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tampered2007-07-02 12:32 am
crimsonhanded.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-07-02 12:32 am
LOG: complete
When; July 1, night
Rating; PG-13 for NPC death
Characters; Kimblee [![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
crimsonhanded] & Cirucci [thunderwitch]
Summary; Kimblee invites Cirucci to dinner to talk about their respective worlds and provides her with a little entertainment afterwards.
Log;
Zolf J. Kimblee smoothed the wrinkles from his tie. He'd only been in the City for a few days, but he'd settled in and stocked his food supply as well as his wardrobe. The thick white suit and coat he'd intended to wear to Briggs was unsuitable in the summer weather of the City. Sitting at a table in Pandora's, he observed his new suit in his vague window reflection. Yes, this was better.
The alchemist leaned back in his chair, running a finger around the lip of his water glass. Needless to say, he was looking forward to dinner with the strange woman called an arrancar, Cirucci, a creature quite unlike he'd ever seen. The closest would be probably be a chimera, but that wasn't quite right, either.
Other worlds. How peculiar.
The scientist in him was eager for information—any kind, anything beyond the crude pictures and brief paragraphs stunted by a speech impediment. And the soldier in him? Delighted at the prospect of violence.
And so he waited.
Cirucci occasionally like to wear something other than her uniform. She didn’t know why, as she’s never felt the need before, but in Hueco Mundo the possibility didn’t exist, and so, she supposed, the need never appeared. Of course, it didn’t help that here she had a tendency to become exceedingly bored, and window shopping was something that passed the time.
She entered Pandora with a condescending glance and a hunger in her belly. Crowds. All those people… all those souls. Ugh, but she hated going out in public sometimes, it only served to remind her of her inability to eat properly, that she hadn’t gorged since that last curse day when she had been taken out of the City. A pity, that. It had been so filling.
“Kimblee~” The Arrancar noticed the human male and made her way towards him, the dress she’d chosen white, as her uniform was, the only color she particuraly fancied in clothing, a bit startling in contrast to the hole between her breasts, visible due to the rather revealing cut of the short garment. She was rather fond of the shock factor, she had to admit. Most men didn’t find the hole at all settling, at least, most non-Arrancar males, but she took an immense pride in it, showed it off with a twisted sense of worth, that she was worth more without that heart than with it.
At the sound of his name, the alchemist raised his eyes to find the arrancar sidling up to the table. He stood to greet her—then stopped.
There was a hole. In her abdomen, between her breasts and underneath the ribcage. The logical part of Kimblee's brain went off like a siren. This wasn't possible. Where were the bones, the organs that were supposed to be there?
His hesitation was evident, so without further awkward staring, he inclined his upper body in a sort of bow and pulled her chair out for her. "Cirucci," he replied, twisting his lips into a smirk. His gaze strayed back to that glaring hole. He wanted to reach out and touch it, to prod and poke and perhaps... if her body composition was different than that of a human's... if she'd burn—but no.
"It's a pleasure seeing you again. If you'll sit..."
She smirked, always happy to receive the desired reaction. Her uniform had become something recognizable in the City, considering how often Arrancar were about, being warned about, the white uniform was something of a dead giveaway, but she still held her other attributes, the hole in her torso and the bone mask spiked in her hair like some ivory pin.
“Hmm.” It all she gave for thanks, for she expected such treatment, vain and selfish as she was. She crossed her legs, made herself comfortable, and looked him up and down, far too predatory a glance to be benign.
“Mine as well.” Cirucci finally murmured, gloved hands settling on her knees. Hadn’t seen him since the Opera House, when she’d taken the oppurtunity to show off her Hollow form, an extension of a tentative trust, understand, between the two. She expected to be paid back.
He took the seat across from her, his face taking on an expression more benign than hers; but then again, his methods were far more subtle than hers. A smile here and there never hurt anyone, not until he'd betrayed their trust to meet his greater wants. He had a feeling the arrancar were cruder in manipulating, seeing no need to disguise their intentions, but to each his own.
Kimblee nodded his head at the peculiar aspect of Cirucci's anatomy, that empty hole. "Interesting choice of dress," he remarked. "I'm thoroughly surprised."
He wondered briefly if such clothing would work with her "released form," as she'd called it, back during the night of the ballet when he visited her on the roof. Oh, yes, that's right. He'd promised to repay her kindness, hadn't he?
The man traced the transmutation circle on his left palm with a finger. "I take it all of your kind is like that? The bone mask has been explained, but the hole?"
“She thought you may be.” Interesting? That had been somewhat the goal. At the mention of the hole, her hand came to it, traced the edge of it as she settled into the explanation. That Nell Tu liked to think she explained things, but Cirucci knew better. Not like anyone could understand the runt anyway.
