![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
FMA - Crimson
I am so insanely happy with this piece. In my personal opinion, it is the hottest thing I've ever written. WHOO-TAH.
Title: Crimson
Rating: PG-13
Ramifications: Ishbal. Blame goes to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pinstripesuit. ALL. HER. FAULT.
Summary: Arrays and red stone in Ishbal.
Everything in Ishbal was color. The deep burgundies and scattered yellows of robes, the bright reds of fresh blood and flame, the hard garnet of empty eyes. It made Kimbley think of the russet tones of an orchestra swelling through a concert hall until all you could hear was the music. He found himself humming along at inopportune moments; when Colonel Gran passed along orders, when Flame shivered sleepless in the dark, when he stood on the rubble of a house and wondered if it was really stable beneath his feet. The blue uniforms would look at him strangely, familiarly, and Kimbley knew their thoughts and smiled and made sure his pen was secure in his pocket.
They learned to fear that blue pen, innocent object devoid of intent that it was. He learned to draw perfect circles with both hands, overcoming a crippling left-handedness that wobbled the triangles and elongated the spheres. He found the best method to turn his lumpy palm into a precious collection of curves and lines, perfect in every way, and practised until he could calculate thirty-degree angles in his sleep. The heat was his enemy more than any soldier, smearing the lake-colored ink into the creases of his skin, and he soon found that no one dared question when he stripped to the essentials necessary to keep the sand off.
His days revolved around his hands. If he had a moment to breathe, he had a moment to fix the smear that had thrown off the sulfur isolation. If he had enough water to sip, he had enough to wash the faulty smudges from the deep creases speckled with moistened sand. He was never without the pen; its sand-roughened case was under his fingers when he slept, was heavy in his pocket when he ate, was cool in his hand when he threw himself behind a crumbling wall to dodge an onslaught of rifle fire. He went through the things like Flame went through gloves. Kimbley was issued a new pen twice a week, at seven-oh-hundred, and he was never late to pick it up and he never failed to curse them out for the delay because he had only a dribble of ink left.
On his one hundred fifty seventh pen, he was handed a rock set in a thin gold wristband as well as the usual plastic cylinder. He traded it to Crystal for a delicate chain that dripped the stone against his heartbeat. He could feel it resound in his chest, empty and echoing, humming hallelujahs. It sang through his veins and out his fingertips, sparking hot and red and crashing cymbals against the streets.
He spread himself open to it, giggling like a schoolgirl as it made his arteries thrum with deep booming bass. It was one long looping endless transmutation, spreading out from his heels in rippling waves and buckling the world beneath its weight. He blinked and stood on rubble; he grinned and stood on sand; he laughed with the joyful song of the stone and stood on rippled glass. His boots melted, so he kicked them off and walked barefoot, strolling through the garden of his pleasures. The shrieks of shattering windows and shattering lives stroked his ears, the heated air and chill ash caressed his shoulders, the debris of broken lives cracked open and smoothed out beneath his feet and the world died in the dark of night with the noise of a thousand screams.
The sun lifted its shaggy head over the desert, shaking its mane mournfully at the smell of ash and meat, and Kimbley screamed obscenities at its disdain. It could partake of this if only it tried, if only he had left anything standing, if only he hadn’t used the entire stone and was left wanting with nothing left to take. Hands grabbed his shoulder and he ignored them because there couldn’t be anyone there he killed them all they were gone and not coming back for him to kill again.
He woke in five hours, after the sedation wore off, in a quiet cool tent, with Crystal hovering over his feet with poultice in hand. He seemed relieved when Kimbley blinked around with a certain amount of drugged coherency, but he frowned with worry when Kimbley’s eyes latched onto the crimson stain on Crystal’s wrist. All doctor-like, Crystal fussed with his feet and muttered and prodded, then grudgingly held out the hand adorned with the golden band and Kimbley gasped at the feel of that stone god yes the stone pressing power into his heels and he arched beneath it, wanting so much from so little.
Crystal looked away and healed Kimbley’s feet with closed ears and closed eyes. He spoke when he was done, hurriedly and guiltily, telling Kimbley that they were giving him another stone and his feet would be tender but functional and there was nothing to be done about his hands there was only so much stone and… Kimbley stopped listening, tuning him out with the remembered resonance of the night, and held his hands in front of his face. The smell of scorched pork assaulted him and he frowned, seeing nothing wrong, and then he threw his head back and laughed.
