c r i m s o n

But there are worse things than death, and Kimblee knows how to inflict all of them. Of that, he is also certain. Even so, Ed will push through, whatever it takes. Without him, Hawkeye will be left at the utter mercy of this madman. He cannot give up… even if, time after time after humiliating time, he gives in.

As Kimblee circles to his right, crooning sadism and trailing the tip of scalpel blade across epidermis, Ed steels himself as best he knows how. Hell, he could practically make an art out of it at this point. Hiding the pain, making Kimblee work hard to see him writhe. It’s the only defense, the only revenge he has left at his disposal. …And even that is slipping away from him as the numbness of acceptance sets in. Every time Kimblee hurts him or Hawkeye, it’s another time no one comes to save them. Maybe… no one is coming. Not even Mustang.

For the first instant, Edward doesn’t know what to think when he hears the faint squeak of a screw being unfastened. But then the possibilities catch up with his brain, and he bites down on this inside of his mouth with caged indignation. Is Kimblee going to take his arm away? And with it, his easiest means of harnessing alchemy? (Not that he’s used it much these days: all but chained to a desk, sorting meaningless papers.)

He allows a faint hum to vibrate in his throat, to the tune of a lullaby, as if to calm the other. But of course, that isn’t his TRUE intention. For now, it’d only serve as a distraction as, one by one, he dismantled the others prosthetic limb.

❛ Perhaps...you’ll have to have your mechanic come and tend to your repairs. You know...mechanics is hardly my area of expertise, but for  y o u, Edward...I can try...❜  

He hums menacingly, knowing the other wasn’t buying any of his words. That is, if he was still LISTENING to him at all. The look on Edward’s face told him he was far too concerned with his own FEAR and ANXIETY to bother listening to what Kimblee has to say.

One by one he unscrews the bolts on the outside, collecting them all in a little cup. Then he sets his screwdriver down and opts for a set of pliers instead. Now was the FUN part...

He moved to Edwards fingertips, gripping the edge of one and finding the wire where the nerves in his fingertips connected to the palm of his hand. With a sick grin plastered to his face, he let the pliers cut right through them, allowing his pinky finger to fall helplessly to the floor.

He knows that look in Kimblee’s eyes, and it never leads to anything good. Even so, it does seem silly of him — childish — to have worked his heart rate and breathing up so much as to trigger a comment from Crimson. Panicking won’t help him when the moment comes, but the mention of medication (no doubt delivered via one of Ed’s rational-or-otherwise fears of prickly metal) certainly does no good in calming him.

❛ I see you’re learning your PLACE,  E d w a r d.❜  

He hisses with all to much SATISFACTION. The FEAR in the other’s eyes was enough to elicit a small  h u m  of amusement as he taps the tip of the scalpel against the other’s chest.

❛ Don’t worry...if it’s any CONSOLATION to you, I can’t quite KILL you just yet...aha...❜  

Of course, he knew his SUBJECT would far prefer DEATH to the punishment he was about to endure. He knew if it meant protecting his BELOVED Elizabeth, he’d give his life in an instant. And thus, the statement is only meant to MOCK him, to demonstrate that, even his mere EXISTENCE was to be controlled by Kimblee.

Slowly, he drags the scalpel across the others chest, stepping around so he was on the side of his metallic limb. The blade digs in enough to scratch tiny white lines in his flesh, but not enough to draw blood.

❛ I’ll take your silence to mean...you’d like a demonstration? Ah, wonderful, then...❜  

He grinned darkly, bringing the pointed end of his blade to a single screw in the other’s armor. With a MEDICAL precision, he unscrew’s the first one at the very top, near his shoulder blade, then continues down the line, collecting the screws in the palm of his hand. He knew it wouldn’t hurt quite so much  Y E T, but he did have enough experience in the medical profession to understand that EVENTUALLY, he’d reach the point where metal met nerve endings...and            t h a t...that was the pain he wanted to induce for the other.

solfkimbleed:

