(no subject)

[nestingdevil]

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, avaricious. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 012.07.333.07 *** avaricious has joined 018.07.154.55 <avaricious> ithsihoitiwrks ? <BANNED USER> SCREENED MESSAGE. UNSCREEN? Y/N -- <avaricious>thdvllsnst <avaricious> vdndrere

CONTACTS

0.0.0.0 ♦ "MASON" | Heather

TEXT ABOUT THEM GOES HERE.

0.0.0.0 ♦ STOCKE

TEXT ABOUT THEM GOES HERE.

0.0.0.0 ♦ AOBA

TEXT ABOUT THEM GOES HERE.

0.0.0.0 ♦ "JUSTINE"

TEXT ABOUT THEM GOES HERE.

0.0.0.0 ♦ KILLUA

TEXT ABOUT THEM GOES HERE.

0.0.0.0 ♦ ZOLF J. KIMBLEY

TEXT ABOUT THEM GOES HERE.

0.0.0.0 ♦ EDWARD ELRIC

TEXT ABOUT THEM GOES HERE.

0.0.0.0 ♦ "XANDER" | SANDRATH

TEXT ABOUT THEM GOES HERE.

Comments

[tony_redgrave]

[If the Toyotomi did decide to try to take the 'Nest by force, they were in for a hell of a surprise. Not a single one of Greed's would jump ship and expect him to handle the problem alone.]

[It'll be a lot more than they bargained for.]

Tch, ambitious. Reckless if you ask me.

[Destroy everything in their path, rebuild the rubble you yourself created? Not exactly an efficient governance model. And yes, he realizes the irony of himself saying that but Dante has never said he wasn't a hypocrite. Difference is he tries to keep his recklessness to self-destruction, and maybe some property damage.

Greed's right on the money though, he's an outsider and always has been. By choice or otherwise, monsters will indeed always find monsters.]

Good to know you're ready for this, it's not going to be pretty.

[If things get violent it'll be real nasty, because Dante's pretty sure Greed has no intentions of taking over any real political power. That's not his style. Which, in turn, would leave an inconvenient vacuum only to be filled with more annoyance.

Dante really didn't like politics.]

Don't worry about me any, I won't throw the first swing.

[He will throw the last, and he may still antagonize until punches are being thrown. There's really no putting a cork in that mouth of his. However, with Greed's tone and the silent understanding between them that the feeling is mutual he does relax some. At least he's not the only one that distrusts them, and isn't the only one waiting for the shit to fly.

That's a switch he's not entirely sure he knows how to handle. But it's reassuring, nonetheless.]

[Dante follows not far behind, his own shadow joining Greed's on the stairs. When things do go south there will be hell to pay. And oh, the Toyotomi don't know what they're getting into.]

[nestingdevil]

[Letting go, giving in; it always happens eventually. A few days may pass, a couple of months might go by. But by the end of it all, inevitability catches up. The suggestions and nuances slipping in like a slow-acting poison. It strikes firm between the heartbeats - catching the guarded off their guard and it's all just too little, too late.]

[And now here - here's the moment. The head-on collision and someone's cut the brakes.]

[A blister of red draws along the Sin's face. This close, he can feel every hitch of breath; every twist and curl of Stocke's tendrils as they blindly stretch and touch their way along the wall in a desperate search for an exit plan. Greed idly traces the point of his knuckle along the other's spine. It's an unraveling at its finest. A thread caught on the edge of a nail and here he is. Pulling away the defenses piece by piece, thread by tread. All of it purposely yanked to the right key.]

[The devil's bargain in A-Minor.]

[Greed prompts his heel forward. Its soft edge rolls along the floor, sending the jagged tip of his boot skyward. He's elongated as he moves; like that of a fat-bellied adder chasing down its meal. The venom's already there, it's just a matter of waiting at this point. And wait, he does. Taking the time to count the seconds, to feel the anticipation tightening just a snap out of reach. The edge of his boot lines up neatly against Stocke's and within the moment, he tightens the gap. The bones of his hips meeting the other's in a soft, promising pressure.]

["Show me." So be it.]

Your choice - [Lowered, a whisper flickering on his tongue. Greed's lips pull tight along the Stocke's skull, threatening teeth to skin akin to that of a soft-sided blade. The flat of his boot taps along the other's ankle as he does so - a suggestion to take a step back. To let go and just give, give, give.]

[Because he can never change. There's no cleanse in the world, no baptism strong enough. The cruel incarnation of mortal Sin and here it is: the moment of confession.]

[A sigh of warm air slithers out behind him. Greed leans forward, his freed hand slowly forming along the other's face. A twist of his wrist sends his fingers through Stocke's hair. Bits and slivers thread between his knuckles - the strikes of flash-blonde a stark contrast to the blackened pitch Ryslig's defined him to be. And perhaps, that's what it all boils down to: two, opposing forces drawn together in a clash out of need, out of want, to have. God, have.]

[And oh, oh, does he want it.]

[The Sin's wings fan outward. With Stocke's fingers padding underneath, the ripple effect is almost curtain-like. Leathery skin stretches along the ceiling, its jagged tips drawing into old paint and tobacco stain like a hell-fire sketch. It's there that they anchor. A private shade and finally, his time is up.]

[Greed's teeth meet the side of Stocke's neck with a tentative taste. Not yet biting, not fully. Just existing there - a wolf showing its Alpha colors. A curl of his thumb presses along the other's ear as he does. An access point to trail nip after nip. He follows them down until his that collar stops him again. A beat, a pause, then:] Ah, right. Sorry - [He starts. Though from the tone of it, the apology's half-assed at best. Greed lifts his chin. An industrial whine is what follows - his nails slicing buckle after buckle like that of heat-popped buttons.]

