Log; Complete

[crimson-intent.livejournal.com]

When; June 21st, Noon
Rating; PG-13
Characters; Dante [a_rotted_heart ] & Zolf Kimblee [crimson_intent ]
Summary; Kimblee invites a newly-discovered countryman, and fellow alchemist, out for an anything but innocent cup of coffee.
Log;

Kimblee: Lyra ... once again, nothing. Kimblee's memory never failed him. Unless, of course, he wanted it to. Perhaps Lyra was as insignificant as she forwarded herself to be. That would easily explain why Envy omitted her from his "roster", yet ... maybe it was the way the lady articulated herself ... or the fact that, however mousy, no one stayed invisible from their own for as long as she did without something to hide ...

Eyes closed, and dress as smart as posture, Kimblee nursed his coffee. The alchemist seemingly ignored the bustle around him, another steaming mug the only evidence of expected company.

... he would find out soon enough.

The hand holding his drink relaxed as he sipped, palm sliding flush to warm stoneware. Beverages possessed an easily exploitable dichotomy between container and contained. Pottery also shattered beautifully, and with contents already excited by heat ... Kimblee's mouth curled against the mug's lip ... where could one find a lovelier shrapnel bomb, innocently made to order at any number of establishments, day or night?

He lifted his eyes, indulging in a brief assessment of potential damage and casualties, before letting the gaze fall again ...

Dante: Dante had heard of the Crimson Alchemist, of course. She knew all the State Alchemists, and this man had never seemed any more interesting than the others. His alchemy was amusing at best, but nothing she couldn't formulate on her own. He was dull, crude, mortal: a mere accessory she'd given Lust to wear if she desired.

So then... how had he cornered her into meeting with him?

It was this question alone that drove Dante to keep her promise; her aching pride wouldn't allow her otherwise. She was a scientist, and she had to know how he--a human, a man--had outsmarted her. It was absurd, insulting... but she'd learned long ago that little was impossible.

She spotted the alchemist at the café at noon precisely--precision was key. Her dress was simple and black, the neckline high to hide her rotting flesh; the material draped over her stolen body nicely and flowed down to the shins.

"Major Kimblee," she greeted simply, using the same tone she always had with her "Lyra" persona: cold and distant covered with a thin coating of polite.

She'd humor him... until she got what she wanted, at least.

Kimblee: Upon hearing his name, Kimblee looked up ... eyes conveniently having to travel up Dante's body until they politely met hers. There, the surveyed modesty evaporated into something much more interesting. Kimblee allowed his own gaze to glint coldly in response, before lowering his mug, flashing a smile, and standing into a deferential lean.

"I hope you don't mind," he said, voice only as loud as was needed to pierce the surrounding bustle. "But I took the liberty of ordering for you ..."

"Please," Kimble gestured, a tattooed palm flashing innocently. "... have a seat."

Dante: "Thank you, I don't mind at all."

Dante didn't care what he did or how he looked at her, really, and she glanced at the gesturing hand only to inspect the peculiar circle. She took her seat, offering Kimblee a polite smile that was as pleasant as it was fake.

"May I ask what you've ordered, though?" she asked--sweetly, lightly, almost like a hesitant joke.

Kimblee: <"Just black coffee, my dear," Kimblee replied after seating himself again, legs crossed.

Coolly ignoring an assessment which intentionally skirted the boundaries of impropriety spoke volumes ... her modesty was likely as genuine as his interest ...

"Time on the front has a way of simplifying your tastes." Kimblee matched her false smile. "But please, dress it up however you like ... I won't be offended."

Dante: "I see. Just plain is fine, thank you."

She reached for the coffee mug--judging from the steam, the drink was still too hot for her tastes, but it would cool soon enough.

"Are you often on the front lines?" Dante questioned, absently dropping her gaze to the coffee. "I suppose as an alchemist the state sends you to all manners of places."

Kimblee: Kimblee studied "Lyra" a bit more directly once her eyes dropped. Experience had taught him that most were unnerved by his flavor of scrutiny, and manners, as well as advantage, dictated keeping this in check.

"Yes, dogs of the military do go where they're told," he said simply, retrieving his own mug for a sip. ".... most recently Ishbal."

