The next few days passed in a bleary mixture of sleep, baths, treatments and traveling. The Ishvalans were moving East, slipping through farmers' back fields and ancient, forgotten roads, following maps of uncharted routes and places. Though their tortuously slow healing made them often miserable and waspish, they could feel things beginning to improve. Every meal, every moment of waking after a long rest, was having a compounded effect on their health in a way that they hadn't really considered possible- when one could recover instantly from death, anything else seemed like a conceptual infinity, and it was surprising to them to see results so soon (Kimblee told them they were healing faster than a human would- and what a relief that was! The notion made them feel a little more like themself again). Within a week they could walk semi-comfortably on their own, wandering about the temporary encampments wearing long and billowy Ishvalan robes, their bald and mottled head covered in a wide-brimmed hood. They made quite the perfect little ghost in their condition, slipping delicately between the lives of the Ishvalans with their feeble demeanour and weak voice. It was only in part an act, but the disguise known as 'Emily' started to become well-known in the camp, greeted with warm smiles, offers of assistance, and even occasionally small tasks- 'hold this for a moment, would you', 'help me put these away, if it isn't too much for you'. Amala was entirely comfortable with them now, and occasionally she prompted them to speak more of their past and the events leading up to their injuries; Envy gave vague responses, talking in tongues of experimental laboratories and men in white coats and cages, and a strange dark-haired military officer with flames at his fingertips coming to destroy everything. It was an easy lie- the most realistic stories were the ones based in truth, and everything they said they had genuinely witnessed themself in some way or another. It was clear from her behaviour that she believed them entirely, and it seemed that Envy was well on their way to being indoctrinated into the Ishvalan clan. As the days went on they became more and more comfortable, certain they were headed away from Central and the mess they had left behind there, and (though this was a bitter double-edged sword) increasingly sure that even if they were to be found by someone they would be unrecognizable. Though Kimblee still spoke sweetly to them, they hated their disfigured appearance nearly as much as they hated their true self, knowing miserably that though they might feel better now it would be a long time before they could be considered pretty again by anyone. Thinking of it now was depressing, and so instead they tried to amuse themself with their surroundings, absorbing the strange customs and mannerisms of the foolish Ishvalan tribe. The ridiculous backwardness of their uncivilized culture was fascinating. The incredible faith these people had- in their God, in the trustworthiness of the people around them, in the knowledge that everything would work out well- bordered on disgusting, and perhaps if it didn't make them want to laugh so much it would have made them vomit.

But not everything in the camp resembled some kind of ideological human paradise- not all was brotherhood and sisterhood and holding hands singing 'tra-la-la.' There was one tent that was always set up far away from the others when evening came, a dirty and worn thing that looked somehow even more ragged and misused than the rest of the Ishvalan's constructs. No one ever helped the inhabitant of that tent set up or pack away, no one ever went by to inquire about the health or well-being of the person living there, who they had spotted only occasionally emerging from his hiding hole. When traveling the person (who they guessed, from their understanding of human posture, was a middle-aged man) lagged behind, covering his face with his hood and not speaking to anyone and not being spoken to. Ostracized. It was a splendid joke; for lack of much else to do, they found themself wanting to know how Envy, the liar, murderer, and destroyer of civilizations was receiving kinder treatment at the hands of these Ishvalans than one of their own people.

One day, when receiving their dinner fare (a bland curry with a small serving of brown rice) they asked about it, pointing curiously to the tent, pretending to be concerned for the person living there, who never came by at regular times for meals.

"Isn't he hungry?" they said, pitching their voice to be sweet and soft (looking like this they needed to lay the charm on pretty thick in order to be appealing), but the young man they had been speaking to darkened in expression, turning away. "No, he's fine. Don't worry about him." was the response, and it only served to pique Envy's curiosity even more. And when they asked around, prodding people of all sorts for other angles, the responses were much the same- no one wanted to talk about the strange man in the tent, all they were given was discouragement from thinking of it further. How fascinating.

Perhaps we'll have to pay him a visit, said Kimblee, and they could tell he liked the idea- not necessarily because it was very interesting to him personally, but because they wanted to do it, and they were sure they were much nicer to be around when engaged in something and not wallowing in pain and self-pity.

That evening, when the night was swallowing the last rays of the sun and the Ishvalan traveling band had settled down for the night, Envy wrapped themself in their heavy robes and slipped out of Amala's tent, the pretext of needing fresh air ready on their tongue in case anyone noticed them- but no one did.

A light was on inside the outcast's tent, its presence swollen and flickering against the ragged exterior, signs of life in the small and barren-seeming corner where the man had settled himself. When Envy knocked on one of the tent's supporting poles, the sound small and secretive in the night air, something thumped within- easily startled, was he? Kimblee chuckled in their head.

"Excuse me?" Envy poked open the flap on the front of the tent, blinking wide eyes and lathering their image in meek reservedness, as Emily, after all, was very shy.

"Um, h-hello. I'm sorry if I'm interrupting," they added, and the sight they saw inside the tent made them want to burst out laughing.

