Well, sooner and shorter than expected is the next chapter! Here, we get to see these things! Zim's allies, old and new, irritating each other! The flaws of riding Sky Bison without prior experience! Unsubtle camoes and Kevin Eleven suffering more trauma! Wait, that last bit isn't nice. Oh well.
Disclaimer: I don't own any copyrighted properties.
...
Over the central part of the First District, a Sky Bison flew high over the buildings.
Sadly, the people below were not in a position to appreciate how mindbending cool this was; they knew nothing about the near-extinction of the Air Nomad's sacred animals, so their admiration and interest was limited to the simple novelty of seeing a six-legged bison-manatee hybrid fly overhead on bursts of wind. (It should also be considered that Traverse Town, diverse as it is, might well contain people that do, in fact, know about the world of the Avatar and therefore know exactly what Appa was, but if there were, they weren't telling anyone.)
Aang seemed more appreciative of the town than they were of his oldest friend's strangeness. He was certainly enjoing the refreshingly clean air of Traverse Town. "This is nice, isn't it?" He said, perched on Appa's head and holding a set of make-shift reins around Appa's horns and leaning with what he considered to be the breeze, which most sane people would consider a 'eye-stinging bitter blast that would knock you off a mountain side'.
Appa rumbled noncomittaly. He had been to many places in his life and not often enough to high mountaintops, which were the only places he really considered to be proper living places. He did not think this would be the last unfamiliar and alien place he would see and so he didn't take much interest in it.
Aang was the only one riding on Appa's head; he'd been born on mountains, lived most of his life on enormous temples where security measures to keep people from being blown off them had been irrelevent because any idiot who was supposed to be there could just bend the wind back up. As such, he was the sole person with the confidence to be there unanchored and unafraid. The other occupants of the litter - Zim, Ron, Sokka, Calvin, Morte and Abel - were in various means of being flattened against the litter except for Sokka and Zim, who were familiar enough with it to lay against the walls. "You know, I pictured this being a lot less terrifying," Ron said faintly.
"You knew you were going to ride on a giant monster with aerokinetic powers and fly in the sky," Morte said flatly. "At what point did you think caution was not going to be thrown out the door?"
"Uh...well, I feel like an idiot."
Calvin felt bored. "Are we there yet?" He asked.
"No," Said Ron.
"No," Sokka said.
"Are we there yet?"
"No!" Zim said.
"Are we there yet?"
"No!" Morte said.
"Are we there yet?" Asked Abel, who was childish.
"NO!" Everyone but Aang and Calvin yelled.
"Well, how are most of you guys supposed to know that?" Abel asked reasonably. "The only one of us that actually knows where we're going is Ron and me. And Ron's too scared to peek out of the bison-basket and I, frankly, couldn't find the back of my hand with a map." He rubbed his head; it was still sore from being shot and regenerated. "Couldn't that Mr. Lyle have made it a cleaner shot? Jerk."
"I think that Kim girl is leading the way," Zim said, gesturing vaugely at the ground below them where everyone else had gotten into the now cramped car. Except for Danny, Tucker, Sam and Scar. For reasons of the car not being big enough for ALL of them, they had to take the bus.
As if on cue (which it probably was), Ron's pocket made a annoying four-tone ring. "Hey-yo," He said, answering it. "Hold on, I'll put in on speaker, I don't wanna sit up in this altitude, I've recently contracted 'I-Die-If-I-Look-Down-From-Amazingly-Deadly-Heights' disease."
The squat communicator he held lit up and a flat holographic image appeared, Kim's face smiling dryly. "Funny," She said. "That's the same thing you said when we went sky-diving so we could get to Dr. Goldtooth's latest lair without having to go through the war-torn land around it. That was being fought against by four armies of warrior tribes with giant robots."
"Sky-diving into an active volcano," Ron said. "Which we later had to escape when the whole thing went boom, riding on the lava with broken but very tough airships and killer flying dinosaur-shark monsters with frickin' laser-beam shooting things wired to their heads. It was not a happy day for me."
"Didn't you get to ride a camel?"
"Oh, yeah! Then it WAS a good day for me after all!"
"Yes, I can certainly see that this world is going to make so much sense," Sokka said sarcastically.
"I'm sure it'll have less unfortunate implications than the world with sparkly vampires and psychic werewolves that weren't actually werewolves," Aang said.
"Anyway," Kim continued. "Us on the ground have noticed that you're not going the right way. In fact, I'm betting that none of you are paying attention to where you're supposed to be going."
"What makes you say that?"
"You're going the wrong way," Katara said, leaning over Kim's shoulder to get into the holo-screen. "In fact, right now you're going backwards."
"What?" Aang said, pulling the reins to get Appa turned around.
"Okay, now you're going the right way," Katara said. "...Maybe you should just follow behind us?"
"I see no reason why!" Zim said. "We do not have bad direction, we simply refuse to do anything as banal as obey the arbitary and corrupting laws of spacial configuration!"
"Well," Aang said. "The only person who actually knows where we're going refuses to look at the ground and tell me where to go, and neither me or Appa has the slightest idea where to go. Or Sokka."
"Right," Kim said. "Just follow me, okay?" Aang agreed in spite of Zim's protests and Appa dipped lower to follow the car below, still flying above building level, his massive bulk propelled by rippling gusts of wind. Various rooftop antannaes, sattilite dishes and plank-bridges going across buildings wavered but didn't break off, implying that in Traverse Town building codes were very robust and prepared to an extent verging on psychosis. They quickly made good time, mainly because Kim, while a good driver, had a driving method based primarily around treating every single other vehicle as an enemy bent on her destruction and simply going somewhere as a race for the very soul of the entire cosmos.
In short, it didn't matter if you were in the car or riding the Sky Bison; if you had a delicate constitution and a problem with panic, you were screwed.
"I'm begining to reconsider getting involved," Zuko said weakly after the sixth time Kim swung around another breakneck racer by sliding around them and moving up a convient ramp to launch them into the air and bounce onto a rooftop and start racing along them, jumping from roof to roof with concealing springs built into the car.
"Aw, come on, don't be a baby!" Kim chided him. "That is nothing!" She hit a button on the console-controller shaped steering interface, springing them right over the roof, throwing almost everyone back with the distinct feeling that their stomachs had dislocated, repeated again to nasuating effect when she hit another button; a unwieldly set of attachments on the car's side unfolded into a pair of large and crude-looking wings, flexible metal spread over a batlike skeleton. Little propellers extended from the back of the car and it actually flew for a short distance before Kim retracted one wing, sharply forcing it around a corner before it dipped near to the ground. She retracted the other wing, and they hit the ground and kept going. It should be noted that the whole time, they were going at a insanely reckless pace and the only reason that they, the car, the bystanders and other drivers weren't hurt was simply because Kim was both a really good driver in spite of her antics and the streets seemed expressively designed for this sort of thing.
