The next day Envy woke late in the morning, the sun already tipping towards noon. This was normal- with their still-healing body and late night visits to Yamin's tent they spent a good portion of their day sleeping. What else was there to do, other than explore the Ishvalan camp? And that was a dingy and unpleasant place, in all. But today something in particular had woken them, something was amiss- the regular commotion of life in the camp was different, sped up, detectably more intense.
Footsteps ran by outside the tent, and voices murmured in tones of excitement. Some people were shouting. Envy put themself on guard, slowly sitting up on their mat, unsteady. Should they go, and see what was happening, what was so stirring the lives of these people? Or should they wait, stay here until they knew it was safe, until they knew it was not anything…familiar. Their natural impatience, of course, won out.
Slowly and delicately, Envy dressed themself in their sweeping robes, pulling the hood down far over their face despite the summer warmth in the air. Following the directions of the vortex (people walking, pointing, looking, all of this indicating the main point of interest) they slipped from the tent, moving tentatively, pretending just to be typically curious. Passing by a laundry-laden truck, the center of the commotion came into view- there, people standing around, talking. Some expressions curious, most friendly, Yamin was not present (of course). There was the leader of the tribe, the one who had saved them- who was he talking to, shaking hands with, that tall Ishvalan with his back to them-
-who then turned, so they could see his face, disfigured by an x-shaped scar-
Envy felt their stomach turn to ice, and they desperately resisted the sudden and violent urge they had to run. They mustn't do that, it would look too suspicious. Instead, they slowly backed away, around the truck and out of sight, but even that did not ease the tense feeling in their belly, though they knew it was irrational. Irrational, for they had known, of course, that Scar might show up again here- why wouldn't he, thinking of it- but the sight was still a shock, and a warning. Had they become too complacent, too sure of themself? To think that they had to measure out their confidence now, when before they had been so certain of their abilities. But regardless of any amount of self-pity, this was a problem. What should they do? Leave the camp now- as soon as possible, they were strong enough- no, the Ishvalans would report them missing, he would know and he could catch them easily as they were. Stay? Do nothing? How could they? They felt so anxious.
He may not have come for you. There's no reason for him to know you're here.
That was right, or was it? They didn't know what Scar and the other 'heroes' of the Promised Day had learned. For weeks their line of information had been entirely stagnated here. But Kimblee was correct- Scar could very well have nothing but ordinary Ishvalan business with this group. And in that case, their best option would be to continue in character, protected by their disfigured face and anonymity. He may not even meet them. But it was a gamble- if somehow, Mustang and the others had tracked Envy here (for they did not doubt in the slightest that they were still on some kind of 'most wanted' list back in Central) then playing dumb could very well kill them, and if he came with such intent there was no way they were strong enough to stop him. Now, they had to choose. Running away would save them and Kimblee if Scar was looking for them, but endanger them if he was not. Staying would protect them completely if Scar hadn't come for them, but end them if he had. The solution, they supposed, was the third option- be sneaky about it, and try to learn more.
Slowly they moved back around the truck, crouching behind a large bin of laundry to hide themself while still leaving a line of vision to the scene. Scar's posture was surprisingly relaxed as he spoke to the other Ishvalans- well, relaxed would not be the best word perhaps, but some of the aggression usually present in his stance was absent. And he didn't seem to be looking around, eyes not scanning the crowd, that was promising. Upon closer inspection they noticed another figure standing with him- it was difficult to make out a face from within the crowd of Ishvalans, but amongst the gathered heads one carried distinctly black hair, a trait that could only come from an outsider. A short black-haired person, probably a man, with Scar? Now that sounded familiar…
This is bringing up some embarrassing memories.
The only time that Kimblee had ever lost in battle with an Ishvalan, the only time he had ever failed a mission they had given him. Who had he been looking for again, if not their pathetic ward, the Crystal Alchemist, Dr. Marcoh? And why would he be here? Their belly tingled, something in their core aching slightly, but they didn't know why.
The figure shifted, turning more to face them and they were able to confirm their suspicion, Scar's companion was Dr. Marcoh-
-for real, this time, murmured Kimblee-
-and he was speaking, it seemed, with Amala, gesturing with his hands. Had they still possessed the strength to work the Ultimate Disguise they would have sharpened their ears to listen, giving themself canine or feline traits, but as it was they were simply forced to shuffle closer, pressing down and forward against their shield of dirty clothing. This was nerve-wracking, and undignified, but no one was looking at them, Scar had turned away. Before, they would have relished a game like this, spying and sneaking, but now the consequences of being caught were a little too harsh. So, what were they talking about-
"It would be a gesture of thanks. We are indebted to you for your work," Marcoh was saying, smiling at Amala with his twisted face. Was that what they looked like? Probably. Eww. They still couldn't hear Scar, the summer wind carried his words away.
"It would be against our ways to accept such a thing," Amala replied, but her expression was thoughtful. "However," she added, "there is another. We found a young woman in Central, greatly wounded. We have been caring for her here, but there's no way to truly heal her…"
Envy had a feeling they knew exactly who she was talking about. They were torn- on one hand, they really wished Amala wasn't drawing attention to them, but on the other- what exactly was Marcoh offering, that the Ishvalans would not accept? After all, he had only ever possessed one thing of value. Was this why their insides felt so hot and strange, like they were being pulled towards something? Did he have it on him? God forbid, what an idiot he was if he did.
