Solf J Kimblee (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
explosivecombat) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
derailing2016-01-03 02:08 am
explosivecombat) wrote in derailing2016-01-03 02:08 am
for hashtagafreakingghost
[They were there, and then they were everywhere.
Explosive alchemy was never anything that was pretty or nice, and if anything it tended to leave marks in ways that weren't easily removable. Damage to the rooms, damage to the bodies, damage to white suits that had just been cleaned, and really all of it means about the same to him - namely, it's disgusting and he supposes it's a shame.
It'd been the usual blue alchemic energy from his arrays this time, at least; he didn't use the stones, because using those also leaves marks and they aren't the sort that really can be removed - the sort of thing that drives him manic and mad and irrational, the sort of thing that leads to dead bodies in Ishval that people only care about because they're wearing the blue uniforms and medals and gold braid that imply high brass, the sort that leads to seven years alone in the darkness and maybe all of it is deserved because the entire thing is more than a bit hypocritical.
He hasn't used the stones much since Ishval. And that's also a shame, but it keeps him centered.
But for now he's alone again and that suits him fine; it's not quite darkness but it's all enclosed and dimly-lit, and god only knows where Envy went (perhaps quite literally God only knows, and that's ironic, isn't it?) and Pride's been dead for days. He'll make his rounds, though, stopping by the podiums of the dead to see what's left of them; he's always made a habit of looking at the corpses, of studying them, of making sure he remembers, because he'd meant what he'd said in telling Discerning that those who kill don't deserve to forget.
He'll handle the bodies later. Somehow.
For now there are glass bottles to collect and he takes a good amount of pleasure in charging them up and watching them break, the noise sharp and loud and the small explosions sending shards at him - they're not very large and they mostly hit his clothes, but some of them catch his face and they scratch him up and that's...good, in a way, the sting actually makes him come down a little and actually kind of feel something that isn't manic and cold and numb, and he appreciates it a bit more than he probably should.
He leaves a few alone and he brings them with him when he leaves; maybe there are some that he'll want to bring back later, some he'll want to talk to. Volatile is one. Geotic. Ascending, maybe. For a while he considers them, but they're probably not...amenable right now.
He doesn't think the one he settles on will be amenable, either, but less likely to assault him is generally a good trait to have in people that you jerk back from the afterlife.
It doesn't take him long to lose his coat and find a new one from his room behind the walls, one that isn't flecked with...unpleasant things (less for her sake and more because he really does hate being dirty) and before long he's back upstairs, in that cold room serving as the morgue for now (he used to sit in this room sometimes when he was far younger, it was used for alchemical research and as a teenager he'd always loved reading the theories others had drafted before he invariably got bored with them and went off to focus on his own work); it's easy enough to find the slot that corresponds with her corpse, and activating everything isn't really a problem given how practiced at everything he is. He'd done this to Lisbeth multiple times, after all.
It's not Lisbeth he's doing this to now, however.
Wake up, Discerning. It's been a while.]
Explosive alchemy was never anything that was pretty or nice, and if anything it tended to leave marks in ways that weren't easily removable. Damage to the rooms, damage to the bodies, damage to white suits that had just been cleaned, and really all of it means about the same to him - namely, it's disgusting and he supposes it's a shame.
It'd been the usual blue alchemic energy from his arrays this time, at least; he didn't use the stones, because using those also leaves marks and they aren't the sort that really can be removed - the sort of thing that drives him manic and mad and irrational, the sort of thing that leads to dead bodies in Ishval that people only care about because they're wearing the blue uniforms and medals and gold braid that imply high brass, the sort that leads to seven years alone in the darkness and maybe all of it is deserved because the entire thing is more than a bit hypocritical.
He hasn't used the stones much since Ishval. And that's also a shame, but it keeps him centered.
But for now he's alone again and that suits him fine; it's not quite darkness but it's all enclosed and dimly-lit, and god only knows where Envy went (perhaps quite literally God only knows, and that's ironic, isn't it?) and Pride's been dead for days. He'll make his rounds, though, stopping by the podiums of the dead to see what's left of them; he's always made a habit of looking at the corpses, of studying them, of making sure he remembers, because he'd meant what he'd said in telling Discerning that those who kill don't deserve to forget.
He'll handle the bodies later. Somehow.
