Zolf J. Kimbley (lacedup_bomber) wrote,
Zolf J. Kimbley

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{ October 2nd, 1914. Early Evening. }


He'd heard the news shortly after his arrival in Central. He remembered not understanding at first, his mind trying to wrap itself around the fact that things were not all right-- nevermind that he'd never believed that things could ever be all right to begin with. But, there it was-- the headline in the day's paper. The late train from East City had crashed, killing some and severely wounding others. 'Others.' He found himself bitterly wishing the word could be as distant from him as he thought it sounded.

Strange as it was, Kimbley felt no sorrow-- just pure anger, echoing through his body as he stood outside, somewhere in the streets, not sure where he was. He had been wandering like a lost man, his things still unpacked back at the military dorms and his arrival duties neglected. He didn't know how to handle this sort of ... Whatever the hell  it was! He was over-whelmed by his annoyance, anger, fury... Stupid, stupid, stupid! What had Archer been thinking? If he'd just stopped fucking around all the goddamn time and gotten on the proper train...

He knew he ought to go visit the man, considering. But, too proud, too stubborn, the alchemist couldn't bring himself to really want it, so earnestly did he blame Archer for the man's own problems. It was a form of betrayal, it was. Nevermind what anyone else said-- fate, destiny. It didn't matter. They were a team. Allies. And now one-half was in the hospital, breathing or not, Kimbley didn't know. But, now he was left here, to deal with the colonel and his irritating subordinates on his own. Well, so be it.

It didn't matter. There were others who had uses for his skills-- forces he considered potentially more powerful than the military itself. He didn't need their license to kill, he didn't need their rank, he certainly didn't need their over-flow of paperwork... Tired and pissed off, Kimbley told himself: he didn't need anyone. Not anymore.

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