“We all have it.” She began, a light twitch as her nail scraped a bit too hard and she lessened the pressure. “It’s proof of the fact that we lost our hearts when we became Hollows, and it remains into becoming Arrancar.” It was routine, the exchange of information on oneself, for information on another, especially potential… allies of sorts.
“It’s where the soul sleep was anchored as a human soul, and where it was consumed upon becoming a Hollow.”
"Heartless," Kimblee mused aloud. He'd spoken with a boy the previous day who had lost his heart too, but he was human, and from what he could tell, there were no changes in character. But while his situation seemed to be a complete lack of emotion, the way Cirucci described the process of her creation seemed to the man that her heart no longer existed. And yet there she sat, whole and conscious, without the organ necessary for life.
Too illogical. The scientist in Kimblee was raging, but he'd learned to suppress it a long time ago. He was much more interested in the destructive capabilities of Cirucci's species. They were creatures of slaughter, judging from the way the woman had boasted about her sword the other night. What had she called it again?
Further thoughts were cut off when a waiter butted in to take their drink order. "Coffee," was the alchemist's reply with a smile.
“That’s right.” Cirucci smirked proudly. It was her lack of heart that gave her power, the fact that she lacked it that allowed her to transcend normal capabilities of the soul and gain her mask only to rup it from her face, advance in power and manipulate her form in sword or release. With a heart, she was nothing.
At his order she made a face. That stuff smelled foul, but she would refrain from wrinkling her nose. She struggled for a moment, trying to think of acceptable drinks and couldn’t come up with anything. Stupid human food.
She’d rather eat the waiter, personally.
“Water.” The Arrancar huffed, lips sinking into a pout.
As the employee wandered away, Kimblee raised an eyebrow at Cirucci. "Just water?" Suffice to say, he was surprised. Didn't women like her go for something more alcoholic and fruity? But he wouldn't know. He'd been in prison for years.
He picked up his menu at last, as if noticing it for the first time. "So what's the big deal about you and those... things? What were they called? Started with an S." Really, the variety of creatures in this world would send a doctor straight to heaven on earth. "According to Nell, there's animosity between your species."
And where there was conflict, there was Kimblee.
“Cirucci can’t stomach much of this food.” She muttered, a bit put off. Some of it looked good, but tasted horrible. Or tasted good, but made her stomach turn. Human food was, therefore, a troublesome and annoying part of her existence in this City.
Ah, shinigami. That was a subject she could go on about.
“The shinigami.” The Privaron let a smirk replace the pout on her painted lips, one hand running though hair let down to the occasion, dark purple waves almost black unless in the light when the underlying color shone through.
“We’re at war, for the short of it.” She didn’t bother to pick up the menu. She would tell them what she wanted and they would get it for her, no other option existed unless the help wanted to end up as a burnt remnant of her cero.
Again, surprising, but the man was too busy perusing the menu to emote properly. "You should have mentioned it earlier. I would have picked somewhere with food you can stomach." Too late for that now.
Cirucci's last comment caught Kimblee's interest. Settling on a dish, he folded his menu and placed it aside before folding his hands on the table in front of him.
"War, really? Why, that's my favorite topic." Oh, how it brought back memories. "You've got my full attention now. What kind of conflict are we talking about? Territory? Religion? Racial differences?"
“It’s no matter, it doesn’t matter where it is, she still can’t abide the human food.” Cirucci sighed and shrugged, fluffed out her hair and idly wrapped one long finger in circles through a strand.
To be honest, it rarely occurred to her that they would be at war for any other reason than the Arrancar loved to kill shinigami, that they were made for that express purpose, or, rather, the ones not Privaron were made.
“Our leader,” The word turned foul in her mouth and came out disrespectful, “wants to become a god.” The female shrugged again. “So, territory, she supposes. He wants to conquer Soul Society, he’s already got Hueco Mundo, and, well, the shinigami just aren’t too keen on it.”
Kimblee nodded in approval. That's how most wars were, really. In his case, though, there had been a whole people to exterminate for the sake of the homunculi's grand plan. He was just a pawn, but what a job.
"Excellent. Thrilling." His grin was bordering on manic. But he'd noticed her tone and quirked an eyebrow, keeping his voice low. "Not too keen on your superior though, hm? A shame, really. You know, it's kind of funny..." And, idly, he traced the circle on his palm again. The tattoo itched as if affected by the man's memories of the Ishbalan Massacre.
"When I went to war, twenty percent of our officers were killed," he looked right at her, "by their subordinates."
The waiter returned then with their drinks, and Kimblee sat back in his chair, eyes closed and arms folded across his chest.
It was no secret to the City residents that there was dissension among the ranks. It would be safe to say something, not safe to say others. She would play it by ear.
“Ironic, then.” She said with a wicked twitching up in the corners of her lips, picking up her drink to sip once, a small drink, swallowing with distaste before she sat the glass down.
