Dust rolled across the barren landscape of Amestris. Night had fallen, and many were asleep in the colony of Kurga. Those who were not had taken shelter inside the Broken Arm, a tavern that had been fashioned together with broken chunks of mortar and wood. On the outside, the place looked little more than a taller mound amongst the rubble, one that had a warm, yellow glow spilling from the cracks in the walls.

The inside wasn’t too much better, honestly. Iron beams protruded from the ground like teeth attempting to bite the place in two. Several dozen people were crammed into the place, whether at the creaky, wooden tables or at the stone barside. The smell of drink permeated the run down shack, and behind the noise and merriment could be heard a persistent drip of water, though from where could be anyone’s guess.
The company the place seemed to invite were lowlifes, thugs, and rather obnoxious drunks.

“Tch. Why’d he have to pick here to meet?”

That is, except for a young woman. A woman named Penelope “Penny” Draven. By outward appearance, the little lady might have been counted among the earlier list of vagabonds. Her cute face and peach colored skin had been long since obscured by an eyepatch and a countless number of scars across her body, which her red vest did little to hide. Penny pushed her eyeglasses back onto her brow and sighed, drumming her fingers against the stone bar. To think that the State Alchemists would be reduced to meeting here for their mission briefing. Penny had the file, why couldn’t SHE have been the one to pick the meeting spot?! The smell was really starting to get to her…

Wait.

That smell was WAY too pungent to just be from the place alone.

Turning her head, Penny saw that a particularly large man had taken the seat next to her. He was just... staring at her. Penny squirmed a little in her seat, doing her best to ignore the man and his odors.

"So..." the man spoke, breaking the silence with what may as well have been a chainsaw.

"What's a pretty young thing like you doing all alone in a place like this?" he asked as he EW EW EW EW EW!!!

...Put his sweaty hand on her shoulder. Penny wanted to smack the guy, to blast him with some of her famous balloons. But she couldn't. She had to keep a low profile. Had to keep her ability a secret. That's what she was taught. But what was she supposed to do now?!

It was, Simon mused to himself, rather amusing how stealthy a nearly six foot tall man in armor could be when he only weighed about twenty pounds. Magnetically lightened through alchemy, his armor didn't make a sound as he stepped, cat-like, through the tavern. His feet, wrapped in cloth to disguise the boots as poor shoes, were equally silent. The armor was concealed with a rough-spun tunic and cloak, giving him a rather spooky appearance. All of these factors combined meant that when he reached the large, alcoholic man harassing the girl he recognized as his contact, from the man's point of view it was as if a shrouded giant had suddenly materialized behind him and placed a suddenly-heavy hand on his shoulder.

"The lady is clearly not interested." Simon's soft voice issued from beneath his hood. "Moreover, we have business to conduct. If you'd be so kind as to be on your way, we can continue with our night without any undue excitement." His voice carried no hint of threat; he was kind and courteous, as casual as if he was discussing the weather.

Unfortunately, the drunken man was not in the mood to be soothed, and lacked the sense to be afraid of large, hooded strangers. He scowled at Simon, standing up as if to try and intimidate him. The effect was... less than threatening. "Hey now, if you think you c'n just barge in here, and tell me what to do..." He made a clumsy lunge at Simon, who was suddenly very light indeed.

Moving like lightning, Simon's arms whipped about, seizing the man and using the weight of his own charge to flip him up and onto his back. There was a distinct thump as the man hit the ground, which briefly drew attention from the bar's other patrons before they all swiftly returned to their drinks. Simon peered down at the man, and spoke, still utterly calm, as if nothing had happened. "Now, if you walk away now, we can continue without making any more of a scene. Frankly, I don't have time for you."

The man on the floor glared at him, before climbing to his feet and trying to pretend he wasn't running away, grumbling under his breath. Interloper dealt with, Simon sat down across from his contact and lowered his hood, revealing a young, peaceful face. "You are Penelope Draven, the Prankster Alchemist, correct?" He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, which didn't so much as creak under his weight. He looked, for all the world, like a man settling in for a nap. "Simon Everett, the Lightning Alchemist. I was told to meet you here." His voice was a quiet murmur, to avoid being overheard.

