Archive of Our Own

*

Talia, Hailey, Mina, and Gracia were trapped in a hellish social circle of their own unmaking. ‘’You know without Karl to make fun of, we don’t really have much in common…’’ Hailey said, twirling her blonde hair.

‘’We’d have more things in common if you weren’t so mean.’’ Gracia mumbled into her drink. During the intermission there was a sea of champagne flutes to choose from. And an array of circles much alike this one to join in for conversation. Out of the corner of her eye Gracia saw Rebecca Catalina wooing that violinist with everything she had.

‘’You’re the one that’s mean.’’ Mina commented, flabbergasted utterly at such an accusation. ‘’You were always so angry and cutthroat that we never knew how to talk to you.’’

Talia stayed out of this mainly because she was older than them and did not interact with this generation a lot. So, no, she couldn’t say for certain whether or not Gracia Veber was an angry menace of a young woman.

Gracia claimed she wasn’t. ‘’I was a delight.’’

‘’Yeah, when your parents were looking.’’ Mina said. ‘’It was either Gracia Aurelia’s way or no way at all.’’

‘’Well, she did behave when we were at the Armstrongs because if she pulled anything Olivier Mira would have hit her with her wooden sword.’’

‘’I mean, duh, because you called us prisoners of our own elite circle and that we’d never amount to anything but trophy wives. Meanwhile, last we checked we went to university and you didn’t.’’

‘’Oh that’s not an indication of anyone’s intelligence,’’ Hailey went on, ‘’it’s all about what you find

‘’You are pretty mean gossips though.’’ Talia said.

‘’I mean,’’ Hailey said, ‘’what else do people expect from us? It’s much easier to be a gossip nobody wants to burden with tedious conversation than to actually be on guard all the time, having to defend yourself from others for your hobbies or your real interests.’’

‘’So it’s a front?’’

‘’Pretty much.’’ Hailey and Mina said.

Then Mina said: ‘’But if you think we didn’t expend any energy into offering friendship to you, Gracia Aurelia, you’re the one sorely mistaken here because we just matched your energy.’’

Gracia sipped her champagne flute and walked away from this conversation without saying a single thing, holding some champagne in her cheeks like an embarrassed and horrified chipmunk with a lot on her mind.

---

ch 12

Solf the deli man poured them some homemade loza as a parting gift, now that they were all friends.

‘’He’s just a kid,’’ Fuery whispered in horror.

Edward knocked back the loza with Kimblee like they’d been drinking buddies for years. Nothing like living like a Private to really train one’s liver.

 

---

ch 13 

Edward was talking about his time as a pretend Private. He complained about the uniform. This struck Mustang as odd. He turned towards Kimblee and asked: ''How did you manage to get him to wear a uniform?''

''I have my secret methods of persuasion.'' 

‘’Such as?’’

‘’A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.’’ Kimblee said, his cheeks red from drink, but his mannerisms dramatic for the fun of it. 

''Kimblee's fabric softener makes that uniform wearable.'' Edward revealed the mystery, having overheard.  

Roy Mustang looked towards Riza Hawkeye and whispered: ''I knew the Ishval primadonna would have managed to get him in uniform sooner or later, but I didn't expect it to be so simple.''

''Ishval primadonna?'' Kimblee whispered. ''Is that what you call me?''

''That's what everyone who served with you calls you when they know they can get away with it.''

''Why?''

''I'm not wearing my uniform, it's too hot.'' Roy Mustang tried and failed to do a Kimblee impression. It sounded more wimpy and whiny than it captured Kimblee's essence. Though, Kimblee figured that might be Mustang's intention. ''The jacket's so scratchy .''

''It is scratchy, oi!'' Edward fell to Kimblee's defence, surprising Mustang. ''It's unbearable and scratchy and fucking shit. Tiny fucking buttons, too. A gross of them, I swear! And the tags eat at your skin. It's like it's designated to be a torture.’’

''The chemise sticks to my skin like it's glued to me!'' Roy Mustang continued. ''And then, bam, once Ishval ended you began wearing it without any problem. Primadona.’’ 

''Because I washed my uniform properly. Because I altered the uniform to actually fit me.'' Kimblee said. He gestured to Edward. ''And I helped him, too. If you make your clothes comfortable you'll be much more productive and not keep thinking about the chemise.''

''Didn't he get like an absurd amount of uniform violations?’’ Rebecca asked. She’d only heard rumours. 

''Weren't those accredited to the hair?'' Maes whispered back. 

''The hair AND the uniform.'' Mustang said. ''Read his file. He had like over twenty of them.''

''Is there anything of interest in that file?'' Kimblee asked, genuinely curious about what it said, as he didn’t have access to it ironically enough.

''You're younger than Maes and I.''

''Yes.''

''So that isn't a mistake?''

''No, I am younger than you two.''

''A baby.'' Rebecca joked. She hugged Kimblee. 

''Why do people just keep touching me...'' Kimblee whispered, agog at the forthright familiarity exhibited when even a drop of alcohol had been ingested. 

*

“I don't even like cats.” Edward, for his own sake, better be sober and just dumb for starting these weird conversations. 

