A thousand times and a thousand ways, she knew better than to be here. But no one had forced her to write the letter that arranged -- yet another -- meeting with him.
Here, being the secluded back her gardens. Stone walls and roses set against them. The lantern flickering on the ground and casting the place in a warm, soft light. Though she was never very good blending into shadows. Her red hair left free and her dress pulled up past her knee as she walked idly paced.
In her mind, she composed the words to end this. To force this to be over. Would that she had half the strength to say that in the face of what she wanted. Stupid, all of it, as if he cared half so much.
She wasn't even sure she did either. But she wanted to meet him, to see him again. To feel something other than frustration and contempt and hidden bemusement for those around her. God almighty, spare her her own pathetic need to be herself.
[It doesn't come as much of surprise: the letter, written out in a fancy cursive that spoke of her breeding. That she? Was from a blood line well-entwined in poise and grace and well removed from him and his. Vacant from an underworld cut sharp by blades and knives, by thick smoke and exchanges better suited for the dark.]
[But despite differences, the two of them had an understanding; business. Business under the table, beyond watchful eyes. Always done at her door and on his terms. A perfect balance, blending the clear-cut edges of night and day, making for the gray aftermath.]
[He always came, then. When the sun had already set and his own accounts had been settled. Mainly, his own needs. Want and desire his fueling point and Greed, if anything, stuck by only a few set of standards.]
[It's slightly warm, when he arrives. Slipping from the dark, one heel clacking to announce. A low hum at the edge of his step, like fire crackling in a forgotten fireplace; the announcement of a devil and he wouldn't have had it any other way. The metaphor in there not entirely lost and the Sin tilts his head back. Wandering stride making him bend over his hips, making him twist around like the adder he is. Sleek and black, slipping over stone.]
Been a little while, lovely. [He hisses, edge of his teeth the only thing catching light. White to the moon and just like the rest of him, they're made for deadlier intentions. To tear and bite and while he's made good with them in the past, the use of the now is much more different.]
[To tease and gesture. To bring on a confession in the cruelest sort of notion.]
[But he knows better than to tread without an invitation and Greed merely circles her back. Shaded eyes flicking, watching every flutter of her dress. Wealthy in all her remains.]
So - what kind of business do you have for me? Usually, you're a little more precise. [It had been a bit vague, even for Elizabeth's standards. The bulk left out, reading between the lines and even that hadn't given him much.]
[And for a creature that called for more, it had left a bit of a nagging.]
[ She is and always, dressed in the trappings of her station. No one would call her subtle. Wearing white to a garden at night, the gold of her rings catching the dull of the light, faintly. The stones set in them, braced around her throat, woven into her hair, were sparkling with colour in the daylight.
But now in shadows, they were inky and lifeless. Little pools of blackness against her always too pale skin. ( But never pale enough. She was Gloriana, and for awhile, perhaps, in this night with him, she was all fae, and not at all a woman. )
His voice at her back, made her tense. Exposed shoulders pulling in a little before she took a breath back out as her head tipped back a little then proceeded -- as if she expected him there all along. That this was business as usual. ]
Perhaps I needed the company. [ And then she curved, over a rosebush. White, and sweet smelling in the night. The whole garden was rich with them, and they were her favourite. As if he were nothing and she could just ignore him as she so wished, that she wasn't aware of him behind her. ] I am Queen after all, and you are not the only to feel a greed insatiable.
[ It's not a surprise that Alec can't figure out what Greed is getting from their mutual association, but it is a little bit of a surprise that it bothers him so much. After all, it's clear the other man is possessive to a degree that's ridiculous, and it's only the fact that Alec doesn't think he's worth having that keeps him from chafing under it. ]
[ There's an undertone of danger, as well, that Alec likes, no matter how many times that Greed assures that he's not going to hurt him. There was that with Richard, and Alec imagines Greed as the sort of man who's capable of killing a lover, particularly if the lover spurned him. ]
[ That's not really the point, because Alec's not that sort of manipulative, couldn't manage intimacy if it were only going to be false. It's just part of the appeal, the potential for violence, even if Alec likes to watch it as much or more than he likes to be its recipient. ]
Are you a man used to getting everything you want, or just what you need?
[ As far as openings for flirting go, it's awkward, but this is one arena where Alec isn't confident of his own knowledge, nor capable of acting that way regardless. ]
[Glass of scotch half empty by now. Ice teetering on the collapse and the left-over collection slides when he motions it to empty table. Arms occupied, but he ushers his nameless guests away with a toss of his fingers. With a promising smile and hushed sort of whisper:] I'll be there in a minute.
[When the two leave, his attentions return. Alec hasn't been the easiest of his possessionsemployees to get along with. Tongue always sharp and dismal, but they've known one another long enough and if anything, his always did come first.]
[So he opens up a hand. Palm churning on the axis of a wrist, beckoning the other with a silent sort of gesture.] But that really shouldn't be a surprise to you, right? Or is it something else you're interest in?
[Because when it comes down to it, he's never been the sort to deny an offer given. Flirtation not lost on him and the Sin spreads his thighs. Slides both heels from their perch at the table, motioning them away with ease. With that slippery notion and it's entirely him; the bar, the setting. Every inch his domain and he reigns as king. Crown of the would-be underworld made in cold-hard cash; with liquor, women, and everything in between. The whole cache his own; to hold with covetous claws, a devil nestled with ill-gotten gains.]
[At least he was honest about the arrangement.]
[Greed reaches beyond; fingers stretching, body moving with the pull of a torso and he's snatching at the remains of a cigarette smoldering away in an ashtray. Butt-end snagged in thick knuckles and Greed takes a drag as he peels eyes away for a moment. Sunglasses shifting from the sickly-yellow overhang, falling back into a cut of shadow. And his smile is wide, grin the Cheshire's favorite moon. Cut thin and sharp.]
Just come out with it - not like I'm about to judge you. But I need to know what you really want, hmn?
[Alec cocks a hip out, but embarrassment always finds itself chased with anger in him, and so his eyes are hard, though whether that anger will be directed at himself or at Greed if it has cause to linger is something yet to be determined.]
[Greed is all the more attractive here, in this space he owns, when Alec himself has never belonged anywhere, not as thoroughly as this. He's always been out of place, tripping over his own limbs and words and all the other people in the world, but that's really as good as he gets.]
I might be inclined to ask if you have all of that.
[Alec shifts towards Greed and into his space, with all the wariness of any bird that's interested in the promise of being fed, or a cat still eager to be pet.]
But I think we both know that that's not really the matter at hand.
[Alec swallows, throat working for a moment.]
I have more to offer you, if you want it.
[Alec reaches his hand out then, fear and wariness overcome by stubbornness, as he ghosts his hand onto Greed's thigh.]
[ Her greeting to him was some mock formality, hardly so kind, in truth, if anyone knew what smiling eyes could hide. But all the same, with a love and a kindness she kept for only the most naive of children, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, her hand curling to cup his jaw. A lover, a wife, or an old friend. No one was ever bold enough to say what she meant by such an action. But to her, as ever, it was a game of smiles and twisted meaning.
And sweet as the gesture was, it was contrasted, by the blade she pressed into his hand, a gift and a request all at once. The blade was plain, no stones decorated it, though there was a carving engraved alone the pommel. There were a hundred blades like it in the city. It was why she had given it to him. It would be untraceable. ]
I've work for you, if you'd like it.
[ As if he would have no idea what that work was, like this was a meeting done in proud daylight and not in a back alley. Like they were respectable gentlemen. But she turned, trusting him enough to not run her through like a wild animal ( and so many said she was). Her skirts clutched in one hand and held as she navigated the old blood stains on the floor, like she could see them even now. Above it, even if she caused it. ]
[It was easy to find the devil if one had the right cards; to call him out and she had been given the proverbial extension a long time ago. When she had first graced the city with her unworldly presence, turning down cobblestone and candle-light to find the gaping hole. The one people warned about, the one that seemed to take fire-light and swallow it whole.]
["There are demons down there," they had said. "-and they're coming for us."]