A commotion, it didn’t look like anything worth getting involved in, at least not at the moment. In fact, it seemed like a better idea to keep his head down and mouth to the bottle, at least until everyone arrived. Not that the man particularly wanted to be antisocial but because he was far more interested in the contents of a glass bottle than the musings of strangers, though, he wouldn’t say that the latter couldn’t be interesting, especially these strangers. The woman, Penelope Draven, also known as the Prankster Alchemist, Ralph heard of her, or at least, her rather unorthodox fighting style. Then, Simon Everett, the Lightning Alchemist, they said he controlled electricity, and thus, the power of the sky, something which Ralph was particularly interested in learning about, at least for the sake of expanding his knowledge pool.

He was sure that they would be interesting people to talk with.

Except that he found conversation with a bottle all the more sweet.

Just as he was about to turn his attention back to his bottle, however, an opportunity presented itself. If there was one thing that Ralph couldn’t pass up, it was the chance to make a cool introduction. Something to the effect of effortlessly beating down some thug with his hair blowing in the wind and the sunlight glistening in his eyes, at least, that’s what he idealized. In a place like this, some rundown dive bar in the middle of nowhere, he probably couldn’t pull it off, but still, the opportunity was there. As Simon turned his attention to Penelope, the belligerent reached for the counter and grabbed a bottle, swinging it around and aiming to bash it over Simon’s head. Ralph knew that Simon could probably stop him mid-strike, but again, the opportunity to make a cool entrance was irresistible.

The alchemist swung around suddenly, pushing the eye patch off to the side and activating the Transmutation Circle tattooed on his eyelid. Suddenly, the alcoholic beverage, a bottle of White Sky beer, one of his favorites exploded. The beer spilled all over the thug, and by extension, ignited his clothes.

“Now for the finisher!” Ralph readied himself.

He brought out his foot as the thug recoiled, tripping him, and causing him to fall flat on his back, all the while, Ralph shifted his attention to his fellow alchemists.

“And finally,” thought, “A cool pose and a witty one-liner!”

At the same time, elsewhere in the Broken Arm, a moderately rowdy company was already quite deep into its cups. They were all around thirty; the youngest somewhere in his twenties. Their clothes were undistinguished - somewhat worn, by no means new, but hardly rags either - but something about their bearing and their speech betrayed their erstwhile occupation: former soldiers, left behind when Amestris shrunk back, or deserters who didn't wait to be abandoned or dismissed.

By now, as said, most of them were quite drunk and out of sorts. The reminiscing and the stories had wore out their novelty for them already. But two among them, despite drinking no less than the rest, seemed to remain more or less sober to all outwards appearances: they did not shake or sway, nor did their words become slurred.

The first was a hard-faced woman with plainly worn, shoulder-length black hair, the only female in the company. Her face was seemingly never without a frown. "...No. None of us saw him leave. There are options for someone like that... but I think the trail goes cold here. Either he's dead or he moved on."

"Dead? Do you know who might have killed him?" A thin man with straw-like hair replied, his plain and common face the image of concentration despite the bottle of whiskey that he must have gone through already.

For once a smirk emerges to complement the woman's frown. "This isn't a nice kind of town. At least, it isn't now. Though he may have just died of his wounds."

"Yeah. Maybe..." Clearly he wasn't satisfied with the answer. Before he could respond, however, an altercation at the other side of the ramshackle tavern caught his attention. Two men took turns beating up on a hapless patron.

"That?" the woman asked, her smirk hiding swiftly. "That's regular in here."

"Is it?" the man replied with a question of his own, his tone more harsh now, as he stood up. "Even this part?" he inquired as the unfortunate drunk suddenly caught fire.

The woman did not answer at first. Her eyes widened for a moment, before she composed herself and assessed the situation. "Luke..."

But the straw-haired ex-soldier was already heading towards the table, a slight limp failing to break up his steady stride. Spotting a bucket of water used for washing the floor (they washed the floor here?) along the way, he picked it up and emptied it on the man, then turned to his assailants. "Are we having a problem here?" he inquired rather sternly, examining the whole company with a careful, appraising gaze.

As the man drew far too close to Penny, a savior arrived. It appeared as though The Lightning Alchemist had arrived on the scene. With deft speed and just the smallest bit of alchemy, the drunkard had been thrown onto his back in a matter of seconds. Woah. This guy was a real pro. He took a seat beside Penny, and struck up a conversation.

"You are Penelope Draven, the Prankster Alchemist, correct?"

A simple nod was enough of a response for Penny. Quiet or not, she thought it best not to verbally acknowledge anything like that.

"Simon Everett, the Lightning Alchemist. I was told to meet you here.” he said, confirming Penny’s assumption.