“The way Arrancar ranks are arranged is not made for peaceful relations. We all despise and hate our superiors, with the exception of the more docile ones.” And it was evident that when she said docile she meant weak. “It’s only our leader’s power that keeps the ranks from ripping each other apart anyway. And with him here, well, it’s… interesting.”
The alchemist sent the waiter away with his food order before musing on Cirucci's remark. "Interesting is the right word for it," he finally agreed. "An army is supposed to have order within its ranks, not chaos. But in the midst of war, when all people, from the lowliest private to the highest general, are dying... Someone's got to step up to the plate."
His sigh was nostalgic. "What a good war that was. Beautiful sound." And then he smiled at her. "You know, it's been a while since I've heard that sound. I wouldn't be adverse to hearing it again after dinner."
Cirucci tried to stop the rumbling in her gut with a promise of getting Alfons to cook for her.
“War is a beautiful thing.” The Privaron agreed, her smiled sharp as a knife, and it sometimes seemed, just as deadly. She remembered the screams, could close her eyes and see the fear, that delicious fear that flavored the soul once she plucked it free and devoured it.
“Ah, but,” She laughed at his proposal, though her gaze was keen, she did have a vested interest in this man’s abilities, after all, “You’re sweet-talking Cirucci already, talking like that~” The idea of killing was far too appealing to her sense, far to excitable, and that was one of her weaknesses, that she was too obsessed with that feeling, the bloodlust of the act.
Were it any other topic of conversation, Kimblee's smile could have been mistaken for something gentle, almost kind, but the thoughts running through his head of bodies charred by his bare hands was a far cry from his countenance.
"Well, there's my end of the entertainment still left, isn't there? You showed me your secret weapon, and I'll show you mine." He emphasized that last comment by revealing to her the palm of his right hand, the sigils and shapes and runes.
"Consider it dinner with a show—What do you eat, by the way, if not human food?"
One shapely brow arched and Cirucci extended her hand, much smaller and thinner than his own, palm up, in a gesture that said she wished to inspect the strange sigil on his right.
“She can eat it.” She murmured, violet eyes watched it, knowing she’d seen it before… but where…
“She just prefers not to, she doesn’t have to eat every day, just a nibble here, a nibble there…” Where had she seen it before… like it but not quite…
“She can handle some lighter things, fruits, nuts, dairy… meat and heavy things make her ill. Some of the boys can stomach it, though.” Cirucci didn’t often care for her brother’s eating habits, at least Luppi appreciated the little sweet dishes. The thought of Luppi led her mind exactly where she’d been trying to go.
“This symbol… is like the one on that nasty little homonculus.” The Arrancar muttered angrily.
"Then this really is the wrong restaurant," he remarked. "My apologies, Cirucci."
He let her take his hand to inspect, amused by her curiosity. It was perhaps the first time that anyone who'd seen the circle hadn't shrunk away in fear. He was famous in Amestris, and even if someone didn't know alchemy, his very name ignited suspicion and terror.
The expression on her face when she mentioned Greed only caused Kimblee to laugh. "Not quite. This is an example of a circle used in alchemy to create and destroy objects. There are different kinds depending on what you want to transmute. These," he held up his left palm, which bore the same symbol, "are my specialty. They create explosives out of anything with the right chemical compound."
He'd forgotten how he enjoyed explaining his science. It was always fun watching people's expressions change—usually into fear, but he had a feeling that wouldn't be the case with this arrancar.
“She ate a whole cake last week, she’ll be fine.” Cirucci muttered absently, not really paying attention the words, black nails tracing hard the sigil in his hand, curious, a focus on her face. At the laugh she looked up sharply, almost a brief glare, before her gaze fell back to the design.
“Never wanted to get close enough to the bastard to know it definitively.” She explained. “With that it’s been touching, it might be diseased.” Only disdain, and a large amount of anger, tinted her voice. At the mentions of explosives, however, her shoulders shook briefly in amusement.
“Delightful.” The Arrancar crooned, not at all concerned. She was a soul, condensed, and she doubted whatever chemicals he mentioned did not lie in her. She released his hand when she had finished looking, sitting back with a smirk. “Alfons has mentioned alchemy before, but it’s Edward, so Cirucci didn’t really care~”
Kimblee had a feeling that even if he'd wanted to experiment on Cirucci, he wouldn't get a chance. Not with this crowd and this setting and the risk that he might blow his cover as a nice guy. Ah, well. Such was the sacrifice for the greater good.
He returned his hands to where they'd been folded on the table. "Alchemy is pretty common where I'm from, but it's a science requiring extensive years of research, so we are something awe-inspiring to the regular man. Our military utilizes soldier alchemists as human weapons. We've only been sent out once, to destroy an entire race of people. I'm sure you'd be interested in stories from that time."