Hers was a calculated act, beautiful really ... but almost too perfect, so crystalline you could feel the chill wafting up from beneath. Yet, to the lady's credit, those totting masks are always in a unique position to spot those doing the same.

Dante: "Dogs?" Dante rubbed the mug against her palm. Still too warm. "My apologies, I didn't mean to imply anything. I know that title is considered unflattering."

Ordinarily, she would have used more tact--she was loathe to give up her disguise--but she was here for information only and skirting around questions was for more serious prey. However....

Something like a cold smile lightly creased the corners of her mouth. His mannerisms, smiles, diction... they were familiar, almost distressingly so. Perhaps Zolf Kimblee was not quite as dull a specimen as she'd assumed.

Kimblee: Kimblee chuckled. "Only to those who don't grasp the nature of the position."

He replaced his cup nearly at the center of the table, elbows settling on its edge, hands overlaying.

"So many don't bother to see past the pension and prestige. They should know better than anyone that everything comes with a price. If the state grants you a living, it's only equivalent that it be allowed to wield that life as it sees fit." He spoke with the same playful lightness Dante had used earlier, and softly, low enough so that she would have to lean a touch in to catch his words.

"... do you disagree?"

Dante: Dante looked up at that. Not a dull specimen, indeed.

"You have an interesting view on the subject."

This man was certainly a funny thing, a military dog who not only submitted but justified his leash, who played the innocent just as she did. He was different, even a bit interesting.... That was how he'd been able to talk her into coming here, she realized. She'd been expecting a fool, not this enigma: it was a simple mistake, one she wouldn't be repeating.

She leaned forward just enough to hear him, one finger idly tracing the rim of her mug. She was a bit bored, and the Crimson had amused her--she'd linger for a few minutes longer.

Kimblee: "No," Kimblee answered, bending a bit closer. "I don't believe I do."

A hand reached out towards his mug, but instead of gripping the handle, a single finger traced lazily down it. If that's how she wanted to play ...

"Would you care to answer my question, then," the alchemist said in what was more a thick whisper, than a yet softer voice. "Ms. Lyra ..."

Dante: Dante watched him coolly, the slight purse of her lips the only sign that the change in Kimblee's manner had alerted her. The shift was ominous and, at the same time, pleasing. The mask was falling, and now all that was left was to see how far she could push it.

She ran a hand through her hair with an airy chuckle. It was just like heating a metal to purge imperfections: simple, precise, and clean.

"Perhaps, Mr. Kimblee," she replied evenly, meeting his gaze unflinchingly despite his proximity and tone. "Or perhaps I care not to answer."

Kimblee: He saw Dante's mouth tighten, his own lips curling pleasurably at her revealed discomfort, before pursing as well. The slip away from his borrowed title hadn't gone unnoticed. And to pass it off as accidental was insulting, to both of them. Very few within the City were aware of his true status, and if "Lyra" carried this knowledge from back home ...

"You would deny an agent of the state?" Kimblee asked evenly, in the same soft tone.

The hand fingering his mug flipped languidly, affording his guest an excellent view of a tattooed palm as the digit retraced it's path up the handle.

" ... or simply concerned about iring this Major?"

Dante: It was with a sadistic sort of delight that Dante noted his change in expression. So the unflappable Zolf Kimblee did have a weak spot--this little meeting was revealing more benefits than she'd imagined. But it was too early to antagonize him, and she'd spent far too much time around crafty homunculi to think his revealed palm was a coincidence.

"You misunderstand," she replied sweetly, nonchalantly lifting the coffee mug to her lips.

"I would never try to ire a Major."

She would not antagonize him directly--there was no point--but perhaps a bit of toying would yield interesting results.

Kimblee: He understood perfectly.

Many suppositions were sliding into place, solidifying before his mind's eye. This "Lyra" knew who he was. She also deemed herself safe, enough to dismiss his threats, and even poke beyond them. The latter was infuriating, but ...

Kimblee let the weight of said displeasure tug at his mask, exposing cold eyes and a cruel smirk, before letting the polite visage slide back into place. She deserved the honor, even if it was merely a premature glimpse at death's face.

"Of course not, and it was horribly rude of me to suppose otherwise," Kimblee said with a disarming smile, eyes lidded. If she wanted the upper hand, he would gift it to her. However, keeping it was a different matter entirely. That had to be earned.