[He only has so much patience, after all.]

[makehistoria]

[Peeling back defenses, picking open lock after lock. Or perhaps it's the other way round - Stocke unstrapping shield and sword, setting them aside. He'd call it letting down his own defenses.]

[Maybe it's all in how you look at it.]

[It's sure that he follows the Sin's touches easy as a whisper, twisting with the finger trailing down his spine. Step back, let go, ride every moment with the tick of the clock - the shade feels his tendrils flow through something behind him. Cabinet? Wall? Who can tell? Pull back another half an inch as Greed's wings flare out and he'd be able to brace his elbows against it, but he doesn't yet move.]

[It's contact he wants. He's been gone too long, parasite forcing him away and lashing him with a feeling of empty isolation all at once, a mess of push and pull and... And he's too much a monster now, too much a shadow. Maybe someday Ryslig will give up on him, send him back to Alistel and the end of being sacrificed or onward into the dark, but it's here he wants to stay.]

[The Sin's teeth skim over his throat, and Stocke cuts off the low, quiet groan he makes almost before it begins. But the way he slants his head at an angle, baring his neck even without the push of Greed's thumb, is harder to hide. Nor does he try. One hand tangles at the back of Greed's head.]

[No heartbeat, no true pulse, but crashing waves of static at the Sin's fingers, under Stocke's skin like a tide. A static feeling in the air to follow, a cold taste like the snap of the forest after snowfall. Or, perhaps, in fog.]

[Stocke's head rises slightly at the demon's careless apology, eyes slitting barely open. They watch Greed tear through leather, still that same too-bright; the shade's breath catches at the tip of the Sin's claws trailing down the bare skin underneath.]

[It takes him a moment or two, and his voice is rough, raggedy-edged:] Could've just asked, [Stocke says, amused. But he doesn't seem to truly mind.]

[There's two knives hidden underneath, strapped at one side - the shade's fingers skitter over the buckle holding them there blind, catch on it and thumb it open. Belt and sheathes drop to the floor, hitting the wood with a muffled thud. And below that - scars, a criss-cross of old swords and shrapnel, even one round and jagged as though he'd once been impaled. Some of them oddly like an echo, one scar layered almost exactly over another as if by design.]

[Stocke pays them no mind, two of his fingers curling around the edge of Greed's vest. A light tug - that's hardly fair, is it?]

<avaricious>

[nestingdevil]

>>avaricious has posted an AUDIO MESSAGE. If you wish to listen, type LISTEN07

No, a little better than that, aren't you? [Not that he can entirely blame him. Death might be a fleeting thing in Ryslig, but that doesn't mean much. Greed touches the edge of the device again. The tips of his claws roll forward - their tune a light pat-pat-pat like the touch of a testing spider. No, even one is one too many and as his lips peel back, something wet answers on the edge of his mouth. Something hot, something putrid, and oh, oh.]

[Does something wicked this way come.]

Don't make it too messy. Better to get the information first. Whoever he is, it looks like he owes us a favor. [A favor meaning what? He doesn't say.]

[A long pause follows on his side of the line. The sound of moving leather, muffled fur, and the dull click, click, click of his heels says he's on the move. Where, for what, is anyone's guess.] Guns, huh. Eh- [The Sin's voice curls along the receiver's edge. A little further now, but not entirely out of reach.] I'll see if he's got anything. Tell him you work for me and he might not be such a pissant about it.

[That said, he gives the laptop a final squeeze. Nail to nail, he meets the plastic head on - causing it to whine and buckle under his hard-fast grip. To say the feeling is mutual is an understatement.]

[And if Dante's going on the hunt, it won't be long until he has some unsavory company.]

<redgrave>

[tony_redgrave]

[Death may be fleeting but it always comes with a price. Lost memories, furious allies, the constant threat of revenge. There is always a cost, and unfortunately with enemies that can rise from the dead the simple solutions won't work anymore. Dante will have to be more creative.

But he's never been one to strike early. Better safe than sorry in his book.]

>dont worry
>i might be reckless but even i have some standards
>but you already knew that much

[Although the favor thing does catch his attention. That's a strange way of wording it, a favor? For what? But the subject switches again and now's not the time to follow up. He'll needle when he's seeing less red.]

>heh
>you got it
>guess ive got a lead to follow

[Oh he will be, and for a man who prefers to work alone this particular company isn't unwelcome. Out of all the demons that have dogged his shadow in the past, Greed's by far his favorite. An old friend he's only just met, the welcome whisper in the dark. They act like they've known each other forever, and perhaps in some ways they have.]

[nestingdevil]

[It's like exposing an electric wire.]

[Static jumps between his teeth. Touches of energy, the sting of a radio signal without a clear destination. They flip in his mouth to the beat of changing channels: going, going, going. But there's nothing on, nothing but him and his and as he flattens the other along the backside wall, the rest of the world tunes out.]

[Somewhere else might have the rights to Stocke, but here? That's not the case.]

[Greed's mouth pulls back when he feels those fingers his hair. It's desperation; a need to claim a surface when all else is null and void. Everything about it is in contrast to Stocke's definition. The solider, the operative; the cold-snap beating at him like a drawn-cracked whip. The Sin twists his heel, forcing it up and around the growing pile of disused armor and weaponry. Belts, knives, sheaths - they're just a mounting tab of Stocke's release. Silently counted, internally memorized, and as he pries the tip of his boot between the other's legs, he steals it all. Forcing them all aside in a careless sideswipe.]

