Martel never showed it, but she had always had a small fascination with alchemy. The intricacte designs for transmutation circles, the precise science of creating one thing from something completely different--nevermind that she couldn't do it herself. She loved it.
It wasn't until she was about seventeen that she even knew that State Alchemists existed, and the excitement of seeing it in ation was doubled, as by that time she had already gone through the intense training to become a soldier.
Even after the war, she couldn't help but feel some small amount of repect for her tormentors. Surely they must have been skilled to do as they had.
Over the several years she was held captive, her love died down somewhat, and it was easier to keep it hidden. The transfer into the Devil's Nest made no difference either, despite the presence of an alchemist. To Martel, his personality was abhorrent, and the small amount of respect made no difference in her attitude towards him. The attitude that said "I don't care about you, or anything that has to do with you."
But he always left his door open. Indeed, it may have even bene the reason that he did. the first time she noticed, she had scoffed, and pretended that she didn't care. " i What difference does it make to me how openly you keep yourself, State Alchemist? /i " she had said when he smirked at her that day. Still...she couldn't drag her eyes from the doorway.
Day after day, she practiced her self-control, walking past the living quarters and into the bar section of the Devil's Nest. Every time, she forced herself to find something else to look at, to keep herself from going any closer inside than she needed to.
Martel's boots thudded dully against the grainy floor, her mind inadvertently keeping itself busy as the doors slid past her line of vision. She had almost gotten to the end of the hallway, her sanctuary, and a small flicker of light caught her eye.
She stopped, unable to keep her curiosity under control, and turned. His door was open again. Martel's eyes scanned the room quickly. His blinds were open, as well, aloowing the sun to shine in the window, and there on his chest of drawers, completely out in the open, was the watch. i The /i watch. Martel tapped her fingers against her thighs, glancing up and down the hallway.
Empty.
She took a step forward, looking again to the ends of the hall. Still nothing. Her fingers kept up their tapping until her feet crossed the threshold.
The room was a hurried sort of clean; the bookshelf was organized, but sheafs of paper stuck out at strange angles; the bed was made, but the blanket was rumpled, and the pillows were at opposite ends of the mattress. Martel moved closer to the chest of drawers, each step sounding to her like an explosion, until finally she reached it.
There it was. Just sitting there. She reached out a tentative hand, fingertips barely tracing the intricate dragon design before her fingers closed around the cool metal. The watch itself was heavy, surprisingly so, and the ticking was loud enough for Martel to hear without lifting it to her ear.
She brought it closer, examining it, shifting it from hand to hand, a small sigh of contentment escaping her lips.
"Nice, isn't it?"
The chimera tensed, her thin hand instinctively reaching for her suspenders before she spun on her heel and leapt toward the offender, blade coming to rest on his throat.
Kimblee stood in his doorway--blocking it, Martel noticed--his lips turned upwards in an amused smirk, and Martel felt the cloth of her shirt shift. She glanced down, finding his palms an inch from her stomach, and she felt her heart stop. "Shouldn't I be the one attacking?" he quipped, calm as ever. "After all, you i are /i in my room."
She made no response but to swallow the lump in her throat. Kimblee took no notice, instead bringing his eyes down to her other hand, which still had his pocket watch clenched inside. His grin widened. "Ah yes..." he breathed, more than said. "You were a military dog, too, weren't you?"
Though the question was rhetorical, Martel felt a little stupid for not answering it. For not being able to bring herself to, more like. She sufficed herself with a small nod, unsure whether he saw--or cared--that she had.
One hand removed itself from her gut, and the snake felt her breath reach her lungs a bit easier. Kimblee reached down gingerly, lithe fingers prying into Martel's tense ones, digging to retrieve the watch. As the chimera relinquished it, he held it to the light, a vague smile arcing his lips at the faint glitter the silver made in the sun.
Martel herself was entranced with the gentle sheen it gave off, and barely even noticed that she had moved back a few steps at the alchemist's bidding. A shiver ran down her spine when she felt something connect with her abdominal, and, abandoning any thought of using her modifications, ducked out of the room, feeling herself shiver as the hem of her shirt gave out a light 'poof', and the bottom inch or so fell to the floor in tatters and ashes.
Kimblee let out a harsh laugh, tilting his head condescendingly. "Next time, snake, keep out of my room," he warned. "Or a lot more of you'll be missing that the bottom of your shirt."