The mysterious loner was nothing more than a little old man, between 50 and 60 years of age, they would guess. He was small and withered and weak, a person who looked as though he had lived too harshly and with far too few comforts for far too long. His red eyes were small and watery, his chin weak, and his Ishvalan dress old and fraying at the seams. A pitiful creature. His abode was pitiful as well- an overstuffed and ragged knapsack was tossed off to one side, smudged with dirt and poorly patched. Spilling from an old cardboard box were papers with scribbled writing on them, and a thin mat served as a sleeping space in one corner. But amidst all the decay something caught their eye- a framed photograph of a woman, rested respectfully on a little mound of cloth, the metal exterior and glass both shining from recent polishing. A precious thing for certain- they would be sure to ask about that.

"What do you want?" asked the man, his jaw quivering, his voice as pathetic as the rest of him. With a demure attitude to conceal the fact that they hadn't been invited, Envy slipped into the tent and sat down, folding their hands on their knees and bowing their head.

"I just wanted...to meet you. My name is Emily. Your countrymen have been taking care of me…"

As they spoke they were careful not to reveal too much of their face. It was very possible he didn't know what had become of them, hadn't heard of the tragically burned chimera-girl in the camp, so secluded was he from day-to-day dealings. They didn't want him to be disturbed by their appearance- as they were now, they were repulsive, all thick melted flesh and bumpy gray-green scales. But he only shook his head, loose jowls quivering, mouth still partly open from the shock, it seemed, of having someone talk to him.

"I'm Yamin…um, nice to meet you." His conversational skills stopped there. This was fun, teasing this idiot creature, they should have come sooner.

"Maybe it isn't my place…" Envy murmured, licking their lips as though they were the nervous one, "but I wanted to know...no one will tell me why you're so alone out here."

Having said the question they looked down, wishing they could imitate a blush, pretending to be ashamed at their own forwardness. A battle of the meek! Kimblee was laughing in their mind.

"Oh...I guess you wouldn't know." He rubbed the back of his head, running veined fingers through balding white hair, shuffling around his tiny room to compulsively straighten his meagre piles of trash, as if he was offending them somehow with the mess.

"I'm...well, the kind of thing I do...it's not very well-regarded in our culture. You're Amestrian, right? So you wouldn't understand, but…"

He offered Envy a weak little smile.

"I'm an alchemist."

Oh, my.

What a lucky little thing they were.

The shock of those words sent a wave of warm excitement down their spine, a feeling of bright lights and sudden triumph, sweet as a hundred victories, like a present for a child on a holiday morning. It seemed that the universe adored them.

Keeping the wicked joy out of their face as they replied was difficult, masking their raw emotions in the delicate and tender facade. But they knew exactly how to progress from here- 'Emily' knew a few things about alchemy, didn't she? She had grown up around some alchemists, she would respect and understand this little man, she would make him feel like he was important and like he belonged. In no time he would be wrapped around their fingers, practically begging to do their bidding- this was what they did, they were an expert in the field. Their prospects now were better than ever. They just needed one more thing- one more weak spot. In the corner of their eye, the photograph gleamed.

"Oh, really?" they said, offering him a sweet smile, bright and interested and happy to have common ground. "That's amazing. I know a little bit about alchemy, but I never learned how to do it, not really."

They pretended to start, looking down at their hands, as though suddenly sobered.

"But I guess it never brought you much happiness."

Yamin shrugged, fiddling now with his clothes, unsure of how to hold himself. "Well, I chose to pursue it. Alchemy has such potential...I could do such good, if the others would learn to accept it, but…" He sighed and offered them a shrug. So he was that kind of person, was he? Blaming others for his lack of initiative, accepting his self-induced status at the bottom of the ladder without even trying to reach higher rungs. A weak, worthless kind of person. They would suck him dry and toss away the husk like the trash that he was.

"What kind of alchemy do you study?" they asked, and he perked up, no doubt flattered to meet someone interested in him, possibly for the first time in his entire life- though wait, there was still that picture-

"Oh- practical stuff, really. I would like to fix things with my gifts- and heal others too. I mean-" he broke himself off, swallowing back what he wanted to say, perhaps thinking it was blasphemy. "I think," he said slowly, having gathered himself, "that if Ishvala gave humans these abilities, we should use them, you know?"

Envy nodded sweetly, validating his pointless rhetoric, enjoying the look of trust and relief in his eyes as they agreed with him. He was really cringy, wasn't he, he made their skin crawl- blabbing on about his 'gifts', his selflessness in wanting to help others, get lost. He couldn't be even half-rate, looking at the state of his living quarters. But no matter- they could work with it. Healing alchemy, he had said? That was just perfect.

"Would you show me some? Some alchemy, I mean?" they asked, shy and innocent again, amused at the open look of shock and excitement in his face.

"Of course!" he replied, reaching eagerly for his papers, pulling out chalk and notes on circles in a trembling rush. "What would you like me to do?"

An excellent question, purred Kimblee. What would we have him do?

Start with the basics, Crimson Alchemist, and work your way up. It's fun watching fools dance.