting, at the end of all of this."

Roy blinked simply, before turning to Riza. Her expression was light, but she hadn't let her amusement escape her eyes yet, although her gaze sparked further as he gave her an agonized look.

"How do you feel about eloping?" He pleaded.

"I don't do shotgun weddings." Riza replied calmly, lips curving into a smile. "I think Edward helping us is an excellent choice. When should we expect him in Central?"

A ding went off in the kitchen, and Gracia excused herself from the table with a smile. "Tomorrow Morning." she said breezily.

Roy groaned.