[Stocke's paid his dues over and over again. Time to cough up.]

[A low laugh catches in his jaws. It ghosts along the side of the other's throat - a hot mix of steamy coal and well-kept fire.] Oh-? Should I now. [Hardly a question, hardly an apology. Greed's voice sounds pleased - a note as slurred and sultry as a jackal's salesman pitch. He shifts his thumb when Stocke exposes his throat, the smooth side of his talon retracing his steps up, up, up.] Didn't think you'd really hold it against me.

[The edge of his claw gives a light tick to the bob of the other's throat. A nip, a taste. He knows Stocke's flying blind. Where he'd usually be collected and calm, there's now an utter lack of it. Control lost to the wind: just as wispy and fleeting as a shadow.]

[And really, isn't that just fitting.]

[Greed presses his nose to the dip of the shade's collar. His smile is more clear, then; a touch of the demon through the devil. Stocke's persistent tug on his vest just adds to it and with a compliant shrug, the Sin's arms lace loosely at his back. Fur pulls back from his neck, leather drops away. A bit of give and take and here, there's no exception.]

[Equivalent exchange: the purest form of a trade.]

Guess that wasn't very fair, was it? [The former homunculus talks along the dip of Stocke's neck, his own body slinking down further and further. His knees bend as he does; causing the wall behind them to give a soft shiver of protest. He ignores it, though. A sound on deaf ears and as soft skin turns to rough scars, Greed lets his vest drop from his wrists. It meets the rest of their hoard: a mixed pile of Stocke, of him, tangled together in a fitting kind of poetry.]

[But it's those scars that really have his interest.]

[He's never had the luxury - least, not before now. Wounds had been nothing but a passing breeze - an inconvenience easily erased. And while even Ryslig's left a few of its marks, they're not the same. Greed's eyes open in a glow. Red and purple bleed together as he learns each one. A knot here, a mix of flesh and steel there. They reflect in a broil - as if somehow, they were a personal offense. As if somehow - ]

Tch - [Faint, barely above a whisper. The Sin's teeth lightly touch one another. The snarl is short lived, but still present; like a flash of static itself, the expression is raw. His own, vicious nature coming through. Hurting him is one thing. But one of his?]

[That's a theft he won't so easily ignore.]

[Greed touches his tongue to the back of his teeth. Instantly, his mouth whirls again. A pursed smile sways to one half of his face.] You really are more trouble than you're worth sometimes. [He hums. One of his hands snares the edge of Stocke's shirt, peeling it away with the ease of a hot-knife to butter. Stocke might be learning as he goes, but it's too clear that this is something expected. That he's done this before. Similar canvas, different subject, but the same, age-old result.]

[Nothing ever really changes.]

[Greed's legs bow out. Ten and two they go, allowing him to sink, sink, sink. He's half hovering over the floor by the time he's done, both of his hands slipped behind Stocke's back in interim . They fan out there; the motion covetous, ensnaring. And it's then, that he starts. The Sin leans in. Kiss by kiss, tooth for tooth, he draws his grin down the other's stomach. A marking, a signal.]

[Avarice incarnate written out in faint smoke.]

[Because oh, does he want it. Everything Stocke has, everything that he'll ever be. The Sin pauses when he reaches the jut of the other's hip. Nothing about Stocke is ever entirely there. An image of shadow and mirrors, a creature in half formation. Solid, wispy. But there - there's a point and as he wraps his mouth around bone, the devil finally shows off his teeth.]

[Greed lets the points them hover. A razor's edge hinting at skin. Again, he can feel the protest of static. Like blue electric, it flicks at him. A warning, a challenge. The Sin springs one claw out as he waits; his index merely snaking around the back of Stocke's thigh.]

[A snap, a pinch, and his teeth sink in.]

[makehistoria]

[Another sharp point at his neck, a huff of warm breath; Stocke should be feeling on edge, threatened. And it'd be a lie to say he's calm. But danger's as far from his thoughts as it would be in the bar down below at sunrise - quiet, empty and slow-moving. Dust spiraling up into rays of sunlight cast from the windows, the crack of the door. ]

[The shade's head drops back against the wall - he exhales, slow, trying to keep it steady. Doesn't entirely succeed.]

['You really are more trouble than you're worth sometimes.' The corner of the Stocke's mouth quirks up.] It's been said, [he agrees. The shade watches Greed in return, eyes only half-open - one hand's fingers trace, curiously, the red lines of alchemy that branch over the Sin's shoulders. Stocke pauses a claw at one of the foci, looping carefully over the circle.]

[Clean, neat, in ruled patterns like something made artificial. About as different an impression from the rest of the Sin as anything could be. But Greed seems to wear them with as much confidence as he does any title: Sin, homunculus, demon. A proud outcast, taking what's thrown to the edges and making it his.]

[And now Stocke does have to brace himself against the back wall as Greed slides further down, marking inch by inch, inevitable as sand dropping down an hourglass. A faint shiver runs up and through, the shade pressing into the spread fingers at his back. Tendrils lash with the effort of keeping the rest of him nearly still - they snap around Greed's hands as if to wrap ribbons around them, constrict into nothing more than fading shadow. It'd take more concentration than Stocke can bring to bear right now to solidify them; keeping the rest of him there is hard enough.]