Burned into his hands. The arrays. Burned in - his power had - how deep did it - burned into his hands. The implications roared through his head - No new pens, he’d never have to be disarmed again, he could wash his hands without fear, he was stuck with that irritating smudge at the corner of the crescent’s south point and he’d never be able to fix it and absorb nitrogen properly-
But he was getting another stone. He grinned and stretched his fingers, humming like a doting mother at the pull of pain in his palms. Another stone, another stone, untouched and virginal in its song, thrumming in him and through him and around him, they’d give him another stone tonight.
He dug out his pen, blackened and dry, and made it blossom hot and scarlet in his hand and it wasn’t nearly enough but he would have another stone soon but not soon enough.
***
And this is how the idea came up:
Pinstripe: You were right about that episode, Kimberley was drawing the arrays on in Ishbal.
Me: Booyeah.
Pinstripe: See, he drew them on in blue ink, but then in prison they were tattooed in black. So I think you should write about how he got them tattooed in prison or somethi- Why are you grinning like that?
Me: BURNED INTO HIS HANDS.
Pinstripe: GOD YES!
Me: *scrambles to jot the idea down before the details fade*
On January 13th, 2007 (my 21st birthday!) "Crimson" was named "Best in Contest" in the Dogs of the Military fanfiction contest.
Title: Crimson
Rating: PG-13
Ramifications: Ishbal. Blame goes to
pinstripesuit. ALL. HER. FAULT.Summary: Arrays and red stone in Ishbal.
Everything in Ishbal was color. The deep burgundies and scattered yellows of robes, the bright reds of fresh blood and flame, the hard garnet of empty eyes. It made Kimbley think of the russet tones of an orchestra swelling through a concert hall until all you could hear was the music. He found himself humming along at inopportune moments; when Colonel Gran passed along orders, when Flame shivered sleepless in the dark, when he stood on the rubble of a house and wondered if it was really stable beneath his feet. The blue uniforms would look at him strangely, familiarly, and Kimbley knew their thoughts and smiled and made sure his pen was secure in his pocket.
They learned to fear that blue pen, innocent object devoid of intent that it was. He learned to draw perfect circles with both hands, overcoming a crippling left-handedness that wobbled the triangles and elongated the spheres. He found the best method to turn his lumpy palm into a precious collection of curves and lines, perfect in every way, and practised until he could calculate thirty-degree angles in his sleep. The heat was his enemy more than any soldier, smearing the lake-colored ink into the creases of his skin, and he soon found that no one dared question when he stripped to the essentials necessary to keep the sand off.
His days revolved around his hands. If he had a moment to breathe, he had a moment to fix the smear that had thrown off the sulfur isolation. If he had enough water to sip, he had enough to wash the faulty smudges from the deep creases speckled with moistened sand. He was never without the pen; its sand-roughened case was under his fingers when he slept, was heavy in his pocket when he ate, was cool in his hand when he threw himself behind a crumbling wall to dodge an onslaught of rifle fire. He went through the things like Flame went through gloves. Kimbley was issued a new pen twice a week, at seven-oh-hundred, and he was never late to pick it up and he never failed to curse them out for the delay because he had only a dribble of ink left.
On his one hundred fifty seventh pen, he was handed a rock set in a thin gold wristband as well as the usual plastic cylinder. He traded it to Crystal for a delicate chain that dripped the stone against his heartbeat. He could feel it resound in his chest, empty and echoing, humming hallelujahs. It sang through his veins and out his fingertips, sparking hot and red and crashing cymbals against the streets.
He spread himself open to it, giggling like a schoolgirl as it made his arteries thrum with deep booming bass. It was one long looping endless transmutation, spreading out from his heels in rippling waves and buckling the world beneath its weight. He blinked and stood on rubble; he grinned and stood on sand; he laughed with the joyful song of the stone and stood on rippled glass. His boots melted, so he kicked them off and walked barefoot, strolling through the garden of his pleasures. The shrieks of shattering windows and shattering lives stroked his ears, the heated air and chill ash caressed his shoulders, the debris of broken lives cracked open and smoothed out beneath his feet and the world died in the dark of night with the noise of a thousand screams.