[Which was slightly true and slightly not in the same breath. He, himself, took to orders when they came. From another source entirely, one stashed away deep underground. A secret kept by the people running office and no one else knew the wiser.]
[But sometimes, the mortal lot surprised and she was always full of them. Her violence, her wrath, and when she came to visit, it didn't surprise him. Instead, he merely smiled to the crack-spit of a burning candle. The touch of hell-fire at those teeth and his shoulders rolled up. Sending the long fur collar of his jacket spiraling across the broad-side of his neck.]
C'mon, lovely, you know I don't need that.
[As if to make his point clear, Greed extended his nails. Shot them out, a feline ready to pounce, and claws met steel with a horrible sound. The melody of the damned as sparks flew off the blade. Punctuating with every bump and scratch of his terrible talons.] Though, don't you have someone who does this for you? You know I don't work for you, right?
[The seven deadlies and they weren't for human consumption. Weren't drafted under a flag or a kingdom, but under one individual alone. The father of monsters and the Sin rose to his feet. Reached his claws to the wick of the candle and pinched it out.]
[Smoke spun from his talons as he turned to face her. Those eyes like beacons in the dark.] You should know better.
[But his smile told a different story. Dangerous and sick as he motioned himself over his hips; undulating with the thought, far too eager with the proposition.]
It had happened so fast. The world slipping through his fingers, deafening in his ears. Like a vacuum on full-blast, a whirl-wind of voices shouting. Of people screaming: "Run, run, run as fast as you can!" They had shoved into each other, trampled over the living as though they were part of the concrete below. In the chaos, he had lost sight of most: of faces he knew, faces that were his. Until one stood out and he grabbed her by the collar. Snatched her wide-eyed look and just spat:
"C'mon kid!"
Greed couldn't remember the rest. He knew, as the last train out was leaving, that Zelien was falling apart behind them. Taken by a sea of black that didn't stop. Eating away buildings, tearing apart steel. Stones crashed against the side of the cart and he was aware that she had said something. But he couldn't recall what. All that he remembered were the lights going out and that sick sensation of melting.
Then, the whistle blew.
Greed flicked open his pocket-watch: 10:03. PM, but the looks of it. Dotted windows lit up in warm gold passed by, the locomotive going at a steady pace. He had checked it - asked which way the train was heading.
The response was more of a surprise than he had anticipated. "Dublith?" The Sin turned his head, watched the woman at the back with a pursed lower-lip. "You sure?"
"Are you all right, sir? You don't look so - "
"Eh-," Greed had started as he waved his hand. The shock would pass and his system was already putting the pieces back together. "-yeah, don't worry about it, lovely. Just been traveling for a while." Which was the truth - Zelien was far away and this was. Well, it was home.
"What year is it?" He asked, distracted.
"Sir - sir are you sure you're all right?" The homunculus had lost track of her words, then. Eyes swiveling behind his shades, his thin-slits knocking wide and thin erratically. There was a newspaper - strung out across a passenger's face who was far more interested in sleep than the current conversation.
1918.
"Yeah, yeah. Like I said - been traveling a bit, hmn?" He met the bewildered glance of the stewardess with a toothy grin. "Didn't mean to scare ya."
A few tracks covered and a brief exchange had Greed padding back to the back-car. He had someone else to worry about at the moment, as much as his own need was begging for answers. Someone curled up into a vacant cart and Greed scratched a knuckle to the bare of his neck - ah, right.
His vest was thrown up on her - the best make-shift blanket he could offer, given the circumstances. Which were less than stellar. Maybe it had been a bad choice, grabbing her then. She had people - she had family. She wasn't a misfit or an outcast. Just a little girl, barely out of the safe reaches of a mother's arms, and yet.
Yet.
Greed hooked his heel into the arm rest of a seat. In his hand were two glasses - one filled with water, the other filled with something a little more. With his finger latched inside the lip of one, he gently padded the cool touch of glass against her cheek. Urging her awake.
"Oi, oi, oi - don't tell me you went and died on me, kid. You're a little too good for that."
Dawn always brought one or two things. It was either the news of the day, highlighted in the next rebellion, the next uproar in a city long away. Or it was a semi-haze of quiet. As shops reopened and vendors poured onto the street to readying their wares. Today, the latter was true. The rustling of early-morning workers took to the cobblestone streets like an act well-rehearsed. Pulling carts from side-alleys, setting up ice from buckets that still smelled of yesterday.
Greed hardly ever got the chance to see it.
But he had plans - big plans.
Covetous fingers snatched an apple as he passed by. A flick of a coin behind him shut any protest that would have followed and he bent and turned. Chasing the flurry of movement with one of his own. To anyone who didn't know, he looked the part of a staggering drunk trying to find his way home. Or one of those others. That had long since lost their mind to the trails and tribulations of the day.
Neither were true.
Greed snapped at the curved side of an apple. Sliced his teeth right in and pulled. He didn't need it, not really. Not like the people around him needed it and it was more a casual luxury at best. His coat tails whipped behind him - hard leather, worn, and he sunk his head forward to peel away from the thick tangle of fur at his collar.
He had been stationed in Reole for about a week now and everything had gone to schedule. The whispers in the streets, the hushed words at the edge of ears that were just itching to pull the trigger. To hold up knives and cry, "Enough!" That hadn't been his doing, though. She had handled that all on her own.
But the bloodshed was becoming boring. The body-toll turning to nothing more than a waste. And the Avaricious felt himself gnawing at the bit more and more each day.
There was a train. One primed and ready to head south. That was his ticket and they'd never see it coming. In all of the commotion, in the fires that would follow - he would be long gone and by then, it'd be far too late for any of them to figure it out.
A grin slid up his face and Greed tossed the apple into the air. Caught it with a quick-snatch of the wrist. He passed by a beggar and dropped the rest into a tin-can.
"Thank you, kind sir. For your charity," he heard in his passing.
Greed tossed his hand over his head without a second glance. His private smile deadly and unseen. "It's not charity friend - I'm just not that good of a guy."
“You have the oddest tastes in clothing.” Came her voice from the bathroom. It’s a teasing tone, one she’s grown more than comfortable using with him over the months. He, strangely enough, had become her comfort and a stability in her life that she had never expected. They were such opposites on so many levels that everything somehow managed to balance, and after a while, Velma simply ceased attempting to find the logic in them.
Not when she was having such a damn good time of herself.
Normally, she wouldn’t have had the confidence to indulge such attire, but that was before, when her self confidence in that arena left much to be desired. Now, her confidence was no longer an issue. Greed had personally seen to that with surprising patience. Greed was also the reason she was slipping on that particular dress and boots, and despite the fact that she wore them entirely for his benefit, to indulge his tastes, Velma felt a flushed thrill roll through her. He had the tendency to bring out this sexier side of her more and more as of late, but she never even thought to complain.
The door to the bathroom creaked open and she stepped out, arm holding the front of the dress in place as she turned around. The zipper was open, exposing the bare skin of her back in a coy sort of triangle, pointing south toward the curve of her rear. With a sultry look she had long since perfected on him, Velma glanced over her shoulder to him, eyes slightly lidded to play into the part.
“Can you help with my zipper?” The question was soft, almost innocent sounding at how she asked it. Who knew she could still do innocent after all this time?
He hadn't really asked as much as he had coaxed. With the coil of a finger and a smile: "Why don't you give it a try." Velma had become sort of a staple-visitor. Dropping in when he least expected and she appeared more often. When the initial ice-breaker was over and after a while, Greed considered her a regular. Always a bit awkward, but even that had faded a bit over time.
Women weren't in low-demand and he had plenty to call. But those who stuck around where always his favorite and while Greed was known for his less-than-favorable bed-side manners, there were a few rules. His hand had never been raised to a women and never would be, for starters. And secondly, he always did remember a face, even if the name wasn't entirely clear.
Velma, though - she was different. Like those he had taken under his wing; familiar, a friendly face. When she had asked for him, he came. Without questions or much conversation. Just there suddenly, making himself quite at home.