[In other ways it's easier. The shade feels solid rather than shadow, more than he has in a long while.]

[The Sin's teeth sink in, a pang of sharp sensation Stocke can't describe - his hips buck once, the shade letting out a soft curse, a hissing noise. His hand on Greed's shoulder tightens, the other leaving thin scratches down the wall. Then the shade relaxes, slow; the hiss melds into a quiet, satisfied hum.]

[nestingdevil]

[He lets his hands stretch, then. They spread about the backs of the other's legs; a loose knot of crooked nails and smooth scales wandering up, God, up. Because for as much as he's correction in the artificial, there's something beautiful in the opposite. The uneven edges, the slightly askew. Perfection in the not-so-much and as Greed's grin peels from Stocke's skin, the heels of his palms mold into his backside. Forcing his knuckles to gently skip along the damaged wall.]

[For this is how it is and always will be: the nights of today, of yesterday, written and tallied in claw marks.]

[Faint ribbons of shadow play at his wrists. He can feel them even now; their protest half-assed. Like someone hanging on the edge between the need to hold on and the desire to let go. The last bits sigh across his scales. They linger for a moment; the final threads of a snapping rope and as they give way, the devil releases a breath of his own. Hot, heavy - a question without words:]

["Why don't you show me who you really are."]

[The grip on his shoulder just confirms the answer. Stocke's fingers burrow into his muscle. They're tense, hard, and as the wall behind them cracks in a splinter, a satisfactory tone flips in the Sin's throat. It sticks there - causing bits of lukewarm ash to break free in a tease. Greed shifts his teeth away, moving instead towards the bend of the other's stomach. Most times, Stocke has a look of emaciation. Something skeletal holding the rest of him together like a leaky cage. But in the moment, there's solidity; a surface he can actually touch.]

[And touch he does. Nip by nip, snap by snap, until the edges of his teeth snare the hem of the other's slacks.]

[Greed pins a piece of leather on the points of his jaw.] That so? [As he talks, that smile of his yanks again. A belt loop stretches in a snare; mimicking that of a chew-toy in the mouth a playful canine. The stitches keeping it together are barely holding as is and when he slowly tips his head to the side, he can hear their final moments; the needlework all but giving up the ghost in a protesting hitch.]

[Tck, tck, tck. The last of them let go and here it is: the final locks picked, pulled, and thrown apart.]

[The Sin draws out his nails.] Almost thought you made a habit of it. [He remarks. The tips of his claws jump on a spring of knuckles. There's pressure now - the hooked edges of his talons skipping across leather to draw a faint line. Greed slips both hands between Stocke's thighs. It's a prying pull, a hint. Before his forehead settles along his companion's stomach, allowing his jaws to peel each clasp apart.]

[One daunting flick at a time.]

[makehistoria]

[Greed's teeth release, leaving pinpricks of darker shadow in a jagged semi-circle; Stocke pulls his claws free of the wall as if in echo, leaving curls of wood, broken splinters behind. His hum peters off, soft. Almost content, but with a bit more...]

[Greed's always been the one to encourage them to embrace a monstrous nature. Nothing wrong with humans, some of them aren't so bad, but there's just as little wrong in being something other - taking advantage in anything it can give you. Fire and shadows and ice, flight and claws, something that comes to fit just as much as the old mortal shape did. It's ironic, then, that right now is when Stocke feels nearly human again. Vulnerable: the static pulsing under his skin flutters and jolts with adrenaline, unsteady like a broken-winged moth. Beating against chinks in panes of glass, as Greed picks off piece after piece of the control slipping from Stocke's grasp; more of them than the shade ever expected. And when he hits the light, oh how bright he'll burn - you might not know what comes after, but talk about a blaze of glory.]

[It's long gone past when Stocke could back off, even if he wanted to. Maybe - ever since that first night when he held a line of shining steel to Greed's throat - he never really could.]

[Greed nips a line down his stomach again, quick sharp touches one after another; the shade's breaths hitch in the occasional broken shard as he tries to stop a noise, a shudder of sensation. The Sin's having the exact effect he's probably planned to - winding Stocke up a second time, past lazy satisfaction, the coil stretching tighter and tighter until sometime soon it'll snap.]

[The demon's teeth snag on one of his belts, almost a breather. The glint of pointed teeth means he's nowhere near done, but Stocke catches himself while he can; his free hand undoes buckles Greed hasn't reached yet, with less accuracy than before, but his tendrils curve forward, reaching, reaching -]

[A huff of breath, and -] Yours, aren't I? [It's meant like this: the Nest's always been nothing but trouble; of course he's the same. Habit, package and parcel. But there's too much in it to just be teasing back.]

[Ryslig shattered him when it first made him eat souls, and he glued himself back together with Greed and the Nest, filled up the gaps of himself he lost with the same. 'Yours' is too deep a truth. Tie him here...]

[Besides: to Stocke, it's never been more trouble than it's worth.]

[For all that the shade's trying not to tumble entirely just yet - making it a last challenge? pure habit? maybe none of them, maybe all - he moves along with the Sin's every light push and pull. Greed dances him near the brink, and for a moment Stocke can almost (almost) understand what the Sin's avarice is really like. He wants, with the burning intensity of the sun he can no longer see; wants Greed not to stop, wants to push back, wants to pull the demon up and return the favour, wants everything all at the same time, with every contradiction. The shade makes a choked whine, deep in the back of his throat - the hand on Greed's shoulder scores up his back instead, and it's only what is left of Stocke's control that keeps it from sinking in too deep. The tug upward is half-hearted at best: let the Sin choose.]