"My sincerest apologies, Ms. Lyra ... or do you prefer another form of address?"

Dante: "I think Lyra is appropriate enough."

She was barely listening to him; she'd closely watched that curious dark look pass from his face, but now that it was gone, she was a bit put off. Her face smoothed into a blank mask, her lips pressed into a thin line that suggested no particular emotion, yet her voice remained as clear and coldly melodic as ever.

That smile again. She was back to the beginning. It was irritating, and his brand of tricks was far too familiar for her tastes. Kimblee was an experiment, a puzzling little project that she intended to take apart and study, nothing more--it was just insulting for him to mock her.

"Wouldn't you agree?"

Kimblee: Kimblee knew that look well, and therefore, had an excellent idea of what it concealed. She was upset, disgusted, likely even a bit offended. He was ruffled as well. His gifted obsequence rebuffed, tossed back. "Lyra" wanted something else. Alchemists might wield deception in their work ... codes, secrecy, etc. ... but they dug after, labored for, and treasured only truth.

His mouth tightened, one edge curling into the slightest hint of a smirk. So be it. If the lady wanted to see the true face of a human weapon, there was little reason to deprive her. Kimblee merely hoped she grasped the gravity of said request. Disposing of a rare countryman, and fellow alchemist, at such an early juncture would be little more than a disappointing waste ...

He allowed annoyance to drain polite lightness away, leaving a slight variation on the face she was currently granting him.

"It doesn't matter what I think, my dear," Kimblee said evenly, eyes burning cold.

Dante: It was with something akin to surprise that Dante realized he was trying to give her what she wanted. Once she was sure Kimblee knew she was more than she appeared, she'd expected resistance, the recoiling response she got from homunculi and more crafty humans. Instead he'd mirrored her false smiles and, when she asked, willingly gave. He was a puzzle, but the pieces were quickly falling into place.

She studied his face coolly before replying. There was nothing false about him now, no hiding behind smiles and etiquette, just an unfeeling scowl. She felt almost privileged, in a way--this project had turned into something much more intriguing.

"You're quite perceptive... Crimson Alchemist."

Her voice dipped in tone as she said his title, a thin smirk sliding onto her features; it was still fake, but she had no true face to give him, and Kimblee deserved a little equivalent reward for his efforts. He'd earned her respect--the same respect she held for Mustang, Maes Hughes, and her homunculi that made them worthy of her false accolades while she tightened the noose about their necks.

Kimblee: The alchemist had grown accustomed to his codename being hurled at him like an insult. Frankly, he found it humorous that they would even attempt to wield it against him as such. However, that didn't mean Kimblee failed to appreciate hearing said alias voiced more respectfully. A pleasant change, and one currently sweetened by other triumphs, though he was beginning to enjoy the thought of his name possessing its own destructive air.

"I'm flattered, of course ..." Kimblee replied smoothly. He easily recognized the kind of haughty compliment you were supposed to hang yourself on. The alchemist flashed her a knowing smile ... the difference between a noose and a tie was a touch in the knot, yet all in how you wore it.

"But, truth be told, it's rather unlikely that I would be sitting before you right now if I wasn't." His mouth twisted into an answering smirk. "The world can be such a cruel place."

Dante: For the first time since Zolf Kimblee had so irritatingly addressed her days ago, Dante felt the confidence of knowing precisely what faced her returning. Her efforts to manipulate him had thus far been thwarted, her teasing and toying seen for what they were--but only because he copied them so perfectly. Fortunately, she was quite familiar with someone much better at imitations.

"A cruel place, indeed," she agreed nonchalantly. "Yes, I'd say you're quite lucky."

It was a bit annoying to have wasted so much time being careless, but perhaps she could still salvage something useful. He apparently wanted to please her... it would be an insult not to give him leave.

Kimblee: Seeing "Lyra" upset, and now seemingly comfortable, was telling. People who desired control camouflaged themselves through manipulation. Playing with the likes of Elrics and Hawkeyes required hiding in plain sight, behind a convenient half-truth or two. However, the mysterious woman before him hadn't been dabbling in that game. Which left open the one where Envy's lie of omission would make perfect sense ... one being orchestrated by Lust's unnamed "master" ...

