When Solf Kimblee was called in to eliminate Ishvalans in the war, he excpected to cause a lot of destruction, he expected them to fight back and he expected people would fear him. The non-alchemists anyway.
What he didn't expect was to meet a non...
The day had been filled with agonized and fearful screams, they continued to echo even now, in the dead of night. The yellow sand had become brown as the darkness covered it and blood soaked it. This is the way it was for the last seven years, she hunted the Ishvalans down and ended them quickly, holding no ill will towards them, she didn't wish them to die slowly. She slit their throat and laid them down on the ground, covering their faces with any cloth she could find. Those around her were confused by her actions but had no need to stop her and let her do what she pleased. She heard news of State Alchemists arriving the next day, excitement filling her and making it hard to sleep. When she woke up, her commanding officer directed his camp to the Mess Hall, where new people had seated themselves. She was told to sit wherever and the meeting would begin shortly. Immediately, she was drawn to the one man who was isolated, for reasons she couldn't know by first appearances, and she chose to make her way over, but her officer's hand rested on her shoulder. "Not there, he's dangerous."
"Well so am I." He shrugged and let the woman walk. She plopped herself down in front of the man with long hair pulled into a ponytail, some loose strands hanging in his face, and cold blue eyes. The man's left brow raised in surprise but neither of them said anything, their attention now on King Bradley's men who delievered the new order. The woman watched but didn't listen, she understood the message clear enough; State Alchemists were here to bring the war to an end by whatever means necessary. At the end, they were allowed breakfast but neither the woman nor her new friend moved. "What's your area?" She asked. "Explosions, you're not an alchemist, so what's your area?" She pulled out and showed the interested man her weapon.
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"Small but efficient." The stranger studied the woman and locked eyes with her. Nothing different happened and it surprised him. Normally, when he did this, the other person would shrink under his gaze, look somewhere else, or show a sign of fear. This woman met and held his gaze, her pupils somewhat dilated. "You're not afraid." He pointed out. "I'm adaptable." That got her a laugh and an introduction. "Solf Kimblee." He held his hand out. "Kolene Magenta." She glanced at the tattoo on his right palm and paid it no mind, shaking his hand with a firm grasp.
They got their food and ate it quickly before they left to their assigned places. Kolene's group was assigned a section of Ishval and she waved to Kimblee before taking off. Kimblee followed from a distance and watched Magenta kill swiftly and silently, he did of course note how kindly she treated them before she took their life. He could easily make an assumption about her, and he had a hunch he was correct; he was very rarely wrong about these things. She understood her job and carried it out in a way that wouldn't prolong the agony of her "victims" and she didn't seem to hold any malice towards anyone. Perhaps when she said she was adaptable, Magenta meant she could adjust her methods to suit the situation. Kimblee continued to watch the young woman until she froze, her back turned to him, and she used a rag to wipe the blood off her knife before pocketing it. Her behavior odd, Kimblee snuck closer, hiding himself among the buildings, watching Magenta move in a trance like state, away from her designated sector.
Not one to blow the whistle on anyone, he still followed. Magenta finally stopped at the edge of a bowl made in the desert ground. She let out an excited giggle and her whole body seemed to vibrate, that's when he let himself be known. "What's got you so happy?" She didn't even look at him. "A storm, a storm's coming! Can't you feel it? It'll be here tonight, I hope you don't miss it." She hugged herself in an effort to contain her happiness. "What kind of storm?" He stepped up beside her, hands in pockets, and he gazed outward. Suddenly he felt it deep in the core of his body. He could feel the rumbling of thunder before it showed up, he could feel his clothes fluttering in the wind before it arrived, the cold of a rainstorm without the water. He grinned, the sky was clear and blue, the yellow sand still stained with the last of the lives of the Ishvalans, a few fluffy white cloud dotted the sky, he felt as if he could understand Magenta perfectly. "Kimblee?" "Hm?" "Are you gonna sit through this with me? Watch the storm blow right through here?"
"You want me to sit through a storm with you. Are you scared? You need a hand to hold?" His tone was teasing, not quite mocking, but he got an honest answer. "Nope, not scared of storms. I love how they make my body react. If you must know, I'm terrified of worms." He chuckled. "I'll consider it. We should get back, we're almost at the border." Magenta allowed herself to be guided back to base. That night, while everyone was scampering and scrambling like ants whose home had been flooded, the soldiers ducked for cover from the sudden storm. The sky itself cracked open and unleashed an unholy downpour of rain and wind, lightning struck the ground, the buildings, and a few unlucky Ishvalan survivors. As Kimblee looked around, trying to see anything in the pitch black darkness, he couldn't find the girl he promised to spend the storm with. The wind howled and roared like an animal posessed, thunder rumbled and stopped the hearts of those nearest the rage of nature. His hair was starting to come loose from the ponytail he tried, in vain, to keep intact, the wind picked up sand and swirled it around them, into his eyes as if the ground itself were mocking him.
His clothes, soaked to the threads, stuck to his pale body, someone tried to grab him, direct him to shelter, but he jerked free and marched on, eyes searching every direction. A bolt of lightning lit up the night sky and he saw the woman in mind, up on a cliff, arms wide and out to her sides, holding something in her right hand. Kimblee chuckled and climbed up to join Magenta, her cackling and glee-filled dancing only encouraging his short journey. "Kimblee! You made it! I was starting to get worried!" They had to shout to get their words to the others' ears and the storm moved closer until they stood in the eye of it. A tree was struck by the next arc of energy and broke at the trunk, collapsing mere feet from the pair of violence driven madmen. Kimblee grinned at the woman before him, three inches shorter, white hair blowing every direction until she grasped at it and tangled her fingers in it, red eyes wide, pupils once again dilated, black had swallowed red, and a maniacal grin plastered to her thin lips. In the heat of the moment when their eyes connected, he could hear her heartbeat thumping wildly, yet steady, beneath her breast and feel her steady breathing.
Kimblee grabbed her by the arms and pulled her flush against his front, they were nose to nose as he leaned down, hands now on her small waist, her hands finding their way up his arms and behind his neck. Kimblee realized why her heartbeat was so frantic, the rage of the storm caused her to be aroused to the point of getting drunk from it. "Kimblee." He smiled at her and closed the gap between their lips, the kiss was needy and aggressive, Magenta's hands grabbing at Kimblee's shirt, her nails pressing into the fabric and her body thrumming. She lifted her left leg and wrapped it around Kimblee's thigh in an attempt to keep the man close to her and the thunder seemed deathly loud. Magenta moaned shamelessly and allowed her head to fall back, Kimblee took the chance to bite down on the tender flesh of the throat that had been so graciously presented to him. As suddenly as the thunder came, it was gone, taking the storm with it. Magenta's body shook with an unsatisfied urge left in the wake of the danger.
