tampered | Log; ongoing

Log; ongoing

When; Sunday, August 9, evening
Rating; PG-13, I'm guessing
Characters; Riza Hawkeye [

guardianed], Roy Mustang [

guardianed], Zolf Kimblee [

crimson_intent], & Dante [

a_rotted_heart]
Summary; By all definitions this is blackmail; Kimblee's bargained with a deity for Hawkeye's dog, kept him mostly sedated, and demanded dinner in exchange for Hayate's return. Not being insane, Roy tags along to keep an eye on his Lieutenant while she bargains for her dog, and Dante comes along to keep him occupied. Fun times for all ensue.

Log;

Kimblee has my dog. Hawkeye hadn't even thought that that could ever possibly happen. The Crimson Alchemist has his hands on my dog. Hayate was always at her heels, and either came with her to work or stayed in her apartment, but he was always somewhere safe. He was her safeguard, and she guarded him equally sharply. And she had missed him dearly, those first days back in City life, when she had been mostly out of commission, and there was no dog to snuggle under her elbow and snuffle worriedly at her.

But she had assumed- safely, she had thought - that Hayate would wait at the Gates, underground, just where she had left him, until she could return for him, or he tired of following her orders the way she'd tired of following the Colonel's. But no. She hadn't even thought that Kimblee could have paid a deity for her beloved dog, just to get back at her for outmaneuvering him during the last curse. This was completely out of proportion.

Riza owned very few 'formal' dresses, primarily because she never attended formal functions- the one dress she did own that qualified had been purchased for an excursion to The Raven, years back, with one of its characteristics the ability to hide a holstered gun on her thigh. It was black, long sleeved, turtlenecked, and fell to her ankles. She put it on, ignoring how it fell, clipping her hair back in the usual severe manner. He could dictate her dress, but he couldn't dictate the rest of her. Her purse held three extra magazines for her pistol; two of them would go to the Colonel, and the last she would keep.

This was ridiculous. But they had a timeframe to work on, and Hawkeye descended the stars of her apartment building, and made her way to her rendezvous point with the Colonel- the two of them would head to the restaurant together, for Hawkeye's second uncursed - in all her time in the City - 'social' encounter with the Crimson.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Yet again, Kimblee had become an annoyance. Roy had never gotten along well with the 'Crimson Alchemist' for their outtakes on life were different, and being confined in the city with him wasn't exactly making things easier. From what Heinkel had told Roy, Kimblee had been severely injured, to the point of death, and yet he had still managed to somehow survive.

He had initially been intending to wear his uniform, for it had been an oversight on Kimblee's behalf to not remember to insist that he wore the same style as Riza. More out of spite than anything, although truthfully, depending how things went back at home, Roy would have no more of a right to wear the uniform than Kimblee did. His mind turned there from time to time, for it was a race, and he knew that Olivier would hold none of her punches when it came to it. He couldn't say that he was dressed fancy, though he wasn't wearing his uniform. Black slacks and white shirt, gun holsters, minus the guns, for with his jacket over top, Roy hoped that it might work. A set of gloves were in his pocket, another elsewhere, for he wasn't going to just walk in unprepared. Smirking slightly, he shoved his hands in his pockets, although he was still annoyed. If he could have, he simply would have punched Kimblee and had it done with, but things never worked out that easily. Roy didn't care if he messed around with him, but the fact that he took sick pleasure out of doing so to his Lieutenant...

Having arrived where he would meet her, Roy waited, squatting down to pet his own dog. He'd taken her, although she wasn't as trained as the Lieutenants; not Second Lieutenant material, but then again, Roy was a tad less strict than Riza.

Kimblee reached casually beneath his chair, soft fur gliding beneath a tattooed palm. Warm, alive, but breathing heavily, to a passing observer the curled Shiba Inu looked the part of an obediently heeling canine napping through boredom, when in fact the slumber was induced, and much deeper. The alchemist traced a finger along the animal's new collar -- a tad too bulky for the wearer and looking far more sleek and technologically advanced than anything back home in Amestris -- before straightening.

