tampered | LOG: complete

LOG: complete

When; July 10, afternoon
Rating; PG? Possibly PG-13?
Characters; Zolf J. Kimblee [

crimsonhanded] & Riza Hawkeye [

guardianed]
Summary; Riza arrives in the City and Kimblee offers to treat her to coffee to catch up on the goings on in Amestris since the Ishbalan Massacre.
Log;

Kimblee straightened his tie and dusted off the front of his jacket. He was going to meet an old war comrade after three years, so he might as well look hist best. He had contemplated wearing gloves but, ah, that might prove inconvenient considering who he was meeting. He wondered how much she improved since the war.

He stepped into the square, his pace slowing as he neared the fountain. She had to be noticeable, he reasoned; she was wearing a military outfit. But then... everyone in their eclectic garb stood out in the City.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Riza Hawkeye was not a happy new arrival to the City. Meeting Kimblee, of all people, was not how today was supposed to have gone. ...Coffee. She was going to have coffee with a convict.

She was supposed to have turned the door handle and gone into her office for another day of being the Fuhrer's aide. As unpalatable as that day would have been, Riza found herself almost wishing herself back under the President King's thumb as a hostage rather than dealing with the notoriously unstable Crimson Alchemist.

...Coffee. She still couldn't believe it. But Kimblee had made that veiled thread towards Hughes- had it really been a threat? With Kimblee, you could never quite tell- and she'd felt forced to go through with it.

Not without her pistols. Four of them. Wishing she could carry more inconspicuously, Riza glanced around the square, catching her bearings, and noticing all the perches from which she could later snipe. But for today she'd have to watch for places from which people could come; from which Kimblee could create bombs. She knew the damage his alchemy could wreak.

One hand hovering nonchalantly close to the holster on her hip, Hawkeye stepped out from the shadows between two buildings and made her way carefully and slowly through the people coursing through the square.

A careful sweep of the premises located the wary Hawkeye, and Kimblee noted with a slowly spreading smile that she was carrying not one, not two, but four handguns on her person. Reminding himself to keep an amiable face, he held his hands behind his back and cracked the knuckles. Careful now, he reminded himself. Mustn't appear too eager.

"Private Hawkeye," he greeted cheerily, placing one hand to his chest and bowing. (After all, a salute would be ill-fitting considering his present status.) But then he stopped, caught himself, and his smile widened.

"I'm wrong, aren't I? It's First Lieutenant Hawkeye now," he remarked, eyeing the epaulettes on her shoulders. "What considerable effort you've been putting out over the years."

A bow- he wasn't in the military. Didn't have the right to a salute. Didn't get one in return.

"You're stuck in Ishbal, Kimblee." Hawkeye met his widening smile with a stony regard. Ishbal wasn't a good place for anyone's mind to stay, let alone someone who'd been as battle-happy as the Crimson. "I wasn't out of academy when you spoke to me last." The man's suave talk did little to put her at ease, appearing to her as mere condescension and therefore suspicious.

"You wanted me to catch you up on the news since your jailing."

The smile never left his face. What a pleasant expression, he thought. Completely different from when we last talked.

"When you've been as isolated as I was, it's a bit of a shock to see that the world you know has changed," he replied simply, turning in the direction of the café. He would lead, of course; not only did he know where it was, but Hawkeye would not appreciate walking alongside or in front of such a dangerous man.

"That's right, I did, but not here. Coffee is this way."

He'd open the door for her, of course. He'd let her through first, then take the lead again once they were inside, like a true gentleman. And then he'd pick a suitable table fit for two people, one wide enough that she was exactly an arm's length away, so that in case of emergencies he was not at a disadvantage.

"Supposedly, this place has the best coffee," he commented idly, pulling on the door handle. "And in this City, you can pay with whatever's in your pockets. It doesn't have to be money. Convenient, isn't it?"

Riza found it no trouble at all to maintain her stony glare at Kimblee's back. She didn't put it past the alchemist to have some sort of trick up his sleeve, other than the alchemy he could use to blow her apart. Seriously, what had she been thinking when she'd agreed to come along?

...Hughes, that's right. Unfair, being manipulated within hours of arriving outside of the Fuhrer's control. Hawkeye wasn't one to swear much, but she could have picked a couple of choice words for her situation.