"I prefer to see it as favor, more than luck," the alchemist said with equal calm, leaning, hands overlaying again. "Survival of the fittest, after all."

... It was the simplest explanation, a valid hypothesis. Yet Kimblee hadn't survived up to this point by jumping to conclusions.

"How the world awards its favor is virtually transparent. But ..." His voice dropped into a chill purr. "... what can be said of garnering yours ..."

Dante: "That's an interesting question. I'm flattered," she replied with a cold smile.

Kimblee was still playing, and apparently he thought she was as well. But playing had hardly benefited her so far, only given away crucial information and earned her a military dog whose leash she'd already held from a greater distance. No, Dante was finished with games--she understood him now, knew precisely how to deal with him. It was time for business.

She smiled, knowing he'd be able to see all too well the deadly chill behind it. He could read her, and Dante had never been one to overlook the abilities of her puppets.

"But are you sure that's really the question you want to be asking?"

Of course, she could hardly deny a willing pawn if he was so determined, especially one who flattered her so prettily... but there was still a chance his service was as fake as his smiles, and she really hated taking unnecessary chances.

Kimblee: To get what he wanted, Kimblee was not above debasing himself. Ask, offer ... and you generally had a willing tool at your disposal ... but threaten ...

Kimblee answered Dante's chill smile with a mirthless chuckle.

"Dogs are such amiable creatures, of course they're always looking to please," he said lightly, ice bobbing over a frigid sea, gaze clearly announcing that she was nothing but an object littering his battlefield. Something which might prove useful, and perhaps even be worth defending, but could also just as easily be deemed a mere obstacle which, the cruel smile added, he would gleefully plow through. It wasn't a threat, as much as a statement ... a snake rattling dry scales as a courtesy before you tread too close.

"However," Kimblee continued in a thick whisper. "The question is only moot to someone already holding my leash ..."

As the last word degraded into a breathy hiss, Kimblee leaned a touch closer. He knew Envy's master was a woman, and even possessed a name, but this "Lyra" hadn't earned anything more blunt than a thinly-veiled accusation.

Dante: It was amazing the power anger had over the other emotions. Dante had long since mastered the ability to manipulate displeasure--a prod there, a push here--and had found it a very useful means of getting what she desired. How a person reacted when insulted or surprised often revealed more about them than anything else--the lengths they would go through to regain their pride were fascinating at best and almost always useful.

Kimblee, it seemed, was no exception. She doubted a direct question would have earned her the true extent of his loyalty, the raw, selfish cruelty that was at once beautiful and chilling. Nor would it yield the key information that he had some idea of who she was.

But anger was a fickle friend, and Kimblee did not have the homunculi's motivations not to kill her.... This was still business to her, but now a different sort was needed.

"Then perhaps it is moot..." she replied, still smiling serenely, letting her voice slip into an almost coquettish tone.

"Major."

Kimblee: When faced with a predator, running is the last action which should be contemplated. If you act like food, or in this case cannon fodder, that's exactly what you become. Dante wasn't fleeing, though it was a bit of a dignified retreat back into territory she'd scoffed at earlier ... you can't have it both ways, love ...

"Not entirely ..." He'd gotten veiled confirmation, and the gloves were off, so to speak. "You've been a bit rude, Dante, " Kimblee purred, one finger barely reaching out to trace a lazily crescent along the lip of her mug. "Ignoring me for so long, taking borrowed allegiances for granted ..."

Dante: A part of her recoiled at the mention of her name. It was used commonly enough before she'd become Lyra, but the way Kimblee said it was revolting, like an unwelcome advance.

But Dante quickly pushed her disgust aside firmly; foolish emotions would not help her here. He knew who she was now--of course, she'd helped, but only because it was only a matter of time before he found out. If a stray dog was in your house sniffing, it was best to address it rather than ignore it. And this particular stray dog had a peculiar, lovely ruthless streak that reminded her delightfully of a homunculus.... No homunculus had ever dared challenge her so directly, however.

"Rude? You offered your services to my homunculi, and I accepted," she said silkily. She glanced at her mug and leaned forward slightly to drape her hand over it, as if planning to pull it away from him. "I thought you were content with that."