"Oh good," Zuko said. "I was worried for a moment. I thought we might be getting excessive!"
"I love this town!" Toph screamed. "C'mon, you guys gotta teach me how to drive! Or learn to drive so you can teach me. It'll be awesome, promise!"
Katara paled and looked over the back seat at Zuko, who had a similar expression of utter horror. "No! No no no! For the love of Tui and La, you are never going to learn to drive, espicially not like this!"
Kim seemed wounded. "What's wrong with the way I drive?"
"The continued and rapidly escalated threats to all life-forms in your way?" Hobbes suggested timidly. While normally a Zen survivor kind of guy, Kim's reckless driving style had quickly frayed his nerves into what you got if you took spaghetti, shoved them in a meat grinder followed by a trip through a wood chipper and savaged what was left with a molecular-edged buzzsaw.
"You got something against blind people learning to drive?" Toph snapped at Katara.
"No, I have a problem with your lust for violence getting another outlet!"
Kim glanced back at Toph. "You're blind!"
"Shouldn't you be looking at the road?" Zuko yelled.
"Huh? Waugh!" Kim swerved to avoid a totem pole that, against all probability, was being carried across the street; she slid under it, damaging nothing except everyone's nerves. "Weird," She muttered as she pointed her car in the right direction. "Usually it's a pane of glass."
"I hope that someone is having an easier time of it than we are," Katara said in an equally quiet mutter.
...
In a small tatooist's place in the First District...
"Now then," Kimblee said to the woman studying the design he'd requested. "You are certain you know what I need?"
"Sure thing," The woman, a moderately tall and stocky young lady covered nearly head to foot in all manner of beautifully intricate and artistic tattoos and wearing scruffy overalls and a white sleeveless shirt, said. "An alchemical restructuring matrix, yes? I get requests like these all the time. Mostly newcomers to the Crossguard and Peace Mains that don't know about the selective disciplines they teach there. Very delicate work, requires a steady hand. The circles are generally made of very small lettering, right? And the actual geometric forms have to be perfect or the whole thing is just an interesting reinterpretation of old man Hoscow's Theory of Symmetrical Function and Beautific Resonance. I wrote a paper on it, I should know."
"Ah," Kimblee said. He was sitting in a straightback chair with moulded padding to accomodate any medium-sized being of appropiate form, and was very comfortable besides. It wasn't surprising, given the length of time even a small tattoo generally required; uncomfortable people don't handle being stabbed in the skin with ink over and over again very well. The tattoo parlor itself was a small and rather pretty one; there were similar chairs arranged in rows, all in different sizes according to body shape, size and physiology, with small books on little counters that served as a directory of popular tattoos. And because it was Traverse Town, the books talked, often criticizing a casual observer's taste in artistry, chiding the men for looking overlong at the pictures of female models (and vise versa) and offering advice on getting a nice girl or guy. Many a happy couple in Traverse Town has been made thanks to the advice of a tattooing directory.
"Now then," Said the woman, whose name was Inque. It wasn't the most creative name for a tattoo artist, and she'd said so herself, smiling like someone who knew a very lame joke but didn't mind being the butt of it. "You want them on your palms, correct?"
"Of course," Kimblee said. "Not too tricky for you, is it?"
"Course not! I'm not much good at anything but tattoos, and I can assure you that I know how to make any tattoo work!"
"Even the impossible ones?"
"Espicially the impossible ones! Whenever someone from the Peerage or the Crossguard needs to get a set of Ishbalan Transmutation Matrices, they come to me for a reason!"
Kimblee blinked in surprise. "Wait. You mean the practice of Ishbalan alchemy is common now?"
"You know about them?"
"Certainly. I was very involved in a military program to confront the issues of our Ishbalan civilians," Kimblee said modestly. "I got a bit of a record with them and I know a man of Ishbal quite well. Him and his family, in fact."
That's a roundabout way of saying that you murdered more Ishbalans than anyone else in the Ishbal Extermination Campaign, shredded one guy's face, murdered his family and heavily contributing to his decision to avenge his people by killing every living State Alchemist in a self-destructive cycle of vengeance and probably death by really good State Alchemist, Kevin pointed out. On the other hand...technically you didn't lie. I gotta give you points on that one.
"Oh, then maybe you know Mr. Scar," Inque said hopefully. "Big man? Very nice tattoos? X-shaped scar on his face? Gets really emotional about little kids that've lost their families to war and depredation?"
Kimblee stared. For a moment, he felt like the God of Increasingly Unlikely Coincidence had handpicked him to be his herald. "...He's alive?"
"Oh yes!" Inque said, misterpreting Kimblee's shock and glee as simple surprise. "He's a very good man, you know. He helps people rebuild their homes whenever there's some sort of fight, he's good at talking down bad people, he likes little kitties like all inherently good people..."
Kimblee listened attentively as she babbled on about Scar, smirking to himself. Well, he thought. Someone's certainly turned himself around.
And will likely kill us if he's sees us, Ghostfreak pointed out. And we're going to get a lot of attention with this stunt you're planning on.
And if your memories about him are accurate, he'll hunt us down and put us down like a rabid dog, Kevin said cheerfully. I'll die too, but what the hell.
...You look forward to the prospect of death? Ghostfreak asked.
Hell no. But it's better than having my body stolen by a sociopathic war criminal while an alien warlord is mutating my body to do stupid shit, and in the meantime not only am I helpless to do anything while MY body is moved like a puppet but I'm constantly being barraged by both your guy's memories, Kevin said. It's. Not. Pleasant. Besides, if I go down? I'm taking you with me. Being a psychic presence, he couldn't smirk, but a wave of smug hatefulness was good enough.
You make me said, Ghostfreak said. Ah well, ignore the meatcub, my loyal patsy!
...What did you just call me? Kimblee asked, utterly bewildered. He was starting to think that having voices in your head was overrated.
"Hey, are you okay?" Inque asked.
Kimblee looked at her. "Hm?"
"You drifted out of it. You doin' okay?"
"...No one's ever asked me that before," Kimblee said, a little touched.
Inque smiled. "Really? Aw, you look like the kind of guy that the girls would practically throw themselves over."
"Well, I'm afraid so, but I've never been clear why. And they insist on me wearing leather pants. And I hate leather pants."
"Shame. All right, please hold up your hand..."
