Envy woke again when the Ishvalan's truck left the city, the rumbling rhythm of street traffic changing into the clunk and growl of a dirt road, an unused place where the trees were thick and little rocks pinged as they were kicked up under the tires. They peeled open their eyes, making a weak moaning sound as they did so, and were quickly hushed by one of the men sitting in the back with them.
"It's alright, brother," he said, reaching into a bag at his side, "We'll be there soon."
And where was there? An Ishvalan camp, they supposed. They flicked their dry eyes up to the sky instead of acknowledging him, vaguely surprised to see that the light was deeply slanted, the few clouds present stained pink and orange by a nearly setting sun.
We must have been traveling for a few hours, said Kimblee. I'm glad you slept well.
There was something a little mischievous in the colour of his thoughts, perhaps he was teasing them. Their human could be so bold, couldn't he? They tried to purr (literally, in this form they could produce a low rumbling sound in their chest) to show that they appreciated it without words; things couldn't be so bad if there was room for humour.
The man who had spoken to them pulled out a canteen of water, which Envy wanted, and the next few minutes were filled with an awkward and undignified struggle as they tried to get into a seated position in the bouncing car and accept the drink without spilling it. The liquid soothed their insides some, but at the end of it a new pain began, the water waking their belly and reminding it that they were very empty and did not have enough Stone to waive the problem. How humiliating it was, to be reduced to such base needs, but it would be even more humiliating to turn back into the worm and so retaining their current malformed shape was where all of their energy was being directed. That, and not dying, in general.
Suddenly, the truck veered off the dirt road and into the brush, plowing over a field with surprisingly tenacity and even more alarming noises and bumps. The violent movement made Envy's too-light body flop around in the back, burn scabs ripping open, and they whined involuntarily. Annoyance bubbled under their skin even as the vehicle slowed, pulling to a stop in a place they couldn't quite see over the lip of their compartment. Why couldn't these people live somewhere easier to get to?
It's almost as though you tossed them from their homeland, and made them fugitives of the state.
Too sassy, their human was.
On the subject of humans, voices were calling out from around the truck, women and children and other, older men. They had arrived, then. The men who had been driving with them hopped out of the truck and pulled down the back of it, reaching up to wrap them in the blanket and tarp like an overdone sausage in pastry.
"Quick," said someone, and Envy thought they recognized the voice as that of the leader in this particular group, "Take him to Amala."
Envy took note of the name, holding onto it in their head in case of future need. They had always been very good at remembering names, and faces- it had been an important part of their job, before the Promised Day.
The Ishvalans rushed Envy through the camp, small groups of women and children parting around them like water, their wide eyes reflecting the urgency in the men's gestures- perhaps these people thought they were on the brink of death, only seconds away from their last breath; they certainly looked bad enough for that. It was hard to see much of the camp from this position, prone and wrapped in a tarp, but it seemed bigger than they had first assumed, makeshift tents and camouflaged vehicles forming lines in the muddy field.
Ishvalans proliferate like rats, said Kimblee in a cool tone, there's always more of them than one expects.
All too soon their view was blocked by the rough hemp interior of a tent, their body rested gently- but still painfully- on the earthen floor. This place seemed larger than the few little tents they had glimpsed on the way- it was filled with cardboard boxes and glass jars, strange plant-like smells they couldn't fully identify in their current state permeating the air. There was even room for a tin basin off to one side. As they absorbed this visual information soft human footsteps sounded, the shuffle of fabric indicating a newcomer's approach.
"What's this?" The voice came from an old Ishvalan woman, with thick white hair and an ancient, withered face. Amala, they supposed, and when the men peeled back the tarp to reveal their condition her expression puckered with shock.
"We found him this way in Central," offered one of the men who had carried them there, his hands hovering uncertainly over their mangled flesh. "We're not sure what happened- he doesn't talk well-"
The woman waved away his explanations with the same authority as the man from before, and even more similarly began handing out tasks, her own hands reaching for the contents of the cardboard boxes.
"Farid, fill the bath, we need to get him clean. Naril, Raad, take off his clothes, gently if you can." From inside the box she pulled even more of the jars, seemingly repurposed preserve containers, filled with strangely coloured concoctions and labeled with indecipherable symbols.
I wonder if this is what Ishvalans consider medicine, murmured Kimblee, and Envy internally cringed, they had been around long enough to see all kinds of bizarre 'treatments' from uncivilized human groups. Not that they would have enjoyed more advanced Western medicine, either, with its obsessions of surgery and needles and chemicals in the blood. The idea of medicine was simply repulsive in general; their natural mechanisms were so much more elegant. All the more reason to regret their big mouth.
The two men started peeling off the destroyed remainders of their 'clothing', the fine black substance coming loose only to dissolve to ash in their hands, the sight seeming to surprise the men only slightly. Even more mass lost, and they resented that, sullenly refusing to help as they were worked awkwardly out of their 'shirt'. The fresh skin underneath was still damaged, but slightly less so, the outer layer taking the initial brunt of the burn. Watching parts of themself disintegrate was disgusting- in a paranoid way, they could almost feel their body getting lighter, as if it would become weightless and float up to the ceiling. They hated this, hated being this way, hated being in such a pitiful position; as the last of the false-fabric crumbled into dust from around their hips they whimpered, weak, unable to hold back a little sob from the feeling. At the sound one of the men (Naril, they would have guessed) looked up, and then back down between their legs, and suddenly he yelped, his hands shooting away from where they had been gingerly placed around Envy's thighs, as though suddenly he was the one with the burns. And then the other one, Raad, did the same, both of the men's eyes now looking over their head at the far tent wall as if the sight of them was too much for their minds. Were they really that disgusting like this? What was the problem?
