Love Stoned

He loved the stone. He loved it more than the foolish girl back in the village, more than any prostitute he had bought, more than any man or woman that had ever been foolish enough to get close to him. It was his mother, his child, his lover. He felt it like a beating heart, how it rested on his collarbone when he slept, when it bounced against his neck in battle.

The Colonel offered the red stone necklace after he had dismissed the other two. Kimblee all but snatched it from his proffered hand.

"I want you to test it" Basque had said, "A man of your enthusiasm will do nicely."

Kimblee smiled genuinely, and had immediately gone out into the setting sun to find something to test his new toy on.

Firework city

It was a good day.

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The next morning all the rest of the State Alchemists were handed out their stones, and asked to meet on the Parade grounds for what was called the "final push." Kimblee would have been on time (for once), but Grand sent him back to actually put on his uniform. He grumbled as he struggled with the layers and stiff fabric of an unused coat, before jogging out into the waxing light. He damn near ran into what he thought was a wall.

"Aigh! Dammit!"

"Oh! You're late too? Let us walk together." Alexander Armstrong grinned down at the smaller man. Kimblee blinked.

Are those…sparkles?

"You know, usually I'm on time. Having an innate sense of timing has been a family tradition. Why I remember…"

Zolf rolled his eyes and fell a step behind, staring up at the towering hulk of muscle that was Armstrong.

Incredible.

What a great bomb he'd make. Kimblee wouldn't dick around making it either-clap, slap, kaBOOM. He repressed a giggle. He wondered if Armstrong would claim that being great bomb material was passed down his family for generations. Probably. That idiot would claim taking a shit was a great skill passed down from generation to generation.

"…So of course, I now avoid pineapples."

"What?"

Armstrong turned and smiled "You know-from the kumquat vendor?"

Oh, yeah. He had been talking. About…pineapples? Kimblee blinked rapidly for the second time that day.

"Yeah, yeah sure."

He wouldn't say he scurried away from Armstrong, but rather he walked very fast. He stood in line next some other Alchemist, he couldn't remember who it was nor did he really give a damn. He just wanted to go. He could feel the cool weight of the stone resting on his breast, so near to his heart he could almost feel it beating in sync. It excited him, made his palms ache, made him itch in anticipation. No, not itch.

Burn.

The instructions Basque was barking at them were simple: seek, disarm, destroy.

Pfft.

"I want it quick, I want it clean!" Basque hollered, "I want those fools to know what and who they are dealing with! Destroy them, body and soul! They have taken too many lives to be given mercy!"

Kimblee felt like his heart was about to leap from his chest. The red stone thrummed, and a giggle, rose in his throat. This could possibly, no, definitely be the best day ever. He hazarded a glance around. Armstrong was stone-faced, Marcoh was glaring at the ground, and Mustang looked like he was about to vomit. He struggled to hold down an explosive sigh.

Bastards better not chicken out.

A grin curved its way across his angular face.

Because I won't.

::6 hours later::

Crystal Alchemist Tim Marcoh fell to his knees in the ruins of a civilization. The smell of copper was thick, as was the stench of decay. Ishbal was dying.

It's all my fault.

Mine.

Marcoh took a deep breath in attempt to calm his nerves, and promptly gagged on the dust. Another explosion ripped through the air, followed by a raucous laughter that chilled his blood.

That damn bastard…

Marcoh squeezed his eyes shut. He had decided-tonight he would leave.

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The setting sun found the army back at the parade ground. The Iron Blood was grinning triumphantly, Kimblee was panting slightly, put out he was called back from the field.

"Congratulations, men. The Ishballans are in retreat."

A cheer went up through the men, Basque frowned slightly when he noticed a few of the alchemists weren't cheering. The frowned deepened when he realized Kimblee had conveniently misplaced his uniform, yet again. Grand fought the urge to rub his temples and instead concentrated on the task at hand

"But it isn't over yet." Grand said gruffly. Mustang looked up sharply, Armstrong looked away, and Kimblee cocked his head.

I'm all ears, champ.

"I don't know where those fools think they are running, but know that there is no escape!" the last two words were punctuated with the slap of his fist against the other.

" Hunt them down. Disarm and restrain any that resist, take the rest into custody. You will pair into teams of two and do sweeps of the desert, each taking a different direction."

He glared around.

"Dismissed."

Kimblee practically bounced off into the desert. Mustang felt bile rise up in his chest and decided to let Armstrong patrol with the mad bomber. He turned only to find Basque Grand looming over him.

"Not you, Flame Alchemist. I have a special job for you."

Grand beckoned him to follow.

"I assume you know about those two doctors, yes?"

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The whole camp was in uproar. Armstrong and Kimblee, two state alchemists, had gotten into a fight.

It had started when they both went into a deserted part of the city, on one of those general sweeps Colonel Grand had ordered. They had happened across a group of children and an elderly man. Armstrong attempted to take them into custody, but Kimblee was too quick.

"Their lives aren't worth shit! No ones is worth shit! Why do you care!?"

Armstrong broke Kimblees jaw that day, but all the Crimson Alchemist did was laugh.

An order followed quickly from Central that alchemists be solitary in the rest of the sweeps, and a private yet urgent note went out to Colonel Grand to either control the Crimson Alchemist or remove him. Basque Grand snorted and threw the letter onto his desk.

"How do you control a mad dog?"