The library at the military headquarters was almost more dust than text. It reminded Major Z. J. Kimbley of a room in some haunted mansion from a child's story book-- a fact that annoyed him constantly in addition to the little air particles would not stop making him bloody sneeze. (It really rather took away from the 'psychotic murderer' image to have his allergies acting up constantly.) Not to mention, he absolutely loathed having to navigate through isles and isles of ancient books, having spent the last hour or so in the vast alchemic section of the library, searching for information on a subject that recently had him admittedly somewhat concerned.
Wearily running slender fingers through the short fringe of hair about his face, Kimbley paused at a row of rather hefty-looking tomes, leaning forward a little and cautiously blowing air at the dusty covers. Coughing a bit at the result, he waved an arrayed hand to disperse the offending dust, reading over the now visible titles. At length, he selected a particularly heavy text, cradling the overly weighty book as he opened it, thumbing through a bit. After a few moments, his yellow eyes lit in the dim lights, scanning over the worn page carefully.
In large, faded ink, the page read plainly: alchemic theory of homunculi. Running his fingers briefly over the ribbon binding in his hair out of habit, Kimbley leaned up against one of the firmer shelves, settling in to read for a while.