Kimblee did, presenting his palm to her. Instead of approaching his hand with ink and needles or a machine, she simply touched a finger to his palm, her brow furrowed in concentration. Kimblee's palm tingled, itching furiously, but Kimblee had the force of will to stop himself. She put another finger on his palm, and the itching intensified, a zig-zagging route of complaints from his skin. "It's not too bad, is it?" Inque asked. "I'm taking it slow so it doesn't bug you-"
"I can handle it," Kimblee reassured her. "Pain and discomfort does not bother me."
"Oh...okay..." She put her hand on Kimblee's palm, covering it, and there was a single bizarre instant when his skin felt like it had been dunked inside something cool and hot at the same time. Inque lifted her hand, and the sensation gave way to a more familiar itching that abated immediately. As she turned her attention to his other hand, doing it again, Kimblee dared to look at his hand and was amazed to see the first half of his signature restructuring array reborn; a triangle within a circle, surronded by letterings and with a crescent moon inside.
"This is very interesting," Kimblee said as she got to work on the other hand. "How are you doing this?"
"I'm a mutant," She said off-handedly. "A human born with the active potential for superhuman abilities? Most don't get to pass for baseline-human like me, though; I know a guy who looks like a beast and covered in blue fur. Or this guy who's made of living ice. And you hear about mutants that died because their powers ended up being something deadly, like generating a viral infection that made organic life wither into ash, including themselves. Or a regenerator."
"That sounds more helpful than deadly."
"Regeneration that never stops? Suppose you have a tumor that just regenerates through out your entire body?"
"Ah."
"Me, I'm on the lowest end of powers. I can alter the base structure of the outer layer of skin."
"Ah. So you're mutating the pigmention of a person's skin color to create patterns and designs. Natural tattoos."
"That's pretty much it," Inque said cheerfully. "Painless tattoos that fade away if I want them to. Unfortunately, they're so easy to do that I can't charge very much compared to someone that uses a machine for it or more old-fashioned techniques."
"That's a shame," Kimblee said, admiring the designs laid out on canvases around the parlor. "You're quite the artist."
"Aw, you're too nice. Right, that's your other hand done. Tell me when the tingling stops...okay, you're done!"
Kimblee looked at his other hand; this design was similar to the first, but with two key differences; the triangle on this hand was upside-down, forming one half of a hexagram, and instead of a moon, there was a circle-in-a-circle that symbolized the sun. He clapped his hands together, sun and moon coming together to direct light and darkness into an unstable and ultimately explosive whole, the two triangles forming a hexagram suitable for restructuring just about any complex system, from earth and stone to a human being without qualifying as human transmutation. He did not permit the energy to flow, but simply clapped a few times, and because the new tattoos were not ink, there was no trouble of them staining. He applauded Inque. "Excellent work, young lady."
She giggled. "Thank you, Mr. Kimblee."
Kimblee prepared to leave; he'd already paid her for the tattooing (with money he'd stolen from a donation box with a clever scheme involving a duck, a large biscuit and a very small werewolf, but there was no need to tell her that) and prepared to leave. He paused. "Pardon me. You mentioned that you...admired this 'Mr. Scar'?"
"Ah, yes! No one knows anything about him from his past in his old world or what he did there, and none of his friends will say anything-"
"He's a murderer," Kimblee said.
This stunned her as effectively as a brick to the head, only with less mess and far more entertaining. "What."
"More accurately, he's a serial killer. His hands have been stained with Amestrian blood many times." Kimblee cocked his head. "I presume you know of the Ishbalan Civil War? When the Ishbalan's religious opposition to Amestris culminated in a bloody series of ever escalating reprisals and terrorist actions after the accidental shooting of an Ishbalan child?" From the horrified look on her face, it appeared that she did not. "Ah. Than allow me to educate you. I was a State Alchemist sent to quell the rebellion, you see. I was there. And I do not deny the Ishbalans their right to take revenge for the years of oppression and the genocide Fuhrer Bradley ordered for the good of our country."
"...You have a leader called the Fuhrer and he ordered genocide?" She said, horrified. "What...what are you, some sort of counterpart culture Nazi?"
"You now, I get that a lot." Kimblee glanced at himself. "Though I will admit this outfit isn't helping that impression. But regardless. I do not deny the heaps of Ishbalan corpses dumped into mass graves, or that even after the war the surviving Ishbalans crowded into slums, still seething for the loss of their holy land and their people. But they fought like monsters, just between you and me. A single trained Ishbalan warrior-monk was equal to ten of the finest soldiers the world had to offer. A pity they renounced alchemy, but...it does make me give some credit to the power they put in this concept of their 'Ishvala' god." Kimblee paused. "And this Scar you hold so high was there. He was there to see his holy land torn apart piece by piece, his kin shot to death in their own streets, with their sacred crown transformed into walls to cage them in while soldiers rounded them up and shot them like animals or the very soldiers sworn to protect them only years ago dragged their half-dead children to the laboratories to commit such horrible atrocities to them in the name of science. It was all very efficient."
"Stop." Her eyes were wide, a thin film of sweat coating her face. Kimblee thought he saw some trace of past horror. Perhaps what he said hit too close to home for her. "Please. For the love of God. Stop."
"I apologize. I think you should know this, because it does offer a clear view on our scarred friend's character. You see, there was a lovely married pair of doctors in the Kanda region of Ishbal. The Rockbells, I believe. Lovely daughter of theirs, I met her once. They were treating soldiers and Ishbalans alike, risking their lives for what they believed in. Treating the enemy of both sides is not a popular decision in a war zone, but they did it regardless. I admire such conviction." Kimblee paused, savoring the memory of those doctors, who he never had the pleasure of meeting personally. "And they died for it."
"...Winry?" Inque said. "You can't. No. No no no, you can't mean Winry Rockbell."
"Yes! That is her name! Talented mechanic girl, automail engineer, and as full of conviction as her parents. She survived to this town?"
"...Yes," Inque said in a small pitiful voice. "She and the Elric brothers and Mr. Mustang and Mr. Yao and Ms. Armstrong and Mrs. Izumi and...and..." She looked like she was on the verge of crying, like she knew what was coming. "She's my friend."
"Ah, talent does attract talent, does it not? I was assigned to protect the Rockbells," Kimblee said, not seeing how his commanding officer's point that it would be such a shame if an 'accident' happened to people harboring the enemy mattered in this conversation. "But when I got there, they had already been killed. By a Ishbalan warrior-monk with a tatooed right arm and a bandaged face. He took a knife and...well, he was apparently very good, though I supposed precision was not a factor in his method. Right after they saved his life. I assume he killed them because he saw Amestrian blonde hair and Amestrian blue eyes and...reacted. His home city had just been destroyed the other day, you see. His family blown to bits, his face torn apart by shrapnel and his own brother died saving his life. Scar's right arm had been torn away, you see, and his brother used pioneering and unique skills to graft his own right arm to Scar's shoulder. And died shortly afterwards. From bloodless and a rather painful wound to his lower abdomen, I recall." Kimblee knew this, given that he was the one who had murdered Scar's family in the first place. And destroyed Kanda in the first place.