So when the door opened, Greed was half-saddled into the crook of the adjacent-room frame. Wrist nudged to wood and his hip was checked into a sharp corner. He turned his head over his shoulder when the orange-hum from the bathroom made a sharp edge of light flicker through the dark. For a moment, there was a brief tick of surprise; making his eyebrows raise and his lips fall around a half-burnt cigarette.
But that's all it was: brief.
His jaws spread. Fanning his unsavory dentistry around the butt-end of his smoke as he pried it out of his jaws. It found a home between his thick knuckles, still puffing out gray-blue plumes as he jolted off his perch. To say the sight was a surprise was dull at best. The smoothness of her skin against the inky-black tide of her dress made his eyes flick. Hooded with a need that practically invaded every action he made. The Sin pressed the cigarette against the pad of his finger and ash spat back. Until a quick-flash of red mended the wound and he slipped the extinguished cigarette into his back pocket.
"Oh-?" Greed clacked forward and his body swayed. Sauntered as he took up a purposely-slow stride. The glow from the bathroom touched his sunglasses, making them flicker in the dark. Like a candle on the low-burn and he slipped the tip of his nail into the hook of the zipper. "What's the occasion, lovely?" He asked, as he coiled around her back. Practically pressing up against her and his other hand framed out her side, her hip. Followed her curves without touching; keeping his distance, but still communicating with a silent kind of gesture.
"You usually don't do this sort of thing - it's new for you." Greed pulled the zipper up slowly. Listened as metal clinked together and his nose brushed the nape of her neck. She smelled different than before; soap instead of laboratory chemicals. A perfume instead of the dusty remnants of old library books.
Something had changed. He just wasn't sure if he was to blame or if it was something else entirely. "So what's the occasion? We going somewhere I should know about?"
[The sea licked up the shoreline. Rolling softly across the edge, caressing it with fingers foamed in white as it trailed back out again. The tide was starting to drain; with the moon overhead as its signal and the waves slowly rocked away. Leaving behind trails to where the water had been, soaking the sand black in the wee-hours of morning.]
[Bottles rolled across the edge, making the sand shift where it still stayed dry. Greed often found himself at the shoreline. After a few deals down at the docks; trading intel and whatever-else came off the murky-bows of the ships lined there. Some knew his name, knew his face. Knew that if they were wise, the business was good. Others were naive to the fact and the charm was easy to put on. With a flip of the hand and a devil's smile: "Do we have a deal?".]
[But business was over, which left the Sin in question to walk out the remaining hours. He had already his fill, though even that was an impossibility. The fur-lining of his long-leather coat smelled of it - of women, of men. Of smoke and liquor and everything else that was damned by law and creed.]
[Not that he followed those rules, anyway.]
[Greed picked at the threads of his jacket. The sleeves had been ripped off, a novice effort that left strands behind. He turned his head, dipped himself low as he followed the tide-line with each roll of his ankle. Like this, he looked the part of a shadow. A ghoulish sort of creature; with a Cheshire's grin to rival the moon hanging above as he pocketed his hands and fingered the gold and coin that bounced back.]
[He saw it first; the outline of something - someone - pooled out in the dark. A hand stretched to the beckoning land and the rest of the body left for the tide to rock it. He made a noise in his throat, pulling his lip back just so.] What a waste. [The Sin came close, shuffling through the bleach-white sand as he rounded the body.]
[With his knees splayed out, the Sin crouched down and stretched out his hand. His nails touched gnarled hair, winding it around as sea-salt dripped across his palm.]
There was not one part of his body that did not hurt. The poison had stripped him of hours, of himself, lost in a haze of near death. Lost to the void, that spilled forth in the place between the two. Where death almost took him, he'd fallen into the hole in the world. For all that they had dumped his body on a raft in the ocean, they really should have known better.
He was alive not because he wanted to be, but because he must. Life beyond all reasonable expectation of such.
And maybe it's his own strength, maybe it was the spirit that kept him alive in those hours before he washed up on shore. Hard to tell, hard to draw the line between. He expected little, only that death would be a true mercy to the agony he felt. His body as scarred as his mind.
But he had given none, and thus expected no quarter. Not when he felt fingers in his hair and life -- came lancing back through his body like a blade between the ribs. He gasped in air, only to regret it immediately. Lungs hardly filled with air, and his body sought to rid him of all of it. He shuddered, coughing harshly, spasming with the effort of his stomach emptying itself. Sea water, blood, and the sweet sickly stink of poison. Too exhausted to even lift his head from the ground.
Only but for a moment, just because there was someone near, it did not mean kindness, he'd learned that lesson. He'd never bitten the hand that fed him, but it had never stopped him from being struck by it. So he tried, to push himself up, to move away, but he got no further than to push himself up onto his arm, before that gave out on him again. After all this, not the strength to fight. ( He expected death, because death was what he deserved ). ]
[In order to keep alive and stay alive, he knew he needed someone above himself. Someone who could take care of anything that came his way. Let's be real, there weren't a whole lot of people who Grit knew were above him in the rankings. This was a place that a human should not be and in order to, you know, not die, he had to find a way to actually be here.
Enter a seedy ass bar that he heard took in misfits. Okay so a human wasn't really a misfit, but it had to be worth something, right? At least he was trying to live.
The place was empty, and all that he could see was one man with slicked hair and a vest that made him look way too creepy for his own good. He walked right over and placed his hand on the table.]
Howdy. Are you hirin' for anything?
[Might as well make himself useful before he dropped the 'oh yeah please house me']
[Glass after glass, drink after drink. Late nights weren't unfamiliar for the bar in question and it was a busy one as always. As more flooded in, trickling from back-alleys and abandoned street corners. There was a mixed crowd at the head of the bar, pouring over their collective drinks; making an intelligible mutter hang in the air like the stale-stink of smoke that clung there.]
[And, as always, he was there to greet them.]
[Greed pitched a cloth into a deep glass, rubbing at it absently. He had been talking to someone else when a voice came through like a gunshot. Aiming for an intended target and his attentions were found easily. "You hirin' for anything?" The Sin paused, swiping a cat-calling grin right up his face.]
That depends - [A heavy dip of the eyebrow fell under his shades and Greed placed the mug onto the bar with a heavy thud. He nodded off to someone around back; a shorter man with a spiked-back haircut to match his own.] - but that isn't how it usually works, Chief.
[It was a silent exchange. Between himself and the other; two fingers held high, a beckoning motion forward. And they switched places - his partner taking the head and Greed slipped behind his bar. Trailing the length before slinking out the small-mouthed opening.]
Why don't we do this a little more privately. After all, there's a few things you should probably know. [Between the drafty curtains and the numerously-crooked hallways, there were eyes. Flicking as the would-be boss gave the signal. With a shrug of his shoulders and a toss of the hand, making his fingers spiral out one by one.]
They always met at the same time. When the sun gave up its light; when the moon returned the favor. Time seemed to still at this hour. Doors were locked, flames were lit. Windows were latched, though that never ended up being much a problem.
Not for him, not for the other. And certainly, she always made sure to keep the handle just a little bit loose.
The window to the balcony swayed open. A light breeze took it the rest of the way, making it bang and flap uselessly against the adorning frame. The air was a chill-cool. Wafting in from a far-off shore that smelt of salt still thick from the day; with the undertone of sticky oil holding. And like the very substance, he came. Birthed from a blackness that he seemed to adore. It crept into his everything - the leather on his legs, the bend of his boots. To the shivering-sharp spikes of his hair.
A criminal to most, a monster to some, and the devil in this would-be meeting of unlikely bed-mates.
Greed ran his fingers down his chest, raising his head to take a look inside. He chased the furthest reaches of the wall. Following where moonlight touched him, turning him an ashy gray. This was the way it had to be; the way she silently demanded it to be. A place of solitude and scheming.
Of which it was a private party of three.
A sliver of gold was pulled from his pocket: his calling card. The coin was small, smooth. Rough at the edges. He placed it on the corner of a desk in plain sight.
Some people were natural sneaks, natural creepers in darkness and shadow. They could be at home in it, at one with it, but that was not true of everyone. Some people hid in plain sight; they blended in with the crowd.