Kimblee: "You've been misinformed," Kimblee said flatly.

He pulled back, fingers gently brushing the ones Dante had draped over her mug. The touch was passing, easily written off as accidental, yet was anything but.

The alchemist reclined into his chair, arms crossed. He'd made his point, and gifted Dante some space, but not before making sure she grasped the situation ...

Dante: Dante watched him lean back, relaxing a little herself. From his touch, light and ominous, she understood he was far from beaten, and she had a good idea of what was behind that frown, but for the moment he seemed relatively passive. She picked up the coffee and took a sip, ignoring the fact that it was now too cool.

"Then are you any happier now that you've found out the truth?" she began softly, a matter-of-fact tone leaning toward complacency.

"If you're displeased with me, perhaps you'd rather continue as a military dog without a master and not worry about 'borrowed allegiances.' Of course, you're only human, so you'll be limited by people's expectations of normality."

Kimblee: She was patronizing him again, trying to poke at weaknesses. He almost laughed. Kimblee wasn't an Elric, he had no desire to be "normal". And though the alchemist did covet an endless string of satisfying jobs, with backing and support to make them truly enjoyable, freedom was better than lackluster servitude.

Kimblee lifted his mug for a sip.

"Dogs with absent masters have a tendency to wander, and we hardly find ourselves in a bastion of normalcy. I'm not protesting, my dear, or even lodging a plea," he replied, setting the beverage down again. It had grown a touch too cold. "This is a negotiation."

Hands came together, expertly hiding the careful joining of two partial transmutation circles in a causal gesture, before cupping against stoneware. The difference between a massive explosion, and a delicate exothermic reaction, was all in details Kimblee controlled almost as easily as he breathed ... if not more so.

A few subtle alchemical arches later, and there was steaming liquid again. With a sly grin, the alchemist extended his hands out towards Dante ... palms up, disarming.

"May I?"

Dante: Dante scrutinized his outstretched hands with an unimpressed raise of her eyebrows.

"Do you know why I gather homunculi?" she said after a moment's pause. "No, I don't suppose you would." She returned her gaze to his face.

"Homunculi are called monsters, the result of when people try to play god. They feel no remorse, affection, only the natural, raw desire to destroy. When used to their full potential, I think they're beautiful. Such power, to not be bound by human weaknesses--it's breathtaking, isn't it? I gather them because no one else has the courage to let them be what they are."

Dante lightly pressed her palms together, feeling the alchemic energy that started underneath her feet and crackled dully up through the table until it met the mug with a blue-ish glow.

"I am negotiating, Crimson Alchemist. Do you understand now?"

Kimblee: Kimblee's grin deepened, one edge curling down, transforming it into a coy smirk. The circle-less alchemy did elicit the briefest flicker of surprise behind his eyes, but that was quickly displaced by an excited, and almost lusty, glint. Kimblee leaned towards his hands, rather than the other way around, slipping closer to Dante again. Snubbing his alchemical gesture was a tad rude, though he couldn't really blame her for upstaging such a paltry display of his abilities. Besides, the conversation had taken such a lovely turn ...

"You certainly have a delightful way with words, " he said, voice melting at the edges from a warmth that was even more disconcerting than the aforementioned chill.

"I take it you consider me an odd addendum to this ..." Having progressed well beyond lidded looks, Kimblee directed a bare gaze at Dante" ... collection?"

Dante: Kimblee was remarkably forgiving, it seemed, when offered the right prize. Dante smiled, decidedly less concerned about his close proximity now than she had been. Everything was going precisely how she wanted and better--she'd expected a positive reaction to her offer, but had underestimated the extent of the change in his attitude. Such an... enthusiastic response to the offer of free destruction. It was intriguing, thrilling.

"Of course," Dante replied. She pursed her lips into a pleased smirk, her voice silky and melodic, almost coy.

"Humans usually lack the necessary qualifications, but there are always exceptions, and I could hardly deny a man possessing your exceptional talents."

Kimblee: Seated at a small table, and already pressing into what politeness decreed the lady's personal space, it took the smallest of causal movements to bring his face to hers.

Kimblee enjoyed compliments as much as the next person. But the game had shifted, and when flattery was layered too thickly ...