The coffee was still ridiculous. "I'm used to military grade, I doubt it'll make much difference to me." Kimblee stood with the door open. Was he still playing the gentleman? "Although the matter of currency is convenient, I told you; I don't trust you. I can hold my own doors." Riza had every intention of not allowing him the slightest advantage if she could help it. A moment's back towards the enemy was a moment too long.

"Really, now? I'm used to prison grade." Acknowledging her refusal to lead with a knowing smile, he crossed into the café with his hands held casually behind his back, palms out. He'd at least make sure to keep her on edge, even with his back to her.

He led her to a comfortable table, and though on many occasions he would continue his act and pull out the chair for the lady in question, he recognized his inability to dissuade her from his stance and sat before she did. She was military, after all. Equality in sex and race, was it not? Except for Ishbalans.

"So, start talking," he urged, occupying himself with the little book of flavors propped at the center of the table. A mocha frappucino sounded delicious right then. "Beginning with the current condition of Amestris," his gaze flickered up at her for a moment, "and how much you lot actually know about the grand scheme."

Ah, she'd gotten him to take a cheap shot. Preferable to his 'good guy' façade he had going, but the act slid back into place seamlessly, tattooed palms all too visible in the light of the coffeeshop.

And at least he'd gotten the hint about holding things out for her, and as he sat down in the chair opposite, she pulled the chair out and sat a little beyond the edge of the table. Keep the arms unhindered by the table edge, keep it easy to stand up and move.

Kimblee was fiddling with the flavor book. The current state of Amestris and the grand scheme? Tall order. "It would be easier", Hawkeye remarked dryly, "If I knew more precisely what you already know. Am I presuming you've been isolated and heard no news nor rumours since returning from Ishbal?"

He put the book down onto the table and slid it to her side so she could read, if she so chose. Then he leaned back in his chair—for comfort, of course, but also to assure her he wasn't ready to attack—and folded his hands in his lap.

"You can't base anything off mere rumors, First Lieutenant," he replied smoothly. "Though I have been informed by one homunculus that Scar is on the loose, that the infamous Doctor Marcoh is with him, and that your side has killed not one but two homunculi. Lust, by your precious Colonel, and Gluttony."

He brushed imaginary dust off his suit jacket. "Otherwise, I've been given my orders, and nothing more."

Riza let the book sit on the table; she needn't look through it when she already knew how she ordered coffee. Black.

"No doubt you're referring to the President King?" Hawkeye cocked an eyebrow at him, recognizing this more as a test of her own knowledge of the current situation than a request for information on the past. "His information does tend to be rather accurate."

"If you're just trying to figure out how much I know, you should have just asked that instead of asking about the news since your incarceration."

Kimblee shook his head, but before he could speak the waiter came to take their orders. One mocha frappucino, one black.

"No. I've never met the Fuhrer. I keep in touch with the one called Envy," the alchemist replied when the café employee had turned away. "And I'm not just asking about how much you know. That was one part of it." The light smile bordered on a smirk. "I really am interested in how the lot of you are holding up. I had heard about Hughes' death—he's a general now, isn't he?—and learned that Mustang was promoted."

The waiter returned with coffee. Kimblee picked his up and took a sip. Delicious.

"How is Major Armstrong? Old Man Comanche? You know—news. Just because I'm not a soldier anymore doesn't mean I don't want to know how old comrades are doing."

"...So now you know that we know the Fuhrer is also the homunculus Wrath. Although we've had our share of run-ins with Envy as well." She really disliked this amiable act. The smirk- what exactly did his orders contain- had she even carried them at some point as part of her role as the President King's Aide?

"Maes Hughes was promoted posthumously for dying in the line of duty from Lieutenant Colonel to Brigadier General." Now that brought back happy memories. The Colonel had been horribly upset, and Maria Ross had nearly been framed. None of that showed on her face as she continued to list off promotions.

"Colonel Mustang is now as you hear. Major Armstrong remains in the military. The Silver Alchemist was killed by Scar in one of the more recent waves of his attacks against National Alchemists. You know, I presume, that Scar had been targeting National Alchemists." Riza stopped her flow of information to take a sip of the bitter brew that sat in front of her. Black coffee was black coffee.

He shrugged. Did he care that they knew? Of course not. His main objective was to locate and kill Scar, and since the menace wasn't in the City, Kimblee really didn't have a purpose in interacting with the soldiers. This was all small talk until they finished their drinks. It was just for fun, unnerving people in this way.

