Day 26: Sun Room (4th Shift)

[stray_shinigami]

Some day, he really did intend to go to the game room, just to see what they had in the way of games. But not today. He was simply not in the mood to do anything approaching fun, and he was starting to feel like shit from a combination of being sedated and not having eaten anything yet all day

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[tartaros_avatar]

[Waiting for Kimbley!]

Recluse did his best to ignore the painfully bright light of the sun room, finding a chair and sitting down to wait. Even if events during the night had been cut short, this dayshift was proving itself to be productive enough to make up for that.

He had an idea of who had asked for the explosives. He took out out his notebook, flipping through the pages of coded observations and other notes. He had enough information that others had given out to put together a description of who he was looking for. He'd just have to wait... He then turned to the back of the notebook, taking out an already creased square of paper. He hadn't finished the origami that he had started during breakfast. He quickly began refolding his steps, re-creating the progress he had made towards a finished Mt. Diablo Tarantula, just to pass the time.

[crimson_handed]

((Coming from here. ))

With his hand fixed and his mood set significantly higher in one day than it had been in the last several weeks (if you counted his time alive and kicking in Amestris), Kimbley sauntered into the Sun Room with one thing on his mind.

Explosives.

Someone in this forsaken hellhole was constructing explosives. And even if he couldn't use his alchemy properly, he still knew how to work with the homemade kind. While he would have liked to have made them himself and used them on his own time, time was holding him back. He hadn't been here long enough. He needed a jump start.

And he doubted that this person was from Amestris, anyway, or they wouldn't have been working on this. Explosives were his business there.

Kimbley approached the only red-eyed man in the room, keeping a careful distance of five feet when he stopped. He appraised the man once, a sharp, quick glance, before speaking.

"You're the explosives guy, am I right?"

[tartaros_avatar]

Recluse looked up from his folding. So, he had been right. Good. "Yes. My name is Stefan Richter." He gestured to a nearby chair. Rather than waste any more time on acting polite, he immediately began on the business at hand. "I have been working to create high quality Thermite. I don't have the best materials, but the energy yield will be very high- about 4 kilojoules per gram, and burning at about 2500 degrees Celsius--About 4500 degrees Fahrenheit."

[crimson_handed]

Kimbley sat down and immediately raised his eyebrows. No, this man didn't mince words, which was probably for the best. He listened to everything Richter said and considered it, eyes flat and his mouth a straight line.

When the man finished, he spoke.

"Sounds effective. How do you put it together?"

Casually, Kimbley reached into his pocket and pulled out the bandages that had been wrapped around his hand as of five minutes ago, and started rewrapping them around the once-wounds.

[tartaros_avatar]

"Rust acid and aluminum. I have one stage remaining in the process, which will be completed tonight." He'd probably have close to 3kg of the stuff, once it was finished. More than enough to trade with others, and still keep some for himself.

Recluse pulled up one of his sleeves to reveal a line of old, white scars, sprayed across his skin. The scars had quite a lot of company- they were surrounded by the remnants of old wounds, most of them acquired more than eighty years ago. "This is what a few drops of the lower quality stuff does, if you're unfortunate enough to get it on you. A higher quality batch would have burned straight through to the bone. After the reaction starts, it's nearly impossible to put out the fire it creates, until the thermite burns itself out."

[crimson_handed]

Now that was something Kimbley knew about - in intimate detail, too. The composition of explosives. In his head, he saw the actions, the reactions, everything coming together. Yes, it made sense - perfect sense.

Why hadn't he thought of it?

He leaned in closer to look at the scars, his eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity. The scars were still visible, but had to be old. And the description - absolutely incredible. Amestris either didn't have this kind of technology, or kept it well hidden. A fire that refused to burn out ...

"Interesting," he said, his voice low and his eyes fixed on the scars. "What's the last stage?"

[tartaros_avatar]

"Mixing the two components. Heat is needed to chemically alter the two ingredients, which means employing the use of one of the stoves in the kitchen. Once it cools, it can be kept in a solid block, or powdered." Recluse smiled coldly. Apart from when he received the burns, thermite had always proved itself to be a wonderfully useful substance. "It burns so hot that throwing water on it will do nothing but make it worse- it will set off another reaction, causing a secondary explosion."

[crimson_handed]

Kimbley knew of alchemic reactions that could turn water into a deadly substance, and not through drowning. He knew that it was entirely possible, if not easy, to make something harmless into a weapon of mass desctruction. And of course he was aware that you could add to a damaging reaction and make it much, much worse.

Water making fire stronger went against every principle in existence.

He leaned back, eyes slowly drawing away from the scars on Recluse's arm.

"I like it." The thumb on his right hand rubbed slow circles on the bandages covering his recently-healed palm. "You're sure the stoves will get hot enough?" Because if not, he could always see if a minor alchemical reaction was possible. It wasn't as if something that small would be a problem. If he could make a sword, heat would be nothing.

[tartaros_avatar]

"Yes. I've made the stuff this way before. I already know I can get high quality results out of this set-up." Recluse put the last few folds in the origami he had been making, setting a paper miniature of a Mt. Diablo Tarantula on his palm. "My questions for you are how much thermite do you want, and how would you be willing to pay for it?"

[crimson_handed]

How much did he want? That was a good question. Kimbley considered it for a few short moments before sitting forward, elbows on his knees. If he knew the recipe itself now, then there was no need to bargain for any. But it wasn't as if he could make it himself tonight ...

"Enough to last me through another two nightshifts." He smirked. "And I want to know where you got the supplies. I'll pay you in alchemy." It was about the only thing he had, anyway.

[tartaros_avatar]

"I'm rather concerned about giving you much more information. I really have no gaurantee for my own safety or that you will honor your word, once I tell you." He wanted to remain in control of supply. It was only safe business practice in this place, and gave him the most power over others.

[crimson_handed]

He hadn't exactly expected Richter to talk, but it never hurt to ask. Some people were just that gullible.

"Suit yourself. Two nightshifts' worth, then. And I'd like to see how it's made, even if I can't learn where you got it." That much, at least, would serve him for some time.

[tartaros_avatar]

Recluse nodded. He had left out descriptions of the first steps, anyway. "Very well. I will be leaving as soon as possible tonight to make it. What is your cell number?" He refused to go along with how this placed tried to act- however many times the others might refer to the people here as 'patients', he kept with the more truthful term: prisoners.

[crimson_handed]

Cell number. Now that brought back memories.

"70. There might be a short delay - I owe someone for fixing me up." He curled the fingers of his right hand into the bandaged palm. "Shouldn't take more than a minute."

And now, for the matter of payment.

"So what do you want, exactly?"

[tartaros_avatar]

He was already going there to meet Riddick, and the next hall over for Sparda. It wouldn't be too inconvenient. "Generally, I ask for alliance. And I do so now. I am also curious as to the extent of your powers still acessable here."

[crimson_handed]

"Alliance?" Kimbley snorted. "You want my word that I won't blow you into pieces the first moment your back is turned? Fine." That said nothing for the second moment, though. "I can rearrange basic structures. Make weapons, cause things to crumble. Not as much as I'd like ... not as little as to be useless."