FMA fics

Mar. 2nd, 2005 05:14 pm
swordage: Kimberly from Fullmental Alchemist, "criminal". (x ishbal)
[personal profile] swordage
Title: Desert Sun
Series: FMA
Rating: PG-13
Ramifications: Ishbal, yo.
Summary: Roy has a bottle in one hand and a glove on the other.


Kimbley was awake when Roy stumbled into their shared tent. No privacy for the damned. He chuckled weakly at the stray thought and collapsed onto his cot, ignoring Kimbley’s arch look at his state of disarray.

“Where the hell did you get alcohol in this forsaken dump?” Kimbley asked with more than a hint of curiosity. Well, maybe the look wasn’t for the state of his clothes after all.

“Don’t remember,” he slurred, and held out the remainder of the bottle as a peace offering. Kimbley graciously accepted, not even having to get up from his own cot or even stretch particularly far. The silence only held for a few moments before Kimbley began to hum softly. The man could never keep quiet, not even on the battlefield. It drove Roy mad some days, but today it struck him as exceedingly funny. Perhaps it was the tune; Kimbley had explained to him once (at great length, when he didn’t particularly care to listen) what all the strange words were and what they meant. “Day of Wrath” indeed. Fire and brimstone only conjured up images of their daily life under the never-ending sun.

“Fucking alcoholic,” Kimbley finally muttered. “Left me barely anything.”

“So make some more,” Roy waved vaguely at a stale crust of bread. “Disassemble, ferment, whatever.”

“Ew,” Kimbley said eloquently, but he looked intrigued, and Roy just waited for him to try it. He was slightly disappointed when the effort of getting hold of the bread proved greater than Kimbley’s scientific curiosity.

“…You still broken up over those civilians?” Roy blinked and looked over at Kimbley, noticing with a start that the light had dimmed in a heartbeat and Kimbley was sitting up without having moved. It took him a few moments to realize that he must have blanked out.

“No.” It was the most he wanted to say on the subject, and probably a complete lie, and Kimbley knew it. Lying was a weakness, left you open to disgrace if you were caught, so Roy wasn’t surprised in the least when Kimbley perked up at his dull answer.

“So you’re fine with it now? Don’t mind remembering the kick of the pistol and the spatter across the wall just so?” Kimbley splayed a hand open in an arcing gesture, and Roy fought back the urge to throw something at that playful grin.

“No.” He should have really stop answering, just ignored Kimbley until the fun of taunting an unresponsive man faded. He couldn’t help it. Kimbley was the devil on his shoulder that he didn’t believe in.

“Oh, so you do mind if I talk about that, then. Well, I’ll just tell you about my day instead.” Kimbley’s smile assured Roy that this was not a gift. “There was a family in my sector that had managed to hole up in a stable spot. Couldn’t have blown that place if I tried, not from the outside. They were picking off my men, and you know how Gran’s gotten about losing the fodder.”

“Colonel Gran,” Roy automatically corrected. It was entirely the wrong thing to say, the wrong thing to do at all. He shouldn’t have shown he was listening.

“Colonel Gran, then,” Kimbley said agreeably. “So there I was, with snipers in a highly defensible position - I’m sure you know how that is, but you can always send in your fire, right? Well, I thought of you, love.” Roy’s stomach turned. He didn’t want to imagine what Kimbley came up with. “Oh, don’t look like that. All I did was practice some delayed reactions on the bullets. Too bad Vicks didn’t take that shot fast enough, because Griffith was showing some promise. He never even blinked that time I-”

Roy couldn’t have been more grateful for the tentative scratching at the tent flap. He hauled himself up, wavering as the alcohol slid out of his head along with the rest of his blood, and swore softly as his vision faded and his ears roared with his pulse. When it cleared a moment later, Kimbley was leaning against a tent pole by the opened flap, ripping open a missive clearly marked “Major Roy Mustang.”

Roy said nothing about the regulations against opening one‘s tentmate‘s mail, watching with awe as a muscle under Kimbley’s left eye began to jump ever so faintly.

“You,” Kimbley said quietly, “are leaving in two days.”

“Where?” Roy asked, letting his hands dangle numbly between his knees, having only just then remembered he was still wearing his gloves.

“Home,” Kimbley sneered, and Roy couldn’t find the breath to object when the paper curled into a tiny flower of carbon, crushed by a fireless chemical reaction. Kimbley’s fingers were red and slightly blistered. Roy couldn’t help smiling.

(no subject)

Date: 2005-03-02 10:32 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] emptybackpack.livejournal.com
Oo! Love the second one. War instincts. Very nice.