"I'll be sure to congratulate Hughes when I talk to him," the alchemist remarked offhandedly before taking another sip. But upon hearing about Armstrong, he paused and raised his eyes. "Remains? I'd think after he was taken from the field he'd quit and go back home. Hm. Stubborn one, that." Another sip. "He almost let a couple of Ishbalans escape, did you know? I took care of that."

But this wasn't interesting, having Hawkeye spit out only the information he wanted. But then again, he had to consider who he was talking to. She only knew how to spit out information.

"About Scar," Kimblee began, absently tracing the tattoo on one palm, "I'll have to thank you lot for doing such a poor job trying to catch him."

Ignoring the comment about Hughes, Riza chose to focus on the disparaging remarks aimed at Major Armstrong. "Major Armstrong has resolved not to run from another field of battle."

No comment, she noted, on the alchemist who had died- a note, perhaps, on Kimblee's way of tossing away things that were no longer of use to him. She'd heard about the soldiers that had died under his command- tossed away like they were garbage.

Tracing the tattoo on a palm, was he yet trying to pull something? Hawkeye watched him, gaze inscrutable. "...Scar was not at all times our main target. But that is an issue you will have to take up with the military in general." It had not been, after all, just the Colonel's unit of men that had been chasing the Ishbal survivor, but most of the units stationed at Central. "What is your business with Scar?"

The sound that came out of Kimblee's throat was a cross between a snort and a cough. It was an amused, skeptical sort of sound. "Resolved not to run, huh? Well, I did say he was stubborn."

And then she asked a question. Funny, he thought he was the one receiving information, not her. But that was perfectly all right. The lower military ranks would find out sooner or later.

The former soldier folded his hands on the table, fingers laced together, and leaned toward Hawkeye. His smirk was back, and it was not an expression that lingered on the remnants of a smile. It was wicked and haughty, almost manic.

"My business with Scar? Lucky for you, First Lieutenant, I'm in a generous mood." He lowered his gaze to the tabletop. "Let's see... Where do I begin?" And then his eyes brightened, and he met Riza's stare. "The Kanda district of Ishbal. That's where it began. And for some unfortunate reason, he lived and escaped and now I'm out to hunt him down again. Fuhrer's orders, you know."

He sat back a bit to give the woman breathing space. When he spoke next, his tone was calmer, but still dangerous. "You work for Bradley now, isn't that right? You make his coffee, take his calls, deliver his papers..."

The smirk returned.

"Fancy that, First Lieutenant. You helped set me free."

To be perfectly honest, Hawkeye hadn't expected a real answer. She'd expected him to smirk again, and say something cryptic. She had expected him to say it was between him and whoever'd given the orders. She had expected him to play up the fact that he knew something she did not.

She had not expected this.

It was like a slap in the face.

To have her position, the one she had had no right to refuse, the one she had hardly believed when she had recieved, the one she knew had been the most cruel exercise of power the Fuhrer could think of to keep Mustang in line- to have that thrown in her face by this smirking person across the table, coolly drinking his diluted coffee, shook her impassive face and her eyes flashed fire for a microsecond before she regained her composure.

Face once more smooth and controlled, the Lieutenant spoke. "My new position is as you have said, Personal Assistant to the Fuhrer. I am afraid I do not know the contents of the packets of papers I deliver." A pause, and Hawkeye moved her cup of barely touched coffee a centimeter to the right. "It is certainly possible."

If Kimblee hadn't been in public, he would have laughed until his sides hurt. Oh, what a lovely face the first lieutenant had! Not hesitant and regretful like in Ishbal, not just wary like before, but seething now! That was a face to be admired by all soldiers!

...But instead, he kept a cool demeanor and finished off his coffee, casually noting Riza's small movements.

"Of course. No one can blame the messenger, is that it?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of coins from the funds he'd been given for his trip to Briggs. He really didn't have to use them to pay for the drinks, but he might as well. These he placed on the table for the waiter to collect later.

And then he stood. "In any case, welcome to the City. It's a dangerous place here, and I'm not just talking about the vampires. There's everything from inhuman monsters to mere civilians causing an unnecessary scene. And we wouldn't want too much of that, now, do we?" He moved to pass her, but stopped for a moment and patted her shoulder in the way an old friend would. "Take care of yourself. And especially your Colonel."

Before the woman could react further, Kimblee returned his hands to his pockets and strolled towards the door, whistling cheerily.

It had been a good day.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

LOG: complete

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject