[ It's a sickening swirl, of bright lights and too dark shadows. A mix of light and dark that curls in on itself as he's carried away. He licks his lips and the taste of the poison on his lips almost makes him gag again.
He shakes his head in response, not even bothering to realize that his saviour could not see him to know his reply. Half holding his head up, he tries to make sense of where he was. Hair swaying and dripping water and sand as they made it further into the city. Smells and sounds foreign and nightmarish trickle that filtered through. No longer the agony he was before, but the pain would not go from him.
When the silence comes again, the street muted to far off again, that was when he tugged, to be let down, even if it was just to be dropped onto the floor. ]
[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.]
[ Death, he's starting to think, is a more poorly defined state than anyone would think. It does not seem to have a definite edge, little more than a gaping chasm below his feet.
( and if, he were more capable of speaking, he would tell him, tell him about the day the stars would be devoured, that there was a hole in the world and it was going to consume, and he was going to fall and fall and fall).
But it was a little easier to not slip and stumble into it when he was the only person not holding himself off that edge. The chair too, he clung to the edges of it when it seemed to rock like the sea itself.
His head hung forward, as withered as any old tree, his skin ashen and his hair a mess stuck together. He was bent and broken, and there was no resistance there. There were children's dolls that probably put up more of a fight. It's a empty daze as he slips almost to unconsciousness again.
Then there is a smell and it's worse than death, smells like piss and blood and rotting things and he gags again. Wrenching against the grip in his hair, spluttering as painful new air came into his lungs. Shoving and pulling at whoever shoved whatever that foul smell was away from him.
His eyes opened, bleary and so utterly betrayed by the light he'd stopped calling friend some time ago. ] 'M awake.
[As soon as some life is shown his way, Greed releases. And not without a lull of a laugh either. The bottle is capped again, stored away under the thick leather hide of his jacket. It, too, is chased with sand and salt near the trailing edges.] Ha - ! You don't go down too easily, do you?
[Greed swipes his hand on his thigh, cleaning off the grease and grime from Corvo's hair. It's not a fix, not by a long shot. But it's a quick way to make sure he's not dealing with a corpse in the next hour or so. The Sin slips his foot next to the leg of the chair, catching it before it decides to dip and fall with the reckless misuse.] But you don't really heal like I do. [His thumb touches the side of Corvo's face, pushing the sea's grit away. It sounds rough in his ears and feels rougher still. Whoever the guy is, he's certainly been through a bit of hell.]
Must have pissed somebody off for them to go do that - [And there's the would-be devil, charming him right back. Greed eases away and catches a loop at the front of his own slacks. It's still nightfall and there's plenty to do.]
[But for now, it can wait.] What's your name? [He asks. Without question, without hesitation. It's the first test of a long string of them - if the guy can't answer, the next best option is to dump him where some sort of 'Doc can take a better look.]
[Though Greed already has a little bit of an investment, even if all the roads aren't too clear yet. He'd rather not take that fork if he doesn't have to.]
[ He leaned forward, breathing harshly as his fingers latched onto the side of the chair. Letting it rock back down on the ground. Feet planted firmly on the ground as he took in rapid breaths, trying to put him to this place, his mind to his body and his blood and his bones as things that did not just swim in the void. ]
I killed and -- [ his head turned with the hold, the could taste the sea on his lips. More of it in his lungs, the same bile you'd find in a ships hull. Rancid and old and not fit for consumption. ] -- never. Never went down easy, was supposed to. I was supposed to die first.
[ death babble, standing on the edge of the chasm and he shook his head like a rabid dog as he clung to edge of reality.
It takes time, it always does. Him, here, his name, who and what and not the void. Not the black eyes in the dark. Real, real as the river, as the poison, a the dead screaming his name. ] Corvo. [ he tried to swallow down the sea in his mouth. ]
[As he tells his story, Greed disappears again. He slithers around the bend, opening up another cupboard that rattles when he tries the hinges. Killing and murder; it always came back full swing. Stab one guy and he was bound to have a friend or two to seek revenge. It was and is why humans had been so easy to manipulate.]
[And why him and his were ordered to pull the strings.]
[It's also why Greed left, but that's not important. Not now, anyway. He snatches a bottle of brandy and his knuckles frame the cork ten and two.] Corvo, huh? [Pop it goes and the outer shell is flaky, the glass less than perfect. The Sin places the lip to his teeth and drags out a swig. It's longer than most, heartier than others. As if there's a thirst he just can't quench and only when he comes up for air, does he let out a loud, dramatic groan.]
Guess someone else had other intentions. [The liquor ploops and plops as he lets it swing at his side. Greed's slow when he moves. Sauntering forward, his thumb traces his lip to clean the residue over. The flavor is rich berry, dark with aged mahogany: a good blend despite the outer shell.]
[Though one really couldn't judge based on looks alone.]
[There's a squealing-skip as a box is kicked over. It flows across the dust, running a track that knocks a few books out of its path. The Sin takes it not a second later; spreading his legs out to settle down on top. The brandy in tow makes room between his legs and Greed leers forward. It's now that he can really see those haggard eyes, the lines on Corvo's face.]
[Greed's smile turns feral, dangerous. That want, need, desire - it's all there. Without hidden masks, without the need to lie. The truth of it just as naked and ugly.]
[He skates a nail down the edge of the bottle.] I have to give it to you - for a human, you're built pretty tough. [A stillness takes him as he sizes Corvo up. The guy could turn tail right then and there, but Greed doubts it.]
First thing's first - [The jug tips back, butt-end going to Corvo. It's a passing along, a silent gesture of mild camaraderie.] - then you can tell me your story.
[ He'd been told by the only one to love him, that there was an elegance to his name. A sleek thing, a black bird, but he knew himself to be little better than carrion now.
It's with the same eyes of a crow he stares at the liquior as it moves about in its bottle. He likes to drink more now, than he did before. But he likes food in the way only the half starved can appreciate, and it shows. He's starved in his soul and it's left him wanting.
At least before he looks up to the same hungry eyes, and he doesn't flinch from it. Only sucks in a breath and waits for whatever it is to come. ] Not all human. [ it's the simplest explantion, because he knows he's talking to one who seems to not be completely mortal either.
He isn't going to run, because he has no where to run to.
It's not the first time, he knows with a sardonic twist of his lips, that he's seen the dark and chosen to step into it instead. With ragged breath and the desperation that comes when you truly know you have nothing left in this world.
But he takes the drink, and swallows down a moutful like it was water. It clears his mouth and he shudders for how it burns. Better tasting than he'd had for months. ] Not much to tell, and it's all blood. [ it started with it, and he was sure it was going to end with it as well. ]
[Like the last handshake of the devil, Greed's fingers retreat. Giving a lick to the glass and stealing from it its shimmer. He lowers himself a bit more, spreads his thighs just a tad wider. Both elbows sag across his knees and he pecks into the small space between them.]
[Blood isn't a factor to make him uneasy. He's seen his share, done a few himself: murders. Killings. Mass genocide to tip the scale to a day far set in the future. But it was a future he wasn't a part of anymore. Buried and burned like the ashy flavor still lingering on his tongue.] Ah - [The homunculus raises his head, perked up ever so slightly.] - right. That's not how it really works, is it.
[He shuffles his boot over, walking it by the heel as he whirls about for inspection. There's a silver hook on the floor - probably used to seal an item or to break it wide open. Greed grabs it, shaking dust off as he goes.]
[He hands it over to Corvo.] Show me.
[An index goes to his throat, running down the dips. Touching and grazing the side of his neck.] You won't hurt me, friend.
[ 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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no subject
He shakes his head in response, not even bothering to realize that his saviour could not see him to know his reply. Half holding his head up, he tries to make sense of where he was. Hair swaying and dripping water and sand as they made it further into the city. Smells and sounds foreign and nightmarish trickle that filtered through. No longer the agony he was before, but the pain would not go from him.
When the silence comes again, the street muted to far off again, that was when he tugged, to be let down, even if it was just to be dropped onto the floor. ]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
( and if, he were more capable of speaking, he would tell him, tell him about the day the stars would be devoured, that there was a hole in the world and it was going to consume, and he was going to fall and fall and fall).
But it was a little easier to not slip and stumble into it when he was the only person not holding himself off that edge. The chair too, he clung to the edges of it when it seemed to rock like the sea itself.
His head hung forward, as withered as any old tree, his skin ashen and his hair a mess stuck together. He was bent and broken, and there was no resistance there. There were children's dolls that probably put up more of a fight. It's a empty daze as he slips almost to unconsciousness again.
Then there is a smell and it's worse than death, smells like piss and blood and rotting things and he gags again. Wrenching against the grip in his hair, spluttering as painful new air came into his lungs. Shoving and pulling at whoever shoved whatever that foul smell was away from him.
His eyes opened, bleary and so utterly betrayed by the light he'd stopped calling friend some time ago. ] 'M awake.
no subject
[Greed swipes his hand on his thigh, cleaning off the grease and grime from Corvo's hair. It's not a fix, not by a long shot. But it's a quick way to make sure he's not dealing with a corpse in the next hour or so. The Sin slips his foot next to the leg of the chair, catching it before it decides to dip and fall with the reckless misuse.] But you don't really heal like I do. [His thumb touches the side of Corvo's face, pushing the sea's grit away. It sounds rough in his ears and feels rougher still. Whoever the guy is, he's certainly been through a bit of hell.]
Must have pissed somebody off for them to go do that - [And there's the would-be devil, charming him right back. Greed eases away and catches a loop at the front of his own slacks. It's still nightfall and there's plenty to do.]
[But for now, it can wait.] What's your name? [He asks. Without question, without hesitation. It's the first test of a long string of them - if the guy can't answer, the next best option is to dump him where some sort of 'Doc can take a better look.]
[Though Greed already has a little bit of an investment, even if all the roads aren't too clear yet. He'd rather not take that fork if he doesn't have to.]
no subject
I killed and -- [ his head turned with the hold, the could taste the sea on his lips. More of it in his lungs, the same bile you'd find in a ships hull. Rancid and old and not fit for consumption. ] -- never. Never went down easy, was supposed to. I was supposed to die first.
[ death babble, standing on the edge of the chasm and he shook his head like a rabid dog as he clung to edge of reality.
It takes time, it always does. Him, here, his name, who and what and not the void. Not the black eyes in the dark. Real, real as the river, as the poison, a the dead screaming his name. ] Corvo. [ he tried to swallow down the sea in his mouth. ]
no subject
[And why him and his were ordered to pull the strings.]
[It's also why Greed left, but that's not important. Not now, anyway. He snatches a bottle of brandy and his knuckles frame the cork ten and two.] Corvo, huh? [Pop it goes and the outer shell is flaky, the glass less than perfect. The Sin places the lip to his teeth and drags out a swig. It's longer than most, heartier than others. As if there's a thirst he just can't quench and only when he comes up for air, does he let out a loud, dramatic groan.]
Guess someone else had other intentions. [The liquor ploops and plops as he lets it swing at his side. Greed's slow when he moves. Sauntering forward, his thumb traces his lip to clean the residue over. The flavor is rich berry, dark with aged mahogany: a good blend despite the outer shell.]
[Though one really couldn't judge based on looks alone.]
[There's a squealing-skip as a box is kicked over. It flows across the dust, running a track that knocks a few books out of its path. The Sin takes it not a second later; spreading his legs out to settle down on top. The brandy in tow makes room between his legs and Greed leers forward. It's now that he can really see those haggard eyes, the lines on Corvo's face.]
[Greed's smile turns feral, dangerous. That want, need, desire - it's all there. Without hidden masks, without the need to lie. The truth of it just as naked and ugly.]
[He skates a nail down the edge of the bottle.] I have to give it to you - for a human, you're built pretty tough. [A stillness takes him as he sizes Corvo up. The guy could turn tail right then and there, but Greed doubts it.]
First thing's first - [The jug tips back, butt-end going to Corvo. It's a passing along, a silent gesture of mild camaraderie.] - then you can tell me your story.
no subject
It's with the same eyes of a crow he stares at the liquior as it moves about in its bottle. He likes to drink more now, than he did before. But he likes food in the way only the half starved can appreciate, and it shows. He's starved in his soul and it's left him wanting.
At least before he looks up to the same hungry eyes, and he doesn't flinch from it. Only sucks in a breath and waits for whatever it is to come. ] Not all human. [ it's the simplest explantion, because he knows he's talking to one who seems to not be completely mortal either.
He isn't going to run, because he has no where to run to.
It's not the first time, he knows with a sardonic twist of his lips, that he's seen the dark and chosen to step into it instead. With ragged breath and the desperation that comes when you truly know you have nothing left in this world.
But he takes the drink, and swallows down a moutful like it was water. It clears his mouth and he shudders for how it burns. Better tasting than he'd had for months. ] Not much to tell, and it's all blood. [ it started with it, and he was sure it was going to end with it as well. ]
no subject
[Like the last handshake of the devil, Greed's fingers retreat. Giving a lick to the glass and stealing from it its shimmer. He lowers himself a bit more, spreads his thighs just a tad wider. Both elbows sag across his knees and he pecks into the small space between them.]
[Blood isn't a factor to make him uneasy. He's seen his share, done a few himself: murders. Killings. Mass genocide to tip the scale to a day far set in the future. But it was a future he wasn't a part of anymore. Buried and burned like the ashy flavor still lingering on his tongue.] Ah - [The homunculus raises his head, perked up ever so slightly.] - right. That's not how it really works, is it.
[He shuffles his boot over, walking it by the heel as he whirls about for inspection. There's a silver hook on the floor - probably used to seal an item or to break it wide open. Greed grabs it, shaking dust off as he goes.]
[He hands it over to Corvo.] Show me.
[An index goes to his throat, running down the dips. Touching and grazing the side of his neck.] You won't hurt me, friend.
no subject
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.
no subject
[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.