But others could hide at the center of that crowd, at the center of attention, and he was one of them. He was not someone able to wait quietly or arrive secretly.
He was not carried on a salt-rich air from the sea, air that smelt of tar and oil and sweat. He arrived on a breath of sugar-sweetness, on air warm from the bakers ovens, on honeyed over-tones and the hint of vanilla spices. And he'd arrived hours ago, laughing and drinking and telling stories under a high-roofed hall, hidden in plain sight.
Now darkness had well and truly fallen however, and his companions had taken themselves to bed- theirs or someone else's, or settled onto the floor in content stupors, he was free to go as he pleased. He moved as if he owned the place, a certain swagger in his walk as he headed down corridors, slipped through doorways and up stair-cases. And then he was there, a familiar door with it's familiar tapestries on either side, and despite the best advice in the land, unbarred.
Years. He had been here for years. Watching as mankind changed; as wars he had no interest in came and went. Progress marched on and he watched it go. As villages turned to cities, as cities expanded to stretch high, high, high. People came, people went.
Yet he was still there. Without a hitch of change on his face, without a single scar of time to his name.
He didn't forget, either. The memories of a life long-since passed, the last moments still lingering. But as the years slipped away, old wounds healed and eventually, it was like old times. In a bar settled deep within the heart of an old city, the neon lights buzzed on. The old, familiar crowd followed. Creatures that lost themselves to myth and legend, humans who could find no where to belong. Some came in passing, others stayed. Telling stories of heaven and hell; of hunters that would soon follow.
Not that he particularly cared.
2015 came in the same whirlwind of celebration as the last. New York, with its infamous ball-drop, called more than the usual and the bar had been more crowded in the weeks before. Some drunk away to forget the yester-years, others drank for things to come. And still, he was just there. Taking and spinning them for all they were worth.
A devil by a different name.
Greed casually flicked the bar sign on, listening as the electric hum sounded off through the panes of glass. New York had become his final resting place and he had seen it all; the vast expanse of Europe, the deep south. And in his search, he had swindled them all: of cash, of information. Only to disappear to the next, mapping a trail that led him straight back: New York.
The city that never slept; the city that held enough information to keep his attention.
The Devil's Nest was quiet by late afternoon and the Sin pressed his hand into the back of his skull. He forced his palm to the dip of his neck, making his skull lull to the side with a lazy crack. A groan escaped him; hushing out of his lips as he let his arm sag to the side with a boneless fall.
No, the years didn't matter. The place didn't matter. In the end, it was the same: business. His business. And for a creature who wanted it all?
There were places like this everywhere. Places where the different came. There was a place called the Briers in London, underground and full of werewolves, for the most part. There were dark dens in Paris and in Rome, there were those in Delhi carefully warded to escape the judgement of the gods. China was dotted with them, and he could name at least three in Tokyo alone (apparently the demons there didn't like to mix with anyone else after hours). And even the new world had them.
New York was not a city he spent much time in. There were a lot of monsters there- human for the most part- and if he started trying to tidy up, he'd never actually finish. New evils would creep in, as they always did in cities, and he'd never get to leave again. But sometimes a little sight-seeing trip was well worth the effort of dragging himself away from small-town America.
He'd heard of The Devil's Nest. It wasn't a very original name, but it fit, so Gabriel supposed the owner could be forgiven. Not that he'd ever met the man. And he used that term loosey. Still, when in New York, The Devil's Nest was the place to visit. If only because you heard news there, and since his so-called death, Gabriel had been desperate for news. He's had a little, form time to time, enough to drop in once or twice on the Brochesters and little Cassandra, who seemed to be fucking things up well by themselves.
Of course, Gabriel couldn't exactly make himself obvious anymore, which meant all his tricks had been drastically down-scaled. And that meant he was bored. B. O. R. E. D. Bored.
So maybe, he guessed, hanging out in a place like The Nest would be good for him. And even if he didn't find any new projects to keep him entertained, there would be gossip. And even if there wasn't gossip (and what sort of bar didn't have gossip?) then he was sure he could entertain himself some other way. He did enjoy watching fights start, after all.
It was already busy when he arrived. It was an old fashioned sort of place, more like a Tavern than a bar, even by New York bar standards- but he supposed this place had no reason to follow human fashions and trends. So Gabriel shifted his way through the knot of other patrons, and found himself a seat at the bar, off to one side. Unlikely to be bothered by drunks and more importantly with a great view of the rest of the bar, perfect for eavesdropping.
[ Lightning silently berated herself as she was led through dark, dimly-lit hallways, the stone walls cold and damp to the touch, completely bare except for the occasional basic iron strut for a wooden torch. She doesn't know how far underground this cellar extends to, or if anyone could find her - if the church would even bother to attempt to rescue her. Had she'd been captured and brought anywhere else, they would had made some sort of attempt of a rescue, even if it was only for show. But here, in the heart of enemy territory, a prisoner in the dungeons of very headquarters? They'd probably written her off for dead and were preparing to send their condolences to her sister.
And it was her fault - a brief moment, where she had let down her guard, where exhaustion seeped into her bones and her focus wavered - only a moment, but that had been all they had needed. Even if she was a demon hunter, she was still only one woman, and she could only hold out for so long. Now she was their prisoner, arms bound behind her and pondering over the command given to her captors by their leader, as he had looked her over as she'd glared up at him, defiant and proud even in defeat, and his lip curled in amusement as he laughed.
Leave her with our other guest. I'm sure they'll enjoy each others company.
Who else was here? Lightning hadn't heard of anyone else being captured - at least, not captured alive. But her question is soon answered, as the knots tying her hands are loosened before she's thrown face first into her cell - which, to her surprise, is surprisingly spacious. Refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing her cry out, she still can't hold back a sharp grunt as skin scrapes against stone but that's enough to them. She hears them bark a laugh as the door behind her clicks shut, before their footsteps and harsh, barking laughter grow fainter and fainter.
There's someone in here with her, of course, and she tries to figure out who, while she works her hands free as her eyes adjust to the darkness, trying make sense of the shadows. Unlike her, as she slips free, wrists red and raw from the rope rubbing against them, they're still bound - and, it seems, the reason why the cell is so large. A massive crucifix towers in the room, made of either stone or metal; it's hard to tell exactly what, with its surface darkened with age and pitted with runes and inscriptions. And hanging on that stone cross, is a man - arms spread open, pinned to the object with heavy, steel chains, each link covered in painstakingly chiseled runes.
It seems rather overkill for a mere human - but as she pushes herself up from the stone floor, her hand brushes against a carved rune into the floor that flickers at her touch; the letters and shapes light up briefly, revealing the cell completely etched with symbols and letters of binding, disturbed as if she'd thrown a stone into a still pond, before fading back into darkness.
And she recognizes some of these runes and symbols, bits and pieces of inscriptions. She's used them in her work, in hunting her quarry and prey; to bind and trap them before ultimately destroying them. ]
Demon!
[ Lightning spits out the word as if it were a curse, springing to her feet as she reaches for a weapon that's no longer there to strike him down. Too late, she bitterly remembers that of course they'd stripped her of all her weapons; all she can do is crouch against the ground and glare at the bound devil, looking as if she'd love to spit in his face. ]
[The links of chain are slick and damp. As they shift amorphously in the dark, like a swarm of eels writhing in the after muck of a midnight low tide. The smell this far down is rank with sulfur and earth, the pungent taste of wet permeating through without a foreseen source. Where ever she is, where ever they are, its far below ground and deeper still than most man made structures would allow.]
[Something buried, something hidden. And all for one purpose only.]
[The sudden jolt of the runes is what alerts him first; sparks of light run across the length of the cross, only to dart in a horizontal line. Similar to fire following a trial of gunpowder, the abysmal red brightens then fades. It temporarily hones his jagged features that much sharper before shadows take him again, washing back in as the faint hum vanishes with one last sputtering hiss.]