“Thanks for the help back there. And you can just call me Penny.” she whispered, equaling Simon’s tone, extending a hand for Simon to shake when Penny noticed something. The guy was coming back! He’d grabbed a bottle and was coming right for Simon!

But that’s not what worried Penny.

What worried her was the man behind the drunkard.
The eyepatch. The stench of alcohol. That determined look in his eye.

Oh, he wasn’t going to…

He was moving his eyepatch.

Oh.

God.

NO.

In the blink of an eye, the man was on fire, and Penny tensed up. Great. The Alcoholic Alchemist was here.

Penny frantically searched for something to douse the flames with, but she was so frazzled that she couldn’t even see straight.

What would she do?

What would she do?!

Nothing, apparently, as the man was saved by some random stranger. After throwing a bucket of water at the barfly, this stranger then turned his attention to the three Alchemists.

"Are we having a problem here?" he asked. The question was rather innocuous, but the way it was conveyed was most certainly not. It looked as though the man’s eyes had hardened to diamonds. Like he was waiting for an excuse, ANY excuse for a confrontation. Who WAS this guy?

“No, no, we’re all fine… here… now. How are you?” Penny replied with a cheshire grin. The man wasn’t going away.

“Oh! Right! The bottle thing! See, my friend Roy here loves to mess with chemicals and stuff, makes all sorts of medicines and such. He was messing around with that bottle earlier and had the bartender put it aside for him. I guess the materials in it were more combustible than you thought, eh, ROY?” Penny explained, elbowing Simon as she spoke. He was the more sensible of the men at the moment. Penny just hoped that he could pull their asses out of whatever fire they'd landed in.

Simon had been just about to shake Penny's hand when he felt something behind him. He was already turning, one hand up to defend himself while another dropped to his belt for one of his throwing needles. His weight nearly tripled, and the chair he was in creaked ominously under the weight. However, before he even registered that it was merely the drunkard from earlier swinging a bottle at him - hardly even a threat, given the armor he wore under his cloak - said bottle exploded abruptly. Simon was briefly puzzled, until he saw a nearby man reaching for an eyepatch. Simon's eyes widened marginally, and he managed to shield his face just before the man exploded into flames.

Dear lord. Why? Why did it have to be... him? Noisy, rambunctious, uncontrolled... and wielding the dangerous power of fire. Ralph the Alcoholic Alchemist was, in many ways, the exact opposite of Simon's own cautious personality. Not that indiscriminate destruction didn't have its place, but its place was most assuredly not here. Thankfully, some passing stranger put the poor man out quickly, before Simon even had a chance to locate water. Less fortunately, said stranger was the inquisitive sort.

Thank goodness for Penny. Her excuse wasn't the best, but she thought fast, so that was something. He gave the interloper a tranquil grin. "It certainly isn't meant to ignite like that," he said with a shrug. "I wouldn't have left it lying around if I had known it was so volatile. It must've been the impact that did it; I truly am sorry." He did his best impression of an apologetic face. "As for the earlier ruckus, I'm afraid the man was harassing my friend... Ashley here. I was merely dissuading him. I did give him the option to walk away. He attacked first." Simon bowed his head. "Thank you very much for your concern, but I wouldn't wish to take up any more of your night with this."

Luke examined the strange trio, one by one. The young woman with scars and an eyepatch, desperately trying to convince him nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. The strangely calm, soft-spoken young man, going along with it. An imposing, though somewhat loutish young man with fiery red hair, so far quiet, but vaguely smug. As for the man that he just soaked in water, the soldier found it perfectly feasible to disregard him - he probably was of no importance, for the moment.

Trying to throw him off their scent, were they? But Luke knew what he saw. Someone without his experience might have been fooled. He still was not sure of the details, by any means - who started it and which of those three was an alchemist - and whether any of them weren't, in fact. But alchemy happened here, most certainly, and no likelier candidates were anywhere to be seen. Their appearance was already a hint, and the fact that they tried to make up some unlikely story about chemicals all but sealed it.

Perhaps they could be baited into spilling the beans? Or at least put off balance, to make it harder for them to keep their secret.

"That is some talent you have there, Roy." Luke responded finally, his voice dry and gravelly. "What brings a... chemist to a godforsaken place like this? You'd think there would be plenty of room for people like you in places in Central. It'd be safer, too," he added, finally glancing at the their victim/attacker again.