[nestingdevil]

[The other. It's always been his definition - the man on the other side of the tracks, the creature that could easily pass for human if he ever cared to try. So close, but yet so very, very far. He's a step from the normal, a heel in the everything-but, and even against all Ryslig's attempts otherwise, the result's still the same:]

[A king for the freaks, a high-hand for the monsters; wrapped up and crowned by whatever normalcy leaves behind.]

[Maybe that's what makes this so easy. For him, the others, this is their day-to-day. The white-fences replaced by neon lights, the family dinners a table set by scowling faces and needling teeth. For them, history isn't photographed: it's memorized. Each mug of beer is an instant. Every clogged ashtray, a familiar reminder. And even as they're swiped, cleaned, and tossed out for the next big night, the stains of yesterday remain. Somehow, it's always been this way and as Stocke's words curl into his ear, a thin smile edges on the Sin's face.]

["Yours, aren't I?" "We'll always be - "]

[A light heat plays in his arrays. It's the final confession he needs and oh, does Stocke give it so well. No need to ask; no seconding guessing. Just admission in the rawest form. Greed wraps the palms of his hands around his companion's hips and with a gentle thud, his knees brace along the back wall. He matches Stocke's spread with one of his own. The insides of his thighs graze either side of the other's legs - a vice of leather, muscle. The chord of his tail curls out from behind him, then. Under a dim light, it takes on the look of an armored adder. Crooked steel peels across the floorboards, the gems catch on old ash. But it's not the floor it's looking for, oh no.]

[Because if Stocke wants to be tied here: so be it.]

[Greed wraps a loose knot around one of Stocke's ankles. Carefully, slowly. Because now, oh now, he can draw it out. That want, that need. The vice of his tail tightens and with a purposeful yank, he tries to pry the other's leg wide open. Dust skitters from the floorboards in the aftermath; like that of a desperate, centuries held sigh. The soot sticks to the air and as he pulls his head away, his image seems to disappear.]

[A ghost in the darkness.]

[One second goes by, another. But he's not far. A purple(ing) red blisters through the smoke. It filters through the grainy air like high beams in a fog; weighted, murky. All the while, the devil presses his thumbs neatly into the other's skin. He keeps the bones between his fingers trapped in a kind of vice. Not too hard, but not so soft as to let the other go. Of course, Stocke could easily slip out if he chose to. But for right now, that doesn't seem to be the case.]

[He's right where he wants to be; where he should have been all those months ago.]

[A snap of his thumb and Greed peels Stocke's pants wide open.] Remember - you can't really hurt me. [His words come in a drift. He applies a bit of pressure, pushing the pads of his fingers up just for the feel of it. While Stocke's usual form is nothing but bone and shadow, something here has changed. A bit of muscle bleeding on through and fuck if it isn't a sight.]

[Greed curls his fingers into a leather hem and with a bristle of heat, he snatches a zipper, catches a belt. Pulling the last bits apart so that he can finally have what he so rightfully deserves.]

[Months, after all, are a long time to account for.]

[makehistoria]

[A quiet impact at the wood on either side, the press of leather encircling him - a vise, a trap. Stuck between a demon and a hard place, but it's the first Stocke curls toward; this is a trap he's not looking for a way out of. The bait's still reeling him in - it's there even as the Sin's tail snakes around him, even as Stocke takes in a sharp breath, eyes flickering a broken television pattern. His expression's hard to parse - a study in a pendulum, swinging back and forth.]

[The tug like rope's his prompt; he slips down the wall an inch as his legs slide further apart, re-braces himself. he air hangs heavy in the room, too warm, heat caught in soot and ash; a furnace behind a grate still makes itself known, and a Sin's presence isn't so easily forgotten. A symphony of brimstone dust.]

[The shade raises himself from the wall with a push of his elbows as Greed pulls away, his sound of protest snapped in half and dropped into silence. That same scale swinging up and down - on the one side, learned instinct beaten into him over the years (keep hold, keep control); on the other, everything else, conscious thought and want both telling him to give in. (By now, the Sin could hold it tipped with one finger).]

[He's still pinned in place; Greed's not leaving. A smear of purple and red through the smoke like a smirk worn in the eyes.]

[The Sin's fingers press in, and Stocke writhes, desperate noise strangled through his teeth - he's more than half-hard already, as Greed pulls the last bit of leather down. 'Remember - you can't really hurt me.' That's something you could near call an invitation; the shade curves forward, his claws digging into the Sin's back just above where his wings connect. His breath comes in soft, startled pants.]

[The shade just stays for length of two heartbeats, strung taut as a wire. Then his eyes flare bright with determination, claws sinking in just that little bit deeper; there's a whiplash of shadows from his back.]

[His tendrils reach around his back, winding. But this time they're just on the other edge of corporeal, a misty but physical touch - one snarls about one of the Sin's legs, another traces lightly up his arm. Stocke's head drops as a third runs down Greed's spine, between his shoulderblades, and the shade's grip loosens. He exhales, slow and ragged - he can feel all of them...]

[nestingdevil]

[The claws at his back tattoo into his skin. He had almost forgotten what pain felt like - the sensation an aching sting. It's one that holds onto the bob of his throat, that tastes at the back of his jaw in a scratch of warm acid. Like that of windpipe that's been suddenly clenched shut.]

[And yet, not at all unpleasant.]