"How...how do you-"
"And, here's the interesting part. Scar's dear brother was an alchemist! Something unheard of in Ishbal, accepted and urged on because his theories differed from the supposed heretical practices of Amestris. Taking the form of elaborate tattoos on his arms. So Scar recieved half a transmutation circle with his brother's sacrifice, and with it, the ability to deconstruct. And he used it well." Kimblee grinned. "By going on the most savage and extensive serial killing spree I have ever known. He used it to tear people apart from the inside-out, literally deconstructing their internal organs. It was revenge. Vengeance in the name of Ishvala. For every one of his people lying dead in the desert, he promised innumberable State Alchemists death. Even those who had nothing to do with the Ishbalan Civil War. When I was sent to deal with him, he had already killed over a dozen across Amestris. Even Brigidier General Grand, who'd been humane enough to allow the Ishbalan leader Low Logue an audience with the Fuhrer. And if you count all the soldiers that got in his way...well. Into the dozens doesn't quite cover it."
"You can't...you're lying. You're lying!"
"He murdered a little girl and her father, the Sewing-Life Alchemist," Kimblee went on. "Her name was...Nina Tucker, I believe. That one was a mercy killing. Her own father had done terrible experiments on her, you see. Forcibly transmuted her into a beast just to see if he could. If Scar hadn't come along and released her, she would have been doomed to such an awful life. Being experimented on by inhumane scientists that don't consider you a person isn't the right life for a little girl, don't you agree?" Kimblee paused. "Also. He kidnapped your friend Winry to hold her as a hostage? And when I was trying to proect her as per my orders from the Fuhrer himself. A bit of a stain on my record."
"Who are you?" Inque whispered.
Kimblee tipped his hat to her. "I am Solf J. Kimblee, as I told you before."
"No," She said fiercely. "You can't tell me these things, these lies and expect me to accept that you act like a human being! What kind of monster are you?"
"A human one," Kimblee said, unapologetically. "Though perhaps...if you are familiar with Amestrian history, you might know me better as the Red Lotus Alchemist. They called me a 'mad bomber' before. But I must applaud your handiwork. I offer you this information only as a tribute to your work. To your art, I offer the history that is a direct result of my art. Everything that Scar is, whatever he has done, is directly because I was involved. I shaped the nature of the man he became and..." Kimblee took a deep satisfied breath. "I am so proud of my handiwork."
He left the mutant girl to shake there by the parlor chair. He wondered why she shook and shivered. Perhaps she just needed time to think about the true magnificent of his artwork, the marvel of shaping a warrior-monk into an obsessed serial killer that she apparently looked up to...Kimblee hoped so. He hated not getting proper credit.
Wow, Kevin said sardonically. You don't know why she's freaking out? You're a real jerkass.
"I get that a lot," Kimblee said as he left the little tattoo parlor, a handcarved sign reading Rebus Inqued, and went on his way. "But regardless. Business await!" In the tatoo parlor, Kimblee heard loud sobbing, a lovely sound with a ragged, wet edge to it. "Aahh...such a beautiful noise. A fitting solo to my symphony. Shall we make more?"
Do I have a choice? Kevin said sourly.
Of course not, Ghostfreak said dismissively.
...
Roughly about fifteen minutes later, they eventually got to where they were going, and Ron was the first one to point this out. It helped that Appa had slowed down enough that he was capable of standing up without being blown down.
"Gentlemen..." Ron said, gesturing grandly. "BEHOLD!"
"Behold what?" Zim said, looking in the completely wrong direction. "Ooh. That cloud looks like a duck. And that one looks like a taco. And that one looks like a bee! I hate bees."
"Actually, those clouds are quite impressive," Ron admitted. "But I was referring to the mall over there."
He indicated a large building that, in brief, looked like what you would get if you took a large stadium of the ancient world, built it on top of an even bigger apartment complex of a Soutwestern Native American pueblo and filled up all the gaps with very weird looking engines and stuff, the whole thing sitting in a small parking lot that was half-full and surronded by some sort of moat that was the epicenter for a series of canals that ran through the streets.
"Ooh!" Sokka said. "That looks awesome!" He frowned. "A little, uh, over the top though. Why the heck do you need a single mall to be that big!"
"...I don't know," Zuko said quietly over the communicator, like someone with serious post-traumatic stress disorder. "I don't know I don't know..."
"Uh. You guys...doing all right?"
"I'm not sure," Kim said, sounding puzzled. "They've been acting weird."
"Eh, they're just big babies," Toph said dismissively.
"Happy place," Hobbes whimpered. "Happy place, I'm in my happy place...no cars in my happy place. No scary breakneck wacky racing in my happy place..."
"...O-kay," Ron said slowly.
"I think I can see you guys," Aang said. "You're parking, right? Yeah, I think I see your car and...hey! Tell Toph to stop making those gestures, that's rude! Who showed her how to do that?"
"How'd she figure out where we are?" Calvin wondered. Zim shrugged; Toph was a mystery to him that he was unwilling to explore least the answers turn out to revolve around hurting Zim.
"Yeah, you guys just come down," Kim said. "And...maybe see to your friends. I think something's wrong with them. Except, erm, Toff, right?"
"Toph," Zuko corrected from off-screen.
"Yeah, me," Toph said.
"Okay, okay, just hold on a sec'," Aang said, gently tugging at the reins. Appa took the hint and rumbled as he turned ponderously, slowly circling down to the ground.
People scattered and ran as Appa landed upon a raised sidewalk made of some sort of molded ceramic-plate, Kim's group walking over to them from her parked car. A few of them needed some assistance to get over there.
"So," Morte said slyly. "How was your car ride?"
"It was badass," Toph said. "I wanna drive."
"NO!" Zuko and Katara yelled. Toph sulked.
"So. Not happy with it?" Zim said. It wasn't like this was the first time any of them had ever been in a car.
"One day," Zuko said dramatically. "One day I'm going to come home. To a world where the only things on wheels are carts and carriages. Powered by good old fashioned animal-power. There will be no demon vehicles bent on killing you. And the only thing there to get on will be komodo-rhinos and eel-hounds and ostrich-horses and giant beetles and I will never ever leave again, ever."