The food arrived then. It was a light meal; a sandwich, nothing more. The man could eat it fast enough so as not to dawdle before the promised entertainment. After all, what gentlemen kept a lady waiting?
“Sounds familiar.” She smirked, watched him eat impassively, smoothing the short skirt of her dress as she tipped her head back, hand on Golondrina, stroking the steel idly.
“What warranted their extinction?” The Privaron was only mildly interested, she didn’t care about those people, but it might be entertaining at least, to hear. “The shinigami will all die because we are their opposites, because where we come they cannot exist, for we will simply obliterate them. And these people, for the same?”
"One of ours killed a child," the alchemist stated simply, coldly, before taking a bite of his food. "They decided to rebel against us, and in the ensuing war, we slaughtered them."
He smirked then. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to tell Cirucci the truth about the cause of war. In the silence that followed, he ate, contemplating exactly what should be said so as not to reveal too much. Settling on a reasonable summary, he said at last, "At least, that's what they tell everyone. Greed's brother, Envy, disguised himself as a soldier and shot that child to instigate the war. The homunculi want human lives for their grand plan, but even I don't know the true motives. I'm just in it for the ride."
Another bite and the sandwich was gone. "So basically, the war happened because blood was needed, and what better way than to wipe out an entire race?"
And she was just about to say that, for humans, that seemed silly.
Cirucci took the information in, finger tapped her bottom lip for a moment, before she shrugged. She was no stranger to ulterior motivations, and while it was an interesting enough story, it had nothing to do with her, only one thing did.
“You know Greed, then?” She asked, lips pursed irritably.
"No. He had been in the south at the time, and knew nothing about the plot."
The waiter came for the bill, and the man had enough cenz for his now-postponed trip to Briggs for payment. He stood, pushed in his chair, and held a tattooed hand out for Cirucci to take.
A smirk graced his lips. "Now, shall we have that show?"
She let Greed slip from her mind. Images of the man only made her nauseous. Nasty little thing.
“Of course~” Cirucci crooned, placed her more delicate hand in his, a joining of two killers from different worlds and different species, but one common thread. The kill, the hunt, that final moment when you had someone else’s life in your hands and then took it away.
“Lead the way.”
He took her outside, wondering all the while how he was going to lure a victim away from sight where the murder could happen without witnesses. At least it was night time, when the street was mostly empty save for the occasional soul wandering home.
...Ah.
Kimblee threw Cirucci a conspiratorial wink before letting go of her hand. Silently, he clapped his hands, strolling up to a man who looked more drunk than lost. This one probably needed to be put out of his misery, judging from his disheveled, ungainly appearance.
"Excuse me, sir..." the alchemist began, reaching out to tap the stranger on the shoulder. He turned to acknowledge Kimblee only to meet the transmutation on his right hand. Ishbal's destroyer grabbed the man's face, grinning.
"Cirucci, did you know," he called over his shoulder to his companion, "that the human body is composed of just enough sulfur that, if the molecular structure is changed, allows me to make a living bomb?"
Sparks of alchemy danced across the victim's upper body, and in a flash and a bang, the head and shoulders vanished in a cloud of ash and blood.
The Privaron Espada had crossed her arms under her breasts, hip cocked, to watch the display. A simple procedure, walking up to the man alone, tapping him, a hand to the face, and then-
Cirucci smiled wickedly, her tongue darting out to lap a splash of blood that had managed to land on her cheek. A copper taste, bitter, and, as he mentioned, sulfurous.
“Why,” She grinned, “Kimblee, darling, you’ve impressed Cirucci.” The Arrancar had the feeling she had found someone quite worthwhile to use.
The decapitated body fell to the street with a dull, wet smack. Kimblee cracked his bloodstained knuckles, the feeling of destruction sending tingles down his back. He hadn't blown anything up in what seemed like eons. How he missed it. And that sound!
"I'd hoped so. After all, I enjoy killing as much as the next person," he replied, bending down to wipe the blood off his hand with the dead man's shirt. He straightened and smoothed out his suit jacket, then threw her an amiable smile. "And I hope you enjoyed the outing as much as I did. I should probably get home and wash these clothes before the blood dries and stains."
Bowing slightly, he took her hand and brought it to his lips, stopping mere centimeters from contact. Then he stepped away. "I'll see you again over the network."
She smirked. Tease. Ah, well, she had two boys come in to the City this week. Almost as delightful as people exploding, she wasn’t quite sure how close, but close, she was sure.
“Of course.” She looked down, wiped another drop of blood from the rim of her Hollow hole, and licked it languidly off her finger. Blood. How long since she’d killed something? Not too long, but it could never cease to be something exciting. With a shrug the Arrancar kicked into a sonido past the human and towards her own residence.