The sun lifted its shaggy head over the desert, shaking its mane mournfully at the smell of ash and meat, and Kimbley screamed obscenities at its disdain. It could partake of this if only it tried, if only he had left anything standing, if only he hadn’t used the entire stone and was left wanting with nothing left to take. Hands grabbed his shoulder and he ignored them because there couldn’t be anyone there he killed them all they were gone and not coming back for him to kill again.
He woke in five hours, after the sedation wore off, in a quiet cool tent, with Crystal hovering over his feet with poultice in hand. He seemed relieved when Kimbley blinked around with a certain amount of drugged coherency, but he frowned with worry when Kimbley’s eyes latched onto the crimson stain on Crystal’s wrist. All doctor-like, Crystal fussed with his feet and muttered and prodded, then grudgingly held out the hand adorned with the golden band and Kimbley gasped at the feel of that stone god yes the stone pressing power into his heels and he arched beneath it, wanting so much from so little.
Crystal looked away and healed Kimbley’s feet with closed ears and closed eyes. He spoke when he was done, hurriedly and guiltily, telling Kimbley that they were giving him another stone and his feet would be tender but functional and there was nothing to be done about his hands there was only so much stone and… Kimbley stopped listening, tuning him out with the remembered resonance of the night, and held his hands in front of his face. The smell of scorched pork assaulted him and he frowned, seeing nothing wrong, and then he threw his head back and laughed.
Burned into his hands. The arrays. Burned in - his power had - how deep did it - burned into his hands. The implications roared through his head - No new pens, he’d never have to be disarmed again, he could wash his hands without fear, he was stuck with that irritating smudge at the corner of the crescent’s south point and he’d never be able to fix it and absorb nitrogen properly-
But he was getting another stone. He grinned and stretched his fingers, humming like a doting mother at the pull of pain in his palms. Another stone, another stone, untouched and virginal in its song, thrumming in him and through him and around him, they’d give him another stone tonight.
He dug out his pen, blackened and dry, and made it blossom hot and scarlet in his hand and it wasn’t nearly enough but he would have another stone soon but not soon enough.
***
And this is how the idea came up:
Pinstripe: You were right about that episode, Kimberley was drawing the arrays on in Ishbal.
Me: Booyeah.
Pinstripe: See, he drew them on in blue ink, but then in prison they were tattooed in black. So I think you should write about how he got them tattooed in prison or somethi- Why are you grinning like that?
Me: BURNED INTO HIS HANDS.
Pinstripe: GOD YES!
Me: *scrambles to jot the idea down before the details fade*
On January 13th, 2007 (my 21st birthday!) "Crimson" was named "Best in Contest" in the Dogs of the Military fanfiction contest.
no subject
There seem to be two styles of arrays going on in the series. There's the more geometric ones that the Amestrians mostly use--the one on Roy's glove, the one Al always draws, the one on Dante's floor (I wonder why she needed that anyway, when she's got l33t clappy powers?), and so on. And then there's the curvy flowy Mesopotamian-esque style that you see on Scar and Bruce, in the lab (both Greed's room and the Philosopher's Stone room), and when Tucker tries to animate his Nina dolls. I'm curious about the difference, but I'm too lazy to really work out a theory.
Even if it's at a distance, he only keeps it nearby when he's with family.
Hmm, good point. He does tend to keep it in easy sight. I wonder why? Does he have a morbid and gawthy fascination with it (maybe still trying to figure it out, after he ignored Dante's biology lessons)? Does it have some sort of emotional significance to him? Does he paradoxically draw some kind of power from it if he's close but not too close?
If he were hiding it from Kimbley, how would the man know where to find it?
Though I wonder why he's just standing in front of the safe in that one scene. Maybe he's like, "Where is that skull now? Surely not in the safe--that'd be too obvious." ::blows open safe anyway, just for the hell of it:: "Wow, Greed's less sneaky than I thought."
but note that he doesn't do anything to Greed's skull, even though he probably knew it was a huge weakness.
Saving it for later, in case Greed gets pissed off and comes after him (or in case somebody comes along wanting to bargain for the skull)? But, yeah, if he really hated Greed he'd smash up the skull and be done with it. It's so sweet how he's not as malicious as he could be. ^_^
Silly boy didn't even realize Dante wouldn't still be alive after 140 years.
Well, he did know her for some time before he was sealed. It might have been long enough for him to notice, "Oh, hey, she's kind of immortal too." (Does the anime ever say how old he is? I can't remember.)