[Greed doesn't know how long he's been down here. Days, months, years. His joints are stiff with disuse. He can feel the slight twitch in his fingers, his senses rebooting once again. The chains are his throat feel clammy against his skin, but as he slowly crawls out of his half-dazed stupor, the metal links start to sizzle. Threatening protective magic against his own, insatiable want.]
Now, that's not very nice - [The Sin answers in a drawl. His voice is airy and loft; the vocal chords finding themselves with the prolonged disuse. He tests his wrist as he speaks, twisting it until the chain link finally constricts his movement to a still. It's then that his eyes ease open and the color is telling of what he really is; a deep purple, faded with a haunting kind of hue. They blare through the dark and light spills against the pale-tan color of his skin. Greed lulls his head to he side, the chains rattling and tightening to the pull: the charm of Marley's ghost.]
- but you're right. Though, I figured you wouldn't really hold it against me. It's not like they gave you much of a choice either and I'm gunna guess it's pretty safe to assume you aren't working on their side. Did I get that right?
[The instinct to grab for a weapon gives her away, her placement in the cell only adding to the fact. Either she's done something to upset the higher ranks or, more than likely, she's from an opposite faction. Walking too close to a den of wolves and now, here they are.]
[The demon tests his binds again, listening as metal clinks and clacks. A sharp hiss cuts through the static, the four blades lodged expertly into his body shivering as his own electrical current tries to fend off the intrusion. The action proves to no avail; whoever placed him down here knew what they were doing. A weak point, the proverbial Achilles heel and they found all four.]
[He turns his head down to look at her again, a small grin slicing a line of white in the dark. The lids of his eyes fall heavy, his expression sultry despite the obvious predicament.] Before you start getting any wild ideas, I'm not like the rest. Try not to do anything too brash, hmn?
[A droplet ploops in a puddle nearby; a rat answers with a shrill squeak. Greed rocks his shoulder, feeling it press and stiffen against his stone slab.] So - what's your name, lovely?
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● her hair was long, her foot was light, and her eyes were wild.
[ She knew better than to be here.
A thousand times and a thousand ways, she knew better than to be here. But no one had forced her to write the letter that arranged -- yet another -- meeting with him.
Here, being the secluded back her gardens. Stone walls and roses set against them. The lantern flickering on the ground and casting the place in a warm, soft light. Though she was never very good blending into shadows. Her red hair left free and her dress pulled up past her knee as she walked idly paced.
In her mind, she composed the words to end this. To force this to be over. Would that she had half the strength to say that in the face of what she wanted. Stupid, all of it, as if he cared half so much.
She wasn't even sure she did either. But she wanted to meet him, to see him again. To feel something other than frustration and contempt and hidden bemusement for those around her. God almighty, spare her her own pathetic need to be herself.
And let her spare some of her own dignity. ]
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[But despite differences, the two of them had an understanding; business. Business under the table, beyond watchful eyes. Always done at her door and on his terms. A perfect balance, blending the clear-cut edges of night and day, making for the gray aftermath.]
[He always came, then. When the sun had already set and his own accounts had been settled. Mainly, his own needs. Want and desire his fueling point and Greed, if anything, stuck by only a few set of standards.]
[It's slightly warm, when he arrives. Slipping from the dark, one heel clacking to announce. A low hum at the edge of his step, like fire crackling in a forgotten fireplace; the announcement of a devil and he wouldn't have had it any other way. The metaphor in there not entirely lost and the Sin tilts his head back. Wandering stride making him bend over his hips, making him twist around like the adder he is. Sleek and black, slipping over stone.]
Been a little while, lovely. [He hisses, edge of his teeth the only thing catching light. White to the moon and just like the rest of him, they're made for deadlier intentions. To tear and bite and while he's made good with them in the past, the use of the now is much more different.]
[To tease and gesture. To bring on a confession in the cruelest sort of notion.]
[But he knows better than to tread without an invitation and Greed merely circles her back. Shaded eyes flicking, watching every flutter of her dress. Wealthy in all her remains.]
So - what kind of business do you have for me? Usually, you're a little more precise. [It had been a bit vague, even for Elizabeth's standards. The bulk left out, reading between the lines and even that hadn't given him much.]
[And for a creature that called for more, it had left a bit of a nagging.]
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But now in shadows, they were inky and lifeless. Little pools of blackness against her always too pale skin. ( But never pale enough. She was Gloriana, and for awhile, perhaps, in this night with him, she was all fae, and not at all a woman. )
His voice at her back, made her tense. Exposed shoulders pulling in a little before she took a breath back out as her head tipped back a little then proceeded -- as if she expected him there all along. That this was business as usual. ]
Perhaps I needed the company. [ And then she curved, over a rosebush. White, and sweet smelling in the night. The whole garden was rich with them, and they were her favourite. As if he were nothing and she could just ignore him as she so wished, that she wasn't aware of him behind her. ] I am Queen after all, and you are not the only to feel a greed insatiable.
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blaaah sorry if this was terrible fjdfds was half asleep
NO IT'S FABULOUS HUN no worries
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[ There's an undertone of danger, as well, that Alec likes, no matter how many times that Greed assures that he's not going to hurt him. There was that with Richard, and Alec imagines Greed as the sort of man who's capable of killing a lover, particularly if the lover spurned him. ]
[ That's not really the point, because Alec's not that sort of manipulative, couldn't manage intimacy if it were only going to be false. It's just part of the appeal, the potential for violence, even if Alec likes to watch it as much or more than he likes to be its recipient. ]
Are you a man used to getting everything you want, or just what you need?
[ As far as openings for flirting go, it's awkward, but this is one arena where Alec isn't confident of his own knowledge, nor capable of acting that way regardless. ]
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[Glass of scotch half empty by now. Ice teetering on the collapse and the left-over collection slides when he motions it to empty table. Arms occupied, but he ushers his nameless guests away with a toss of his fingers. With a promising smile and hushed sort of whisper:] I'll be there in a minute.
[When the two leave, his attentions return. Alec hasn't been the easiest of his
possessionsemployees to get along with. Tongue always sharp and dismal, but they've known one another long enough and if anything, his always did come first.][So he opens up a hand. Palm churning on the axis of a wrist, beckoning the other with a silent sort of gesture.] But that really shouldn't be a surprise to you, right? Or is it something else you're interest in?
[Because when it comes down to it, he's never been the sort to deny an offer given. Flirtation not lost on him and the Sin spreads his thighs. Slides both heels from their perch at the table, motioning them away with ease. With that slippery notion and it's entirely him; the bar, the setting. Every inch his domain and he reigns as king. Crown of the would-be underworld made in cold-hard cash; with liquor, women, and everything in between. The whole cache his own; to hold with covetous claws, a devil nestled with ill-gotten gains.]
[At least he was honest about the arrangement.]
[Greed reaches beyond; fingers stretching, body moving with the pull of a torso and he's snatching at the remains of a cigarette smoldering away in an ashtray. Butt-end snagged in thick knuckles and Greed takes a drag as he peels eyes away for a moment. Sunglasses shifting from the sickly-yellow overhang, falling back into a cut of shadow. And his smile is wide, grin the Cheshire's favorite moon. Cut thin and sharp.]
Just come out with it - not like I'm about to judge you. But I need to know what you really want, hmn?
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[Alec cocks a hip out, but embarrassment always finds itself chased with anger in him, and so his eyes are hard, though whether that anger will be directed at himself or at Greed if it has cause to linger is something yet to be determined.]
[Greed is all the more attractive here, in this space he owns, when Alec himself has never belonged anywhere, not as thoroughly as this. He's always been out of place, tripping over his own limbs and words and all the other people in the world, but that's really as good as he gets.]
I might be inclined to ask if you have all of that.
[Alec shifts towards Greed and into his space, with all the wariness of any bird that's interested in the promise of being fed, or a cat still eager to be pet.]
But I think we both know that that's not really the matter at hand.
[Alec swallows, throat working for a moment.]
I have more to offer you, if you want it.
[Alec reaches his hand out then, fear and wariness overcome by stubbornness, as he ghosts his hand onto Greed's thigh.]