(no subject)

Date: 2005-03-02 11:23 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] emptybackpack.livejournal.com
Damn, you've caught on. I'm standing outside your window on this sunny, sunny day. It's so warm out! Feels like summer already. This choice of a black outfit was a bad idea. Damn cactus.

(no subject)

Date: 2005-03-03 12:50 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] emptybackpack.livejournal.com
. . . goddammit, my informant -swore- to me that this was the right place! I must kill him now. Poor little teenager, he shall die a horrible death of lesbian pornography on AIMS tests.

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] emptybackpack.livejournal.com - Date: 2005-03-03 10:26 pm (UTC) - Expand

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From: [identity profile] emptybackpack.livejournal.com - Date: 2005-03-07 12:17 am (UTC) - Expand

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Date: 2005-03-02 11:32 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] emptybackpack.livejournal.com
Mm, yes, I do like muchly the inability to become accostomed to civilian life. I had an uncle who came back from Vietnam that way - would jump at loud bangs, was . . . sort of paranoid, I suppose. Came home and threw his uniform in the trash, first thing.

Be scared. Fear is a good thing. I know where you live and what your shoes look like!

(no subject)

Date: 2005-03-02 11:59 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] laylah.livejournal.com
Mmmm. Always a treat -- I love the way you get into the trauma, the deep-down fucked-up that is the Ishvar war. Brilliant moments in both of these; Kimberly's taunting is spot on vicious, and all the little war instincts (especially the way Roy realizes that one soldier has snapped) in the second are achingly real.

Nice job, especially through the brain-fog of being sick. ^_^

(no subject)

Date: 2005-03-03 01:17 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] pinstripesuit.livejournal.com
Doom-tastic.

Absolutely adored these. I love this concept of them being thrust unwillingly into this hell, and not being able to escape it even they physically leave. I love that Nothing Will Get Better. And Kimberly's perspective on it vs. Roy's is wonderful. You captured his deteriorating state of mind beautifully. (I read the comments before reading the fics, so I read the first one with the idea of Kimberly being a hallucination of Roy in mind. It makes it more interesting and disturbing.)

One little thing that urked me, though: left you open to disgrace if you were caught. The rest of the fic is in third-person perspective. It's odd that this bit is in second-person. I'll chalk it up to your sick haze.

Great, great job! *hugs you*

(no subject)

Date: 2005-03-03 02:37 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] pinstripesuit.livejournal.com
You should totally do a "no hope for repentance" fic next. Just continue the theme. It's wonderful.

(no subject)

Date: 2005-03-03 02:47 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] pinstripesuit.livejournal.com
Possibly from Roy's perspective, so you have the angst there, but he also observes the lack of it in Kimberly or other soldiers (who don't have the psycho thing Kimberly has), so you can have the lead-up to insanity there, because Roy can not understand it. Cut to present FMA timeline, possibly, for resolution pie.

Mmmm... pie...

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] pinstripesuit.livejournal.com - Date: 2005-03-03 03:21 am (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

Date: 2005-03-03 01:43 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] miss-arel.livejournal.com
Mmmm, doomtastic... You'd think I would get tired of Roy-flavored Ishvar doom, but you know, I never do... in spite of being sick, you still wrote these remarkably well. I feel so bad for Roy... he needs more Hughes. Hughes is good for him. *gives Hughes-muse a generous shove in Roy's direction*

(no subject)

Date: 2005-03-03 02:58 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] miss-arel.livejournal.com
Yeah... good luck with that. Ed, in my experience, is very hard to write. Especialyl canon!Ed, rather than my AU!Ed.

*molests both icons and looks hungrily at the chicken*

(no subject)

Date: 2005-03-03 03:22 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] pinstripesuit.livejournal.com
Write a drabble or something about his voice. I will pay for it with shinies. *is a shameless bribage whore* Dooo eeeett...

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Date: 2005-03-04 07:11 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] miss-arel.livejournal.com
Mmm, yes, pretty, in a creepy sort of way... you know Greed would probably molest him anyway. Greed molests eeeeeeeveryone.

(no subject)

Date: 2005-03-04 12:47 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] forgottenlover.livejournal.com
::huggle glomp:: I am slowly becoming addicted to Kimblee... damn it...

(no subject)

Date: 2005-03-04 07:52 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] forgottenlover.livejournal.com
::laughs:: I'm cowriting a story in which Kimblee is the main character, and it has, shock of all shocks, multiple chapters and parts planned! And multiple pairings!! ::grins:: god, I'm insane... It's your fault, you write well... You should go look up the alterseries and HoS dang it! We could use that talent!!

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Date: 2005-03-05 05:00 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] bard-linn.livejournal.com
Nice Roy angstness. Ishabal is something that remains interesting.

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