Categories > Anime/Manga > Full Metal Alchemist > Hughes v. Kimblee
Blood was filling his mouth, and he turned his head to spit it out, and stared at the pink froth. The hit had sent him over someone's footlocker, and he wondered what it had been doing pulled away from the foot of the bunk. Maes was standing over him, his breathing ragged and enraged, while Roy's face showed far more shock than Kimblee himself was feeling. His mouth still tasted bloody, and although he willed himself to swallow it, he could bring himself to, and spat again.
"You wouldn't know..." Maes repeated, and Roy started to say something, his mouth opened and shut, and Kimblee felt his face split into a grin, despite the pain in his jaw... where the hell was all this blood coming from? He spat again, and Maes seemed visibly calmer. "Roy... he isn't... responsible...." He stopped abruptly, and began to breathe slowly. Kimblee saw his chance and was on his feet in a moment, pushing Maes up against the wall... he could have used his alchemy to blow up his comrade, but his pride was hurt, so he wanted to regain it... and an explosion wasn't a fair fight.
"Isn't he?" Kimblee purred, his mails digging both into Maes's shoulders and into the wall of the tent that he had him against. "Then who DID pull that trigger?" He said in his best innocent voice. Roy was looking sick again, and soon left to throw up again... although how vomit could be worse than bloody spit on the floor, Kimblee had no idea. Maes was growling again, and the two men wrestled against each other... their strength almost equal... between Maes's stronger body type, and the muscle that lined Kimblee's arms from long years of work on a farm, the two could not gain anything on one another. Kimblee's eyes were full of his usual fire, and Maes finally gave him a push, and he fell again... and was still.
"Don't touch him!" Roy said, and Maes stopped in his tracks. The best friends stood, looking at Kimblee, whose head was slowly becoming framed by a blood pool. Roy felt sick, and took in a long breath.
"Should we.... Get someone?" Roy said softly, and looked around to make sure it was still just the three of them in the tent. Kimblee was still perfectly unmoving, and Roy was glad to see no one had come in yet.
"What do we do?" Roy said very softly, and Maes looked a little sick.
"I think I killed him." Maes said slowly, and he nudged Kimblee's side with the toe of his boot. Black hair had stuck to his cheeks, and blood was drying around his mouth. Maes was hardly breathing, his eyes wide. Roy took a deeper breath, and made a decision.
"I think we have to bury him... Or else we'll get arrested for war crimes!" Roy said, and he pulled the sheet off Kimblee's bed and spread it out on the floor... the dirt floor of the tent would be hard to clean, but maybe if they dug out the blood and filled it with some from outside... Roy shook the thoughts out of his head... first things first; they had to dispose of the remains. He wiped the blood off his and Maes's hands, and then carefully wiped blood off Kimblee's body... it was still warm and felt strange through the filter of thin cloth. He gulped and Maes walked over to help. Between them, they soon had Kimblee in the blanket... and Roy was surprised to find he was very light. Suddenly Maes stopped.
"We gotta ditch his clothes... they might have our blood or sweat on them..." He said. Roy nodded, and they carefully started to strip him down. They left the false stone around his neck alone... many rumors went around about these mystical tools, and one was that they would turn black if a killer touched them... which was why most used gloves on their stones. Kimblee's body was as sinewy as he was, and his ribs protruded terribly. Roy gasped when he found a thin wound on Kimblee's back... it looked like fingernails.
"Somebody must have made all these..." Maes said softly. "I wonder why no one knew?" Roy sighed.
"No one asked... he never was friendly, and no one bothered to try and get to know him." Roy said, and both men looked at each other, feeling a little guilty, it was sad that he died without a friend in the world.
"Why do think he's so thin?" Maes finally asked, unable to look down anymore. Roy shrugged as they got the pants off... his legs had long scratches on them.
"Maybe anorexic... maybe he just is a thin person." Roy said, trying to sound offhanded. It didn't work and the two carefully carried their burden out, and past the fence that enclosed their camp. They were surprised to find there were no guards, and then remembered there was no reason to guard on Friday nights.... They were holy to the Ishballians. They found a quiet dune to hide behind, and started to dig. The deed was done quickly, since the sand was easy to move, and they covered the body quickly, then went back to get rid of the last of the evidence... having burned the clothes already.