However, they did once exist without stone
Though they tend to be gory messes at that point. :P (Sloth remembers that phase of her life. Wrath came through the gate fully formed, but he's just a brain-breaking exception to everything.)
It's just not a state Greed would want to be in, I suspect.
Nope, he likes being near-immortal.
FICBUNNY AUGH.
I win! XDDD
He's gotta be a genuis-child, to make these kinds of connections - I can't really blame him for being insane. He must be so bored. And then prison - oh, the poor dear. *hugs him*
Hell yeah. Poor brilliant, crazy Kimbley. ::hugs him too:: I'm picturing him sitting alone in his cell, just thinking about chemicals and arrays for hours on end.
and I still have no idea how he got the alchemy books.
::whispers:: Hoho-papa!
. . . Or some eccentric alchemist uncle who visited once.
I need to rewatch and figure out if there's a kind of person he submits to, because he sure as hell isn't submitting to an organization
Well, there's Greed and there's Archer. He seems to have followed orders in Isbhal as long as the orders were condusive to blowing things up--and when they told him to stop, then he blew up his CO.
. . . Also he backed off of poor Al when Roy came to the rescue, though he goes back to his blow-up-the-armor plan in Lior when Roy's not watching. It's weird that he'd make a show like that.
Oh! And the one thing that made me start wondeirng about passive!Kimbley was the fact that he didn't break out of prison years ago. Even in the shackles, he can stick his palms up against the wall and blow it up. I doubt he liked prison, and it had to have occurred to him that he could easily break out, so I really don't know why he didn't do so earlier.
no subject
I have absolutely no explanation for Greed keeping the skull so close, except that he can protect it from enemies. Notice that it was only when he put it away that Kimbley got hold of it.
It never says how old Greed is, except that he's younger than Envy, who is umm... 400? And he's apparently older than the other homunculi, who are admittedly very young indeed. But if he knows she's effectively immortal, wouldn't he know about the body-switching? He's a very silly boy.
Wrath's body comes from his original form having been used in the human transmutation, though. But Sloth remembers that stage...? Excellent. *pokes at Greedzilla and is pleased by its apparent canon-ness* But yeah, Greed probably doesn't want to be in that state, but it wouldn't necessarily kill him. (Hmm, makes me wonder how Dante figured out that feeding them red stone was a good idea. "Whoops, dropped some concentrated human souls on that blob that used to be my son.")
I can picture Kimbley in his cell just... not existing. He's made by other people's perceptions of him; this might also explain some of his dom/sub stuff, too. It is my pet crack theory that Kimbley simply does not exist. When you turn the lights off, he goes away, just like that. Ah, it's such a tenuous idea though, so hard to explain.
As for following orders... He didn't really like following Greed, though. He was very sullen about it. (But see above crack theory - did he act that way because that was what they expected of him?) And with Roy, he was at his limit then from being caught in his own explosion. He had to submit to Roy then, because Roy was more alpha; he had to stand by that submission because he'd made it in the first place, and he doesn't go back on things. (He didn't really betray Greed, just left him, didn't squish his skull or anything.)
I have no explanation for prison!Kimbley. At all. My brain apparently has three to five different theories about Kimbley's brain, though, and they're all swimming around and messing each other up right now. XP All your fault. If I had them in order I could come up with an explanation apart from the theory where hsi doesn't exist...
no subject
Izumi would be really scary if she was powerful in a having-minions-and-an-agenda sort of way.
Probably bio-alchemy is Ishbal-based.
That would make sense. We've only seen it used in life-and-death matters--transmuting lives into philosopher's stones, or trying to revive or animate someone. If the Great Art was mostly focused on that sort of thing (or at least if anti-alchemy sentiment emphasized the evil of those uses), it makes a lot of sense that the Ishbalites would disapprove--with those applications, practitioners are playing god to a far greater extent than just repairing a broken vase or making a spear pop out of the floor.
But Sloth remembers that stage...?
Yeah, it's somewhere in the 40's, when Ed and Al are interacting with her. She crawls out of the house in the rain, all blobby and deformed, and Dante feeds her stones.
You wrote the Greedzilla one? The one with Envy being all protective of baby Greed? I loved that one! ^_^
But yeah, Greed probably doesn't want to be in that state, but it wouldn't necessarily kill him.
Wait, I'm confused. Are you suggesting that he could go back to being blobby if he used up his stones? I'd tend not to think so; when he and Lust barfed up (what I assume to be) all their stones, they stayed in their proper human shapes, but stopped being able to come back from anything that would kill a normal person (though Greed could still regenerate his skin and shield). I assume that using up their stones would have a similar effect.
"Whoops, dropped some concentrated human souls on that blob that used to be my son."
::snorfle!::
It is my pet crack theory that Kimbley simply does not exist.
Oooooh. That's really a very shiny theory. It could work on several levels. Have you written it, or do you plan to write it? 'Cause if not, I might want to play with it--it would mesh interestingly with warped-nihilistic-Zen!Kimbley.
My brain apparently has three to five different theories about Kimbley's brain, though, and they're all swimming around and messing each other up right now. XP All your fault.
Hee hee hee. I'm sure I could be more coherent too if I weren't bouncing twenty different barely-related bits of interpretation off of you. We're bad influences on each other! . . . But at the same time, I haven't had this much of this sort of fun since the literature portion of freshman comp. Whee!
no subject
Exactly what I was trying to get at. I suck at words sometimes for someone who considers themself a writer. XD
She crawls out of the house in the rain, all blobby and deformed,
Sounds like the beginning of a Lifetime movie. XD But yeah, I wrote Greedzilla - I wasn't expecting it to be so popular, but I guess there's a lack of young!Greed and olderbrother!Envy in the world.
when he and Lust barfed up (what I assume to be) all their stones
I would think they would have at least some left, perhaps floating in their bloodstreams; I haven't gotten to where Luft barfs hers, but note that Greed's liquefy, which signifies decay to me; he also keeps his carbon-shifting powers for a period of time, which says that he's still got some stone in him. (Note also that he doesn't know enough about his own shield to push the carbon back into the strong arrangement after Ed shifts it; add this to the list of "Proof that Greed is distracted by shiny things and doesn't know his own body oh damn there's a smutbunny".) I think using up the stones would be a very slow process, drawn out and unpleasant, ending with the eventual loss of all powers and reversion to the original state.
I tend to tuck non-Kimbley into random things; there was something I wrote a little bit ago where he was interacting with Roy, but he never actually moved. Roy would close his eyes or drift to sleep and Kimbley would be in a new place, but Roy was never aware of his movement. It's a subtle thing, Kimbley's non-existence, and I kinda want to keep it that way. But feel free to work it into anything you've got; it's one of those ideas that can only get better when it's shared. <3 And mm, I keep trying to write Zen!Kimbley and failing because the closest I can get to Zen is Sanzo's cracked-out angst.
I haven't had this much of this sort of fun since the literature portion of freshman comp.
I haven't had this much fun since - Well, actually, getting the idea for Crimson was as fun, but previous to that I can't think of much. XD Ah, now I want to organize everything by incarnation - this thing here goes with non-Kimbley, this thing here goes with Antisocial!Kimbley, this thing goes with easilydistracted!Greed...
We should work out a continuity where Kimbley is descended from Hoho-papa in some way.
no subject
And here I was thinking I was being original! This brainwave thing is getting spooky-ooky. 0_o
I need to look at my scanlations again and see if Xing arrays have a style distinct from Amestris and Ishbal. (Though I don't remember the manga having much about Ishbal alchemy . . . yet. And trying to mesh the manga and the anime seems futile anyway.)
But yeah, I wrote Greedzilla - I wasn't expecting it to be so popular, but I guess there's a lack of young!Greed and olderbrother!Envy in the world.
And it's just plain adorable. ^_^ Envy doesn't get enough fics where he's not fucking Ed, and Greed doesn't get enough fics period.
I would think they would have at least some left, perhaps floating in their bloodstreams
::facepalm:: Of course! Duh!
Unless his carbon-shifting skillz are kind of, I dunnow, inherent to him now that he's past the blobbiness. . . . Though he's still able to regenerate, which really must be a stone-based thing, so you're still right.
but note that Greed's liquefy, which signifies decay to me
Lust's also liquefy, so it's definitely a theme. Your decay idea is sounding mighty appealing. 'Cause where would the liquefied stones go, if they dind't just decay away? It doesn't seem like they'd flow back to Dante or anything useful like that.
Note also that he doesn't know enough about his own shield to push the carbon back into the strong arrangement after Ed shifts it;
Eh. I was under the impression that he could shift it back, and did so when Ed shifted his hand and his side. He just didn't do it quickly enough that last time.
(And oh. my. god. It's just awful that the poor guy can't even die in peace. The seizing and twitching and generally agony are bad enough, but what's really really awful is how Ed keeps screaming at him, and kicks him, even. It makes me want to slap Ed upside the head. Poor, poor, poor Greed!)
add this to the list of "Proof that Greed is distracted by shiny things and doesn't know his own body oh damn there's a smutbunny".
Hee hee! I think he knows his own body well enough when it comes to sex. XD He's just really bored by all that scientific stuff. . . . Not that one couldn't write smut about Greed's scientific ignorance.
I think using up the stones would be a very slow process, drawn out and unpleasant, ending with the eventual loss of all powers and reversion to the original state.
I'm leaning more toward everything being fine and dandy until that last bit gets used up. At that point, everything reverts really suddenly (and messily). Maybe with some weakening and loss of power along the way (their bodies would try to conserve the stones when there's not much left--kind of how your metabolism will switch down if you don't eat enough and your body thinks it's being starved). I have no canon evidence to back this up, though.
Roy would close his eyes or drift to sleep and Kimbley would be in a new place, but Roy was never aware of his movement.
Kimbley would make for some mighty nice nightmares. (Which would be completely unrelated to your nonexistence idea, but it'd still be cool.)
But feel free to work it into anything you've got; it's one of those ideas that can only get better when it's shared. <3
Yay! ::puts it in the hutch with the rest of her plotbunnies::
Sanzo's cracked-out angst.
Oooh. That sounds unfamiliar. Do you have a link?
We should work out a continuity where Kimbley is descended from Hoho-papa in some way.
It's very easy if Hoho-papa fathers Kimbley before falling in love with Trisha.
If he's pre-Envy's descendant, then he'd have both Hoho-papa's and Dante's genetics in him (if distantly), which would make for a nice genetic basis for his alchemy-geek skillz. Except that I don't think that sort of thing would be passed down genetically if Hoho-papa and Dante weren't in their original bodies at the time they had pre-Envy. And it couldn't have been their original bodies, since Envy's real form looks so very much like Hoho-papa's current body, and since Dante was originally a man. . . . Blah.
no subject
It's kinda like there's another me that I'm talking to. The world will ASPLODE. XD
Xing arrays are probably different. There were several branches of real alchemy; Arabic, Chinese, Indian, Hellenistic, and European. Or so I'm given to understand. The Chinese had the Philosopher's Stone first, because they rock. (Pun!)
Unless his carbon-shifting skillz are kind of, I dunnow, inherent to him now that he's past the blobbiness.
I think he would retain the knowledge, but would be unable to power the reaction. This is making me curious about their supposed inability to use alchemy; they have all these reactions going on in their own bodies, but they can't externalize them? Do we ever see a homunculus even attempt alchemy, other than Wrath (who can do it just fine)? Maybe they've just been told that so they're dependant on Dante? (But I think Envy would have tried anyway, he was an alchemist to begin with, right? I vaguely remember something about his mercury poisoning being alchemically related.)
Poor, poor, poor Greed!
*weeps quietly* It was just so disturbing. I can deal with 25, almost, but I will never be able to watch 34 again.
Not that one couldn't write smut about Greed's scientific ignorance.
XD That gives me the strangest mental images. Ah, Greed. You're so easily distracted. "Look! A chicken!"
I'm leaning more toward everything being fine and dandy until that last bit gets used up... their bodies would try to conserve the stones
I think it would be a gradual taper, with various abilities slowly cutting out at different stages. The "unique" abilities would probably go first, like Envy's shapeshifting; self-preservation of any organism dictates that the regeneration (and any mystical effect there might be on the skeletons of the originals) would be the last to go. But yeah, they'd try to conserve the stones automatically... Hmm. I might work this into one of my stories. It would explain a lot...
Kimbley would make for some mighty nice nightmares.
