A/N: Mustang’s posse. OOC on Falman, but it’s all in good fun. Warning: Crude humor at the expense of Mustang's posse. Enjoy?

Off the Field

"Hey."

A grunt that sounded like a somehwat irritated, "What?"

"Are you gonna eat that hot dog, or can I have it?"

WEINER.

The clinging threads of drool all but recdeded. The well-worked molars clamped down inches away from the said hot dog. Anticipation faded, a stomach-churning dread rapidly displacing it. Giant drops of sweat crowned his head and melted down his face and past his lips.

WHY HOT DOG?

It was an instinctual thing.

IF THEY PUT PIGS IN 'EM...

That haunting word. Three letters when strung together named that body-less entitty that some Amestrans and all the Ishbalans prayed to--but when backwards, it spelled the name of the devil's own.

WHY CALL IT HOT DOG?!

"RELAX! You actually believe they put dogs in 'em?"

The semi-corpulent man let the object of physical, mental, and spiritual dispute fall to his side and threw a weary glare at the smoking chimney throwing a casual---and snide--grin at him.

"C'mon, Havoc---" The poor man was about to pass out, his eyes bulging in terror, huddled over in something equivalent to a standing fetal position. "Why th' hell do ya do that when ya know I_HATE_DOGS!!?" Breda bellowed, Falman silently and neutrally remarking to himself that the way the second lieutenant's coarse red fu--hair bristled, he must have been afraid of himself.

Meanwhile Fuery sat balled in a corner, his twitching hands clasped about his knees which were pitifully tucked under his chin, horrified to even think that people would be so--so INHUMAN as to even THINK of selling the sad, fur-less remains of a dog for five cenz each to be devoured by slobbering, vile--unprincipled PEOPLE--! The marshmallow wanted to squeak in protest of the crassness of alluding to such a possibility, but the Havoc and the "red dog" were engaged in bloody combat.

"It is forbidden by article 29 of the 1893 Animal Right's Act 'under penalty of a fine of 20 000 cenz and ten years imprisonment to kill any member of the canis familiaris for the purpose of human consumption.'"

Both Breda and Fuery gave a sign of relief. Falman's uncanny ability for spouting off dictionary definitions and excerpts of legal documents verbatim really came in handy sometimes. The hungry Breda had begun to puncture the meat with his incisors.

Falman scrunched up his face imperceptibly. A ghost of a smirk lifted one corner of his lips that were normally turned downward in a stern frown.

"However, the Animal Right's Act mandates no legal repercussion for the preparation of any deceased member of canis familiaris for human consumption, provided it passes a fixed sanitation standard."

"Wh--wh--what're ya sayin', Falman?!" Breda this time dropped the hot dog onto the floor. It bounced and lay there, grinning like that unknown liquid that you just poured down your throat and it just vaguely registered in your mind that you had just drunk poison.

Havoc, who had been silent until now, leaned foward with his hands in his pockets. He leered at the stocky man with lidded eyes. The smoke lifting from the cigarette scartched ominous runes in the air heavy with sweat, blood, and tears.

"Y'know, Breda..."

Thud.

"Have ya heard.."

THud.

"Black Hayate---"

THUd.

"bark--"

THUD.

"at all this week?"

Breda's head began to swim. Fuery convulsed in the grip of death that was swiftly overtaking him. Everywhere in the room there was wailing and gnashing of teeth. There was a thud. The marshmallow dropped like a rock from his seat and crushed the hot dog. Breda started for the window, tripped over Fuery and smashed into the wall. But despite this they recovered quickly albeit drunk with absolute terror, and they bolted with a frenzied speed that rivalled a Homunculus'.

Falman managed a chuckle and Havoc was laughing so hard it hurt.

"Good work, Falman---" the lieutenant managed to articulate between guffaws. "It's too bad Kain was a civilian casualty, but in any war you gotta expect that," Havoc smirked, thoroughly relishing his victory. Normally he was the laid-back one, the kind takes the world as it comes---(with the exception of the neverending quest to find and keep a girlfriend---which was pretty damn hard considering their fearless AND SHAMELESS Colonel Mustang had 2/3 of Central AND East cities' girls melting in his arms), but that incident was--UNFORGIVABLE--and staring into the shiny rubber face of "Major Armstrong" with those pink sparklers cackling in malicious delight---where the hell did he find the time to put that crap together, anyway?--!-- he vowed revenge on Second Lieutenant Heymanns Breda.

Havoc strode up to the hot dog and tossed it up and down in his palm. His smirk dropped into a frown. It had an unflattering Kain imprint on it. He was debating whether or not he should toss it, but then Falman's even voice turned Havoc's gaze.

"You know, sir--" he began. No sign of maliciousness, just how he always looked: grave and serious. His lethal attack couldn't be more concealed. Unlike Havoc, no girl ever looked Falman's way---he himself didn't think he was a bad-looking guy, yet he just was somehow too unattractive to be worthy of female attention-but that's not the reason he chose this countermeasure. He hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon and--though he resisted these carnal urges, and it was highly uncharacteristic that he wouldn't be able to control such a base thing as his stomach, all he could see at the moment was the hot dog.

"Yeah?" Havoc started, his teeth over the juicy meat.

"There has been a crop failure and a mysterious disease has affected all the cows, horses, pigs, sheep, and dogs---in Amestris. The Parliament has decided to take the only albeit morally questionable course of action: donate the bodies of the deceased for human consumption."
"Havoc whitened. It looked like he had been shot. He stared down at the hot dog and then up at the warrant officer, stunned. Falman continued without so much as a crack in his steely demeanor. "This is a nationwide measure enacted for the good of the people. Central has been the first city to adopt this strategy---"

Silence. The enemy was vulnerable. Now was the time.

"Lieutenant, sir."

"..."

"If you don't mind me saying so, that weiner resembles Grace a little. Has she given you a call at all---just to say that she’s dumped you for the Colonel, or…."

With a completely emotionless face he struck and struck hard. “..did she ever say that she was going away….”

Havoc froze.

“for awhile--”

Knees buckling, knees buckling.

"To somewhere nice and so hot that you could roast?"

Target eliminated.

The second lieutenant collapsed in a sad heap, his cigarette went limp and slipped out of his mouth. Falman carefully moved the motionless body on its side and retrieved the slightly damaged by a Master Sergeant Kain Fuery imprint and Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc imprint--but still edible and 100 percnt pure beef--- spoils of his conquest.

Yes! That was hiliarious!