They were safely back in camp soon, and slept the troubled sleep of the guilty. It was a week before anything happened... but when it did... it was bad.
"You wouldn't know..." Maes repeated, and Roy started to say something, his mouth opened and shut, and Kimblee felt his face split into a grin, despite the pain in his jaw... where the hell was all this blood coming from? He spat again, and Maes seemed visibly calmer. "Roy... he isn't... responsible...." He stopped abruptly, and began to breathe slowly. Kimblee saw his chance and was on his feet in a moment, pushing Maes up against the wall... he could have used his alchemy to blow up his comrade, but his pride was hurt, so he wanted to regain it... and an explosion wasn't a fair fight.
"Isn't he?" Kimblee purred, his mails digging both into Maes's shoulders and into the wall of the tent that he had him against. "Then who DID pull that trigger?" He said in his best innocent voice. Roy was looking sick again, and soon left to throw up again... although how vomit could be worse than bloody spit on the floor, Kimblee had no idea. Maes was growling again, and the two men wrestled against each other... their strength almost equal... between Maes's stronger body type, and the muscle that lined Kimblee's arms from long years of work on a farm, the two could not gain anything on one another. Kimblee's eyes were full of his usual fire, and Maes finally gave him a push, and he fell again... and was still.
"Don't touch him!" Roy said, and Maes stopped in his tracks. The best friends stood, looking at Kimblee, whose head was slowly becoming framed by a blood pool. Roy felt sick, and took in a long breath.
"Should we.... Get someone?" Roy said softly, and looked around to make sure it was still just the three of them in the tent. Kimblee was still perfectly unmoving, and Roy was glad to see no one had come in yet.
"What do we do?" Roy said very softly, and Maes looked a little sick.
"I think I killed him." Maes said slowly, and he nudged Kimblee's side with the toe of his boot. Black hair had stuck to his cheeks, and blood was drying around his mouth. Maes was hardly breathing, his eyes wide. Roy took a deeper breath, and made a decision.
"I think we have to bury him... Or else we'll get arrested for war crimes!" Roy said, and he pulled the sheet off Kimblee's bed and spread it out on the floor... the dirt floor of the tent would be hard to clean, but maybe if they dug out the blood and filled it with some from outside... Roy shook the thoughts out of his head... first things first; they had to dispose of the remains. He wiped the blood off his and Maes's hands, and then carefully wiped blood off Kimblee's body... it was still warm and felt strange through the filter of thin cloth. He gulped and Maes walked over to help. Between them, they soon had Kimblee in the blanket... and Roy was surprised to find he was very light. Suddenly Maes stopped.
"We gotta ditch his clothes... they might have our blood or sweat on them..." He said. Roy nodded, and they carefully started to strip him down. They left the false stone around his neck alone... many rumors went around about these mystical tools, and one was that they would turn black if a killer touched them... which was why most used gloves on their stones. Kimblee's body was as sinewy as he was, and his ribs protruded terribly. Roy gasped when he found a thin wound on Kimblee's back... it looked like fingernails.
"Somebody must have made all these..." Maes said softly. "I wonder why no one knew?" Roy sighed.
"No one asked... he never was friendly, and no one bothered to try and get to know him." Roy said, and both men looked at each other, feeling a little guilty, it was sad that he died without a friend in the world.
"Why do think he's so thin?" Maes finally asked, unable to look down anymore. Roy shrugged as they got the pants off... his legs had long scratches on them.
"Maybe anorexic... maybe he just is a thin person." Roy said, trying to sound offhanded. It didn't work and the two carefully carried their burden out, and past the fence that enclosed their camp. They were surprised to find there were no guards, and then remembered there was no reason to guard on Friday nights.... They were holy to the Ishballians. They found a quiet dune to hide behind, and started to dig. The deed was done quickly, since the sand was easy to move, and they covered the body quickly, then went back to get rid of the last of the evidence... having burned the clothes already.
They were safely back in camp soon, and slept the troubled sleep of the guilty. It was a week before anything happened... but when it did... it was bad.
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