[Blood swells from the sharp pricks, the beads of which take on the look of a fresh-rung sweat. Greed arches his back into the feeling, into the tug of desperation practically begging him to get on with it. The last domino falls into place and just like a prod of a maniacal finger, he topples it over: a full exposure. Of everything Stocke's become, accepted, and thrived to be, steadied between the palms of more covetous hands.]

Hn - [Greed's click of laughter huffs along Stocke's stomach.] - see, wasn't that hard, was it? [In his exhale, the air is steamy and toxic - a poisonous cocktail of addiction that seems to answer the friction in the tendrils around him; as if they're fed up and worn with Stocke's stubbornly-human control. "Be the monster," they seem to say. "Take what you want." And oh, could the Sin not agree more.]

[Monsters and those there of have always been his best company.]

[Greed splays his palms open. Stocke's hips fill neatly between them - as nail after nail, claw after claw, he takes what he wants. A grand theft of the personal variety and with sizzle at the tip of his tongue, the devil prepares himself for the final grab. Muggy vapor lifts from the sharps of his teeth, the pucker of fire extinguishing silently in his throat. Greed rolls his lips inward and with that, the insinuation's clear:]

["Better hold on tight, lovely - lest you want to get bit."]

[Stocke's already started showing the symptoms far before the devil takes him in. The Sin's forehead presses into the dip of the other's stomach, exposing his horns like a pair of lifelines in a turbulent sea. Despite his second's clear inexperience, after the initial introduction's over, the former homunculus holds no more bars. He swallows Stocke inch by inch, the threat of his teeth a reminder of just who and what he is.]

[A man, but not; a ghost, only slightly. But still a guru for the unabashedly needy.]

[With a serpentine flick, Greed's tongue slides out from the bottom of his jaw. The forks split along the other's cock - an elongated trace hinted with a pinch of sulfur. He can taste all of it now; the shade's corporeal design a chill, DC-charge. Positive and negatives do battle in the shell of his throat, causing his shoulders to roll and undulate. Igniting his internal hearth and when they meet, he disregards any kind of warning. Greed's talons bite into the handle of Stocke's hips. They try to force him forward - dragging him, plunging him deeper down his gullet as simple and drowning as a devil's bargain.]

[Because oh, how easier it is just to fall.]

[makehistoria]

[It takes Stocke a moment, as Greed's hands run over his hips - but:] ...I am learning from the best. [His voice is tinged with the same heat that seeps over the floorboards, spills as smoke from Greed's words.]

[Then the Sin's mouth wraps around him, and Stocke's thoughts snap over like a jarred switch - the shade's head and shoulders jerk back, hitting the wall again. He breathes out a word with his eyes suddenly shut, too staggered and soft to truly make out; 'Prophet,' maybe. Or maybe something else.]

[Whatever it is, the touch of Greed's tongue twists it into a thin, pleading sound; Stocke's claws drag up the demon's back, sharp points in deep, then release and catch a tight grip on the Sin's shoulders. As if the shade's slipping, trying to hold on. A tendril brushes gently over the marks left, then settles into a loose, dangling coil at Greed's neck.]

[Stocke's hips twitch as the Sin's nails dig in, trying to restrain himself from thrusting forward with Greed's lips curled around him. An audible 'hhh-h' of breath, stomach tensed against the demon's horns, a heavy inhale in the seconds after - Stocke's flushed, skin shading dark gray rather than red. His fingers drop off the Sin's shoulders to sink into the wall behind him a second time, and he mouths what might be a curse, might be a prayer.]

[He follows the pull with unsteady legs, leaning forward.]

[The shade's tendrils are more sure where Stocke's not - almost with a mind of their own, but it's nothing but the shade's own eagerness fueling them. The one wound about Greed's leg snakes higher, cupping the front of the demon's pants with a faint pressure; another curls around the Sin's back entire, just under the seam of his wings, and traces a nearly possessive line across his chest.]

< anotherface > has posted an audio message. If you wish to listen, type LISTEN1.

[ufufufufu]

[ He breathes out a sigh once. It is followed by a giggle -- high-pitched like a string on an instrument strung too tight, about to snap. One can feel the smile in his words, sharp, biting. Words themselves fumble in his mouth due to broken teeth. Heard more when he uses word that end roughly, words that bring his teeth together like the demon's name. But he is smiling, yes, always smiling. ]

Greed. I like you very much. I was... AM very charmed by you. Very charmed. Your fire is one worth bowing this lowly head to. Yes, yes, that is correct. And that is why I am showing as much respect as I can to you. For thinking about Kira, for allowing me to meet you when I was elsewhere with my thoughts...

I want to kill Dante. I want to kill Redgrave. This is no desire to start war with you and yours. No... that feast would not fill either of our bellies. Not this. So I tell you and ask you to give him to me. He will be given a fair fight... he will.. because he is yours I ask you first.

As is right, as is fair. That is how humans should act, right? [ And then he starts to laugh. His laughter carries on and on obviously driven to tears as he cannot quite turn off the feed before he realizes he has laughed for too long. ]

<avaricious> 1/2

[nestingdevil]

>>avaricious has posted an AUDIO MESSAGE. If you wish to listen, type LISTEN01

[It takes a while for him to respond: minutes, an hour. When the message does come through though, there's a sharp buzz of static. A weighted kind of silence holds in response: as if the air around it is heavy, thick. Enough that it almost strangles the receiver - like that of paired hands slowly choking the life out of an offending throat.]

[Did he hear that right?]