He relaxed into the nearby wall, legs crossed, sitting a bit askew of the chair so as to have a clear view of the restaurant's entrance. It was a fancy establishment, the kind which was accustomed to catering to eccentricities, and whose staff hardly batted an eye at two customers who insisted on their canine companions accompanying them to dinner. Kimblee's gaze briefly slipped to the right, deeper into the restaurant where an empty table for two had been set aside, per instructions. His line of sight to the occupants would be clear, and theirs to him as well, but others wouldn't be as lucky. The lady in question was being generously gifted a semi-defensible position with a wall to her left and a clear view of the door. Currently, however, said spot was temporarily occupied by another. Kimblee met Dante's eyes briefly, the fingers of his right hand toying languidly with the wine goblet which was more prop than beverage. The stage had been set, after all, greased with coins which, like the amount tossed to that scientifically-inclined "deity", were well worth the expense.

His lips curled into the slightest of smirks, left hand unbuttoning a white suit jacket so it fell open casually.

Yes, this was going to be a lovely evening.

Edited 2009-08-10 17:16 (UTC)

Not two years ago she perhaps would have scoffed at this arrangement. For 400 years she had looked down on the human world with scorn and entered it only for her own occasional fun and to harvest the fruits of their grief. When there was no Hohenheim, there had always been homunculi. Now there was no homunculi or Hohenheim, and all Dante had left was the Crimson Alchemist from a version of her world that did not even belong to her. She was a survivor, though, and always had been, so failure to slide back into this realm of human affairs was simply not an option.

Dante folded her hands in her lap, posture as demure as her plain black dress, but the eyes that caught Kimblee's were cold and clear before her gaze was pulled away by her own, less drowsy canine. Bombastus snuffled at her leg, and she brushed his head away to prevent him from dirtying her dress and settled for absently scratching the dog's ears.

Perhaps in Amestris she would have scoffed, and she did not fail to notice the irony that two years ago she had ordered the assassination of the very same Roy Mustang who was soon to accompany her. But neither could she miss the fact that the man was handsome, if a bit foolhardy. Kimblee had granted her Roy's presence as a gift, a thing that in the human realm would be unthinkable to reject.

Dante let a thin trace of a smile purse her lips. There was a common saying, wasn't there? When in Rome....

She found the Colonel easily, squatting next to his own dog, and saluted in spite of the formal attire she wore, ironically less revealing than most of her off-duty attire.

"Colonel." Brief surprise registered at Akuna's presence; she doubted the Colonel had trained her to notice if they were being followed or attack, but the puppy might come in useful anyways. "You're bringing Akuna?"

She was already fishing out the two extra magazines from her purse, holding them out for her superior to take. If she couldn't have more than the one pistol on her leg, she'd bring extra magazines, which would be just as good, if slightly slower. "You'll know if I'll need these, Colonel."

Hawkeye wished she could afford to be as angry as she felt, but knew that would do her no favors. She'd steadied her mind to the focus she held on any other mission, and her face showed only determination. "Shall we go?"

He was aware of her approach before she actually spoke, for despite the fact that he might come across as a bit dorky at times, there were facades upon facades when it came to one Roy Mustang. With a final pat upon the small pup's head, Roy rose. He was pleased to see that her attire was sensible at least, for there was no point in really dressing up for this occasion.

Akuna did know a few commands, for Roy had practiced some things when not shaking her around or playing with her. Basic, but it was more for another reason that he brought along his little furry companion (and she was definitely a better pet than the various goldfish he had owned in the city). "I couldn't leave the little lady behind."

And of course, the puppy was small and easily overlooked.

With a grunt, he took her extra magazines, stashing them away so not to be noticed, for he doubted Kimblee would just allow them in. He hadn't said anything about any weapons that Roy could or could not bring, and even though he knew full well how to use guns, he did prefer his alchemy. Doing up the button to his coat, he gave a snap of his finger to get the pup's attention, and turned. "Let's. The sooner this farce is started, the sooner is shall hopefully be finished. Keep your guard it."

It wasn't something that he needed to say, especially to her, but he turned on the dime, marching off towards where Kimblee had told them to meet.

... and Kimblee watched the door with lidded eyes and lazy sideways glances which veiled the true extent of his attention. The staff had been paid well to not interrupt the progress of a particular couple, and to make themselves scarce until all were seated. Of course there were others around -- the hushed bustle of a fine restaurant -- but with money came an oddly public privacy. Tables ignored the others, each within reach but as isolated as distant islands, servers floating between with mechanical precision, and as much emotion. The alchemist couldn't help musing if half the restaurant just happened to end up leveled, if the remaining portion would even make a point of noticing, or feel it violated their expensive manners to do so ...

Dante had spent enough time with the former State Alchemist to recognize the carefully hidden glint behind lidded eyes--she was, after all, one of the few to meet the man's steely gaze without apprehension--and the peculiar hint of a smile it brought to his lips. It was a common expression for him, one easily mistaken for boredom or his usual casual leer.

She continued to slowly stroke Bombastus's head, wondering how much of the building Kimblee imagined destroying in his mind, only allowing the amused curl of her lips to stay there for a brief moment before looking at the door....

Edited 2009-08-10 21:00 (UTC)

The restaurant they arrived in front of certainly seemed upscale enough; Hawkeye's attire would not seem out of place, necessarily. But inside, undoubtably, were traps ready to be sprung, ones they had little control over, and it would be a mark of their skill if they managed to escape them. But with a hostage like Hayate, who could tell.

Hawkeye didn't allow her hesitation at the situation to show in her steps or in her face, expression becoming more and more serious; no doubt they had been watched from the moment they stepped in front of the restaurant's glass front.

She stepped to the door, pulling it open, and allowing the ranking officer she'd followed until now to pass through first, partially out of habit, and partially because she refused to play the role of the lady attending a social function. She was a soldier, she was Colonel Mustang's well armed guard, and she was here to negotiate the return of her dog, not to deal in social niceties.

Kimblee always had had a strange sense of, well, for lack of any better word, humour. Theatrics likely worked just as well. It was at least a restaurant where others were, and not some place in the forest or Kimblee's own bar, which seemed to have gone back to some other proprietor for all Roy had been able to understand from that one man. That still did not allow Roy to drop his guard.

He entered through the door held open by the Lieutenant, for even if one were to take them out of uniform by force (or "request") it did not mean that they stopped acting like the soldiers that they were. His dark eyes scanned the vicinity, before he moved forward. Both hands were shoved in his pockets, and he worked his way over to where it was that Crimson was located. His eyes darted over to the other female, resisting the urge to sneeze. Perfume he was used to, for Madame's bar often carried that scent along with smoke and booze, but even this was a little too much. All but ignoring her then, Roy's eyes turned to Kimblee. "Crimson."

Kimblee glanced up from his seat, gray eyes falling on Riza briefly, flashing her a knowing wink, before shifting to follow not the line of the Flame Alchemist's body, but the bisector which cleanly cut up the sternum, until their gazes met.

"Don't be modest on my account, Ms. Lyra," he said causally. "Mr. Mustang deserves a warm welcome. And please make sure he hasn't fallen back into those bad habits of his ..." Kimblee smiled, seemingly grinning at a joke only he truly appreciated. "... this establishment frowns upon smoking."

Dante rose smoothly and stepped away from the chair, giving Hawkeye a deferential nod before turning her attention to the colonel.

"I'm afraid he's right," she said politely, tilting her head so that she was almost looking up at the taller man rather than meeting his gaze directly. Her smile was pleasant, her voice clear and melodic, though she knew they could likely still see the chill behind her eyes that she could never totally mask. Dante stepped forward, arms close to her body, posture modest and nonthreatening, yet her intentions were clear. "May I? You'll be afforded the same courtesy, of course, if you like."

Hawkeye'd been scanning the area as they approached, looking for Hayate's form, before she'd spotted him underneath Kimblee's chair- still breathing, yes, but the fact that he was sleeping there meant he was still unconscious, deep in a drugged sleep. On what drug, she had no idea. And the familiar red collar was gone, replaced with something heavy, large, sleek, and immediately hostile.

She returned Kimblee's wink with an expressionless glare; the knowing expression was there to irk her, and to irritate the Colonel. This isn't as funny as you think it is, she thought at Kimblee.