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● ( pray ) 'cause no body ever survives
[ Her greeting to him was some mock formality, hardly so kind, in truth, if anyone knew what smiling eyes could hide. But all the same, with a love and a kindness she kept for only the most naive of children, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, her hand curling to cup his jaw. A lover, a wife, or an old friend. No one was ever bold enough to say what she meant by such an action. But to her, as ever, it was a game of smiles and twisted meaning.
And sweet as the gesture was, it was contrasted, by the blade she pressed into his hand, a gift and a request all at once. The blade was plain, no stones decorated it, though there was a carving engraved alone the pommel. There were a hundred blades like it in the city. It was why she had given it to him. It would be untraceable. ]
I've work for you, if you'd like it.
[ As if he would have no idea what that work was, like this was a meeting done in proud daylight and not in a back alley. Like they were respectable gentlemen. But she turned, trusting him enough to not run her through like a wild animal ( and so many said she was). Her skirts clutched in one hand and held as she navigated the old blood stains on the floor, like she could see them even now. Above it, even if she caused it. ]
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["There are demons down there," they had said. "-and they're coming for us."]
[Which was slightly true and slightly not in the same breath. He, himself, took to orders when they came. From another source entirely, one stashed away deep underground. A secret kept by the people running office and no one else knew the wiser.]
[But sometimes, the mortal lot surprised and she was always full of them. Her violence, her wrath, and when she came to visit, it didn't surprise him. Instead, he merely smiled to the crack-spit of a burning candle. The touch of hell-fire at those teeth and his shoulders rolled up. Sending the long fur collar of his jacket spiraling across the broad-side of his neck.]
C'mon, lovely, you know I don't need that.
[As if to make his point clear, Greed extended his nails. Shot them out, a feline ready to pounce, and claws met steel with a horrible sound. The melody of the damned as sparks flew off the blade. Punctuating with every bump and scratch of his terrible talons.] Though, don't you have someone who does this for you? You know I don't work for you, right?
[The seven deadlies and they weren't for human consumption. Weren't drafted under a flag or a kingdom, but under one individual alone. The father of monsters and the Sin rose to his feet. Reached his claws to the wick of the candle and pinched it out.]
[Smoke spun from his talons as he turned to face her. Those eyes like beacons in the dark.] You should know better.
[But his smile told a different story. Dangerous and sick as he motioned himself over his hips; undulating with the thought, far too eager with the proposition.]
Just who is it this time?
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➥ CLOSED | @tigerscub
It's still not real
Ash and urn and silence
Talk to me."
➥ CLOSED | @tigerscub
"C'mon kid!"
Greed couldn't remember the rest. He knew, as the last train out was leaving, that Zelien was falling apart behind them. Taken by a sea of black that didn't stop. Eating away buildings, tearing apart steel. Stones crashed against the side of the cart and he was aware that she had said something. But he couldn't recall what. All that he remembered were the lights going out and that sick sensation of melting.
Then, the whistle blew.
Greed flicked open his pocket-watch: 10:03. PM, but the looks of it. Dotted windows lit up in warm gold passed by, the locomotive going at a steady pace. He had checked it - asked which way the train was heading.
The response was more of a surprise than he had anticipated. "Dublith?" The Sin turned his head, watched the woman at the back with a pursed lower-lip. "You sure?"
"Are you all right, sir? You don't look so - "
"Eh-," Greed had started as he waved his hand. The shock would pass and his system was already putting the pieces back together. "-yeah, don't worry about it, lovely. Just been traveling for a while." Which was the truth - Zelien was far away and this was. Well, it was home.
"What year is it?" He asked, distracted.
"Sir - sir are you sure you're all right?" The homunculus had lost track of her words, then. Eyes swiveling behind his shades, his thin-slits knocking wide and thin erratically. There was a newspaper - strung out across a passenger's face who was far more interested in sleep than the current conversation.
1918.
"Yeah, yeah. Like I said - been traveling a bit, hmn?" He met the bewildered glance of the stewardess with a toothy grin. "Didn't mean to scare ya."
A few tracks covered and a brief exchange had Greed padding back to the back-car. He had someone else to worry about at the moment, as much as his own need was begging for answers. Someone curled up into a vacant cart and Greed scratched a knuckle to the bare of his neck - ah, right.
His vest was thrown up on her - the best make-shift blanket he could offer, given the circumstances. Which were less than stellar. Maybe it had been a bad choice, grabbing her then. She had people - she had family. She wasn't a misfit or an outcast. Just a little girl, barely out of the safe reaches of a mother's arms, and yet.
Yet.
Greed hooked his heel into the arm rest of a seat. In his hand were two glasses - one filled with water, the other filled with something a little more. With his finger latched inside the lip of one, he gently padded the cool touch of glass against her cheek. Urging her awake.
"Oi, oi, oi - don't tell me you went and died on me, kid. You're a little too good for that."
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➥ OPEN | welcome to the late 1700s
Greed hardly ever got the chance to see it.
But he had plans - big plans.
Covetous fingers snatched an apple as he passed by. A flick of a coin behind him shut any protest that would have followed and he bent and turned. Chasing the flurry of movement with one of his own. To anyone who didn't know, he looked the part of a staggering drunk trying to find his way home. Or one of those others. That had long since lost their mind to the trails and tribulations of the day.
Neither were true.
Greed snapped at the curved side of an apple. Sliced his teeth right in and pulled. He didn't need it, not really. Not like the people around him needed it and it was more a casual luxury at best. His coat tails whipped behind him - hard leather, worn, and he sunk his head forward to peel away from the thick tangle of fur at his collar.
He had been stationed in Reole for about a week now and everything had gone to schedule. The whispers in the streets, the hushed words at the edge of ears that were just itching to pull the trigger. To hold up knives and cry, "Enough!" That hadn't been his doing, though. She had handled that all on her own.
But the bloodshed was becoming boring. The body-toll turning to nothing more than a waste. And the Avaricious felt himself gnawing at the bit more and more each day.
There was a train. One primed and ready to head south. That was his ticket and they'd never see it coming. In all of the commotion, in the fires that would follow - he would be long gone and by then, it'd be far too late for any of them to figure it out.
A grin slid up his face and Greed tossed the apple into the air. Caught it with a quick-snatch of the wrist. He passed by a beggar and dropped the rest into a tin-can.
"Thank you, kind sir. For your charity," he heard in his passing.
Greed tossed his hand over his head without a second glance. His private smile deadly and unseen. "It's not charity friend - I'm just not that good of a guy."
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Not when she was having such a damn good time of herself.
Normally, she wouldn’t have had the confidence to indulge such attire, but that was before, when her self confidence in that arena left much to be desired. Now, her confidence was no longer an issue. Greed had personally seen to that with surprising patience. Greed was also the reason she was slipping on that particular dress and boots, and despite the fact that she wore them entirely for his benefit, to indulge his tastes, Velma felt a flushed thrill roll through her. He had the tendency to bring out this sexier side of her more and more as of late, but she never even thought to complain.
The door to the bathroom creaked open and she stepped out, arm holding the front of the dress in place as she turned around. The zipper was open, exposing the bare skin of her back in a coy sort of triangle, pointing south toward the curve of her rear. With a sultry look she had long since perfected on him, Velma glanced over her shoulder to him, eyes slightly lidded to play into the part.
“Can you help with my zipper?” The question was soft, almost innocent sounding at how she asked it. Who knew she could still do innocent after all this time?
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Women weren't in low-demand and he had plenty to call. But those who stuck around where always his favorite and while Greed was known for his less-than-favorable bed-side manners, there were a few rules. His hand had never been raised to a women and never would be, for starters. And secondly, he always did remember a face, even if the name wasn't entirely clear.
Velma, though - she was different. Like those he had taken under his wing; familiar, a friendly face. When she had asked for him, he came. Without questions or much conversation. Just there suddenly, making himself quite at home.
So when the door opened, Greed was half-saddled into the crook of the adjacent-room frame. Wrist nudged to wood and his hip was checked into a sharp corner. He turned his head over his shoulder when the orange-hum from the bathroom made a sharp edge of light flicker through the dark. For a moment, there was a brief tick of surprise; making his eyebrows raise and his lips fall around a half-burnt cigarette.