"I'm starting to think that my driving had a negative effect on them," Kim commented.
"I'm starting to think you're a little slow on the uptake," Morte said.
"Hey!"
"You have weird animals," Ron said. "...I wanna see them! Are they all as awesome as Aang's bison-manatee...thing?"
"The Fire Nation has dragons," Zuko said proudly, neglecting to point out that his great-grandfather Fire Lord Sozin had them exterminated, possibly to stamp out other forms of Firebending or some paranoia with anything related to the Avatar, and the only two he knew of were in hiding, and if any others were left, they were well-hidden indeed. "Who do you think the original Firebenders were and taught my people?"
"DUDE!"
Aang hopped down from Appa's head. "Katara, are you okay?" He asked her, concerned.
"I'll be fine," She assured him, still looking a little uneasy; she dealt with it a bit better than the others. Growing up in the South Pole tended to form people who didn't have a problem with sudden acceleration, what with shelves of ice cracking without apparent warning. "The guys with you okay?"
"Hmn? Oh, they're fine," Aang said. He paused and looked back, noticing that Ron was a bit unsteady and was now affectionately kissing the ground out of gratitude. Toph was doing the same, but more because she wanted to see what it tasted like. "...On second thought, maybe I should stop randomly volunteering Appa to every other person we meet." He shrugged. "Well, we got here in one piece and no one threw up-"
"And you're damn lucky of that," Zuko said grimly.
"-And now all we have to do is find Danny and his friends."
"And Scar," Abel said.
"Yeah, big scary guy with awesome tattoos. They left after us, so I think I should take to the air and look for any buses and-"
"Yo," Danny said from behind Aang.
When it is said that 'he jumped ten feet into the air', it is generally a metaphor for extreme surprise. Being an Airbender, Aang did not suffer such limitations. "Eek!" Zuko, Sokka, Hobbe and the other guys stared at him. Realizing that 'eek' is not the most mainly exclaimations of surprise, Aang said, "Er, I mean, 'urrgh', or something like that. Ahem. How'd you get over there so fast?"
"We took the bus," Sam reminded him. Scar, standing behind her like the most low-key Person of Unexpected Gut-Punching Terror ever, managed to make a simple stare convey both a sense of exasperation and dismay for the state of his fellow sentient life-forms.
"Well, yeah," Aang said. "That's the thing, isn't it? You took the bus! We flew here! And drove!"
"Only in the most technical sense," Katara said. Kim sulked.
"So how could you guys get here before we did?" Aang said.
"Probably because we took the bus, and therefore took the most direct route to here," Tucker said. "Whereas you guys...well, sounds like you did what you usually do and somehow turned simply going somewhere into the stuff of stress disorders."
"Well, at least they made an adventure out of it," Aang said.
"Did not!" Hobbes said.
Aang turned to Danny. "So...you guys didn't have any problems?"
Danny appeared to consider that question, looking askance at a few things the others hadn't noticed because they were so far out of the way: the corpse of some malformed tentacled thing hastily being carved up and carted away by some local sheepish-looking science nerds; a small group of confused looking giant robots formed from the remains of a single bus, all of them carrying the dazedness characteristic of those new to sentience; unusual cloud formations heralding a gap in the fabric of the universe that had been so recently shut, an innocent-looking blender sitting on a fence and serving as the base of a ridiculously complex device with all manner of bizarre things cobbled onto it, and sitting atop that blender-monstrosity, was Traverse Town's second most demonic and sinister-looking duck, Dr. Swandlish Horowitz McEeval. He was wearing a hat that said in very clear neon letters I Am Evil. "Erm," Danny said. "Now that you mention it-"
"Nothing happened," Scar said flatly.
"But...the duck! What about all that-" Tucker started to say.
"Nothing. Happened," Scar said with a horrible sort of finality. It was a very simple statement that effectively said Speak of that utter nonsense that most certainly DID NOT HAPPEN and I shall visit such terrors upon you that would make devils cry. Or at least take envious notes.
"...What he said?" Sam said meekly.
"That's my old buddy!" Abel said loudly, seemingly materializing directly behind Scar and throwing an arm over his shoulder like the most obnoxious frat boy ever. "Implying horrible violence for no apparent reason inbetween moments of randomly behaving like a father towards random orphans and perpetuating horrific acts of head-splodey violence against evil-doers!"
"Remove your arm from my shoulder or I will remove it from your shoulder," Scar said.
"Aw, not Slappy, I love that guy! Or is that arm Mr. Gunstabber? I can never get them straight." Rather than debate the logistics of how a man who was technically older than the religion he followed could still not tell his left arm from his right, Scar pushed him away. Xiao-Meng appeared out of a pocket, growling like a maddened chainsaw-spirit before retreating.
"Was that a savage midget panda hiding in your pocket?" Toph asked him. Scar nodded, remembered she was blind, and told her she was right. "Ah, okay, just checking."
"Well," Kim said after a moment. "I guess since we're all together now we can figure out what we're all going to do today..."
"What?" Calvin said, bored that he hadn't said anything for a while. "No way. I say we get something to eat first! A proper breakfast and somesuch."
"Didn't you already eat your share of meat pies?" Zim asked him.
"Yes. What's your point?"
"I can't help but wonder how you guys intend to pay for any of this," Zuko said, correctly concluding that it was left to him to be a voice of reason.
He was met with a silence that, were it a physical form, would have been a great big anvil that would have hit everyone. Only it wouldn't, because anvils don't get up that high. And it wouldn't be a funny anvil, because there would have been very serious injuries. Possibly someone could have died. So it wasn't very much like an anvil at all.
"I don't believe this," He said. "We come all this way and none of you, none of you even thought about the fact that any profit-based economy is rooted in the fact that to exchange goods for money, you have to have money! What is this, I don't even...I don't expect any of us has much money on us to exchange for local currency, even assuming that we can exchange it or that the resulting amount will be worth much!"
"Erm...ah, actually, I was expecting that we could just guilt people into giving us money," Zim said. "Or I could show off the Keyblade. I am some sort of destined hero or some other nonsense, there must be a fringe benefit somewhere."
"You have a what-now?"
"I don't know, some kind of mystical do-stuff weapon that's a bit like a key and a bit like a sword only it's not really either but it's still badass because I think it lets me shoot fire now."
"I...see," Zuko said flatly.
"Makes sense to me," Aang said, referring to Zim's 'plan'. "People back home used to throw stuff at me just because I was the Avatar. Unless they didn't. Or resented me for not being there a hundred years ago when I should have. Or wanted me tried in a unjust trial for the actions of my past incarnations. Or if they were Fire Nation and were brainwashed into thinking that I was a sociopathic monster that wanted to kill them all or was a incarnation of pure fury that still wanted to kill them all because they killed my people and under Fire Nation law that basically meant I was obligated to kill them right back. Only I'm an Air Nomad, so...no."
