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31_days2010-09-15 02:47 pm
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2010-09-15 02:47 pm
[Sept. 15] [Fullmetal Alchemist] If You Should Fall Into My Arms
Title: If You Should Fall Into My Arms
Day/Theme: Sept. 15, 2010 "tremble like a flower"
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Character/Pairing: Kimblee->Winry, Miles
Rating: PG
Pardon me here. Just another fragment from an idea I've been toying with.
There was a live band. Miles had to wonder at that. The place was relatively quiet now and had been every other time he had visited, so he wondered at the practicality of it. Maybe the band played for free, because they were friends with the owners, or for the publicity. They seemed like a half-decent act, though Miles had never been much for dancing and their music appeared to be intended as accompaniment for the dance floor. Swing dancing and all that.
There were a pair of girls from town throwing themselves into the spirit of it and two couples who couldn't match the girls for enthusiasm. A few other onlookers hung around the edges of the dance floor, considering whether or not to allow themselves the luxury of being swept away by the flow of movement and sound. Miles watched over the beer that Kimblee had bought for him as a gawky-looking youth with big feet asked a well-dressed woman in a red for a dance and was rebuked. Looks-wise, she was too good for him, Miles thought. A bit old too. The odds had been bad going in, but in sparse company like this, what was a boy to do? He certainly couldn't approach Winry. Not with Kimblee keeping her company at the next table over.
Miles sipped the beer. It was first-rate. Kimblee had paid for drinks for his men from Central and for the drivers as well. Miles imagined Kimblee found himself to be quite magnanimous. What else was there to be gained by playing the high-roller before them? Miles found the facade he'd constructed to hide his killer instincts quite distasteful. Of course, Kimblee would rub him the wrong way however her painted himself. Green or brown, striped or diamond-backed, a snake was a snake.
Winry was laughing. The sweet youth of her mirth brought Miles' roaming eyes back to rest squarely on the closest table. Kimblee had gotten her apart from the rest of them by calling her his "guest" and making the case that he was less intimidating than the rest of the military entourage. Physically, Miles supposed he had a point, and this was no place to be arguing with the alchemist. The major general had intended for him to keep an eye on things, not interfere, although ultimately, what he did or did not do was left to his discretion. Armstrong trusted him.
Sitting at the next table over was the biggest concession he would make. Over the noise of the band and the clinking of glasses and the general murmur of multiple conversations filling the space, he could only pick out bits and pieces of their exchange unless he purposely turned his ear to listening in. It didn't seem like Kimblee was speaking of anything of note. He used this ability for casual discussion capably enough to take the edge off tense situations, so it was no surprise that it would work just as well or better when nothing was at stake. Winry probably wasn't accustomed to dealing with his sort of honey-coated cruelties either. Miles was not happy keeping his silence while Kimblee spun a web out of half truths and pacifying omissions, but there was nothing to be done for it now. Soon enough, back at Briggs most likely, Winry would be given the opportunity to learn, through the Elric brothers or Miles himself if he had to, the truth about the oh-so-charming white clad gentleman.
When Miles allowed his thoughts to wander too far afield, they were yanked back to the present moment by the slight scraping of nearby chair legs. Kimblee had risen from his seat and was gently pulling Winry's chair out for her. She was smiling as he offered her his hand and ushered her toward the dance floor. Miles set down his glass with a resounding clink. This...well, he had expected a lot of galling things out of Kimblee, but this...was a bit much. And it didn't get any better as Kimblee turned his head at the sound. Slowly, allowing Miles to watch the hideous, sly expression creep from one ear to the other in agonizing detail, he smiled.
The major clenched his teeth. Winry's little hand, dainty and gloved, fell into Kimblee's as he led her forward. A slight flush crossed her cheeks for just an instant as she trembled at his touch.
"I do love to dance, but I hope you won't mind be disappointed if my performance is somewhat lackluster. It's been a long time since I've been graced with such company," he could hear Kimblee saying, laying on it on thick. What was worse was how sincere he managed to sound. Almost, Miles thought, almost like he actually meant it. But...this was the Crimson Lotus Alchemist. The man who laughed when he killed. Underneath these words, he was a bear trap waiting to be sprung. Miles steadied himself and took his beer in hand again.
They moved onto the dance floor. Winry's movements were tentative and shy, but Kimblee was unembarrassed as he lunged into motion. There was nothing that had come so far that could be worsened through a dance. He would continue to watch. Kimblee had been modest. To Miles' eyes at least, he was pretty good.