Because Kimblee was tipsy. Yes, completely in control of his own thoughts and body and ideas. And if anyone thought otherwise they were a liar . 

“Why? Did you get scratched by one as a baby?” Lode asked him. 

Edward squinted his eyes suspiciously, as if trying to recall: ‘’No??” 

Kimblee decided to shed some light to this: “He likes dogs because Winry likes dogs.” 

‘’It’s not like that!’’ Edward blushed. 

Kimblee, all but leaning onto Lode, had this to say: “Edward, you need to have your own opinions. Women love that in a man.’’ Rebecca Catalina snorted at this HARD. An addendum followed: ‘’But not too many opinions. I fall in that end of the spectrum and very few women like me when I start talking. I'm like a work of art. The less I talk, the more I'm appreciated.’’

Lode laughed his ass off at this. All this interaction left Edward confused. 

‘’Like for example,’’ The dating advice had begun without any adult actually asking the teenager if he wanted any, ‘’My father taught me to be a gentleman. He also taught me never to hold onto a stick of dynamite for too long. I think there's some truth in that. Life is like a stick of dynamite, Edward, and you need to blow it up before it blows you up.’’ More incredulous laughter from Lode, who was at this point cry-laughing.

‘’Okay, weirdo.’’ Edward said. 

‘’I’m imparting worldly wisdom here and this brat doesn’t even want to listen.’’

*

‘’How’d you meet the kid?’’ Forrest asked Kimblee, 

And Kimblee sighed, as if this was painful to remember: ‘’I got emotionally manipulated out of taking legal action against two kids who committed human transmutation. I still think about how I got scammed.”

“You saw they were kids and realised they didn't deserve to get shot or imprisoned?” 

“Your heart grew three times that day?”

“You realised you had bigger criminals to catch?”

Kimblee scoffed at all of these absurd suggestions: ‘’No, of course not! Pinako gave me so much good, home-grown, countryside food that at one point I actually forgot why I was there. Not to mention that she drank me under the table. I keep trying to justify this to myself that I came back from Ishval a starved man and seeing so much homemade food affected me harder than it would now, but I am forever in awe of that woman's ability to consume alcohol.”

Edward laughed: “Yeah, that's countryside hospitality for you. Get him fed and drunk and he'll agree to whatever you want.” 

“I need to train my liver for a rematch.” Kimblee’s face fell. ‘’But she's got decades of experience on me.”

“Well, maybe she can't drink loza. That's your specialty, after all.”

“If she didn't offer me that homemade loza she got from a long-term friend I wouldn't have gotten drunk, Maes.”

“Wait she drinks loza better than you?”

“She's in a completely different league. She's not human. If there's such a thing as an automail liver, she's got it.”

*

Whilst the no beer no pong beer pong game went on in the background, more unhinged things tumbled out of drunk people's mouths:

“When I turn 40 it's going to be over for you.” 

Blank stares greeted Kimblee. 

Riza said: ‘’OK. I'll bite. Why?’’ 

Kimblee didn’t waste any time. “Because people will finally feel obligated to listen to me. I have so much 40 year old wisdom, but no one wants to hear it from a 20 something year old.”

“ You know 40 is young right?” Mustang could be heard asking. 

Kimblee said: "Well that's already well beyond what I initially planned on turning. So that's an elder in Kimblee years."

Lode made a noise somewhere between being torn at Kimblee’s yet again flagrant disrespect towards his living condition and the idea of measuring anything in Kimblee years. He even joked about it: “How old am I right now in Kimblee years? Is it like dogs? Do I multiply? Carry the one? What do I do?”

“That isn’t the point!’’ Kimblee swayed, but Lode had a handle on him so he didn’t fall out of his chair. 

Mustang: “You brought up the concept of Kimblee years first. Own it and make it a whole thing now. We've latched onto it.”

Riza was smiling cheekily: ‘’I feel like I'm 50 in Kimblee years by now.’’

“This isn't at all the point of this entire conversation. Stop derailing my tangents!”

“I'm 5. Feel like the Kimblee years make me younger than I am.’’ Maes boasted. He turned to Gracia and said: ‘’I’m only going to count things with Kimblee years from now on!’’

Gracia’s eyes sparked. She moved chairs to sit closer to this. ‘’Do tell. I’m intrigued by the concept of Kimblee years now, too.’’ 

‘’Soon they'll be putting our age in Kimblee years on our military ID, mark my words. We're entering a new era.” Captain Wens shouted.

‘’Original Kimblee, inventor of the Kimblee years, impart your wisdom on us –‘’ Mustang, when he got drunk loved needling Kimblee like it was an Olympic sport, ‘’- how do we calculate the Kimblee years?’’

Kimblee crossed his arms and petulantly looked at everyone running with this idea. ‘’Fine. I’m playing along now.’’ 

A cheer from the audience. Team Mustang was going wild. Kimblee said, once the screaming died down: “Kimblee years are times 3.7 just to make multiplication difficult and awful.”

“I would expect nothing less convoluted than this from the creator of the Kimblee years himself. Men, get out your calculators.”

The worst part had to be that Falman had one on him, and he did, he did take a calculator out. 

Kimblee found out that night that he was exactly 99.9 in Kimblee years.