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31_days2010-08-04 04:43 pm
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2010-08-04 04:43 pm
[Aug. 4] [Fullmetal Alchemist] Lights Out
Title: Lights Out
Day/Theme: Aug. 4, 2010 "one day here and the next day gone"
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Character/Pairing: Kimblee and various underlings of his during the war
Rating: PG-13
Major Kimblee was not well-liked by his subordinates. But that didn't bother him, because he tended not to care much about them either. After the abrupt (and bloody) death of the previously highest-ranking member of the unit, Lieutenant Jenny Hart, being the highest-ranked person involved after Kimblee himself, was handed the less-than-desirable position of unofficial go-between, bridging the gap between the unpleasant alchemist and the ordinary soldiers under his command.
It was not an honor. Frankly, it was often a terrible burden, particularly in the beginning, but gradually the young woman grew to accept it, just as she had been forced to accept all the other less savory duties war imposed on a soldier. However, she got the feeling (and Major Kimblee also took an opportunity to tell her as much) that people could adapt to any situation given the circumstances. Major Kimblee often spoke of the ability of humans to adapt- or, to put it in his favored words, "to evolve."
She made it her duty to try and discipline the others before the major became aware of their problems and difficulties. No one resented this, because as frustrating as it could be to find oneself faced with Lt. Hart's scolding, ultimately they knew that whatever Major Kimblee had to say would be far worse. And Hart was glad to be generally able to handle all minor personnel issues and ills on her own. Because she was efficient, the major came to like her.
Private Birk's smoking habit was one problem she was unable to deal with effectively. The event would haunt her long after its sudden, invisible conclusion had come and gone.
Private Bill Birk was a dedicated smoker. There wasn't really anything special about that. The tedium of life on the Ishvalan front had made a smoker of many a man who wouldn't care to touch the stuff back home. Birk, however, did not only smoke back at camp. Anywhere he got a chance he would light up. It was a serious addiction, but Hart was hard-pressed to argue him out of it when he put it this way: "I might die any day out here. Gotta get some pleasure where I can, right?"
Personally, Hart could tolerate it. It was a bit distracting, but it didn't seriously bother her. The other members of the unit basically appeared to feel the same. Except for the one member who mattered: Major Kimblee.
"Birk," the major snarled, making "Birk" sound less like a name and more like a curse, "Do you need a light?"
Everyone took a step away from the major when he spoke like this. Everyone knew what kind of threat his "light" was.
And when confronted straight up by his commanding officer, Birk would apologize and put away his cigarette. There were probably practical reasons behind this prohibition as well, but Major Kimblee just didn't like smoking. In the middle of a sea of blood, with corpses as the driftwood, in a burned out city in a country bled dry, Major Solf J. Kimblee complained of how "dirty" smoking was.
Everyone who served under Kimblee knew he was crazy. How crazy was the thing they concerned themselves with instead.
Sometimes at night Lieutenant Hart would watch the swaying tips of lit cigarettes in the dark and think of the fireflies that would swarm around the river around this time of year back in her hometown. They were from different regions (he was from the south, she from the east), but Major Kimblee claimed to come from a sleepy town of that sort of his own.
If it was away from the designated inner circles of the camp, Hart would identify that tiny orange spark as Bill Birk. She wondered who was waiting back home for Birk. What did he dream of? Why couldn't he compromise for the sake of peace with their volatile commanding officer? When the major was upset it put them all at risk.
She could see Birk out there one night, wandering dangerously near the edge of the camp. The next day when they gathered together for duty, he was absent. "Where's Birk?" she asked, hoping that either he would show up or some valid excuse would be presented to her before Major Kimblee arrived and worked himself into an ill mood over the matter.
All she received was a chorus of was "Haven't seen him since dinner"s and "Don't know"s.
"Birk," she gritted her teeth and looked around. His name crept from her lips sounding suspiciously close to the way Major Kimblee said it.
The major surprised them all by not asking about Birk. They set out as though nothing were unusual afoot this day. Inevitably, their curiosity could not be contained and Lt. Hart stepped forward as their spokesperson at what seemed like an appropriately quiet moment. "Major," she saluted, "Because you haven't inquired, I assume you have news about the whereabouts of Private Birk?"
"Birk," Kimblee cursed. He tapped his chin thoughtfully, as though it were something that had occurred some time ago and he couldn't immediately recall the outcome. "Oh. That's right. An enemy sniper picked him off last night. They think he was pinpointed by the light from his cigarette."
Hart frowned. How jarring. But that was just how things were in Ishval. "I see, sir. I'll inform the others." Bill Birk...if only he had listened.