Is that so. [Greed's voice slides on deadly pitch. Sarcastic, light, but undeniably sharp. Despite the lack of an image, it isn't that hard to picture: the curl of a lip drawn back, the show of teeth back-lit in a tint of sulfur. A lonely fire huffs from beyond the feed and as its flames condense, the sound turns biting and brittle. Like that of a meal left to char in the bottom of an unattended pan.]

[No, he did hear that right, didn't he.]

[A curbed laugh barks at the back of his throat. The furnace at the backside of the room gives a healthy rumble, then. It buckles on the air of the recording - the nuts, nails, and bolts practically aching to break free. Greed glides the flat of his foot across the floor and with a hollow thud, his heel etches into the surface.] Just who do you think you're talking to? Or did you forget already?

[As he talks, the fans inside the laptop begin to whine. They're working overtime, it seems: the strain of both heat and smog enough to make the recording skip a beat. When it returns, the devil's mouth is all-too-close to the receiver.] He's one of mine, friend. Workers, henchmen - they're my possessions. Killing one of them is stealing from me - [A rancid snap rattles along the feed. Whatever's happening on the other side, it tells of nothing good. The fire's louder, his baritone deeper. Greed's nails suddenly twist along the lid to the laptop and as the ends of them threaten against plastic, the recording picks up the pieces: one snap, one crack, and - ]

- and nobody takes what's mine.

<avaricious> 2/2

[nestingdevil]

>>avaricious has posted an AUDIO MESSAGE. If you wish to listen, type LISTEN02

So - [A sigh of a smoke wisps on his tongue. Taunting, light. Greed's jaw clamps closed with a bone-brittle click, abruptly cutting it off.]

- what'll it be?

[ufufufufu]

>>anotherface has posted an AUDIO MESSAGE. If you wish to listen, type LISTEN01


[ Mitsuhide returns after spending some time with Liquid. He did his best to hold onto the feelings of anger. Because that is how mad he was at Dante, he normally allows such feelings to dip -- to be drowned -- in the miasma that is his insanity. But he held onto it for days and days. As he recovered from the fight, he looked at his body and renewed in his resolve to "stay angry." He held that fury in his hands. Cupping it, even as it spilled and slipped through his fingers, he could only watch it slowly ebb until his usual smile dances across his lips. Until he can no longer feel that has lead him to this point.

And now it is gone but the purpose isn't.

His voice no longer has a higher-pitch. The mania slowed down to where he speaks in his usual voice. He bobs his head, wobbling in the chair he sits on. The wood beneath squeaks and groans each time he puts more weight on one side of the seat. Mitsuhide giggles first. A surprisingly friendly sort of sound -- lilting with a calmer madness. ] I'm overjoyed that you still consider us friends. Normally, normally... humans would think that this is a means to break away, right?

[ With some of the words, he sounds far away -- his head tips back as he looks up toward the ceiling but the mic still picks up what he says, just softer, softer. The sound of the chair rattling as his body convulses with his laughter. ] It's only if I kill him that I'm stealing, right? Wanting and being able to... that's two different things. He wouldn't fight me. He wouldn't kill me. It wasn't fair. I could still fight, Greed.

[ The words hold little venom. It is more like relaying the events to another than spitting them in the demon's face. His head lulls from side-to-side on his shoulders as he breaks up what he says with softer giggles. Muffled as he presses his chin against his chest. ] I only wish to continue what he would not allow me to continue. But ... you would still take it as me attempting to steal from you?

That's not good... that isn't... I don't like to give people such feelings... I would rather fill your mouth with blood and we can both laugh with one another as our pieces are falling apart. [ How odd it is to say so much with little malice twisting and warping the words. One can see the warm smile dancing freely, wildly. The small tilt of the head as he would slouch low so that he could look up at Greed if they were standing before one another. A slight parting of his lips as he breathes out a happy sigh. Like a confession of love. Because this is his confession of love. ]

If I kill you first, can I have Dante?

<Problemsolving> - Backdate a few days. 24ish.

[andeatit]

[Greed has a lot of influence in Vandare, and Light feels that spreading the word to him is a good place to start.]

Am I right in assuming you enjoy parties?

[nestingdevil]

[Prophet, but there are none here - only the exact opposite. Everything the conventional world frowns upon, the concept of virtue living in a paradox. The Sin's mouth twists when he hears it and while it's too haughty to accurately make out, the feeling's just the same. A breaking submission - like that of the very thing he is, corrupting indefinitely.]

[And Lord forgive him, he just can't help himself.]

[A shallow grunt wheezes from his nostrils. It rides on ribbons of smoke - their tangles meeting the cool touch of shadow like some sort of informal handshake. He can smell the tint of copper, now. The taste of it is tinny in the back of his throat: a flavor riddled with charcoal and soot. He pries the curls of his talons from Stocke's thighs and with a fan of his fingers, with a spread like wildfire, he begins to take the rest of him. His hands stretch along the other's stomach, meeting dark gray to an impossible black. Taking his time, his chances, before delivering the final blow.]

[After all, Stocke just has so much to give. And give, he does.]

[Greed's hands meld into the other's ass; a handful each. He doesn't miss how much those tendrils seem to give it away. Where his second's still staggering with his choices, his nature is more primal. It doesn't question what it wants, doesn't hesitate to take what it needs. The Sin flicks his glance upward. His eyes roll lazily in their sockets: as if daring that monster to come out. To seek and take what it so blatantly needs in a shiver of cat-sliver points.]

[No need to hold back. Not anymore.]