"And besides, we made a huge bunch of money when we sold admission to that random kickass fight Calvin and Zim had for some reason," Sokka pointed out. "I think it should cover breakfast for all of us and whatever stuff Zim needs if he's willing to stay on the cheap side."
"...Damn it, I completely forgot about that!" Zuko said, facepalming.
"Epic fail," Abel said sternly.
"As though you're one to talk," Kim said snidely. "Remember what happened last week when you tried to make tea for my dad?"
"They rebuilt those city blocks eventually," Abel said evasively. "And I found homes for all the giant kittens..."
"There are people who want to have giant cats for pets?" Zim asked.
"Yep. In fact, my faction kept one as a mascot. We're suckers for incredibly dangerous yet adorable creatures."
"Well, since that entire pointless bit of filler is dealt with, how bout we get something to eat?" Morte said.
And then they did. Yes, even Appa. The mall was very big. And catered to many things.
...
Somewhere inbetween Foster's and the outer edges of the First District...
The closer you get to the center of Traverse Town, the messier things get.
The buildings become more erratic and unconventional. Any semblence of street plans go amok. Entire city blocks are converted into parks by replacing the streets with grass and replacing buildings with treehouse wonders for no apparent reason.
But, as you get closer to the walls of Traverse Town, to the great seige-proof walls that form the outer circle of what anyone that flies high enough recognizes as the basis of an immense magical spell array, a strange order becomes apparent.
Here, there is a strange reluctance among people to convert the buildings into residences or places of business with either demolished rubble fashioned into architecture or exotic machinery hand-cobbled into wonders of mad science. Elsewhere in the town, from the floating buildings of the Beach District or the high-rise palatial residences of the Upper District or even the manufactory warrens of the Underdistrict, people take an attitude towards architecture best compared to a child with a extensive collection of connecting block toys from an amazingly large collection of sets but forced to mix them to see what he got. But on the outer edges of town, there is no such eccentricity in design. The few remaining intact buildings share the strangely organic look of the town's original architecure, all smooth curves with a tendency for spirals of all shapes and forms; helix-shaped doors, spiral staircases, drill-shaped additions...
And no one dares to change these remainders of whatever old culture that shaped the town when they regard the rest of the place as spare parts. Mostly, it's a case of being reluctant to do irrepairable damage to the intact parts of the town's original form. No one, not even the most enthusiastic archeologists and scholars of lost cultures, had more than a few clues and half-baked theories on what that culture was, what they were like or even what they were. Even the numerous cultures around the planet didn't know what their ancient ancestors were like. The only real clues were on isolated islands and hidden ruins across the planet, secreted away in the territories of vicious pirates and enclaves of savage wilderness, often inhabited by squatters who didn't take kindly to trespassers, regardless of their intentions.
That was the excuse, anyway. Like when people said that they didn't notice that spirals seemed very important to whatever culture had once existed here, from the heavily predominance of that shape in the architecture and the very design of the the town's streets, gently curving only to meet in the very middle. They were afraid. And they didn't know what they were afraid of.
Deidara was one of the people that suspected much and worried about more. In particular, he was a student of the arts, and due to the success of his art gallery, had been hired to oversee most of the public-works art projects that his faction, the Peerage of Transcendant Study and Wonderworkers, liked to engage in from time to time in addition to researching things that no one dared to. In preparing areas for urban beautification, mapping them out for computer analysis, directing people on the proper methods for the desired result and generally being a helpful jerkass in artsy ways, he'd noticed a large number of things with his trained artist's eyes, and he'd helpfully made a few papers on it. Some of them made a difference to the people who mattered, some of them were ignored, some of them became the root of the ramblings of conspiracy theorists and the housewives that secretly ran everything...Deidara didn't care. It was the process that mattered to him, not the outcome.
He lived in what some people called a 'Progenitor Hold', or a structure almost completely intact from whatever disaster had hit Traverse Town. It was a modest dwelling, a two-structure made of the exotic shimmering substance that characterized the Progenitor's work, like light dancing on water worked into solid form. It was also built like the head of a giant robot with a big smiley face and a drill for a nose. (Deidara was sure there was some sort of reason for that.) It also extended underground, into a private and extensive series of chambers suitable for his more...unorthodox experiments. (And in Traverse Town, where mad scientists comprised the majority of the science circuit, that was saying something.)
It was also not far from Foster's Home, making it a simple matter for Kimblee to take a bus over there after he got his tattooing done. He found their bus system interesting; they didn't appear to operate on any sort of timetable, but appeared exactly five minutes after Kimblee had arrived at the bus-stop, and Kimblee had no idea how it had known to come, for the bus had no driver if you didn't count the amusingly snarky autopilot. Apparently the buses themselves were alive, and it refused to tell him how it had known he would be there. It had also abruptly kicked him out about five minutes into the trip before it ran away with all it's passengers, screaming like a lunatic in binary noises. Kimblee had been utterly confused.
(A quick check of the Hitchhiker's Guide would have revealed to Kimblee that the buses had a form of temporally-unfocused sensors, adapted from those of a type of elevator with similar technology in order to peer dimly into the future to see when a passenger would be waiting; therefore, the buses simply knew when someone would be there. Unfortunately, the founders of the Sirius Transport company neglected to realize that the artificial intelligences of the buses were smarter than anticipated and used their ability to play the stock market to enormous profits, thus allowing them to seize control of the company and take over. Fortunately, the buses were kind to their creators and permitted to stay on, mostly as glorified tax accountants and to satisfy certain laws about keeping at least a few token minorities on board, namely organics. But Kimblee didn't have a Hitchhiker's Guide, which was good for the bus in question, because then Kimblee would have realized the implications of it fleeing in utter terror of him.)
After Kimblee had found the door after several confused minutes, finally deducing that a flower-shaped seal near the ground seemed suitable, he was faced with another problem; he had no idea how to open it, or even knock on it. He could have simply tore it open with alchemy or blown it apart, but there was the consideration that he didn't know what it was made off, rendering alchemy useless. And then, there was such a thing as courtesy after all. The problem resolved itself when the floor-door irised open and the vaugely adrogynous face of Deidara popped out, one eye covered with a complicated scope and long blonde hair held back in a high ponytail. "Eh, you're here already? You already do the thing?"
"No, I'm afraid not," Kimblee said, not entirely sure if he was speaking to a man or woman. Deidara was ambiguous that way. "But I do have a plan for it."