"You shouldn't say things you don't mean, love," he said softly, inches away. However playful his intentions, the tone was still heavy from earlier melt ... slick, and warning those within earshot to watch their step.

The tip of one finger barely grazing Dante's jaw. A feathery touch so light she could easily have blamed it on her imagination, or an errant nerve ending, had the sharp twinkle in Kimblee's eyes not announced otherwise.

Dante: For a split second, a disgusted rage passed over Dante's face at his touch. Few people were allowed so close to her--she'd only put up with Kimblee so far out of cold indifference--and even fewer were given permission to touch her, and then it was only when and how she wanted.

But it had taken some time and effort to coax the man into being so agreeable, and lashing out would only reverse that. Dante was no stranger to suppressing her emotions to get what she wanted, and so it was with practiced ease that she smoothed her features into an unimpressed frown, resisting the urge to pull away from him.

"Perhaps," she replied, hints of a flirtatious pout in her voice. "But I'm insulted you'd accuse me."

She was making an effort to keep the favor of her new dog--he was too valuable now to let go--and she made certain he knew it.

Kimblee: That look, and the whiff of something akin to murderous intent which teased his spine as lightly as he'd touched her face ... exquisite.

"And here I was," Kimblee responded, mirroring her pout, warm air purposefully kissing skin, "thinking I could grow quite fond of you."

Dante: "Fond?"

Dante felt a smirk pulling at her mouth where his breath lightly touched her face. Her first reaction to her fellow alchemist's playing had been defensive, but that was only natural. Now she was rethinking, taking into account new information, and responding more logically. It was strange--amusing, really--that his interest in her was much truer now that he knew who she was. Dante could have laughed; she was used to quite the opposite.

She wondered momentarily how to place him--men were usually just toys to her, sometimes lovers or husbands, sometimes not, but Kimblee was far too useful for that. But he was delightfully affectionate compared to homunculi, and so was perhaps more deserving of what little warmth she had.

"How kind of you." Her voice slipped into a soft murmur, more subtle than his own but enticing nonetheless.

Kimblee: Intelligence, abilities, identity ... those had initially garnered his attention. But deliciously phrases philosophies, and irresistible offers, were responsible for enticing the alchemist, luring him into igniting an enraged display of emotional weakness which only aroused the predator, causing him to stalk even closer. The cool shift in Dante's attitude towards welcoming said advance was noticeable, but far more engaging than deterring. Kimblee knew the likelihood of everything being calculated with him, as well as this or a further end, in mind ... and hardly cared. Body and soul were willingly succumbing to an allure crafted from what she forwarded, exhibited, represented ... more than embodied.

"Indeed," Kimblee said, words slipping out like greased silk as he cocked his head, maneuvering lips in line with hers. "Didn't I express the same ..." This time the alchemist's touch was more purposeful, fingertips tracing the line of her jowl from ear to chin, and lingering delicately at the latter. "... interest back home?"

The question slid out naturally, with the same ease that mouth parted into lax expectation. For a man who took such pride in his work, the division between business and pleasure was basically nonexistent.

Dante: He was still digging for information, still alert, seeking out knowledge in every situation like a true alchemist. His touch was more pleasant than threatening now, a subtle enticement that was no less precise than the most minute experiments. In all truth, she knew little about her world's Crimson Alchemist, so it wouldn't help him, but his devotion to the science was... appealing.

"Of course not," Dante answered simply, a breathy tone to her voice. "I told you, most humans can't meet my standards."

She slid a hand up to his face, palm flush against his cheek. He had thus far avoided touching her with his own tattooed palms, letting his fingers brush against her face instead--she did not doubt there was a reason. But her hands were not stained with blood as his were. Beautiful though her servants' cruelty was, there was something satisfying in knowing she was more pure.

Kimblee: The alchemist pressed lightly into her touch. Sharp eyes a tad lidded, parted lips crooking as he purposefully enhanced the contact Dante's palm possessed with his cheek. Kimblee had intentionally defused their negotiations by deftly avoiding the use of tattooed palms. Though, considering her circle-less alchemy, Dante's hands, however unmarked, were just as threatening. Yet he welcomed them, relaxing into the advance, accepting favor along with its tandem danger. The lady was left to interpret it as she liked. A sign of staged trust, confidence, or just plain insanity ...