Oh...oh, I think I know what this is.
"Sorry!" said Naril. "Sorry, sorry, we couldn't tell, we'll- we'll go-"
Amala was upon them suddenly with the force of an eagle, surprisingly spry as she smacked the young men over their shoulders, hustling them out of the tent in a bustle of heavy cloth and long white hair.
"Send me my girls," she said brusquely when they were out. "Cleanse yourselves later."
Envy could hear them shuffling away, and watched as Amala accepted water for the basin in the corner, refusing to let the bearer in. The whole situation was almost comically bizarre, from the hawklike flapping of the old woman to the strange fear that had overcome the men. Perhaps the reaction would have alarmed them- why would the Ishvalans display such horror? Had they been in some way found out?- but in their core Kimblee was laughing, chuckling to himself at both the scene and their confusion, and it was just enough to put them at ease again.
As I recall, he said, his thoughts coloured brightly with his amusement, Ishvalan culture has some rather strict regulations regarding sex.
Envy had known that of course, they had worked there during the extermination (and deception required knowledge of the deceived), but they didn't understand. Young women were now rushing into the tent, with concerned eyes and soft hands, under Amala's guide helping the embarrassingly bare and mottled homunculus into the basin filled with cool water that lapped at their skin.
Surely you do. From a human perspective, having nothing 'down there' looks an awful lot more like the feminine side of things.
Oh.
Now Envy wanted to laugh, too. What silly creatures, these humans were.
They were sure that the little rasps of air coming from their throat were mistaken for exclamations of pain from the Ishvalan women, who shushed them and moved even more delicately, rinsing their destroyed skin with the water. It stung, and in a way it almost itched, which Envy didn't like but there was something so funny about how the men had acted that they felt absolutely delirious, and they couldn't help themself. Too many different emotions too fast and too strong, from fear to despair to hysteria, they were like a rubber band pulled tight and then released repeatedly. After so many snaps the elastic had to give way and become weak, strange, mind not able to keep up so clearly, and the sheer ridiculousness of their situation was hitting them in full force only now-
-poor, sad, silly little demon who doesn't know when to shut up, being taken care of by the same race of idiot humans you destroyed, and now your boyfriend is a backseat driver in your own head-
After the bath, with the grime from the Underground and excess dead flesh washed away, they found themself feeling surprisingly better. And the clear, gelatinous ointment that the women were now rubbing over their burns didn't smell or feel as bad as they had thought it would- it even seemed to cool the fire where it touched, though just a little.
"I don't know if we'll have enough," said Amala at one point, likely referring to the burn treatment. "Back home I'll be able to make more...we'll need to get there soon…"
Though the younger girls attended her words, it seemed she was speaking to herself. One of those sorts of humans, with both enough power and mental weirdness to behave as such. But as for what she had said- the thought of an Ishvalan slum was vaguely exciting, both to Kimblee and themself. A bit of mischief, perhaps, to be had. And such mischief was what they lived for, wasn't it?
When their body was slick and soothed from the ointment, and the women had wrapped them in another, softer, cleaner blanket, and more water and a bit of soft bread had been brought and consumed Amala sent the other girls away and sat with them, her strong Ishvalan eyes on their face.
"I know you wish to rest, sister," she said, and Envy thought that was a lovely idea even though Kimblee was rolling his eyes in their head- "but I have a few questions. You needn't fear answering."
Envy nodded slowly from inside their blanket, trying to put on a look of innocent concern, unsure if their destroyed face was capable of emoting the way they used to. Amala smiled, reassuring- after all, they were just a poor girl who had been in a horrific accident, weren't they?
"What's your name?" she asked. Envy swallowed thickly before replying.
"Emily," they whispered, making their voice weaker than they suspected it could be. Amala nodded, accepting this, and licked her lips.
"Can you explain at all what happened to you?"
Envy made a show of trembling, gears turning in their mind behind their delicate expression. "A man…" they mumbled, "Military...I don't know why…"
Let them plant that seed in her head. No doubt she would put two and two together, she had certainly lived through the war, and would be sympathetic. Even if Mustang could say he was fighting for Ishval now, even if he could say he regretted his actions, how many would believe him? Humans were resentful and treacherous things, they knew, they exploited that fact often enough. Her gaze softened (bullseye) but as she opened her mouth again it seemed the next question on her lips was more difficult to get out.
"You're a...chimera, aren't you?" she was looking at their contorted hands, the word foreign on her tongue, her mind no doubt lingering on the scales in their patchwork skin. What a clever little human! Handing them a perfect false identity on a silver platter. How had she come to know of such things? Scar had some chimera pets, didn't he? Ah yes, and these Ishvalans had been working with him. How fortunately things were coming into place.
They gave the old woman a gentle nod, blinking too rapidly, their image fearful from made-up previous abuse and uncertain of her reaction. A harmless victim, a tragic little thing. How deliciously far from the truth.
"We'll take care of you," said Amala gently. "We of all peoples know what it means to be outcast."
'Emily' bobbed their head and let their eyelids flutter closed, for weren't they just too exhausted to keep moving? As Amala turned away to reorganize her jars they could hear her muttering to herself in the same self-speak tone as before, something about 'a lizard, or maybe a snake' and they almost laughed.
Very well done, darling. I've a feeling things will be better in no time.