Yes he does. *shivers* I think last night I got married to him. He blew up the church.
since Envy's real form looks so very much like Hoho-papa's current body
I'm under the impression that Hoho-papa chooses similar bodies every time, which would explain that nicely. I think the big hole in the Kimbley-from-Hoho-before-Tricia theory is their builds. Kimbley really does not resemble Hoho. ^^; I would argue against Kimbley-from-Envy by way of their noses, but that's enough of a generation gap for the nose to fade out of the genes. I also doubt alchemy is hereditary, but insanity is; Envy shows some of the same signs, most notably the boredom (although that might be from 400 years of hanging out doing diddly squat) and general outlook on humanity - although Envy's outlook seems to be partly an aristocrat's view of the world. Or rather, an aristocrat's child's view. *pets Envy* Insanity can skip a generation with severity; it's a drawn-out process, mapping who in the family history was nuts and who was predisposed and which of them married other predisposed (more common in predisposed families than non-predisposed, has to do with lifestyle habits and rearing) and thus upped the chances of having an ill child despite the faulty genes of the actually ill person fading out. My point being that despite the long lapse of time between their generations, Envy's insanity might still be carried through his genes noticeably strong.
'Scuse my genetic psychobabble; I'm not phrasing it well and it might offend.
Erm, link to Sanzostuff... Most everything is in my memories, but the Saiyuki stuff is also at my ff.net account.
no subject
Lust draws a few arrays. She probably would have tried alchemy before, like Envy, because she knows a lot about it--enough to tutor Lewjon and (I think?) Scar, and be pretty involved in the stone business at the lab.
I vaguely remember something about his mercury poisoning being alchemically related.
Nope, it only said he died of mercury poisoning. No mention of how he came into contact with the mercury. Maybe he just ate too much tuna.
He blew up the church.
XD
Kimbley really does not resemble Hoho.
Eh, he could just tend toward his mother's build. My parents have fairly contrasting builds, and I tend very much toward Dad's, while my next two siblings tend very much toward Mom's. Both Mom and Dad have a strong resemblance to one of their parents (but not the other) for build.
I'm bad at picking out family resemblance in faces if the features aren't really distinctive. Noses are especially hard for me--after I read your comment, I pondered some screencaps, and decided that half the characters have the same nose. . . . I actually think Kimbley's nose looks a lot like Greed's. Which opens up even more cracky possibilities. (Whee!)
I also doubt alchemy is hereditary
The show gives us a couple cases of alchemy in families. There's Hoho and the boys, and Nash Trigham and his sons. I think Armstrong's family has other alchemists, though I don't think it's said explicitly--but he's always going on about shiny techniques handed down through the generations, and a lot of the shiny things he does involve alchemy. Izumi and Moofy are a far-from-perfect example, but I'd say they kind of set a precedent (Moofy's alchemy skills are there before he gets stoned). . . . I have nothing to suggest, however, that these are cases of talent being passed down, rather than kids being interested in their father's work.
although that might be from 400 years of hanging out doing diddly squat
I figure anybody would develop some kind of pathology after a few centuries. I get neurotic (though not as much as Envy--I hope) after being bored only a few days. o_0
(more common in predisposed families than non-predisposed, has to do with lifestyle habits and rearing)
Wait, what's more common in predisposed families? Marrying other predisposed people?
My point being that despite the long lapse of time between their generations, Envy's insanity might still be carried through his genes noticeably strong.
Also, it would just make good poetic sense. ;)
no subject
Yes, Lust would have tried alchemy - I had forgotten about that somehow. Hmm. So it's limited to self-inflicted alchemical reactions. Does it show if the blobby homunculi immediately reform after eating stone, or does it take a while? Because if it takes a while, my theory is that they are truly limited to acting on themselves alchemically; the stones replace the Gate's power, acting from within them but never outside of them - so they would need to be absorbed and circulating for the homunculi to make use of them.
Maybe he just ate too much tuna.
XD But in real alchemy, mercury was one of the most common substances used in the search for the Philosopher's Stone. Poetic justice. (Mmm, but maybe he wouldn't have taken an interest in alchemy - I really see him as having been a spoiled aristocrat's son, very teenager and snotty and presumptuous. He would have spurned Hohenheim even before his death.)
He blew up the church.
