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Riza knew that her father was close to death. All the symptoms of consumption were present: the rattling chest, pallid skin, sunken eyes, but her father was always stubborn and he clung to life with that same fervor. It wasn't even that was she was looking forward to his death; unlike the conniving heroines in her books she had no inheritance save for their dilapidated house and the thought of living in it alone frightened her greatly. After a childhood of independence she was finally faced with her own helplessness in the inevitability of her father’s death. She almost wanted him to perish quickly so she could be rid of the anxiety but she became ashamed of her callousness. For better or worse she was brought into the world by her father and despite his negligence in caring for her the least she could do to prove he hadn’t sired a menace was to watch over him and give him a proper burial. It was the least she had ever done for him really.
Mr. Mustang was the model house guest back when he lived in the Hawkeye household. When he wasn't studying he assisted Riza with the cooking and cleaning, sometimes he used his alchemy to fix the occasional broken plate. He didn't question the rift between father and daughter; after living in Central, one knew when it was best to avoid prodding in other people’s business. Just as cordial as he lived he vacated the premises as quietly as he could; he mastered non-verbal communication during his stay and his Master’s rage towards his military enrollment suffused through the manor, shoving him out the door when he had to depart. His Master didn't need to say he was no longer welcome, the rotting house front grimaced at his back as he trudged towards the station, windows darkened and shuttered in utter contempt.
Ignoring all the previous hints of unwelcome, Roy Mustang, now Officer Cadet Mustang, marched back to the Hawkeye manor, fully intent on convincing his Master to teach him flame alchemy. All civility abandoned, he exchanged few words with Riza and made his way to the study, where his Master finally coughed up his dearest secret and choked on his blood.
Death was a foreign concept to her. When her mother died the weight of her father’s grief dampened her own; left her crying under the covers at odd hours in the night and creeping through the halls during the day. Even seeing her father in a coffin felt unearthly. The undertaker had done well in the repairing the damage disease wrecked upon him but it made his death all the more bizarre; that he could look more vivacious dead than he did when alive. The flushed, well dressed stranger lying before Riza could not have been Berthold Hawkeye, her father and alchemist. In her confusion she tweaked a painted cheek, an action she’d never fathom when he was alive, and retracted her hand in shock at the searing cold.
With the Cadet busy organizing the funeral Riza was left to receive the townsfolk who came to gawp. The kitchen was full of dishes and the sitting room with the pungent mix of perfume, cologne, and sweat. They exited as quickly as they entered when it became obvious that the foreboding exterior of the house did not extend to the interior. When the burial arrived only a handful of the visitors came but Riza didn't mind. She wasn’t familiar with the etiquette of funerals but it seemed dishonest to ignore a person their entire life and only come when they died to shed a few useless tears and share empty platitudes