"I'd be happy to take a look," Marcoh was saying. "I'll do anything I can." He turned to Scar, his voice fading out as he looked the other way, but his gestures were clear- pointing to Amala, and then away, 'I'm going with her for a bit', kind of thing. Before he could turn back Envy slithered away from the laundry basket and back around the truck, crouching to avoid visibility and sneaking back towards their tent. It wouldn't do to look too attentive. But they knew now they had to stay- if Marcoh was going to do what they thought he was going to do, they very much wanted to be involved. And it was quite unlikely he would recognize them, wasn't it? At first, anyway. Long enough for them to take what they wanted. Now a wild excitement was pumping in their veins, spurred on by the tingling feeling in their core. They hadn't anticipated a chance like this, to think, gifts kept falling right into their lap!
Hurrying back into their tent they undressed and tucked themself back under the covers, curling up and snuggling in as though they had been asleep all along, trying also to steady their breathing and the movement of their eyes. Make it convincing, as it may be the last time they were forced to act so pathetic against their will.
Now they heard footsteps approach outside, both treads recognizable from experience, voices coming back into their range of hearing. Despite their energy and the tense pull in their belly, they forced their body to relax.
"She's been staying with me," said Amala softly. "As I said, she doesn't want the government involved..."
As the pair entered the tent Envy stirred, and then pretended to start at the sight of Marcoh, playing into the prudish Ishvalan practices regarding politeness between members of the opposite sex. Amala was quick to soothe them, making placating gestures with her hands.
"It's alright, sister. He's a doctor, he's here to help you." They nodded slowly, averting their eyes and sitting up, pretending that they had only just awoken and were uncomfortable with the situation. Marcoh introduced himself, timidly, and it made them warm inside- they adored the uncomprehending look in his eyes; he knew not at all who they were. What things they had done to this man, and now, he was going to give them everything they wanted. At his prompting they slipping their blankets off, his eyes widening as he surveyed the damage, and they curled into themself shyly.
"It's amazing that you're alive," said Marcoh after a few moments of astonished prodding, sympathy coating his words. "This looks horrible. But I'm going to make it better, alright?"
Then he reached into his jacket pocket- what an absolute fool, carrying something so powerful like that! Did he think no one would understand what it was? Their chest was throbbing- and from it he pulled a slender glass vial.
Within it glittered a crystallized Philosopher's Stone, a gleaming red shard of raw and glorious power. The rest of the light in the room seemed to dim before it, weak particles with no more energy than specks from a distant sun, worthless in comparison to the flood of tortured souls contained in the tiny red jewel. Envy's entire body was almost shaking now with need, instinctively responding to what lay before them, destroyed figure desperate for the energy in a way they had only felt vaguely before.
There was an instant where everyone in the tent sat still, Amala and Marcoh and Envy theirself frozen in wonder, the blood light catching their eyes- and then compulsively, with no regard for cleverness or subtlety or finesse, they reached out and snatched the thing from Marcoh's feeble grasp, popping the cork with their thumb and tossing their head back to swallow the Stone in one gulp.
There was a moment of complete quiet, Marcoh staring at them in shock, his hand slack and still outstretched. They almost agreed with him, they were surprised with themself, too. And this was so weirdly funny- the dull-eyed look on his face was absolutely hilarious, he wasn't computing the situation at all, and they certainly would have laughed if not for the other, more important sensations running through them…
Complete and utter victory, that's what this was.
The red Stone shot through their body like a bullet, sinking into their core and expanding through their limbs with hurricane force. They couldn't sit still with it, it made them stand and stumble clumsily away from their mat, barely aware of their body's motions, the power bubbling under their skin almost too much to control. Starting at their toes the transformation began, a pure healing heat crackling up their calves and thighs, replacing discoloured, mottled flesh and heavy scar tissue with blemishless white skin and taut muscles. As the light touched upon their hips they fabricated tight black silk there again, the design bordering on instinctual, flaring out cutely as it completed itself. How refreshing this feeling was, the power moving up their torso, their lungs expanding fully and their blood flowing naturally, the air in the tent touching upon undamaged nerves. How could they have become accustomed to it, functioning at the bare minimum, thinking that they were doing well? The pleasure of being whole again was beyond exquisite- as the effect went up their body was being completely restored, becoming denser and stronger as limbs and tails and heavy green scales settled within, ready to be pulled out at a moment's notice- yes, they were sure that no measly human arms could lift them now! The transformation reaching their face was an almost beautiful sensation, eyes fully cleared and nasal passages thinned, tongue and teeth returned to their proper shape and sensitivity. And from their skull came new growth, which fell gently about their shoulders as the restoration was complete, their body strong and hard and bursting with fresh power.
When they looked down, almost breathless with triumph, the expression of raw horror on Marcoh's face was too sweet to bear.
And so they tossed their head back and laughed, and laughed, and laughed.