Hart retreated to pass the news along to the others and Kimblee, thinking of the beautifully clean shot that had finished off the stinky yellow-toothed pest, smiled.
Day/Theme: Aug. 4, 2010 "one day here and the next day gone"
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Character/Pairing: Kimblee and various underlings of his during the war
Rating: PG-13
Major Kimblee was not well-liked by his subordinates. But that didn't bother him, because he tended not to care much about them either. After the abrupt (and bloody) death of the previously highest-ranking member of the unit, Lieutenant Jenny Hart, being the highest-ranked person involved after Kimblee himself, was handed the less-than-desirable position of unofficial go-between, bridging the gap between the unpleasant alchemist and the ordinary soldiers under his command.
It was not an honor. Frankly, it was often a terrible burden, particularly in the beginning, but gradually the young woman grew to accept it, just as she had been forced to accept all the other less savory duties war imposed on a soldier. However, she got the feeling (and Major Kimblee also took an opportunity to tell her as much) that people could adapt to any situation given the circumstances. Major Kimblee often spoke of the ability of humans to adapt- or, to put it in his favored words, "to evolve."
She made it her duty to try and discipline the others before the major became aware of their problems and difficulties. No one resented this, because as frustrating as it could be to find oneself faced with Lt. Hart's scolding, ultimately they knew that whatever Major Kimblee had to say would be far worse. And Hart was glad to be generally able to handle all minor personnel issues and ills on her own. Because she was efficient, the major came to like her.
Private Birk's smoking habit was one problem she was unable to deal with effectively. The event would haunt her long after its sudden, invisible conclusion had come and gone.
Private Bill Birk was a dedicated smoker. There wasn't really anything special about that. The tedium of life on the Ishvalan front had made a smoker of many a man who wouldn't care to touch the stuff back home. Birk, however, did not only smoke back at camp. Anywhere he got a chance he would light up. It was a serious addiction, but Hart was hard-pressed to argue him out of it when he put it this way: "I might die any day out here. Gotta get some pleasure where I can, right?"
Personally, Hart could tolerate it. It was a bit distracting, but it didn't seriously bother her. The other members of the unit basically appeared to feel the same. Except for the one member who mattered: Major Kimblee.
"Birk," the major snarled, making "Birk" sound less like a name and more like a curse, "Do you need a light?"
Everyone took a step away from the major when he spoke like this. Everyone knew what kind of threat his "light" was.
And when confronted straight up by his commanding officer, Birk would apologize and put away his cigarette. There were probably practical reasons behind this prohibition as well, but Major Kimblee just didn't like smoking. In the middle of a sea of blood, with corpses as the driftwood, in a burned out city in a country bled dry, Major Solf J. Kimblee complained of how "dirty" smoking was.
Everyone who served under Kimblee knew he was crazy. How crazy was the thing they concerned themselves with instead.
Sometimes at night Lieutenant Hart would watch the swaying tips of lit cigarettes in the dark and think of the fireflies that would swarm around the river around this time of year back in her hometown. They were from different regions (he was from the south, she from the east), but Major Kimblee claimed to come from a sleepy town of that sort of his own.
If it was away from the designated inner circles of the camp, Hart would identify that tiny orange spark as Bill Birk. She wondered who was waiting back home for Birk. What did he dream of? Why couldn't he compromise for the sake of peace with their volatile commanding officer? When the major was upset it put them all at risk.
She could see Birk out there one night, wandering dangerously near the edge of the camp. The next day when they gathered together for duty, he was absent. "Where's Birk?" she asked, hoping that either he would show up or some valid excuse would be presented to her before Major Kimblee arrived and worked himself into an ill mood over the matter.
All she received was a chorus of was "Haven't seen him since dinner"s and "Don't know"s.
"Birk," she gritted her teeth and looked around. His name crept from her lips sounding suspiciously close to the way Major Kimblee said it.
The major surprised them all by not asking about Birk. They set out as though nothing were unusual afoot this day. Inevitably, their curiosity could not be contained and Lt. Hart stepped forward as their spokesperson at what seemed like an appropriately quiet moment. "Major," she saluted, "Because you haven't inquired, I assume you have news about the whereabouts of Private Birk?"
"Birk," Kimblee cursed. He tapped his chin thoughtfully, as though it were something that had occurred some time ago and he couldn't immediately recall the outcome. "Oh. That's right. An enemy sniper picked him off last night. They think he was pinpointed by the light from his cigarette."
Hart frowned. How jarring. But that was just how things were in Ishval. "I see, sir. I'll inform the others." Bill Birk...if only he had listened.
Hart retreated to pass the news along to the others and Kimblee, thinking of the beautifully clean shot that had finished off the stinky yellow-toothed pest, smiled.