But that's all it was: brief.
His jaws spread. Fanning his unsavory dentistry around the butt-end of his smoke as he pried it out of his jaws. It found a home between his thick knuckles, still puffing out gray-blue plumes as he jolted off his perch. To say the sight was a surprise was dull at best. The smoothness of her skin against the inky-black tide of her dress made his eyes flick. Hooded with a need that practically invaded every action he made. The Sin pressed the cigarette against the pad of his finger and ash spat back. Until a quick-flash of red mended the wound and he slipped the extinguished cigarette into his back pocket.
"Oh-?" Greed clacked forward and his body swayed. Sauntered as he took up a purposely-slow stride. The glow from the bathroom touched his sunglasses, making them flicker in the dark. Like a candle on the low-burn and he slipped the tip of his nail into the hook of the zipper. "What's the occasion, lovely?" He asked, as he coiled around her back. Practically pressing up against her and his other hand framed out her side, her hip. Followed her curves without touching; keeping his distance, but still communicating with a silent kind of gesture.
"You usually don't do this sort of thing - it's new for you." Greed pulled the zipper up slowly. Listened as metal clinked together and his nose brushed the nape of her neck. She smelled different than before; soap instead of laboratory chemicals. A perfume instead of the dusty remnants of old library books.
Something had changed. He just wasn't sure if he was to blame or if it was something else entirely. "So what's the occasion? We going somewhere I should know about?"
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➥ CORVO
[The sea licked up the shoreline. Rolling softly across the edge, caressing it with fingers foamed in white as it trailed back out again. The tide was starting to drain; with the moon overhead as its signal and the waves slowly rocked away. Leaving behind trails to where the water had been, soaking the sand black in the wee-hours of morning.]
[Bottles rolled across the edge, making the sand shift where it still stayed dry. Greed often found himself at the shoreline. After a few deals down at the docks; trading intel and whatever-else came off the murky-bows of the ships lined there. Some knew his name, knew his face. Knew that if they were wise, the business was good. Others were naive to the fact and the charm was easy to put on. With a flip of the hand and a devil's smile: "Do we have a deal?".]
[But business was over, which left the Sin in question to walk out the remaining hours. He had already his fill, though even that was an impossibility. The fur-lining of his long-leather coat smelled of it - of women, of men. Of smoke and liquor and everything else that was damned by law and creed.]
[Not that he followed those rules, anyway.]
[Greed picked at the threads of his jacket. The sleeves had been ripped off, a novice effort that left strands behind. He turned his head, dipped himself low as he followed the tide-line with each roll of his ankle. Like this, he looked the part of a shadow. A ghoulish sort of creature; with a Cheshire's grin to rival the moon hanging above as he pocketed his hands and fingered the gold and coin that bounced back.]
[He saw it first; the outline of something - someone - pooled out in the dark. A hand stretched to the beckoning land and the rest of the body left for the tide to rock it. He made a noise in his throat, pulling his lip back just so.] What a waste. [The Sin came close, shuffling through the bleach-white sand as he rounded the body.]
[With his knees splayed out, the Sin crouched down and stretched out his hand. His nails touched gnarled hair, winding it around as sea-salt dripped across his palm.]
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There was not one part of his body that did not hurt. The poison had stripped him of hours, of himself, lost in a haze of near death. Lost to the void, that spilled forth in the place between the two. Where death almost took him, he'd fallen into the hole in the world. For all that they had dumped his body on a raft in the ocean, they really should have known better.
He was alive not because he wanted to be, but because he must. Life beyond all reasonable expectation of such.
And maybe it's his own strength, maybe it was the spirit that kept him alive in those hours before he washed up on shore. Hard to tell, hard to draw the line between. He expected little, only that death would be a true mercy to the agony he felt. His body as scarred as his mind.
But he had given none, and thus expected no quarter. Not when he felt fingers in his hair and life -- came lancing back through his body like a blade between the ribs. He gasped in air, only to regret it immediately. Lungs hardly filled with air, and his body sought to rid him of all of it. He shuddered, coughing harshly, spasming with the effort of his stomach emptying itself. Sea water, blood, and the sweet sickly stink of poison. Too exhausted to even lift his head from the ground.
Only but for a moment, just because there was someone near, it did not mean kindness, he'd learned that lesson. He'd never bitten the hand that fed him, but it had never stopped him from being struck by it. So he tried, to push himself up, to move away, but he got no further than to push himself up onto his arm, before that gave out on him again. After all this, not the strength to fight. ( He expected death, because death was what he deserved ). ]
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[In order to keep alive and stay alive, he knew he needed someone above himself. Someone who could take care of anything that came his way. Let's be real, there weren't a whole lot of people who Grit knew were above him in the rankings. This was a place that a human should not be and in order to, you know, not die, he had to find a way to actually be here.
Enter a seedy ass bar that he heard took in misfits. Okay so a human wasn't really a misfit, but it had to be worth something, right? At least he was trying to live.
The place was empty, and all that he could see was one man with slicked hair and a vest that made him look way too creepy for his own good. He walked right over and placed his hand on the table.]
Howdy. Are you hirin' for anything?
[Might as well make himself useful before he dropped the 'oh yeah please house me']
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[And, as always, he was there to greet them.]
[Greed pitched a cloth into a deep glass, rubbing at it absently. He had been talking to someone else when a voice came through like a gunshot. Aiming for an intended target and his attentions were found easily. "You hirin' for anything?" The Sin paused, swiping a cat-calling grin right up his face.]
That depends - [A heavy dip of the eyebrow fell under his shades and Greed placed the mug onto the bar with a heavy thud. He nodded off to someone around back; a shorter man with a spiked-back haircut to match his own.] - but that isn't how it usually works, Chief.
[It was a silent exchange. Between himself and the other; two fingers held high, a beckoning motion forward. And they switched places - his partner taking the head and Greed slipped behind his bar. Trailing the length before slinking out the small-mouthed opening.]
Why don't we do this a little more privately. After all, there's a few things you should probably know. [Between the drafty curtains and the numerously-crooked hallways, there were eyes. Flicking as the would-be boss gave the signal. With a shrug of his shoulders and a toss of the hand, making his fingers spiral out one by one.]
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➥ SOME GOOD OL'FASHIONED VIOLENCE
➥ How it works |
Prompts are the usual: lyrics, music, photo, whatever. Canon, AU. Because sometimes violence is the answer.
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The Trifecta | CLOSED
Not for him, not for the other. And certainly, she always made sure to keep the handle just a little bit loose.
The window to the balcony swayed open. A light breeze took it the rest of the way, making it bang and flap uselessly against the adorning frame. The air was a chill-cool. Wafting in from a far-off shore that smelt of salt still thick from the day; with the undertone of sticky oil holding. And like the very substance, he came. Birthed from a blackness that he seemed to adore. It crept into his everything - the leather on his legs, the bend of his boots. To the shivering-sharp spikes of his hair.
A criminal to most, a monster to some, and the devil in this would-be meeting of unlikely bed-mates.
Greed ran his fingers down his chest, raising his head to take a look inside. He chased the furthest reaches of the wall. Following where moonlight touched him, turning him an ashy gray. This was the way it had to be; the way she silently demanded it to be. A place of solitude and scheming.
Of which it was a private party of three.
A sliver of gold was pulled from his pocket: his calling card. The coin was small, smooth. Rough at the edges. He placed it on the corner of a desk in plain sight.
It was only a waiting game now.
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But others could hide at the center of that crowd, at the center of attention, and he was one of them. He was not someone able to wait quietly or arrive secretly.
He was not carried on a salt-rich air from the sea, air that smelt of tar and oil and sweat. He arrived on a breath of sugar-sweetness, on air warm from the bakers ovens, on honeyed over-tones and the hint of vanilla spices. And he'd arrived hours ago, laughing and drinking and telling stories under a high-roofed hall, hidden in plain sight.
