#theboilingalchemist

Hisses

Claude

Today was one of his more lucid days, which was nice for Kimbley as he was told he had a visitor. There was nothing more annoying than trying to be witty when you’re in a drug-induced partial coma.

Wrapped in his white jacket and accompanied by three burly orderlies (three today because they could tell his mind was quickening, and nothing is more terrifying than a psychopath who knows how to turn a phrase), he was led toward the chair positioned in front of the pane of glass that served as his barrier from the outside world.

There on the other side he found himself delighted to see a familiar face.

He chuckled softly—the orderly grabbed the back of his jacket at the disturbing sound—and he greeted his visitor, “Claude. Nice to know you heard the news and came to see me. Tell me, did you have to jump through hoops of fire, or did you simply flash your badge and say it was all about business?”

—

Greed

Two yellow pills. Three green. Five hundred milligrams. Seven-hundred fifty milligrams.

Thoughts disorganized, stomach churning—side effects include: difficulty focusing, nausea, possible death—last one only one in one million. Could be that one today.

Turned high functioning psychopath to low functioning slab of meat. Five pills. Brain cluttered. Too many thoughts. Focus dwindling.

Hungry. Thirsty. Side effects include: increased appetite, dry mouth, possible death.

Dying now might be a blessing from this mental wasteland. I miss being able to string together real words and—

Thought dismissed.

Orderly comes. Says visitation hours start. Need to see someone.

Sitting, standing, sitting again. Side effects include: muscle cramps, disorientation—

P o s s i b l e d e a t h.

Orderly tugs at the jacket. Bite mark in his hand. Next door’s a biter. Afraid the government’s reading thoughts and stealing organs while sleeping. Always struggling.

Too tired to do that.

The other side: a man. Familiar features, distinguished, handsome. Beautiful cheekbones. Perfect skull shape.

Back to sitting.

Side effects include: hallucinations, possible—

Say hello, Kimbley. You know this man don’t you? Come back from the grave to haunt you? After what you did? Remember?

Of course.

How had he gotten them both into this sort of situation again? It had been harmless enough to borrow Ed's name again for something as stupid as alchemy books, so how the hell was he supposed to know that the Elric brothers had a warrant out on their heads. 

And a death sentence.

Russell let himself be led to the cell with a sullen glower, unable to look at Fletcher. How was he supposed to even face him when he'd let his innocent little become involved in something like this; the guilt bore heavily on his shoulder, and though he wanted to curl up in a corner, let himself cry silently if only relieve the frustration and terror, to clutch Fletcher tight against him for what may have been the last time, he had to stay strong. He had no choice but to force a sort of bravery, if only for the sake of his beloved little brother.