[Another hum vibrates at the back of his throat. He presses the pads of his fingers atop the other's backside, allowing him to act where Stocke so pointedly hesitates. Bob for bob, he devours the other: the swell of a hard-on half shoved down his throat like a means of suffocation. And all the while, he can't keep his hands busy enough. They skirt down the backs of Stocke's thighs, trace lines across his skin. Only to come back again: as if he's just itching for it. As if this is just one more addiction he can never quite satisfy.]

[Never enough: it's never enough. And deep down, all he hears is the same old drum. Beating, pounding, in an indefinite loop.]

["More, more, more. Give me more, give me more - "]

[Behind him, the devil's wings suddenly snap wide. They expand from one side of the room to the other - like that of a sail in high water breaking its binds. Deeper wounds cut into the ceiling, harder scorches ferment in the walls. It's the proverbial switch and Stocke's all but thrown it. Whatever sort of control's gone now and as the Sin's fingers peel around the back of his companion's thighs, Greed eases skull back. Pulling his lips away, away, away until only the head of a cock remains.]

[The motion is deliberate. A dare:]

["Go on and show me what you've got."]

<avaricious>

[nestingdevil]

nt about tosy no ifthats wha t youre askn

why go t somthin for m e?

<Problemsolving>

[andeatit]

A Halloween Party on the 29th. We're trying to actually have an event that goes in our favor. It's for all monsters, but I'd like to extend an invitation to all of you, too.

[nestingdevil]

>>avaricious has posted an AUDIO MESSAGE. If you wish to listen, type LISTEN03

You've got it all wrong. [Through the recording, an edging sneer fingers along the receiver. It's sharp and biting: like that of a grin teasing on the upper half of a tensely-pulled lip. Circumstances aside, that usual nonchalance of his still hangs on. It bakes in the back of his jaws in a fever; forcing red-hot to broil on the feed's edge in a soft, muted haze. The Sin hooks the edge of an ashtray with his claw.]

[Tnk.] Humans maybe, but I was never one to begin with. [Porcelain yelps gingerly on the recording: the subtle scrape like that of a nail tuning the side of an empty glass. He's only had the pleasure of meeting Mitsuhide once and while the encounter had raised more questions than answers, his madman threats had gone to the back-burner. Haphazardly forgotten and buried.]

[Until now, that is.] What's your point? [A gaseous note wheezes through the Sin's jaws and with a resounding clack, he leers into the recording.] Sorry, that's not how it works. Even you should know that.

[On the other side, Greed tips his head. There are sounds all around him: the light pat of steel on steel, the coo of a furnace just aching for a taste. A scathing rumble breaks it all up and as the other's would-be confession sighs through the receiver, the devil answers it with nothing short of a booming, thunderous bark. It coughs just out of view: an eruption of soot fingering at the ceiling to take it for all that it's worth.] Ha - ! Is that what this is all about?

[The legs of a chair skitter on the line. They skip along the floor, dragging with them a length of soot to sigh dryly into the recording. Greed lifts himself from his seat and with a groan of plastic, he pushes the lid to the laptop just a bit wider.] Guess there's no choice, is there? [While they aren't face to face, it isn't so hard to imagine: the heavy lid of his eyes, the sarcastic twist of his mouth as if he isn't at all surprised. The beads strung along his tail give a healthy chime. They shiver and tremble: the bell-toll's last call tickling at the back of the feed.] Eh - that's a shame. I thought we could do this peacefully.

[The former homunculus flicks his tongue. What follows is a rattle - like that of a serpent giving its final warning and with it, the head of the laptop returns with one more, industrialized whine.]

Suit yourself.

[ufufufufu]

>>anotherface has posted an AUDIO MESSAGE. If you wish to listen, type LISTEN02


I have always been a human. I was born a human and I will die a human. [ Like with Greed, even with only his voice, one can see the expression he has. The smile slips away as he stares at the screen in front of him. Even the rattling of the chair due to his violent swaying back and forth ceases. His eyes fixate on what is in front of him and is the key of what has driven him to wish for Dante's death. Something cold twists around his words, freezing them. ]

I may be wrong about a lot of things, but an insult like that cannot be forgiven. [ It breaks the chill of the words. Something melting and warming. His singing words return with a manic smile. The rattling of the chair picks up. Thump. Thump. It almost acts like a beat to the song that his words take. ] Yes, it is what is everything is about. I'm equally upset that we cannot do this peacefully, Greed. I think that you're an exceptional person. I never wanted to do anything to you.

[ A moment of silence. Spit can almost be heard hitting the screen as he starts to laugh. The chair snaps back and forth now as he rocks violently in it. ] No, not true. But you could tell the lie already, couldn't you? It was just a second... I wondered about how much your avarice was, but it seems it is only that much, hm? Only that much? So I love you with my entire heart. [ His giggles hiss through his teeth as he turns his head to choke out his laughter. ] You may think that is a lie, but it is not.

When I kill you... I'll keep your head. Please, tell me what your favorite meal is. [ It is what he asked Jotaro, isn't it? Yes, it is. This, too, is a willingness to show his respect. ] I'll cook it for you every day. I'll feed your head and even clean up after the mess that falls through your throat. [ The hyena laughter picks up to a higher-pitch. ] It wouldn't be good to leave you messy, right? I'm not that cruel, Greed.

But ... that is that is that, isn't it?

<avaricious>

[nestingdevil]

a par ty hu ?

coulndt hurt thuugh i cnt promis e nything

<Problemsolving>

[andeatit]

It's an invitation, not an obligation.

Do you know much about Halloween?