Hohenheim Elric

10:53 am: October 7th, Late Afternoon
There was probably some subconscious belief that Edward would look for him that lead Hohenheim to choose that same bench to plot his next course of action. Or maybe it was Juliet Douglas he expected to come and find him. He'd been to her apartment already, but as he had expected, she wasn't there, and he'd really had no other places to go other than that.

So sitting on the same bench where he'd spent the past couple of nights, he took another sip from his flask, noting that it was starting to go empty. He'd have to find somewhere to make some more later, he noted, glad that he still had quite a bit of the ingredients on his person. That was really it for his current plans, as he was coming up dry with how to get a homunculus' attention and be taken to Dante.

11:30 am: Enjoying the Morning
October 7th, 1914

Hohenheim was sitting on the bench in the middle of Central again, eyes closed, apparently deep in thought. That, or asleep. In fact, if anyone passed him by at that moment, they probably would have taken him for just another vagrant making temporary residence on the street. And really, wasn't that what he was?

A newsboy passed by, dragging a bundle of newspapers with him, and Hohenheim stood up slowly, walking up to him and holding out a few sens. The boy looked down at the coins in his hand. "That's not enough for a paper," he said, as if that was obvious.

"Oh, sorry. The price must have gone up," Hohenheim said quickly, pulling out some more money. The boy looked at the amount offered, then took it all, thrusting a paper at him.

"The price hasn't gone up in years, old man," the paperboy snorted, jamming the money into his pocket. He then continued to pull his wares to his corner. Hohenheim watched him do so, then made his way back over to the bench, not opening his paper just yet, instead just staring at the people making their morning commute...

09:03 am: Killing Time (And It's Killing Right Back)
October 2, 1914, Evening

Hohenheim glanced over the newspaper again, quirking an eyebrow at the article. He could still remember when trains were new technology vividly, and his scientific mind had worked out scenarios exactly like this one occurring at that time. Of course, similar incidents had occured before this one, but it always interested him how rare train accidents really were. Having lived so long and seen so few trains crash, it made him far more trustworthy of trains than most any other form of transportation.

Still, he was very glad that he'd gotten to Central a couple of days before that none the less. He sat the newspaper on the bench next to him, fully intending to leave it there so someone wouldn't have to pay for their news (he always did this with his newspapers, barring rain or snow), then reached into his coat to pull out a flask, opening it and drinking deeply. As the haze that had started to release him began to slowly strengthen its hold him him, he pocketed the flask and looked around again.

He really had no place to go, and for that reason he was in no hurry to move. It was really the story of his life lately: just occupying time until it came to its inevitible end. He couldn't say that it would have happened too soon or that he didn't deserve it. Even with the fuzz around his mind numbing most of his other senses he wasn't foolish enough to think that. No, if anything, it wasn't coming quickly enough for him. It never really occured to him to do something about that, though: he'd spent so much of his life avoiding death it was hard to succumb to it enough to bring it about himself.

So he watched the people, with no where to be and nothing to do, not really contemplating what came next.