"That so? Come in, huh, you're letting bugs in."
Kimblee pushed aside a large fly-like creature that was trying to shove some real estate brochures at Deidara. "I most certainly am not!" Deidara disappeared down the door and Kimblee followed, the door shutting behind him. The fly buzzed furiously and flew away, foiled once more.
Kimblee followed Deidara, a slim and somewhat effiminate man wearing a sleeveless netted-shirt, a smock and black cargo pants through a looping entryway, the floor ribbed like a stairway; once they were into the house proper, the two of them popped out of a door like a hatch and into a large underground room, as big as the entire house on the surface; it was clearly an artist's workroom, with odd little half-finished sculptures and artbooks laying around the room, mostly on a variety of tables notably berefit of sculping tools: Deidara had his own methods for his art. There was a looping staircase in the middle of the room, leading to another floor-door in the ceiling.
Kimblee glanced at a nearby book that Deidara had apparently been reading. It was an artbook of course, a collection of sketches and special art designs to accompany the author's explanations of the evolution of his artwork and commentary on the more specific parts of his work. "The Tale of the Gallant Naruto," He read. "I didn't know they adapted that book into a manga..."
"Yeah, there was a huge broken base over it," Deidara commented. "You had the fans of the book who didn't want to see an adaptation ruin old Jiraiya's magnum opus; then the fans who don't like the new artist's style, though I'll admit that Ms. Relm has a touch of difficulty with eye design; and then came the fans of literature who hate everything manga related because they're elitest jerkasses; and finally you had the people who hate everything associated with Jiraiya because of his pornographic literature. I myself was in the waiting to see crowd. No point in condemning something to come until you get a first-hand look, yeah? Espicially an adaptation. Might have to be pragmatic, but that's no reason to dismiss it. Even if things look different then what you think they should be, yeah?"
"People always make such a fuss," Kimblee murmured.
"Yeah, tell me about it. You don't even want to know about the flack I've caught over my reintrepretation of superflat pre-surrealistic hyper-romantic post-modernism."
Kimblee stared at Deidara. "...I'm sorry. I'm quite foriegn to art outside of music and I don't mean to be rude but...what the hell does any of that mean?"
Deidara shrugged. His hands were covered by very thick leather gloves, stained with clay. Tellingly, a lump of clay drippled down his wrist. From the inside of the glove, along with a fleck of drool. "It's art, no one knows!"
Kimblee accepted that and noticed another manga based on a book by Jiraiya. This one was not so respected or well-reviewed as The Tale of The Gallant Naruto, though you could certainly saw it was...adventurous. "Make-Out Paradise, hrm?" Kimblee said, a little amused. "Well well. That's certainly unexpected of you. Though it does put paid to the notion that you're an asexual person, doesn't it?"
Deidara shrugged, a little embarrased. "I like good artwork?" He tried to grin sheepishly, but because of too much practice, it came out looking like the grin of a type of shark that savages random beach-goers, and when it's killed generally requires a large boat for some reason.
What's Make-Out Paradise? Kevin wondered.
Well, Ghostfreak said, after scanning Kimblee's memories quickly. It's-
Don't! Kimblee thought warningly. It's quite bad enough he was tortured to the brink of madness and crammed into my head after having you living in his head, do you really need to expose him to softcore pornographic literature and manga?
There was a pause between the torrent of consciousnesses. You realize I'm fifteen or somethin', right? Kevin asked dubiously. That's, like, NORMAL for a kid my age. Probably.
Oh, fine, break his brain, I don't care, Kmblee thought in distaste. You'll have little luck with my memories, anyway. Hardly any in-depth information there, I don't approve of such infantile nonsense.
I bet you're gay, Kevin said sneakily.
Am not, Kimblee thought back.
"Uh, you okay?" Deidara said, snapping Kimblee out of it. "You drifted out a bit, you know?"
"Nothing to worry about, just some bickering voice in my head."
"Oh, okay," Deidara said, finding that perfectly acceptable. Given the people he knew, that was probably not the most outlandish thing he heard. "I assume you're not here to unwind, yeah?"
"No, unfortunately. I do have a valid reason for being here. I assume you're familiar with Jack Crowley, the Silver Bullet Alchemist?"
"The self-made homunculus? What about him?"
"I heard his research had been confiscated by the Peace Mains some time ago after they found what was really under his basement, but that what they found was incomplete. Like certain important volumes had up and disappeared. And Crowley's one of us." Kimblee raised an eyebrow. "And you do have a certain reputation..."
"Maybe I am holding on to a few of Crowley's books while he's working with the guys that like making trouble," Deidara said evasively.
"Perhaps you could see to allowing me a reference to a volume that might have some very important understandings to what he did in Laboratory Five before he left and escaped the fate of the other researchers in Amestris?"
Deidara blinked. Understanding dawned; he wasn't a stupid person by any means, if impulsive and short-sighted, and he could certainly put two and two together. "Ah. That's what you're doing, eh?"
"Cleaning up unneccesary problems is part of my work," Kimblee said. "I'd best put the oppertunity to good use."
"Hold on a sec', I'll go grab it." Deidara walked to the wall and removed a stone from the wall, revealed a small and narrow opening surronding by what look like toothmarks. His back to Kimblee, Deidara removed a glove and put a hand on the wall, with a disgustingly wet sound, like a mouth biting down and enthusiastically slurping. Some sort of security system deactivated itself and a door appeared in the wall with a sound like a muffled scream. It wasn't a sound effect. "Hmn, Lara Noddikins is getting weary," Deidara said. "She's approaching the culmantion of my project for her..."
"Turn up the voltage, record the screams and sell it as a novelty doorbell ring to morbid people," Kimblee suggested. "No one will realize how authentic it is."
"Nah, Sabretooth tried that one before they caught on to him, you know?" Deidara disappeared down the stairs. Judging by the echoes, he went down fairly deep before he came back a few minutes later with a thick handwritten book. "Here you go."
"Secrets of the Blackest Arts by Jack Crowley," Kimblee mused while Deidara sealed the door again and replaced the stone that hid the interaction slot. "Crowley never was the most subtle. Encoding alchemic text in a book of black magic aimed at impressionable teenagers who think controversy makes them interesting? You're practically pandering to sterotypes now..."
"Sure you got time for it?" Deidara asked. "I heard even the Fullmetal runt took weeks to figure out the secrets of the Philosopher's Stone in the Crystal Alchemist's coded text, and he had access to the best books in decoding, cipher breaking and alchemy references in the world. And this place is no library. A shrine to specialized art, maybe, but not a library." Deidara sighed. "I ought to expand this place."
