#funny how the aftermath of the low chaos one looks more brutal than the aftermath of the high chaos one bc the bodies dont vanish

[tsaritsa]

The Possession of Isra Wright

this fic can also be found on ao3 or ff.net

NEXT CHAPTER

The rebuilding Ishvallan community is rocked by the uncovering of an exorcism gone horribly wrong, resulting in the death of a young woman at the hands of her own family. General Roy Mustang and his team suddenly find themselves embroiled at the centre of a military scandal that threatens to not only undo their three years of hard work, but also the military itself.

This story came about as I was researching into desert inhabitations, much like Ishval would’ve been before the civil war and what basically started as ponderings about the sorts of festivals they would celebrate and how Ishvalla was intertwined into their lives ended up as this.

The Possession of Isra Wright draws from my own understandings of a minority group that has suffered what is fundamentally both a literal and cultural genocide and then their forced integration into the ‘mainstream society’, rather than on the concept of possession itself. It is not my intention to try and glorify what are sometimes extremely sacred or harrowing experiences for many belief systems (or, in some cases, misunderstood mental illnesses), but rather use it as a catalyst to explore and understand other underlying issues in Amestris and Ishval. If you’ve seen the The Exorcism of Emily Rose, you’ll notice I’ve drawn a lot of my inspiration from there.

This is a story about dealing with the aftermath – but first I’ve got to introduce you to my version of Ishval. Have fun kiddies!

Warnings: language, sexual situations and violence.

CHAPTER ONE, Malkhā River Bank. Late summer, 1918.

There was hardly a breeze today – the heat was almost stifling, oppressive, but so so so dry. Drought season in Ishval was as harsh as ever.

However, Captain Riza Hawkeye noted, this was not without its benefits. Like today, for example. It was Lāeshembha today, the last day of the drought. Rain was imminent – the ahsa flowers had suddenly began to sprout, and the yālahe herons had been spotted by Sakhesā – the decimated, but altogether still holy mountain. A sandstorm was on the horizon too, Riza noted a little uneasily – a true harbinger of the desperately-needed rain, but it could be devastating to the only half-completed buildings in the Kanān district. Colonel Miles had assured her that the rest of the preparations would be completed before the proper celebrations were in full swing but she knew as soon at the goat’s horn sounded to begin the celebrations, preparations would be the last thing on anybody’s mind. She would need to talk to the General about that – too often now corners were being cut or mistakes were being made in light of new achievements and accomplishments.

However, possibly the best benefit to Lāeshembha was the fact that the General was also participating in it today – it was traditionally a manly thing to do, after all, but everyone had been invited to participate if they wanted to. It was not like he had any choice in the matter, however – everybody (jokingly) loved to point out how they could do his job much better than he could, and Lāeshembha was one of the few times the man could prove himself on the Ishvallan’s terms.

It also helped that the General was a practical man – though there were a few young men milling around the edge of the Malkhā river-turned-lake with loose shirts on, but most, including the General had opted to simply wear loose cotton pants, sans shirt. This year would most likely be their biggest yet – there were at least a thousand people, mostly men, milling around the edges of the artificial lake, each holding their own wooden net. The excitement in the air was palpable – with each successive year that Lāeshembha was held, the competition increased to catch the fish – and with it, the honour that one earned because of it.

Yes, Riza was more than comfortable perched up on the bank of the Malkhā, watching the almost-chaos below her, well-shaded from the brutal heat of the afternoon sun by the enormous ironwood’s that dotted the length of the restored river-turned-temporary-lake.

“Y’know, I would say that you’re going red because of the heat, but we’d both know I’d be lying, right?” Rebecca Catalina snarked as she sat down next to Riza on the sparse ground, handing her a bottle of water. “You have a terrible poker face when it comes to your beloved commanding officer.”

Riza accepted the bottle, and sighed deeply. “My poker face is fine, thank you very much,” she shot back. “At least I’m trying to be subtle about it-”

Rebecca elbowed her in the side. “Oi! I am totally subtle, Miss I’m-Wet-For-Sparkypants-”

“You are the worst-”

“I bet you two are gonna be all sneaky later too, finding some shady corner where you shove your hand down his-”

Riza tackled the woman down onto the ground, desperately trying to cover her mouth to no avail. Rebecca simply laughed, fighting off the attack with the experience of someone who had done this many times before.

“-and then all we’ll hear is oh Riza, yes, do it aga-”

“SHUT UP REBECCA!” Riza shrieked, scandalised, trying to stifle her own laughter as they rolled around on the bank. “I swear on the ground I stand on that I will kill you if you don’t shut-”

Rebecca threw her head back onto the ground, laughing far too much to fight back anymore. “You two are adorable,” she managed between gasps, tears sliding down her face. “And Havoc said that this trip would be boring.”

Riza frowned, flicking her harshly on the shoulder. “It’s not funny,” she hissed, glancing around to see who had noticed the commotion – barely anybody. Everyone seemed too distracted to notice the two of them, high up on the bank. The crowd at the edges of the Malkhā was the main focus – a sea of white hair dotted with blondes, reds, browns and blacks.

Rebecca sighed as she sat up, wiping her tears away. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s not funny – it’s fucking hilarious how you two inch around each other like something out of a Walter and Black book.”

“Remind me why I invited you again?”

Rebecca grinned wolfishly, pulling her dark curls into a low bun. “Because there are tons of half-naked men here and you need to be distracted or you’ll make terrible decisions tonight? Not that it’ll stop you though. So just the half-naked men, really.”

Riza rolled her eyes, taking a drink of water from the bottle that Rebecca had given her. “You are incorrigible,” she muttered, scanning the horizon with unease once more. “Are you taking the train back today or will you stay the night?”

Rebecca hummed. “I don’t know. What’s the weather looking like?”

“Not good. Clean up tomorrow is going to be a bitch. Even if you left tonight I’m not sure you’d outrun it.”

“Then I’ll stay,” Rebecca said, standing up and stretching her arms out wide. “You’re going to need all the help you can get, and technically I’m off work until next week anyway.” She winked at Riza. “Besides, there’s plenty of strapping young men that will be desperate for fresh meat tonight – if you don’t get lucky, at least you can live vicariously through me.”

Riza grinned, crossing her legs and shifting the janhe on her shoulders. Though the military uniforms were only required during work hours (and nobody was stupid enough to wear them a second longer) and even though the ones for the Ishvallan summer were made of a lighter wool blend, they were still suffocating at the best of times. Casual Ishvallan wear had become the norm for almost all the long-time serving military branch – Riza included. Heatstroke was the most common ailment in Aledia – alongside dehydration. At this point in the summer, water wasn’t enough to keep a person healthy; they also had to rely on drinks with added electrolytes and minerals. The traditional Ishvallan diet didn’t do a bad job itself – but many of the soldiers found the heat of the food too much. Contests over how much chāna they could eat without feeling ill were common – and a practice that caused both her and Roy a lot of consternation.

At least it was a friendly competition, Riza thought as she adjusted her legs, wincing a little at the sudden pins and needles spreading through her calves. By her estimates, today’s high would be at least thirty-four degrees – not the worst she had endured, but undoubtedly some people would feel the effects of the blazing sun tomorrow. Taking a quick swig of water, Riza looked out to the still waters of the Malkhā. The incoming rains would carve a new path for the river, and provide relief to the region that was starting to show signs of strain. The population of Aledia was growing every month, and with them, straining what few resources they had. At least the rain would lower the temperature for a while as well. Too many people were growing irritable with the relentless heat – Riza was a little ashamed to count herself amongst them.

Growing up in the East had taught her to deal with heat, of course, but she had grown up with humid, muggy heat. Ishvallan summers were as dry as a bone, sunburn was a constant stress and worry (and naturally, Riza was not a person to develop a tan of any sort – freckles, there were plenty, but her gaining a tan was like Edward gaining a foot in height). Roy, the lucky bastard, took to summer like a fish did to water. Of course he was a fine specimen to ogle anytime of the year (not that she’d tell Rebecca any more than the tidbits she’d let slip already – that woman was learning far too much, far too quickly from Madame Christmas) but the summer was a particularly wonderful time to do so – and there were opportunities upon opportunities to do so.

It was during this reflection on how to improve her ‘Rebecca filter’ that she caught his eyes down on the bank. Rebecca would pin it down to them being ‘star-crossed lovers’, but in reality there was often very little times where one would not be checking on the other – even more so after the events of the Promised Day. More than once that day they had been so close to losing one another – and as the saying went, hindsight truly was twenty-twenty. Riza remembered only too clearly the abject terror she felt as the nurses had pulled her away from Roy to do proper surgery on her wounds. She still had nightmares about that moment.

She knew Roy did too.

However, restoring Ishval took up more than enough head space between the two of them. Having control over an entire district of the country was wonderful, Riza was humble enough to admit that, but it came with its own set of dangers. How they ran Ishval could only be done because Führer Grumman had such trust in the General’s vision – and with it, their own culture had developed on how rules and policies were enforced.

There were many open secrets in Ishval. Military regulations fell to the side in favour of other, more unorthodox methods of dealing with rule-breakers and breaches of confidence. The Ishval unit was almost a separate faction to the Amestrian – much like how Briggs was to their icy commander. Riza suspected this was a deliberate choice – a group bound together by mutual experiences and a common goal were much easier to inspire loyalty than soldiers who were shifted around to suit numbers more than actually do any legitimate work.

It was this type of loyalty and hand-selection of troops that enabled so many…indiscretions of a personal nature to float under the radar – only when the person’s involved became ridiculously overt would they be separated and questioned duly – and never before.

The rumour mill never bothered with her and Roy. There was no need to. Rebecca had snidely called her the ‘Queen Bee’ of Ishval more than once – and it was true, to an extent. Her relationship with him was not at all professional on far too many levels to count – but they were professional when it came to their jobs. Their district wouldn’t allow it otherwise. One misstep, one conflict not attended to would tear down all they had worked hard to gain – and that was the constant fear plaguing the back of their minds.

However, on days like these, decorum from the Ishval unit went out the window – and so did the rules. This was why Riza was sitting on the top of a river-cum-lake bank, wearing a sundress and a patterned janhe and unabashedly staring at her superior officer’s abs – who, as it happened, was staring back at her, a smile blooming on his face and eyes promising that he’d catch at least one fish: or die of mortification otherwise.

“Are you finished having weird eye sex yet?” Rebecca asked, plopping herself back down, stifling a snigger. Riza glanced at her. “Have you finished being a bitch that won’t get any mekhlo at this rate?” she shot back.

Rebecca held up her hands in apology. “Yes, okay, calm down already. I think the High Cleric dude is gonna blow the magic goat horn.”

Riza threw Rebecca a disproving look, before sitting up a little straighter. The people milling by the waterside had stopped talking to one another – all were looking to the water, muscles tense, wooden nets held high. High Cleric Basir had walked out onto a rock, carrying the ceremonial goat horn that had been found buried in the rubble remains of an Ahmanhe, the traditional places of worship for Ishvalla. All that could be heard were the lapping of the water on the stones and a lone yālahe circling above, occasionally calling out in a mournful cry at being ousted from its water source temporarily.

Basir took a deep breath and then placed the horn against his mouth, and a low, solemn tone came out – and all hell broke loose on the edges of the water. A roar rose from the crowd gathered as they all began running into the water as fast as they could manage – in a matter of seconds the lake was flooded with a frantic frenzy of limbs and voices and nets and splashing water – Riza immediately lost track of where the General was in the chaos. It was a few minutes of this before the first men began to emerge victorious from the crowd in the lake, hands and mouths full of fish, some still wriggling around. It didn’t take long for Roy to emerge out of the crowd either holding up his fish-grasping hands in success.

“ARE YOU PROUD OF ME NOW CAPTAIN?” He hollered up to her, looking far too pleased with himself. “TURNS OUT I CAN FEND FOR MYSELF WHEN THE NEED ARISES!” The crowd around him laughed, looking up to where she and Rebecca were sitting, Rebecca cackling madly. “Hell of a catch, wouldn’t you say?” she said between laughs. Riza snorted, trying to ignore the curling warmth low in her gut.

“That is an awful pun, Rebecca,” she replied, a smile growing on her face as Roy made his way up the bank where they were sitting. “Go find Havoc and see if he’ll spare you a fish.”

Rebecca harrumphed at that, before standing up slowly. “General!” she called out. “Your treasured Captain is telling me you won’t have any fish for me. How could you break my heart in such a cruel way?”

“My reputation obviously precedes me,” he called back, making his way through the crowds that were beginning to emerge as more and more people came out of the lake – some successful, many not.

“Cad!” she retorted, pouting and putting her hands on her hips. “Did Havoc fare any better?”

“I think he got four, if the crowd surrounding him is any indication,” he replied, glancing back at the growing horde surrounding the young man down at the banks of the Malkhā. “You better run quickly if you want some fish from him.”

A look of determination stole across Rebecca’s face. “I’ll see you two at the party!” she yelled back, quickly jogging down to the large gathering by the now empty lake.

Roy turned back to where Riza was sitting. “Where do I put my hard-earned labours?” he asked, sitting down on the towel next to her, sending water droplets flying as he shook his head vigorously.