For now there are glass bottles to collect and he takes a good amount of pleasure in charging them up and watching them break, the noise sharp and loud and the small explosions sending shards at him - they're not very large and they mostly hit his clothes, but some of them catch his face and they scratch him up and that's...good, in a way, the sting actually makes him come down a little and actually kind of feel something that isn't manic and cold and numb, and he appreciates it a bit more than he probably should.
He leaves a few alone and he brings them with him when he leaves; maybe there are some that he'll want to bring back later, some he'll want to talk to. Volatile is one. Geotic. Ascending, maybe. For a while he considers them, but they're probably not...amenable right now.
He doesn't think the one he settles on will be amenable, either, but less likely to assault him is generally a good trait to have in people that you jerk back from the afterlife.
It doesn't take him long to lose his coat and find a new one from his room behind the walls, one that isn't flecked with...unpleasant things (less for her sake and more because he really does hate being dirty) and before long he's back upstairs, in that cold room serving as the morgue for now (he used to sit in this room sometimes when he was far younger, it was used for alchemical research and as a teenager he'd always loved reading the theories others had drafted before he invariably got bored with them and went off to focus on his own work); it's easy enough to find the slot that corresponds with her corpse, and activating everything isn't really a problem given how practiced at everything he is. He'd done this to Lisbeth multiple times, after all.
It's not Lisbeth he's doing this to now, however.
Wake up, Discerning. It's been a while.]
no subject
Usually, a small part of her likes being right, even in the most horrible of situations, because it means she understands something, and when she can find some semblance of sense in the world, it's... What, comforting? Something like that. Honestly, she just knows when everything's crashing around her, knowledge, that's what gives her direction.
There is no direction this time, though. Especially not when it's all a second too late, too late to do anything, too late to react. Too late to do anything but scream and watch as their only hope (Oh, God, Katsuki, Susan) splatters across the walls and then there's just...nothing.
Nothing there.
The group of them are horrified, trying to regroup. Angry, despondent, devastated. At themselves, at each other, at the awakening ghosts. Thirty of them, forever trapped here, and Ashley just sits leans against her podium in shock and cries among the arguing and screaming. There's no way to keep anyone together now. No hope, no...
...and then she's not there. She's so very far from there.
On the ice-cold floor, she shoots up with a cough and a sputter, blinking wildly. (Maybe it's the state you're in before reviving that causes the disorientation Lisbeth spoke of, she'll come to wonder.) A hand finds her forehead, pushes her beanie up to feel...something, but not a hole so you know, that's nice. Where is this? Why is she here? How, because she's very much not...
Breath catches in her throat, as if something's squeezing her throat.]
Oh. Oh m-my God.
[She's alive. And there's only one person who could've done that.]
No. Nononono-
[And. He's standing right behind her, isn't he?]
no subject
He seems calm enough, given that he just witnessed what is, for all intents and purposes, a miracle - but then, he's seen several miracles in his time, and he's performed a few himself. Usually horrible and certainly never anything so benign, granted; just the same, destroying a city in one hit is a miraculous act, at least in that it literally shouldn't be possible.
He's spent the past five years getting very, very used to the impossible.
But this particular miracle seems to have his interest for now, even if her reaction to it isn't particularly desirable.]
That's an interesting reaction, given that you were just brought back for a second chance at things.
[His words are quiet, because that's just how he is - he's surprisingly soft-spoken, really, when he doesn't have the intercom amplifying everything he says. His tone is even, cordial; as though this is nothing to be concerned about.
It's probably something to be concerned about.]
no subject
Well, it's probably not flattering that she reacts as if he's a damn wendigo and goes Don't Move entirely, just like when she'd felt his presence in that room...
She doesn't even turn around to look at him yet. It's far too instinctual to just stay still.]
S- second...chance?
[All her bravado and screaming and rage, it's dried up. Ashley's a very fearful creature, see. Very, very fearful indeed.]
Why... What are you...going to do with me?
no subject
[And while he says it easily there's an implicit acknowledgement there - that the idea that he has plans is something to be afraid of, from most people's perspective and perhaps particularly from hers.]
I'm not interested in harming you, however, if that's the specific concern.
no subject
[A plan is definitely not something she likes...but having no plans is a little scarier, honestly. She brings herself to turn and...well, at least he changed his clothes. No blood-splatter, that's nice. That...particularly unpleasant look on his face (read: his face) doesn't win any favors, though, and just the sight of it sends her skin shivering with anxiety.]