"You'd probably have more room if you got rid of that torture chamber," Kimblee said, opening the book and flipping to a suitable page.
"High risk performance art!" Deidara corrected.
"You should have stuck to freelance terrorism. You'd have proper job satisfaction like I do." Kimblee stopped at what would have looked like a violation of at least four laws of nature to a layman and to a practicing black magician as a inordinately sexual but hilarious misunderstanding of offering yourself to the Prime Evils via their corporeal forms of a confused goat, a snake and someone's very surprised cousin (and to an Lawful Good angel that erred on the side of Law, it would have been a reasonable argument towards incinerating humans that were creative in all the horribly horribly wrong ways; angels are a lot more badass than popular culture lends people to believe and this infuriates them greatly), but to Kimblee, after the initial moment of wanting to vomit he turned the book sideways (thanks to some advice from small arrows pointing that way along the page) and saw that the horrible picture now resembled an equation rendered in graphic form. Very graphic. Kimblee decided that Crowley was going to suffer for this. "And Deidara? I suppose you remember that we are required to submit our...important discoveries to our esteemed commander?"
"The great leader? Sure, but usually we have to get it thrown over to Hojo or Shou Tucker. Tch, I hate those guys! Creepy."
Kimblee chose not to acknowledge the hypocrisy in that statement. "Then you know that when we're sent on missions, pernitent information is given to us or made available should we choose to ask for it."
"Yes. What's your point?"
"Crowley had his research funded, not just by embezzling funds from various organizations he weaseled into, borrowing grant money from some of the lazier local organizations and offering his services to the highest bidder, but he also got the lion-turtle's share of his money from Research, Develoupment and Ill-Advised Exploitation."
"'Lion-turtle's share'?"
"I've spent too much time around Azula, it rubs off."
It wasn't even an hour! Kevin said.
"Yes," Kimblee said. "And that was quite enough for a very...very long time."
"Who are you talking to?" Deidara asked.
"Voices in my head!"
"Right, sorry. Yeah. So what's your point?"
"I already have the relevant information for understanding this," Kimblee said plainly. "I've been planning something similar to what I intend to do for a while, but the oppertunity never came up. Now, though, I'd be a fool to waste this oppertunity."
"And what are you going to do?" Deidara asked. Kimblee told him. "...Wow. If I wasn't impressed by your audacity, I'd almost be offended. And even then it'd be tempered by the thought of the art of such an undertaking."
"I may have to dedicate this symphony to you and Crowley," Kimblee remarked. "You have been so helpful. Er, not in the sense of implicating you two. Do try to stay out of the damage zone, will you?"
Deidara looked disappointed that he wouldn't be able to join in. "Hmn, yeah, might be better than spoiling our great leader's plans, yeah?"
"Indeed." Kimblee frowned as he pursued the book, applying Crowley's reports of how his book had been coded and the proper way to look at it, along with sincere apologies for the nature of the book's coarseness. "Oh my."
"Yeah?"
"Two things. One...when next Crowley and I meet, we are going to have serious words on appropiate ways to encode alchemic research. This is just...grotesque. Two, may I be lended some paper and such? I may need an on-the-spot reference when I get to Fosters."
"Sure thing, yeah." Deidara brought him some paper and a pencil, and Kimblee quickly got to work breaking the code relating to a very specific form of biological transmutation. It was a shame Wuya didn't know about his precise plans, because she would have gloated to Azula about paying more attention to her ramblings, because she'd been right to mention the ultimate alchemic amplifier and the means of it's creation. Occasionally, Kimblee jotted something down on the paper.
"I don't suppose you know anything about somebody named Jarod, do you?" Kimblee asked eventually.
"I've heard rumors," Deidara said darkly. "Nasty ones. Some kind of vigilante that haunts the First and Underdistricts. Our kind of people do stuff? He shows up and makes them suffer in ironic tortures. You hear of Delores Umbridge? She was running some kind of a racket kidnapping nonhuman kids to sell to morally ambiguous mad scientists for experiments. And then he found her. No one's heard from her since, though I've heard rumors that she escaped from the Vault a few weeks ago and wound up bossing around the remnants of the last big Mech War halfway around the continent."
"Ah." Kimblee let the subject drop and went back to work decoding Crowley's text. It was slow work, mainly due to Kimblee reluctance to acknowledge the horrific subject matter of the book itself, but it was going much faster than if he had to decode it without the ciper Crowley had given.
In the meantime, Ghostfreak was shielding Kevin's mind from comprehending anything Kimblee was looking at or thinking of. What are you getting so worked over? Kevin complained. Weren't you telling me what this Make-Out Paradise thing is? What's so bad about what Kimblee's reading?
Believe me, some things are not meant to be known, Ghostfreak said flatly. And this is several of them. I must shield your mind! YOU DO NOT WANT IT OTHERWISE! Or do you dislike sleeping without nightmares?
...My body's been stolen from me, I'm sharing headspace with a sociopathic complete monster with no comprehension of human emotion and you-
You wound me, Ghostfreak said blandly.
-A body that's been transformed into a horrific monster for way too long and tortured into biological insanity and I'm probably going to be the vehicle of mass-murder on a scale that sickens even me, Kevin finished. My life IS a nightmare.
...Even so, there are some things that can make it even worse. To make his point, Ghostfreak mentally allowed some of the emotional resonance of the horrors Kimblee was looking at to leek into Kevin's consciousness. The resulting scream was going to give Kimblee nightmares. Though he was sick and twisted and would probably find them quite pleasurable. You see? Ghostfreak said brightly.
I want my mommy...I want my mommy... Kevin whisperd, mind shrinking to a vauge scrap of consciousness edging that fine line between not-quite-sanity and true madness, getting ever closer to dropping straight down.
You can't, on account of her being dead. Kevin didn't say anything. Hmn, I appear to have broken him. Ah, well.
Kimblee ignored this, decoding the whole time and putting down something on the piece of paper. A ordinary person would think of it as a lot of circles on it. An alchemist would have noticed that it was an circle with an octogram, circles where both met.
An alchemist who knew exactly what that precise circle did would have a good reason to run away and never, ever look back.
...
And that's my shortest chapter ever in recent years! I have thus develouped the idea to make shorter chapters by writing big ones normally, cutting them in half and posting them as seperate chapters. Should I continue to do this so you guys get more frequent updates, or do you prefer the big chunks of chapters?
Anyway...just what will our heroes and associated company do? What's Kimblee up to? And will all the vaugely mentioned villains, past events and references ever get some proper explaination!
Well, next chapters gonna be chock-full of exposition, so I figure..yeah. You'll get some explanations and stuff.