“Are you afraid, Edward? Is that why you’re so concerned about who might come waltzing down here?” He lets a smile ease against his features, turning away to fidget with the tools left behind on the counter, blowing a thick layer of dust off of them. “It’s been quite awhile since anyone has been down here. Ah, aside from myself, of course.” he turns back with a scalpel in hand, though the absence of the necessary sanitizer wouldn’t stop him from cutting through the child’s flesh. “I use this area quite frequently, actually. In the event that my subordinates want to test me. Do you have any witty response to that, Edward? Perhaps if I cut out that tongue of yours, you’ll be less inclined to test my patience. Though, something tells me you’d find a way.”

[ ♙ ◎ ♙ ]

Afraid? Well, Ed can’t deny that he has goosebumps prickling down his human limbs. His wide eyes follow Kimblee’s hands, and what he sees does nothing to calm him. Crimson faces him with a dusty scalpel in one hand, the look on his face making it pretty damn clear that he has no intention of bothering with hygiene. A shifting on the bench where he sits probably gives away the extent of Edward’s unease at the prospects with which he is faced.

Kimblee has made threats to cut out his tongue before, and Ed can never be sure if this is the time he is actually serious. No doubt that exact uncertainty is part of the psychological tactic to intimidate him. All the same, rather than stoke the flames, Edward simply shakes his head — no, he doesn’t have a witty response, doesn’t have any intention of even thinking one up, at this point.

❛ A H...What’s the matter, EDWARD? Are you Suddenly at a LOSS FOR WORDS? ❜ 

CRAZED eyes glance over the others FRAGILE body. He took care to notice the rapid rise and fall of Edward’s chest. Lithe fingers reach out and are placed on where his heart might be, watching the others eyes carefully. He quite enjoyed the look of DESPERATION on his face.     O H, how his EMPLOYERS would react if they knew he was TAMPERING with their precious   s u b j e c t .

❛ You really ought to RELAX, Edward. You’re going to induce a panic attack. And I would HATE to have to  m e d i c a t e  you. ❜  

His lips curl upward into a CHILLING smirk, and he allows his hand to grip the hem of the others shirt. Slowly, he pulls it up, revealing the other’s bare flesh beneath. Again his hand moves to where his heart would be, all the while gripping the scalpel in his non-dominant hand.

He can hardly hear the words. Too much blood rushing past his ears. Too much volume in the beat of his heart. He was sure the other could hear it. How could he not? Although, as of right now, Scar considered it a sign of victory.

He was still alive. He was still here. And by God, he wasn’t going to let that change. Especially not for someone- Something- Like Kimblee. 

No mercy. No forgiveness. No chance of this man’s survival. 

And so, hand met ground and chaos erupted with the wayward shards of stone.

If there was benefit of his lithe figure, it was his ability to  move quickly. He darts the shards, though he doesn’t quite retaliate just yet. It was obvious the other was loosing his temper, and that was the goal, wasn’t it? Wear his enemy down, and  catch them while they’ve sacrificed control for anger...

“Nothing is ever that simple with you.” What motives the other man  has, he’s not entirely sure of, but no doubt, it is one with a SINISTER  heart. It is of a late hour and within the building remain only a few.  He isn’t surprised that Kimblee would choose to come now.

❛ O h, surely thats not true. There’s no need to act     so efficient for ME, Colonel. I don’t mind, really... ❜

As he speaks he steps closer, standing before where the other sat at his desk. He flashes him that sinister smirk, a hand reaching down to cover the files strewn across his desk.

“I trust that you understand the meaning of urgent.  If you can still find the time to sit there and smirk at  me for the entirety of our conversation, then you can’t  really claim to have any pressing matters, can you,  Kimblee?”

He picks at imaginary fluff on his sleeve. 

His eyes practically BURN in to the other, staring him down and  tracking his movements. He watches as the other picks at his sleeve, wondering if his presence was causing his NERVES to tighten.

Perhaps there was still a part of the HERO OF ISHVAL that still feared the crimson alchemist...