"Then maybe we should continue this discussion elsewhere." He'd already gotten the impression that his alternative self had fallen upon difficult times, though was beginning to believe there was more to it than that. So many questions, as well as new alliance details to flush out, and both were best accomplished beyond prying eyes. The cafe had served it's purpose.

"Somewhere more private, perhaps, " Kimblee purred, breath bridging the few mere inches dangling between their lips, "where we can consummate this burgeoning relationship."

Dante: There was a flicker of the old chill behind Dante's coy smile. Somewhere private.... She was not so naive to think that she could fight back should Kimblee try to attack her--she had neither the strength nor the speed in this girl's body to compete with a man of his stature and build. But he'd hardly seemed interested in harming her, and it was doubtful he'd lure her elsewhere to try.

He pressed into her hand, and she responded with a soft caress. Besides, their business was best finished behind closed doors.

"Agreed," she murmured, fingers delicately tracing his cheekbone. "My apartment, perhaps?" It was the best place, considering the circumstance. And there was another reason, one that occurred to her quite suddenly, but which struck her as lovely....

"I assume you know how to waltz."

Kimblee: "As you like," the alchemist replied, mimicking her tone, and barely suppressing a knowing grin.

Kimblee had purposefully left the options vague, allowing Dante to fill in the specifics as she desired. How someone flushed out such details could be wonderfully telling, and this situation proved no exception. For someone who prized secrecy to willingly expose their place of residence signaled distrust, caution, a decided lack of confidence, or something else entirely ... only time would tell which. As for the lady's inquiry about waltzing ...

"What gentleman doesn't?"

Kimblee enjoyed "dancing" with Cirucci in the Underground, but knew Dante had more traditional steps in mind. The woman obviously considered herself above that which she collected. He knew the type ... be it a pinnacle of culture, art, science, class ...

The alchemist rose, shifting into an obsequent lean. Fingers caught Dante's as they fell from his face, buttressing them so a light kiss could be planted on the back of said hand.

... she could have her perch, he preferred the trenches.

Eyes up, smile felt more than seen as lips curled delicately against skin. "Shall we?"

Dante: Dante stood elegantly with a small nod that was more out of courtesy than respect.

"How wonderful. Yes, let's be going."

She still distrusted him, of course, but she had always favored caution. Overall she was pleased with this meeting, quite pleased. She'd always possessed a certain fondness for the warmth of human men--they were such darling pets for a multitude of reasons--but this man was affectionate in a much different way than she was used to. Kimblee was an anomaly, a fusion of homunculus and scientist that was delightfully appealing. He shared her passion for alchemy and her love of raw destructive power, polished and smooth as a river stone. He was a magnificent creature, wondrous not in his creation like homunculi, but with a rare natural beauty.

"You must excuse me. It's been some time since I've had an appropriate dancing partner." She smiled, letting him interpret the disclaimer as he liked.

Dante would enjoy her gentleman devil for now, pick apart his lovely mind for her records. After all, what greater honor was there for such a puppet than to be studied by a master?

Kimblee: "We'll start with something slow, simple, yes?" he stated, reply as open to interpretation as her statement.

Grabbing his hat from where he'd placed it to one side of the table, Kimblee strolled to the door.

The alchemist recognized the look in Dante's eyes. He'd seen it shine behind the spectacles of scientists back in Amestris, researchers who wandered in from the secretive military facility adjacent to where he'd been incarcerated. Whether they desired an alchemist for a lab rat, or merely wanted to peel back the layers of a psychopathic psyche, even as a lowly inmate facing capital punishment, he'd been too valuable to damage. These circumstances obviously deviated from those, yet seemingly not in that important regard. It was a position Kimblee almost assumed, took for granted, but also remained very much aware of, and would cultivate if necessary ...

He pushed out into the street, holding the door open while smoothly donning his hat, tipping it into the slightest of bows.

Kimblee would indulge Dante's curiosities as he had done for others before her. Be it deference to a fellow scientist, equivalency for his desires, a toll of sorts ... towards the beginnings of something beautiful ...

"After you, my dear," the alchemist said, with the sincerest of cheshire smiles.