Day/Theme: Sept. 15, 2010 "tremble like a flower"
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Character/Pairing: Kimblee->Winry, Miles
Rating: PG
Pardon me here. Just another fragment from an idea I've been toying with.
There was a live band. Miles had to wonder at that. The place was relatively quiet now and had been every other time he had visited, so he wondered at the practicality of it. Maybe the band played for free, because they were friends with the owners, or for the publicity. They seemed like a half-decent act, though Miles had never been much for dancing and their music appeared to be intended as accompaniment for the dance floor. Swing dancing and all that.
There were a pair of girls from town throwing themselves into the spirit of it and two couples who couldn't match the girls for enthusiasm. A few other onlookers hung around the edges of the dance floor, considering whether or not to allow themselves the luxury of being swept away by the flow of movement and sound. Miles watched over the beer that Kimblee had bought for him as a gawky-looking youth with big feet asked a well-dressed woman in a red for a dance and was rebuked. Looks-wise, she was too good for him, Miles thought. A bit old too. The odds had been bad going in, but in sparse company like this, what was a boy to do? He certainly couldn't approach Winry. Not with Kimblee keeping her company at the next table over.
Miles sipped the beer. It was first-rate. Kimblee had paid for drinks for his men from Central and for the drivers as well. Miles imagined Kimblee found himself to be quite magnanimous. What else was there to be gained by playing the high-roller before them? Miles found the facade he'd constructed to hide his killer instincts quite distasteful. Of course, Kimblee would rub him the wrong way however her painted himself. Green or brown, striped or diamond-backed, a snake was a snake.
Winry was laughing. The sweet youth of her mirth brought Miles' roaming eyes back to rest squarely on the closest table. Kimblee had gotten her apart from the rest of them by calling her his "guest" and making the case that he was less intimidating than the rest of the military entourage. Physically, Miles supposed he had a point, and this was no place to be arguing with the alchemist. The major general had intended for him to keep an eye on things, not interfere, although ultimately, what he did or did not do was left to his discretion. Armstrong trusted him.
Sitting at the next table over was the biggest concession he would make. Over the noise of the band and the clinking of glasses and the general murmur of multiple conversations filling the space, he could only pick out bits and pieces of their exchange unless he purposely turned his ear to listening in. It didn't seem like Kimblee was speaking of anything of note. He used this ability for casual discussion capably enough to take the edge off tense situations, so it was no surprise that it would work just as well or better when nothing was at stake. Winry probably wasn't accustomed to dealing with his sort of honey-coated cruelties either. Miles was not happy keeping his silence while Kimblee spun a web out of half truths and pacifying omissions, but there was nothing to be done for it now. Soon enough, back at Briggs most likely, Winry would be given the opportunity to learn, through the Elric brothers or Miles himself if he had to, the truth about the oh-so-charming white clad gentleman.
When Miles allowed his thoughts to wander too far afield, they were yanked back to the present moment by the slight scraping of nearby chair legs. Kimblee had risen from his seat and was gently pulling Winry's chair out for her. She was smiling as he offered her his hand and ushered her toward the dance floor. Miles set down his glass with a resounding clink. This...well, he had expected a lot of galling things out of Kimblee, but this...was a bit much. And it didn't get any better as Kimblee turned his head at the sound. Slowly, allowing Miles to watch the hideous, sly expression creep from one ear to the other in agonizing detail, he smiled.
The major clenched his teeth. Winry's little hand, dainty and gloved, fell into Kimblee's as he led her forward. A slight flush crossed her cheeks for just an instant as she trembled at his touch.
"I do love to dance, but I hope you won't mind be disappointed if my performance is somewhat lackluster. It's been a long time since I've been graced with such company," he could hear Kimblee saying, laying on it on thick. What was worse was how sincere he managed to sound. Almost, Miles thought, almost like he actually meant it. But...this was the Crimson Lotus Alchemist. The man who laughed when he killed. Underneath these words, he was a bear trap waiting to be sprung. Miles steadied himself and took his beer in hand again.
They moved onto the dance floor. Winry's movements were tentative and shy, but Kimblee was unembarrassed as he lunged into motion. There was nothing that had come so far that could be worsened through a dance. He would continue to watch. Kimblee had been modest. To Miles' eyes at least, he was pretty good.