XD
;_; It was scary. Flowers and suits and KABOOM. I didn't even know it was him as I was walking down the aisle; I got to the end and looked over and he smirked over at me and KABOOM. Did I mention the KABOOM?
half the characters have the same nose
Except for the Romans. XD No, really, Archer and pre-Envy have Roman noses; Kimbley's nose is the kind that has a very slight, delicate concave curve with a little uplift at the end, essentially the exact opposite. (Well, except for the uplift. Roman noses seem to have that uplift; beaks do not.) Or maybe I'm just too obsessed with noses. Gah, I want to draw FMA fanart in a realism style. ;_; I can't draw realism...
these are cases of talent being passed down, rather than kids being interested in their father's work.
That was my thought. I hold forth that the potential for alchemy is always present; the ability to learn/understand it is not. Mostly it has to do with resources. A miner's son is not likely to pick up alchemy books.
I get neurotic after being bored only a few days.
I get bored painfully easily, and I start saying weird things and wanting to gnaw on stuff. Or get petted. A good scritch is one of my weaknesses. XD
Marrying other predisposed people?
Yes. Freud was partially right, as much as it pains me to admit it; we define "parenting" by how we were parented, so someone that grew up in a dysfunctional household often makes a dysfunctional family of their own. Not out of any ill intent; they often hated their childhood. It's just what feels normal, and they don't know any other way to do it. In the same way, a person predisposed for mental illness probably grew up in a house with either a mentally ill parent or the child of a mentally ill person; the behaviors learned from the mentally ill person (whether it be "don't talk to Mummy when she's drinking" or "you really do like musicals, now sit and watch it quietly" or "stealing things is bad, but at least Daddy looks at you and not through you") are passed down, and the children of said person are drawn to similar people with similar backgrounds. (I am massively generalizing, although it is a statistical truth.)
Wow, I can spit off waaaay too much about genetics as related to abnormal psychology.
no subject
It wasn't clear. I got the impression that Sloth took a while, even after she looked human, to really get her bearings and develop her powers. Something like your Greedzilla.
Homunculi's alchemical limitations definitely seem to be a matter of scope. Except for Moofy, but he's just a weird weird weird little child.
But in real alchemy, mercury was one of the most common substances used in the search for the Philosopher's Stone.
Oooh, cool. Poetic justice is always shiny. ^_^ I would have expected Hoho-papa to teach him better than that, though. Of course, Envy might have disobeyed just for spite.
I am in awe of your nose-describing abilities. ::bows:: I like noses--I spend enough time admiring them on actors and crush objects--but I don't really think about them in descriptive terms.
I get bored painfully easily,
I used up the last of my patience when I was seventeen. Before then, I could sit still in boring contexts, read assignments even if I didn't really care about the subject at hand, and so on. Ever since, I've tended to fidget and daydream and get distracted. It can't be an attention problem per se, because if something actually interests me, I can get so absorbed in it that I forget to eat. . . . And that was wayyyy too much information, I'm sure.
(I am massively generalizing, although it is a statistical truth.)
I know, I know. I was questioning the (grammatical) reference. With even more vague grammar. ::needs to be hit over the head with a style manual::
Wow, I can spit off waaaay too much about genetics as related to abnormal psychology.
Hee hee! Are you, by any chance, a psych major?
no subject
*flexposesparkle*
I like noses but I don't really think about them in descriptive terms.
I have a rather odd nose, and it's been passed down through the family, and once I noticed how odd my nose is I started noticing other noses. XD It's very strange, I admit. I could have fixated on lips, but noooo...
I used up the last of my patience when I was seventeen.
I can sometimes sit patiently, but it really does depend on the subject matter. Like, FMA can enthrall me for hours, but writing holds me for two hours tops. Which makes me sad. ;_;
I was questioning the (grammatical) reference.
*cough* Uh, yeah. What I just said about writing? Applies double to essay-stuff. And to when I get carried away and lose track of my sentences. *innocent whistle*
Ahhh, I wish I were a psych major. No, it's just a hobby. I get much more snobbish about it than I have any right to. XD
This comment is far too short. I should toss out a crazy theory about Greed's childhood. ...Okay, just imagining little-kid Greed is enough crack for me tonight. XD
no subject
I don't know about his childhood, but I like to think that pre-Greed was a pirate or a highwayman or something else exotic and outlawish like that. That, or he was a really timid and bookish professor, and never really lived until after he died. Hmmmmm . . .
no subject
He would make the cutest librarian ever. (I don't think he'd be a professor, though. Too easily distracted by shiny, not enough interest in knowledge.)
no subject
no subject
no subject