A beautiful… explosion.
Rating; PG-13 for NPC death
Characters; Kimblee [
crimsonhanded] & Cirucci [thunderwitch]Summary; Kimblee invites Cirucci to dinner to talk about their respective worlds and provides her with a little entertainment afterwards.
Log;
Zolf J. Kimblee smoothed the wrinkles from his tie. He'd only been in the City for a few days, but he'd settled in and stocked his food supply as well as his wardrobe. The thick white suit and coat he'd intended to wear to Briggs was unsuitable in the summer weather of the City. Sitting at a table in Pandora's, he observed his new suit in his vague window reflection. Yes, this was better.
The alchemist leaned back in his chair, running a finger around the lip of his water glass. Needless to say, he was looking forward to dinner with the strange woman called an arrancar, Cirucci, a creature quite unlike he'd ever seen. The closest would be probably be a chimera, but that wasn't quite right, either.
Other worlds. How peculiar.
The scientist in him was eager for information—any kind, anything beyond the crude pictures and brief paragraphs stunted by a speech impediment. And the soldier in him? Delighted at the prospect of violence.
And so he waited.
Cirucci occasionally like to wear something other than her uniform. She didn’t know why, as she’s never felt the need before, but in Hueco Mundo the possibility didn’t exist, and so, she supposed, the need never appeared. Of course, it didn’t help that here she had a tendency to become exceedingly bored, and window shopping was something that passed the time.
She entered Pandora with a condescending glance and a hunger in her belly. Crowds. All those people… all those souls. Ugh, but she hated going out in public sometimes, it only served to remind her of her inability to eat properly, that she hadn’t gorged since that last curse day when she had been taken out of the City. A pity, that. It had been so filling.
“Kimblee~” The Arrancar noticed the human male and made her way towards him, the dress she’d chosen white, as her uniform was, the only color she particuraly fancied in clothing, a bit startling in contrast to the hole between her breasts, visible due to the rather revealing cut of the short garment. She was rather fond of the shock factor, she had to admit. Most men didn’t find the hole at all settling, at least, most non-Arrancar males, but she took an immense pride in it, showed it off with a twisted sense of worth, that she was worth more without that heart than with it.
At the sound of his name, the alchemist raised his eyes to find the arrancar sidling up to the table. He stood to greet her—then stopped.
There was a hole. In her abdomen, between her breasts and underneath the ribcage. The logical part of Kimblee's brain went off like a siren. This wasn't possible. Where were the bones, the organs that were supposed to be there?
His hesitation was evident, so without further awkward staring, he inclined his upper body in a sort of bow and pulled her chair out for her. "Cirucci," he replied, twisting his lips into a smirk. His gaze strayed back to that glaring hole. He wanted to reach out and touch it, to prod and poke and perhaps... if her body composition was different than that of a human's... if she'd burn—but no.
"It's a pleasure seeing you again. If you'll sit..."
She smirked, always happy to receive the desired reaction. Her uniform had become something recognizable in the City, considering how often Arrancar were about, being warned about, the white uniform was something of a dead giveaway, but she still held her other attributes, the hole in her torso and the bone mask spiked in her hair like some ivory pin.
“Hmm.” It all she gave for thanks, for she expected such treatment, vain and selfish as she was. She crossed her legs, made herself comfortable, and looked him up and down, far too predatory a glance to be benign.
“Mine as well.” Cirucci finally murmured, gloved hands settling on her knees. Hadn’t seen him since the Opera House, when she’d taken the oppurtunity to show off her Hollow form, an extension of a tentative trust, understand, between the two. She expected to be paid back.
He took the seat across from her, his face taking on an expression more benign than hers; but then again, his methods were far more subtle than hers. A smile here and there never hurt anyone, not until he'd betrayed their trust to meet his greater wants. He had a feeling the arrancar were cruder in manipulating, seeing no need to disguise their intentions, but to each his own.
Kimblee nodded his head at the peculiar aspect of Cirucci's anatomy, that empty hole. "Interesting choice of dress," he remarked. "I'm thoroughly surprised."
He wondered briefly if such clothing would work with her "released form," as she'd called it, back during the night of the ballet when he visited her on the roof. Oh, yes, that's right. He'd promised to repay her kindness, hadn't he?
The man traced the transmutation circle on his left palm with a finger. "I take it all of your kind is like that? The bone mask has been explained, but the hole?"
“She thought you may be.” Interesting? That had been somewhat the goal. At the mention of the hole, her hand came to it, traced the edge of it as she settled into the explanation. That Nell Tu liked to think she explained things, but Cirucci knew better. Not like anyone could understand the runt anyway.