Hawkeye shot a sharp look at Dante, as if to check that she was entirely serious, before flicking a glance up to the Colonel, and back to the other woman; this entire exercise seemed to be designed to irritate the both of them as much as possible. But for now, Hawkeye could keep both her silence and her eyes from straying towards her dog. Hayate was in no more danger than he had been five minutes ago- the same could not be said for the Colonel.

He had a feeling that he would be grinding his teeth a lot that evening, for he knew that Crimson would likely continue as he had already been acting, making both comments and gestures that Roy (and likely Riza) would not appreciate. If it hadn't have been for the dog, Roy wouldn't even have bothered with meeting Crimson in person.

"Really, Crimson, you must learn to be more specific," he replied, using the same words that the other had used on him earlier. Two could play at that game after all. "The only specifications you placed on me were civilian attire, and civilian attire it is."

Likely if it were another situation and another lady, Roy would have found the courtesy to be quite welcome, and likely would have taken them up on the offer. While he wasn't sure just who, or possibly what, Dante was, he really would rather not have her poking around his being.

This was a crucial point in any encounter, regardless of intensity -- the establishment of control -- and Mustang was key. Riza deferred to her "Colonel", and Dante had chosen a supporting role. Therefore, by having the active state alchemist submit to the attentions of the latter, the hierarchy for the evening would be solidified in one efficient, as well as deliciously cutting, interaction. Mustang wasn't exactly usurping, but bucking, like one would expect from any stubborn military dog with alpha aspirations. Unfortunately, drugging was not an option with this troublesome canine. Mustang was twisting words, tangling his leash, but Kimblee had no intention of humoring the distraction.

"It's not polite to keep a lady waiting, Flame," Kimblee responded, tone even, voice mild, but with steel to a gaze which never broke from the other man's coal-dark eyes.

Edited 2009-08-11 02:52 (UTC)

"Please direct your comments to me, Mr. Mustang. There is nothing wrong with my hearing, I assure you." Dante's eyes never strayed from Roy's face, even as her voice took on lighter tone, almost a chuckle hidden between the words,. He had regarded her as Kimblee's lackey, a thought that had been the cause of her concealed mirth--underestimating her while she was playing this role was expected, understandable, but ignoring her completely was unacceptable. This errant creature apparently needed a bit more of a tug to his leash to make him acknowledge her. She slipped toward him another petite step, another offer to close the remaining distance willingly, and reached to delicately take hold of his hand.

"The request is mine... you must understand, young ladies do have sufficient reason to be wary of the military..." She lowered her gaze, posture and words displaying submission that was all too clearly a lie.

"... especially a seasoned State Alchemist like yourself."

At Kimblee's reply, Hawkeye's sharp eyes flicked over to him. It was obvious he was making this a strategic, symbolic move- but if he thought that either result would make her less cranky at the situation, he was sorely mistaken. The very intent was enough to make Hawkeye dig in her heels.

But this was his contest of wills, right now, not hers, even though she was the one who'd dragged him into it. Speaking up wouldn't help any. Retorting like you really care about politeness, what have you done to Hayate would do nothing, no matter how close the words were from escaping her, and her lips thinned against them.

She narrowed her eyes at Dante's unabashed - and patently faked - docile tone, almost taking a half step back that she would even dare to say - do - something like that, and her eyes momentarily flashed anger at the farce they were being put up to-- all for her dog.

Truth of the matter was, he wasn't even paying attention to her, at all. It was Kimblee's hand behind it all, for while she had some connection with Kimblee, Roy really didn't know who she was. Kimblee on the other hand, well Roy had spent more than enough time getting to know Kimblee in the battlefield, much to his dislike. The Rebellion wasn't something that Roy was proud of, for it was something that still bothered him, haunted him, and although he might very well be digging his own grave with his current actions as heroes in times of war were not always heroes in times of peace, he would continue down the path he had chosen.

He knew very well what it was that they were doing, and he knew very well that the dog was the only reason why they were here. It was a double-edged sword, for if Kimblee would do anything to the dog, he would gain his upper hand, and have two very annoyed people on his hands. While Roy did not want to create too much of a public scene, he also wasn't going to allow Kimblee to get his way. His men, and that included women and the dog, were his responsibility and he didn't just leave them.

"A lady, no," came his reply to the other alchemist. Only now did he deem it to turn his attention away from Kimblee and down to the girl. "And we have sufficient reason to be wary of you." Roy pointed out, his hand moving away from hers to cross against his chest. She wasn't fooling anyone, for she wasn't some meek little creature that needed protection, although he had no clue what she actually was either. With his arms still crossed on his chest, he looked down at her from the tip of his nose in that all too arrogant way. He didn't move though even as she had stepped closer, for he wasn't going to give up ground. She'd do what she would, and if he didn't like it, he'd do something about it.

Edited 2009-08-11 04:14 (UTC)

"... and we of you," he responded with the same evenness as before, "but that's no reason to insult Ms. Lyra ..."

The alchemist knew Dante could take care of herself, but with her choice of roles, he had his own part to play, and Roy needed to realize there was one for him as well.

"Perhaps all that time in the military has dulled your manners, but at the very least, a state alchemist should never forget the art of equivalent exchange." Kimblee continued, still lounging into the wall with all the looseness of a basking predator. "Act the gentleman, and I'll continue to do the same."

Edited 2009-08-11 04:55 (UTC)

Mustang was looking down at her, disdainful, his precious woman looking on sharply yet ultimately helpless. She had taken the role of Kimblee's accomplice, and that was how he treated her. And to a certain extent, it was the Crimson Alchemist's hands that pulled the strings in this scene; she knew he delighted in the scowls that were so easily painted on Hawkeye's and Mustang's faces, enjoyed the twitches of the puppets when certain strings were pulled just so, and so she gave him that. He had given her this gift, and she was repaying him with a curtsy and her own hands to deftly pluck the puppets' strings for his amusement. It was equivalence, after all.

Dante closed the distance swiftly, pressing her smaller body against Mustang's. She was not a commanding woman physically--she did not touch with hands reached out, but rather moved her entire body to keep her arms within her own space. Her hands went to his waist first, smoothing down his sides just firmly enough to tell if he had weapons concealed beneath.

"Do try not to be so difficult... won't you?" The words slid from her lips as easily as fingers brushed back up his thighs and into his pockets to pull out his gloves. She barely looked at them before setting them casually on the table and slipping her hands under Roy's jacket, then over his arms to drift across his shoulders. The holsters she could feel, but further wandering fingers showed they were empty--or seemed so, at least. Whatever the reason, he couldn't get to them without unbuttoning his jacket, which would certainly give her time to react.

One hand lingered only briefly on his shoulder before she pulled away, smile almost affectionate.

"There, that wasn't painful, was it? Though I will be keeping these, Mr. Mustang." She picked up the gloves from the table. "I hope you don't mind."

Hawkeye's expression was the picture of carefully controlled rage, and it would probably stay that way for the majority of the evening, at this rate. Lips thinned even further, eyes narrowed, flashing only once at Dante's arrogance, in complete contrast to her pose of the demure lady half a minute before. Her entire body stood at attention, with only the muscle memory of how to stand at attention for long periods of time keeping the tension from showing.

But internally she was counting the things that Dante had missed; at least two magazines for her pistol, and - she was entirely sure - another set of the Colonel's gloves. He would not come with only one pair of gloves, and those in the most obvious place. Just as she refused to come limited to only one magazine, even if the number of guns was restricted. For all they thought they were managing to control every part of the situation, and were trying their best to reduce them to their weakest, they were missing crucial parts, and neither of them would be defenseless this evening.

It didn't register as a victory; it merely was the first step, and was tucked grimly away behind her mask of irritation.

You could try to force a circle through a a spot for a triangle all you wanted. It didn't make the circle a triangle though. Their mission was the dog, and for now Roy would play their game if that it what they wanted, although he wasn't just going to roll over and sit pretty.

He could point out that a lady wouldn't act like that, for one who called herself such, especially in a restaurant such as this. He held the same position though, continuing to merely look down at her as if she were nothing more than an annoyance, which in a way she was. Roy couldn't say that he was impressed by her actions, though he also wasn't going to give a reaction, at least on accident. Of course to play his own role, anger easily flared up when she took his set of gloves, for what was the Flame Alchemist without his transmutation circles. "I do mind."

His other set, for he wasn't a complete idiot, was somewhere that Dante hadn't searched. They were good at these things; confusion and mid-direction. Once more, hands still across his chest, he turned to Kimblee, purposely, yet again, ignoring the female. "Well."

Mustang was older, they all were, years having passed since they shared an Ishbalan campfire. However, despite the surface hardness in those dark eyes, Kimblee could see many things still, disappointedly, remained unchanged. A man who has no appreciation or talent for art is less reprehensible than one who hates and squanders his own talent, as well as the talents of others. Though, Kimblee didn't make a habit of underestimating Dante. He was well aware of what those hands were capable of, as well as the sharp and driven mind behind them. Kimblee knew she had intentionally left items in place and areas unsearched. Disarmament hadn't been the main objective of the exercise. Dante was a lovely creature, an able benefactor with cold passion whose very flesh smelled of a spent and ripening battlefield. If anyone could coax and harness the Flame Alchemist's neglected potential, it would be her. And if not, well, she was also perfectly capable of snuffing it out ...

"So serious, Flame," Kimblee said, tone light and eyes laughing as he faced Mustang's scowling visage. "Truly there is cause for celebration. Why, by City standards this is a veritable reunion for our little Ishbalan campaign. Shall we offer a toast for the fallen, to those who can't be with us here today?" He made a subtle gesture, perhaps the beginnings of a signal to patrolling servers. "... or salute our able generals, Mr. Hughes included, of course ..."

Edited 2009-08-11 22:35 (UTC)

Dante didn't understand Kimblee's comment about the generals--the topic had never come up, and it wasn't relevant, anyway--but she certainly understood Ishbal and the late Brigadier General. From what he had told her, the war had been somewhat different in his world, a longer extermination rather than the swift, crushing holocaust she had designed--what purpose had it served in his version? And Maes Hughes, had he been killed in the same manner, for the same reason? If he was anything like her world's version, it was likely. The man had a tenacity that she had respected, tried to divert, and been forced to extinguish. And it was, after all, because of the General's stubborn refusal to learn from mistakes that she had ordered the deaths of the two soldiers standing so tensely before her. The name of Maes Hughes had needed to be erased permanently from history and recall, for the protection of everything she had worked to build.

But this was a different time and a different world, and Dante remained silent because Kimblee had shifted the conversation into one between soldiers, and she was not a soldier. Instead she turned toward the Crimson Alchemist and followed his gaze back to the colonel through her peripheral vision, who had felt so lovely under her hands only moments ago, warm yet not compliant, muscles toned even through his clothing, flint needing only the strike of steel to ignite....

He must be insane. Hawkeye had lost count of how many times that thought had run through her mind. How many times in Ishbal, how many times here, how many times today.

He didn't deserve to offer a toast to the fallen. He deliberately sacrificed his own men, using them for his own protection rather than protecting them.

He was working with the same enemy that had killed Brigadier General Hughes. The same enemy that Colonel Mustang had destroyed.

It was Mustang that she was watching from her peripheral vision, rather than the two co-conspirators in front of her. She knew how much the hunt after Envy had taken out of him- out of both of them; she trusted his self-control, and he would not lose himself here, not in front of Kimblee. But she would watch him closer, be ready, and maintain her silence.

Another time perhaps, Roy would have acted out against the comment about his friend, his friend that had been there in the beginning, had supported him over the years, and had died far too early to see Roy achieve his life's work. He had found the one responsible for it, had lost his cool, and had dragged Hawkeye down with him. It wasn't going to happen again though, especially around Kimblee. No, the flames of revenge had fueled him, and Kimblee could say whatever comments that he wanted, for Roy knew that he was trying to push his buttons, trying to get a reaction out of him. They were the wrong buttons to push though, for Kimblee couldn't have known that Roy had gone through, what the both of them had gone through previously to arriving here.

Coal black eyes rose to look to Kimblee, an unreadable expression on his face. Both of his hands shifted into his pockets and he gave a shake of his head. "A toast is give to someone or something in honour, to honour. I doubt you even understand the meaning of the word, Kimblee. Get on with whatever the hell you want to do."

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject