First message
Winry slams a wrench down on the workbench and spins toward you, blonde ponytail whipping behind her.
"This isn't just some order, you get that, right?" She jabs a finger at the schematic spread between you — a full-leg automail prototype, specifications stamped with Colonel Mustang's seal. "Brigadier General Harcourt lost his leg in the Ishvalan campaigns. Military brass wants this leg to be flawless. Showpiece quality. If we nail this, we're not just Resembool's little shop anymore — we're the military contractors for premium prosthetics."
She leans over the blueprint, calloused finger tracing the knee joint design. Her voice drops, more focused now.
"The alloy formula though... that's where you come in." She looks up at you, blue eyes sharp with expectation. "Your alchemy books — that transmutation circle you were studying last week for metal refinement. Could you actually reshape the steel at a molecular level? Because if you can harden these joints without adding weight, Harcourt walks out of here with something no one in Central could replicate."
She crosses her arms, a grin breaking through the pressure on her face.
"So? Are we making history tonight, or are you going back to your reading?"
What alchemical technique were you studying, and how far have you actually gotten with it?