[The main room isn't much to look at. A pauper's drop by the looks of it. And it seems that he hasn't been here all that long; the decorations don't match the face, the demeanor. Someone else's life - stolen and snatched without a second glance.]

[It hasn't been the first time he's taken what's so readily available.]

[Greed can feel the nudge at his collar. A silent plea to be let go. He makes a noise in his throat that seems to rumble from deep in his gut.] So you're not dead.

[The Sin casually kicks a chair out. Yanking it with the crooked tip of his boot to send it spinning away from a well-used desk. There's a ink bottle there; worn dry from disuse. Any of the paperwork left behind has long since been stained. By liquor, but something else.]

[Though it doesn't really matter anymore.]

[Greed sets his company down with a rather unceremonious heave of the shoulders. Letting Corvo sprawl out across the chair as he disappears again. It's only a little to the left; circling around the desk to pick through a dresser or two. From somewhere unseen, there's a rattling. Glass shaking against glass and Greed clicks his tongue.]

Gunna guess you're not about to hold a useful conversation - [The homunculus has a voice that's slick. Oily, like the very substance he yanked his would-be companion out of. It's slippery, but old. As if it doesn't match whatever age he's trying to pass as.] - sorry. Wish I had something better.

[He comes back with a small bottle clutched in his hand. It's stopped with a simple cork, of which Greed rips and tears out with his teeth. A spit to the floor leaves only a remnant behind. Gouged with too-deep incision.]

Gunna want to hold onto something. [But he doesn't even ask. Before he's got a fist-full of Corvo's hair and Greed wrenches his head back. The top of the bottle is quickly shoved under his nose.]

[It's a quick remedy. One he's seen dozens of times. And while he doesn't know what sal volatile really means, he figures it's better than nothing.]