ALSO i’m gonna use this opportunity to talk about like my #1 headcanon which shows up almost everywhere, and it comes from this beautiful piece of work (go read it, I’ll wait!). I don’t agree with every single word in the fanfic but it’s a great character piece.
Kimblee loves to write music. Not like the lyrics & rock sound but the classical stuff (which, as any music major would tell you, can convey emotion just as well if not better than other music) which he’s actually very good at. I mean, he’s a literal genius, and even without his other preoccupations his music is really good. He uses it to encode his alchemy but also as a creative medium. i mean its art? so its important that you add passion to it. and holy! shit! kimblee’s got passion.
the stuff he writes is just as violent as the artist himself: shrieking violins mimic screams, drums and bases mimic the crashing of buildings. woodwinds suggest the patter of rain in the night, melodies cries of pain. it’s discordant, yet artistic, beautiful as filtered through the eyes of its composer, carrying you along on a wave of unbalanced euphora, but deeply unsettling in some hard-to-pin down way.
he’s written several symphonies, most never shared with the world until they’re dug up from an old notebook and published in a journal. it’s recognized as works of absolute genius but never quite achieves fame because it’s rarely performed.
Roy Mustang goes to one of the concerts, as an old retired man, and knows: it’s ishval, frozen in time and put down as music, reflected off a cracked mirror. he’s there too, a rising flurry of violas and horns as fire sparks and dies. the work is covered in the fingerprints of its writer, a love letter to mass murder. Roy leaves before it’s halfway through, and doesn’t feel right for a week.