You-- y-you- so why d-did you-- why did you--?
[...Yeah, it's no wonder she only stuck to letters. Words aren't doing so good right now.]
no subject
[His voice is calm, but it's not a request; it isn't an order, either, mind, just somewhere inbetween.]
I imagine I have a lot to answer for; you have my apologies, but you'll need to be a bit more specific with me.
no subject
She'll be- well not fine, probably never fine but ha, a little less fucked up or freaked out. She's just kind of trembling for a minute, but- she does get out one shaky question.]
Why am I here...?
no subject
Because I wanted you to be.
[It's honest, at least, if unsettlingly straightforward in a way that he usually is not.]
I wanted to speak to you in person. It's a bit of a shame that we never got the opportunity.
[And his gaze shifts a little as he says it, glancing off somewhere to the side, aimed a bit high; he's not looking at anything in particular, it's just something to do with himself, to keep himself from just staring.
It's something that he's in the habit of doing, staring like that, but he still remembers enough about dealing with people to know that that's rude at best.]
Needless to say, we have time now. My apologies again for it being so abrupt.
no subject
But then. Being constantly on edge isn't exactly a favorable situation, is it?]
O-oh.
[One of those "everything you say probably influences your chances of survival" moments. She hiccups and realizes she's crying. ...Well, considering the state of quite a lot of her letters, he's likely aware that she just does that sometimes, hm?]
A-and...what'll happen to me...when you're done?
[She rather resembles a frightened animal, huddled there on the ground, swallowed up by that huge coat (thank God she at least has that), eyes huge and...well, she's trying to keep them from pleading, because she assumes he doesn't quite like that.
Having some sense of self-awareness is good; what it brings her is the knowledge that she is not one of those people who can handle the aforementioned high-stress, talk-your-way-out-of-death scenarios.]
no subject
[And that...is not at all helping either, most likely, but it's blunt enough and it's something to say besides.]
Don't let it worry you too much for now. I understand that you can't simply shut things like that off, mind, but there's no sense in panicking now. What matters is that you're here, and it's because I decided to render you such, and it would be a little pointless to renege on that decision now.
no subject
Well, I-I hope it's obvious that I'm not really in the mood for c-conversation. [She tries to keep her voice even but there's a little bite in it.] Being- all this will kind of do that to a person.
no subject
[And that's about all there is to say at the moment, isn't there; it's a little anticlimactic, but.]
It's probably for the best that we don't stay here, however; this room hardly conducive to anything, conversation or otherwise.
no subject
[It's setting in just where she is. And the fact that her legs are very much not working.]
Uh... What if I- d-don't want to go anywhere with you? [She's trying to sound brave, bless her.]
no subject
[It's not a threat, but damn is it a valid question.]
no subject
...Nothing. I don't know what to do at all.
no subject
[He shrugs a little, though, and when he turns to move he isn't approaching her, but rather the door.]
Do as you will, however; I've no real interest in forcing you.
no subject
Then- wait.
[She doesn't want to be in this cold, constricting place.]
Just...give me a minute, okay?
[She forces herself to stand, locking her knees so she doesn't just collapse from fear. Held captive by a murderer (presumed only in her previous experiences) who isn't restraining her is a completely new event for her, and she frankly has no idea if fight, flight, or freeze will win out in the end, after all.]
no subject
As long as you need, Miss Williams.
no subject
...Katsuki was right. "Observant" really is fitting.
[...Okay, one comeback.
Though upon remember that Katsuki is. Well, her gaze hadn't lingered on his body, but it wasn't pretty- it draws the fire from her quickly.]
no subject
[There's nothing self-deprecating about the statement, either; he isn't looking for her to disagree with him in the least. He knows better than most what he's done, after all, and if nothing else he's always been partial to responsibility for one's actions.
To put it gently.]
no subject
She decides against it, to say the least.]
Well, go on. L-lead the way to...wherever you're taking me.
no subject
It's been a while since you've seen the outdoors at all. Would you like to?
no subject
She bites her lip and slowly stands, keeping her arms drawn around herself.]
Outside? Really? I... [She could run. ...No one for miles, probably. She could do a lot of things.] ...yes. I wouldn't mind it.