“We all have it.” She began, a light twitch as her nail scraped a bit too hard and she lessened the pressure. “It’s proof of the fact that we lost our hearts when we became Hollows, and it remains into becoming Arrancar.” It was routine, the exchange of information on oneself, for information on another, especially potential… allies of sorts.
“It’s where the soul sleep was anchored as a human soul, and where it was consumed upon becoming a Hollow.”
"Heartless," Kimblee mused aloud. He'd spoken with a boy the previous day who had lost his heart too, but he was human, and from what he could tell, there were no changes in character. But while his situation seemed to be a complete lack of emotion, the way Cirucci described the process of her creation seemed to the man that her heart no longer existed. And yet there she sat, whole and conscious, without the organ necessary for life.
Too illogical. The scientist in Kimblee was raging, but he'd learned to suppress it a long time ago. He was much more interested in the destructive capabilities of Cirucci's species. They were creatures of slaughter, judging from the way the woman had boasted about her sword the other night. What had she called it again?
Further thoughts were cut off when a waiter butted in to take their drink order. "Coffee," was the alchemist's reply with a smile.
“That’s right.” Cirucci smirked proudly. It was her lack of heart that gave her power, the fact that she lacked it that allowed her to transcend normal capabilities of the soul and gain her mask only to rup it from her face, advance in power and manipulate her form in sword or release. With a heart, she was nothing.
At his order she made a face. That stuff smelled foul, but she would refrain from wrinkling her nose. She struggled for a moment, trying to think of acceptable drinks and couldn’t come up with anything. Stupid human food.
She’d rather eat the waiter, personally.
“Water.” The Arrancar huffed, lips sinking into a pout.
As the employee wandered away, Kimblee raised an eyebrow at Cirucci. "Just water?" Suffice to say, he was surprised. Didn't women like her go for something more alcoholic and fruity? But he wouldn't know. He'd been in prison for years.
He picked up his menu at last, as if noticing it for the first time. "So what's the big deal about you and those... things? What were they called? Started with an S." Really, the variety of creatures in this world would send a doctor straight to heaven on earth. "According to Nell, there's animosity between your species."
And where there was conflict, there was Kimblee.
“Cirucci can’t stomach much of this food.” She muttered, a bit put off. Some of it looked good, but tasted horrible. Or tasted good, but made her stomach turn. Human food was, therefore, a troublesome and annoying part of her existence in this City.
Ah, shinigami. That was a subject she could go on about.
“The shinigami.” The Privaron let a smirk replace the pout on her painted lips, one hand running though hair let down to the occasion, dark purple waves almost black unless in the light when the underlying color shone through.
“We’re at war, for the short of it.” She didn’t bother to pick up the menu. She would tell them what she wanted and they would get it for her, no other option existed unless the help wanted to end up as a burnt remnant of her cero.
Again, surprising, but the man was too busy perusing the menu to emote properly. "You should have mentioned it earlier. I would have picked somewhere with food you can stomach." Too late for that now.
Cirucci's last comment caught Kimblee's interest. Settling on a dish, he folded his menu and placed it aside before folding his hands on the table in front of him.
"War, really? Why, that's my favorite topic." Oh, how it brought back memories. "You've got my full attention now. What kind of conflict are we talking about? Territory? Religion? Racial differences?"
“It’s no matter, it doesn’t matter where it is, she still can’t abide the human food.” Cirucci sighed and shrugged, fluffed out her hair and idly wrapped one long finger in circles through a strand.
To be honest, it rarely occurred to her that they would be at war for any other reason than the Arrancar loved to kill shinigami, that they were made for that express purpose, or, rather, the ones not Privaron were made.
“Our leader,” The word turned foul in her mouth and came out disrespectful, “wants to become a god.” The female shrugged again. “So, territory, she supposes. He wants to conquer Soul Society, he’s already got Hueco Mundo, and, well, the shinigami just aren’t too keen on it.”
Kimblee nodded in approval. That's how most wars were, really. In his case, though, there had been a whole people to exterminate for the sake of the homunculi's grand plan. He was just a pawn, but what a job.
"Excellent. Thrilling." His grin was bordering on manic. But he'd noticed her tone and quirked an eyebrow, keeping his voice low. "Not too keen on your superior though, hm? A shame, really. You know, it's kind of funny..." And, idly, he traced the circle on his palm again. The tattoo itched as if affected by the man's memories of the Ishbalan Massacre.
"When I went to war, twenty percent of our officers were killed," he looked right at her, "by their subordinates."
The waiter returned then with their drinks, and Kimblee sat back in his chair, eyes closed and arms folded across his chest.
It was no secret to the City residents that there was dissension among the ranks. It would be safe to say something, not safe to say others. She would play it by ear.
“Ironic, then.” She said with a wicked twitching up in the corners of her lips, picking up her drink to sip once, a small drink, swallowing with distaste before she sat the glass down.