Now darkness had well and truly fallen however, and his companions had taken themselves to bed- theirs or someone else's, or settled onto the floor in content stupors, he was free to go as he pleased. He moved as if he owned the place, a certain swagger in his walk as he headed down corridors, slipped through doorways and up stair-cases. And then he was there, a familiar door with it's familiar tapestries on either side, and despite the best advice in the land, unbarred.
He let himself in.
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➥ HUNTING MONSTERS | closed to gabriel
Yet he was still there. Without a hitch of change on his face, without a single scar of time to his name.
He didn't forget, either. The memories of a life long-since passed, the last moments still lingering. But as the years slipped away, old wounds healed and eventually, it was like old times. In a bar settled deep within the heart of an old city, the neon lights buzzed on. The old, familiar crowd followed. Creatures that lost themselves to myth and legend, humans who could find no where to belong. Some came in passing, others stayed. Telling stories of heaven and hell; of hunters that would soon follow.
Not that he particularly cared.
2015 came in the same whirlwind of celebration as the last. New York, with its infamous ball-drop, called more than the usual and the bar had been more crowded in the weeks before. Some drunk away to forget the yester-years, others drank for things to come. And still, he was just there. Taking and spinning them for all they were worth.
A devil by a different name.
Greed casually flicked the bar sign on, listening as the electric hum sounded off through the panes of glass. New York had become his final resting place and he had seen it all; the vast expanse of Europe, the deep south. And in his search, he had swindled them all: of cash, of information. Only to disappear to the next, mapping a trail that led him straight back: New York.
The city that never slept; the city that held enough information to keep his attention.
The Devil's Nest was quiet by late afternoon and the Sin pressed his hand into the back of his skull. He forced his palm to the dip of his neck, making his skull lull to the side with a lazy crack. A groan escaped him; hushing out of his lips as he let his arm sag to the side with a boneless fall.
No, the years didn't matter. The place didn't matter. In the end, it was the same: business. His business. And for a creature who wanted it all?
It was never, ever enough.
Re: ➥ HUNTING MONSTERS | closed to gabriel
New York was not a city he spent much time in. There were a lot of monsters there- human for the most part- and if he started trying to tidy up, he'd never actually finish. New evils would creep in, as they always did in cities, and he'd never get to leave again. But sometimes a little sight-seeing trip was well worth the effort of dragging himself away from small-town America.
He'd heard of The Devil's Nest. It wasn't a very original name, but it fit, so Gabriel supposed the owner could be forgiven. Not that he'd ever met the man. And he used that term loosey. Still, when in New York, The Devil's Nest was the place to visit. If only because you heard news there, and since his so-called death, Gabriel had been desperate for news. He's had a little, form time to time, enough to drop in once or twice on the Brochesters and little Cassandra, who seemed to be fucking things up well by themselves.
Of course, Gabriel couldn't exactly make himself obvious anymore, which meant all his tricks had been drastically down-scaled. And that meant he was bored. B. O. R. E. D. Bored.
So maybe, he guessed, hanging out in a place like The Nest would be good for him. And even if he didn't find any new projects to keep him entertained, there would be gossip. And even if there wasn't gossip (and what sort of bar didn't have gossip?) then he was sure he could entertain himself some other way. He did enjoy watching fights start, after all.
It was already busy when he arrived. It was an old fashioned sort of place, more like a Tavern than a bar, even by New York bar standards- but he supposed this place had no reason to follow human fashions and trends. So Gabriel shifted his way through the knot of other patrons, and found himself a seat at the bar, off to one side. Unlikely to be bothered by drunks and more importantly with a great view of the rest of the bar, perfect for eavesdropping.
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And it was her fault - a brief moment, where she had let down her guard, where exhaustion seeped into her bones and her focus wavered - only a moment, but that had been all they had needed. Even if she was a demon hunter, she was still only one woman, and she could only hold out for so long. Now she was their prisoner, arms bound behind her and pondering over the command given to her captors by their leader, as he had looked her over as she'd glared up at him, defiant and proud even in defeat, and his lip curled in amusement as he laughed.
Leave her with our other guest. I'm sure they'll enjoy each others company.
Who else was here? Lightning hadn't heard of anyone else being captured - at least, not captured alive. But her question is soon answered, as the knots tying her hands are loosened before she's thrown face first into her cell - which, to her surprise, is surprisingly spacious. Refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing her cry out, she still can't hold back a sharp grunt as skin scrapes against stone but that's enough to them. She hears them bark a laugh as the door behind her clicks shut, before their footsteps and harsh, barking laughter grow fainter and fainter.
There's someone in here with her, of course, and she tries to figure out who, while she works her hands free as her eyes adjust to the darkness, trying make sense of the shadows. Unlike her, as she slips free, wrists red and raw from the rope rubbing against them, they're still bound - and, it seems, the reason why the cell is so large. A massive crucifix towers in the room, made of either stone or metal; it's hard to tell exactly what, with its surface darkened with age and pitted with runes and inscriptions. And hanging on that stone cross, is a man - arms spread open, pinned to the object with heavy, steel chains, each link covered in painstakingly chiseled runes.
It seems rather overkill for a mere human - but as she pushes herself up from the stone floor, her hand brushes against a carved rune into the floor that flickers at her touch; the letters and shapes light up briefly, revealing the cell completely etched with symbols and letters of binding, disturbed as if she'd thrown a stone into a still pond, before fading back into darkness.
And she recognizes some of these runes and symbols, bits and pieces of inscriptions. She's used them in her work, in hunting her quarry and prey; to bind and trap them before ultimately destroying them. ]
Demon!
[ Lightning spits out the word as if it were a curse, springing to her feet as she reaches for a weapon that's no longer there to strike him down. Too late, she bitterly remembers that of course they'd stripped her of all her weapons; all she can do is crouch against the ground and glare at the bound devil, looking as if she'd love to spit in his face. ]
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[Something buried, something hidden. And all for one purpose only.]
[The sudden jolt of the runes is what alerts him first; sparks of light run across the length of the cross, only to dart in a horizontal line. Similar to fire following a trial of gunpowder, the abysmal red brightens then fades. It temporarily hones his jagged features that much sharper before shadows take him again, washing back in as the faint hum vanishes with one last sputtering hiss.]
[Greed doesn't know how long he's been down here. Days, months, years. His joints are stiff with disuse. He can feel the slight twitch in his fingers, his senses rebooting once again. The chains are his throat feel clammy against his skin, but as he slowly crawls out of his half-dazed stupor, the metal links start to sizzle. Threatening protective magic against his own, insatiable want.]
Now, that's not very nice - [The Sin answers in a drawl. His voice is airy and loft; the vocal chords finding themselves with the prolonged disuse. He tests his wrist as he speaks, twisting it until the chain link finally constricts his movement to a still. It's then that his eyes ease open and the color is telling of what he really is; a deep purple, faded with a haunting kind of hue. They blare through the dark and light spills against the pale-tan color of his skin. Greed lulls his head to he side, the chains rattling and tightening to the pull: the charm of Marley's ghost.]
- but you're right. Though, I figured you wouldn't really hold it against me. It's not like they gave you much of a choice either and I'm gunna guess it's pretty safe to assume you aren't working on their side. Did I get that right?
[The instinct to grab for a weapon gives her away, her placement in the cell only adding to the fact. Either she's done something to upset the higher ranks or, more than likely, she's from an opposite faction. Walking too close to a den of wolves and now, here they are.]
[The demon tests his binds again, listening as metal clinks and clacks. A sharp hiss cuts through the static, the four blades lodged expertly into his body shivering as his own electrical current tries to fend off the intrusion. The action proves to no avail; whoever placed him down here knew what they were doing. A weak point, the proverbial Achilles heel and they found all four.]
[He turns his head down to look at her again, a small grin slicing a line of white in the dark. The lids of his eyes fall heavy, his expression sultry despite the obvious predicament.] Before you start getting any wild ideas, I'm not like the rest. Try not to do anything too brash, hmn?
[A droplet ploops in a puddle nearby; a rat answers with a shrill squeak. Greed rocks his shoulder, feeling it press and stiffen against his stone slab.] So - what's your name, lovely?
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