[ The minute that hooked is picked up, there's a shift, running across his shoulders and down his arms. His hands are long used to weapons -- too used to them. His bones and skin moulded to that purpose. Not a truth he confessed, spoke of, but the burn scars had healed as if to set him. Sun bleached leather that set hard, fingers locked around a blade even if there was not one. Bones ground down from constant use, replaced by callous and vicious intent instead.
He has no grace, when he stands before. But as he reached for that hook from him, he is purpose. The glass is set down after it's drained down. One movement blending into another as he stepped forward to take it. ] I thought not, Shade. [ his tongue presses on the curve of his lips, parched dry by the salty air of the river. Cracked open and if he ever were to smile, they would split open and such a bloody grin he would have.
But he does not, and he is dry on words he does not feel a need to waste. Shade, maybe, just more poison talking. These dreams on the edge of death, nothing in them was right. Things he knew and did not know. Maybe this was real, maybe this wasn't, but he was every inch a man past caring. ]
There was an Empress. [ Full beautiful, and a void in her eyes, now in her voice and he says nothing. ] They sold her life and gutted her like a common woman, and she begged me. [ He is here, talking, and he is not, he is far off. Seeing things past, that cannot change. ] And since that day I wanted -- I wanted -- [ he does not say he loved her, that he had lost everything. There isn't a need, it shows and he cannot help it.
He steps forward, and Greed, this shade in front of him, is replaced. He dreams of blood, of vengeance until he made himself sick with it. A lovesick sheen on his skin and he took Greed's throat in his in a movement across the room that is too fast. The hook, glinting and silver and so beautiful with it was used, is held a loft, like it might cut a throat. The one before him and he leans in close, a sneer of pain on his lips, head tilting, half damp, mattered hair in his eyes, but it hides nothing. ] -- I dream'd every night of gutting them open, like they had her. [ blunt tipped nails sink in and he pants like he might want for the killing now, straining on the exhaustion of wanting it so much. ] And when I did, they who freed me, found I had no use anymore, and gave me poison in the way of thanks for what I had done.
[Greed's eyes hood at the visible shift. Like a slow-running electrical current going for a puddle of oil, Corvo's mannerisms are rare. Seen in the mortal lot when all other options were gone from the table. The slits in the Sin's eyes thicken, then narrow. Shivering with an interest as he keeps his body ducked low. However, he doesn't say a word. Just stark-still and the only movement that comes is that slow birthing of teeth.]
[But then, Corvo's talking. Similar to a drunk rambling on about an apocalypse he knows is coming. Everyone dismisses him: "Don't listen to him.""Crazy old fuck." Greed's heard the song played over and over and the truth of it all is that it's correct. The drunk knows, sees behind the curtains and points out the illusion. Everyone else is blind.]
[Still, this goes over his head and Greed's jaw goes slack.] Ah-? [Both eyebrows wrinkle his forehead as they climb. Not a word Corvo has to say makes sense. Least, not to Greed. A story that isn't his and never would be. There's no time to react, though. There's fingers around his throat, the sound of his heels dragging like a corpse that's about to be dropped. Greed's head smacks into the opposite wall, but he leaves his throat exposed.]
[And all the while, that smile never leaves. No, it grows in sharpness and a choked laugh hisses from his jaw like a gas-line broke.] - everyone wants something they can't have. Humans always think greed is for money, but that's not all.
[The blade doesn't come, the electric shock never bites. Instead, it's his companion's fingers in his skin, his exaggerated pants in his ear. The homunculus reaches out his hand, touching the wrist that's so close to ripping his throat apart.] What's good, what's taboo - to me, it's all good - [Greed purrs, almost too close that anyone could think it an intimate situation. He presses his forehead to Corvo's, forcing pale-tan skin against the other's sea-soaked brow.]
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He has no grace, when he stands before. But as he reached for that hook from him, he is purpose. The glass is set down after it's drained down. One movement blending into another as he stepped forward to take it. ] I thought not, Shade. [ his tongue presses on the curve of his lips, parched dry by the salty air of the river. Cracked open and if he ever were to smile, they would split open and such a bloody grin he would have.
But he does not, and he is dry on words he does not feel a need to waste. Shade, maybe, just more poison talking. These dreams on the edge of death, nothing in them was right. Things he knew and did not know. Maybe this was real, maybe this wasn't, but he was every inch a man past caring. ]
There was an Empress. [ Full beautiful, and a void in her eyes, now in her voice and he says nothing. ] They sold her life and gutted her like a common woman, and she begged me. [ He is here, talking, and he is not, he is far off. Seeing things past, that cannot change. ] And since that day I wanted -- I wanted -- [ he does not say he loved her, that he had lost everything. There isn't a need, it shows and he cannot help it.
He steps forward, and Greed, this shade in front of him, is replaced. He dreams of blood, of vengeance until he made himself sick with it. A lovesick sheen on his skin and he took Greed's throat in his in a movement across the room that is too fast. The hook, glinting and silver and so beautiful with it was used, is held a loft, like it might cut a throat. The one before him and he leans in close, a sneer of pain on his lips, head tilting, half damp, mattered hair in his eyes, but it hides nothing. ] -- I dream'd every night of gutting them open, like they had her. [ blunt tipped nails sink in and he pants like he might want for the killing now, straining on the exhaustion of wanting it so much. ] And when I did, they who freed me, found I had no use anymore, and gave me poison in the way of thanks for what I had done.
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[But then, Corvo's talking. Similar to a drunk rambling on about an apocalypse he knows is coming. Everyone dismisses him: "Don't listen to him." "Crazy old fuck." Greed's heard the song played over and over and the truth of it all is that it's correct. The drunk knows, sees behind the curtains and points out the illusion. Everyone else is blind.]
[Still, this goes over his head and Greed's jaw goes slack.] Ah-? [Both eyebrows wrinkle his forehead as they climb. Not a word Corvo has to say makes sense. Least, not to Greed. A story that isn't his and never would be. There's no time to react, though. There's fingers around his throat, the sound of his heels dragging like a corpse that's about to be dropped. Greed's head smacks into the opposite wall, but he leaves his throat exposed.]
[And all the while, that smile never leaves. No, it grows in sharpness and a choked laugh hisses from his jaw like a gas-line broke.] - everyone wants something they can't have. Humans always think greed is for money, but that's not all.
[The blade doesn't come, the electric shock never bites. Instead, it's his companion's fingers in his skin, his exaggerated pants in his ear. The homunculus reaches out his hand, touching the wrist that's so close to ripping his throat apart.] What's good, what's taboo - to me, it's all good - [Greed purrs, almost too close that anyone could think it an intimate situation. He presses his forehead to Corvo's, forcing pale-tan skin against the other's sea-soaked brow.]
And it seems to me, you're owed. Aren't you.