“I’ve got an ice box here – did you kill them already?” Riza asked, dragging the wooden box from where she had been keeping it in the shade.

“Nah, not yet. You got a knife?”

She passed him one as well as chopping board – some people liked to bash the heads against the rocks by the river’s edge but that was far too cruel in her opinion. Worse were the ones already skewering them, ready for the waiting campfires at the town square. Roy made quick work of gutting and filleting the fish.

“Where’re the dogs? I was going to give them the guts.”

“It’s too hot for them out here – you know that as well as I do – and Eliza was giving me that look that you give me when you’re going to stir shit up. She takes after you a worrying amount.”

“So she should,” he replied primly, placing the filleted fish into the ice box and making a small alcove in the corner of the ice for the guts to keep. “She’s a wonderful dog who perfectly emulates what it means to be a Mustang-”

“Meaning she sleeps all over the furniture and constantly eats food she knows isn’t for her?” Riza interrupted, taking the ice box from him and began to wrap it back up in cloth. “You indulge her.”

“She is a wonderful and loyal friend and I will not let you insult her-”

“She is a dog, Roy, I’m sure she won’t kill her to have a bit more training than ‘piss here please, if you will’-”

“General.”

Their bickering stopped as Samir stood before them, in his customary robes and ceremonial sash. The man was still as intimidating as ever, even with the faded scar, Riza thought, before standing alongside Roy to greet the man properly.

“Samir! I didn’t see you in the group – you didn’t participate this year?” Roy asked, offering his hand. They shook hands, briefly, before Samir replied.

“Unfortunately not. I was given the task of watching over the mekhlo barrels this year – not an entirely terrible job to be given during Lāeshembha. I suppose you were successful once more?” He asked, humour in his tone.

“Naturally,” Roy replied, a proud smirk growing on his face. “Not as good as Havoc or Karir – but I just need to catch at least one fish so you all don’t lose hope in me.”

Samir snorted. “Best not let others know you were being easy on them. They may wish to challenge you properly next year.” He turned to Riza. “Colonel Miles instructed me to tell you that the preparations in the Kanān district have been done. The storm tonight will not ruin the progress we have made this week.”

Riza smiled warmly. “Thank you, Samir. Will you and Colonel Miles be joining us at the Ahmanhe tonight for the dinner?”

Samir nodded. “As soon as we shift the mekhlo to the cellars we will join you. Hopefully the young ones will give up this year in their quest to get drunk.”

She laughed, as did Roy. “Unlikely,” he replied, “but there’s hope yet. We better go now, anyway,” he continued, nodding to Samir. “There are two dogs at home that are going to be very disappointed if we don’t bring them the fruits of my labour.”

Samir laughed. “They’re more demanding than most of the ammonla around here.”

“You’re probably right there,” Roy replied. “But I imagine that the ishmonla will be acting far worse tonight.”

Samir nodded sagely. “I hope not to count you two amongst them,” he said. “I will let you go now. Ishvalla dhāmo.”

“Ishvalla dhāmo,” they replied in unison, watching as the hordes of people crowded around him, all jabbering away in various fluencies and cadences of Ishvallan.

Lāeshembha – fishing festival that occurs at the end of the drought season

Ahsa – a vine-like plant that grows in the cracks of buildings and the ground. The white flowers begin to blossom when the humidity reaches a certain level in the summer.

Yālahe – species of heron that migrate to the south to breed.

Sakhesā – a small mountain that is sacred to Ishvallan’s. It is said to be the place that Ishvalla once stood.

Kanān – a prophet of Ishvalla, born approx. 1240.

Malkhā – the main river that runs from the mountain ranges that separate modern-day Ishval from Amestris.

Janhe – a traditional shawl for Ishvallan women, which covers the shoulders and upper arms. Comes in a variety of fabrics and patterns, typically made of cotton.

Mekhlo – a type of fermented alcohol, made with the bark of the nekhlo tree, spices and the aloe vera plant. Prepared in the height of summer, it is both delicious before and after fermentation.

Aledia – name of the village being rebuilt in the Ishvallan district. Comes from the Ishvallan word aledhā, meaning moon.

Chāna – traditional Ishvallan stew, made with goat and root vegetables. Typically a spicy dish.

Ahmanhe – place of worship for Ishvalla.

Ammonla – informal way to talk about a child or children.

Ishmonla – informal way to talk about an adult or adults.

Ishvalla dhāmo – (trans. Ishvalla guides [you]) a formal way to say goodbye.

#fma fanfiction #royai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #rebecca catalina #scar #fullmetal alchemist