“The way Arrancar ranks are arranged is not made for peaceful relations. We all despise and hate our superiors, with the exception of the more docile ones.” And it was evident that when she said docile she meant weak. “It’s only our leader’s power that keeps the ranks from ripping each other apart anyway. And with him here, well, it’s… interesting.”
The alchemist sent the waiter away with his food order before musing on Cirucci's remark. "Interesting is the right word for it," he finally agreed. "An army is supposed to have order within its ranks, not chaos. But in the midst of war, when all people, from the lowliest private to the highest general, are dying... Someone's got to step up to the plate."
His sigh was nostalgic. "What a good war that was. Beautiful sound." And then he smiled at her. "You know, it's been a while since I've heard that sound. I wouldn't be adverse to hearing it again after dinner."
Cirucci tried to stop the rumbling in her gut with a promise of getting Alfons to cook for her.
“War is a beautiful thing.” The Privaron agreed, her smiled sharp as a knife, and it sometimes seemed, just as deadly. She remembered the screams, could close her eyes and see the fear, that delicious fear that flavored the soul once she plucked it free and devoured it.
“Ah, but,” She laughed at his proposal, though her gaze was keen, she did have a vested interest in this man’s abilities, after all, “You’re sweet-talking Cirucci already, talking like that~” The idea of killing was far too appealing to her sense, far to excitable, and that was one of her weaknesses, that she was too obsessed with that feeling, the bloodlust of the act.
Were it any other topic of conversation, Kimblee's smile could have been mistaken for something gentle, almost kind, but the thoughts running through his head of bodies charred by his bare hands was a far cry from his countenance.
"Well, there's my end of the entertainment still left, isn't there? You showed me your secret weapon, and I'll show you mine." He emphasized that last comment by revealing to her the palm of his right hand, the sigils and shapes and runes.
"Consider it dinner with a show—What do you eat, by the way, if not human food?"
One shapely brow arched and Cirucci extended her hand, much smaller and thinner than his own, palm up, in a gesture that said she wished to inspect the strange sigil on his right.
“She can eat it.” She murmured, violet eyes watched it, knowing she’d seen it before… but where…
“She just prefers not to, she doesn’t have to eat every day, just a nibble here, a nibble there…” Where had she seen it before… like it but not quite…
“She can handle some lighter things, fruits, nuts, dairy… meat and heavy things make her ill. Some of the boys can stomach it, though.” Cirucci didn’t often care for her brother’s eating habits, at least Luppi appreciated the little sweet dishes. The thought of Luppi led her mind exactly where she’d been trying to go.
“This symbol… is like the one on that nasty little homonculus.” The Arrancar muttered angrily.
"Then this really is the wrong restaurant," he remarked. "My apologies, Cirucci."
He let her take his hand to inspect, amused by her curiosity. It was perhaps the first time that anyone who'd seen the circle hadn't shrunk away in fear. He was famous in Amestris, and even if someone didn't know alchemy, his very name ignited suspicion and terror.
The expression on her face when she mentioned Greed only caused Kimblee to laugh. "Not quite. This is an example of a circle used in alchemy to create and destroy objects. There are different kinds depending on what you want to transmute. These," he held up his left palm, which bore the same symbol, "are my specialty. They create explosives out of anything with the right chemical compound."
He'd forgotten how he enjoyed explaining his science. It was always fun watching people's expressions change—usually into fear, but he had a feeling that wouldn't be the case with this arrancar.
“She ate a whole cake last week, she’ll be fine.” Cirucci muttered absently, not really paying attention the words, black nails tracing hard the sigil in his hand, curious, a focus on her face. At the laugh she looked up sharply, almost a brief glare, before her gaze fell back to the design.
“Never wanted to get close enough to the bastard to know it definitively.” She explained. “With that it’s been touching, it might be diseased.” Only disdain, and a large amount of anger, tinted her voice. At the mentions of explosives, however, her shoulders shook briefly in amusement.
“Delightful.” The Arrancar crooned, not at all concerned. She was a soul, condensed, and she doubted whatever chemicals he mentioned did not lie in her. She released his hand when she had finished looking, sitting back with a smirk. “Alfons has mentioned alchemy before, but it’s Edward, so Cirucci didn’t really care~”
Kimblee had a feeling that even if he'd wanted to experiment on Cirucci, he wouldn't get a chance. Not with this crowd and this setting and the risk that he might blow his cover as a nice guy. Ah, well. Such was the sacrifice for the greater good.
He returned his hands to where they'd been folded on the table. "Alchemy is pretty common where I'm from, but it's a science requiring extensive years of research, so we are something awe-inspiring to the regular man. Our military utilizes soldier alchemists as human weapons. We've only been sent out once, to destroy an entire race of people. I'm sure you'd be interested in stories from that time."
The food arrived then. It was a light meal; a sandwich, nothing more. The man could eat it fast enough so as not to dawdle before the promised entertainment. After all, what gentlemen kept a lady waiting?
“Sounds familiar.” She smirked, watched him eat impassively, smoothing the short skirt of her dress as she tipped her head back, hand on Golondrina, stroking the steel idly.
“What warranted their extinction?” The Privaron was only mildly interested, she didn’t care about those people, but it might be entertaining at least, to hear. “The shinigami will all die because we are their opposites, because where we come they cannot exist, for we will simply obliterate them. And these people, for the same?”
"One of ours killed a child," the alchemist stated simply, coldly, before taking a bite of his food. "They decided to rebel against us, and in the ensuing war, we slaughtered them."
He smirked then. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to tell Cirucci the truth about the cause of war. In the silence that followed, he ate, contemplating exactly what should be said so as not to reveal too much. Settling on a reasonable summary, he said at last, "At least, that's what they tell everyone. Greed's brother, Envy, disguised himself as a soldier and shot that child to instigate the war. The homunculi want human lives for their grand plan, but even I don't know the true motives. I'm just in it for the ride."
Another bite and the sandwich was gone. "So basically, the war happened because blood was needed, and what better way than to wipe out an entire race?"
And she was just about to say that, for humans, that seemed silly.
Cirucci took the information in, finger tapped her bottom lip for a moment, before she shrugged. She was no stranger to ulterior motivations, and while it was an interesting enough story, it had nothing to do with her, only one thing did.
“You know Greed, then?” She asked, lips pursed irritably.
"No. He had been in the south at the time, and knew nothing about the plot."
The waiter came for the bill, and the man had enough cenz for his now-postponed trip to Briggs for payment. He stood, pushed in his chair, and held a tattooed hand out for Cirucci to take.
A smirk graced his lips. "Now, shall we have that show?"
She let Greed slip from her mind. Images of the man only made her nauseous. Nasty little thing.
“Of course~” Cirucci crooned, placed her more delicate hand in his, a joining of two killers from different worlds and different species, but one common thread. The kill, the hunt, that final moment when you had someone else’s life in your hands and then took it away.
“Lead the way.”
He took her outside, wondering all the while how he was going to lure a victim away from sight where the murder could happen without witnesses. At least it was night time, when the street was mostly empty save for the occasional soul wandering home.
...Ah.
Kimblee threw Cirucci a conspiratorial wink before letting go of her hand. Silently, he clapped his hands, strolling up to a man who looked more drunk than lost. This one probably needed to be put out of his misery, judging from his disheveled, ungainly appearance.
"Excuse me, sir..." the alchemist began, reaching out to tap the stranger on the shoulder. He turned to acknowledge Kimblee only to meet the transmutation on his right hand. Ishbal's destroyer grabbed the man's face, grinning.
"Cirucci, did you know," he called over his shoulder to his companion, "that the human body is composed of just enough sulfur that, if the molecular structure is changed, allows me to make a living bomb?"
Sparks of alchemy danced across the victim's upper body, and in a flash and a bang, the head and shoulders vanished in a cloud of ash and blood.
The Privaron Espada had crossed her arms under her breasts, hip cocked, to watch the display. A simple procedure, walking up to the man alone, tapping him, a hand to the face, and then-
Cirucci smiled wickedly, her tongue darting out to lap a splash of blood that had managed to land on her cheek. A copper taste, bitter, and, as he mentioned, sulfurous.
“Why,” She grinned, “Kimblee, darling, you’ve impressed Cirucci.” The Arrancar had the feeling she had found someone quite worthwhile to use.
The decapitated body fell to the street with a dull, wet smack. Kimblee cracked his bloodstained knuckles, the feeling of destruction sending tingles down his back. He hadn't blown anything up in what seemed like eons. How he missed it. And that sound!
"I'd hoped so. After all, I enjoy killing as much as the next person," he replied, bending down to wipe the blood off his hand with the dead man's shirt. He straightened and smoothed out his suit jacket, then threw her an amiable smile. "And I hope you enjoyed the outing as much as I did. I should probably get home and wash these clothes before the blood dries and stains."
Bowing slightly, he took her hand and brought it to his lips, stopping mere centimeters from contact. Then he stepped away. "I'll see you again over the network."
She smirked. Tease. Ah, well, she had two boys come in to the City this week. Almost as delightful as people exploding, she wasn’t quite sure how close, but close, she was sure.
“Of course.” She looked down, wiped another drop of blood from the rim of her Hollow hole, and licked it languidly off her finger. Blood. How long since she’d killed something? Not too long, but it could never cease to be something exciting. With a shrug the Arrancar kicked into a sonido past the human and towards her own residence.
A beautiful… explosion.