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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.

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cant syi blam e him

not relly predict ble jjst figur ed weve done hiss bfre hmn ? notbout to hlld itginst ya

Neither can I.

Maybe a time or two. Still usually seems worth mentioning again now and then.

[Without the dire strumming of static through his veins, snapping under his skin like lightning running to the heights - an insistent drum of 'more' over and over, and maybe other 'please's that the shade didn't voice - Stocke finds it easier to start drawing in his surroundings again. Catching something more than just the feeling of Greed on him, in him, a vicious desperation like a circuit freshly closed.]

[The Sin could drag him back there, he knows, given nothing more than a bit of time. But right now he feels like a candle charred to the bottom, burnt out, warm and languid as the pool of wax left when the fire snuffs out.]

[For now he'd rather this. It's easier to hear the soft hiss of Greed's breath, in and out, feel the way the demon's muscles tense and go lax. Wings spreading as if the Sin can't keep them pulled close, the splinter of claws in wall and fire glimmer sown below the wood. A scorching satisfaction like sparks at the edge of a bonfire; a reaction, felt instead of given.]

[Stocke's head drops back. He curls his mouth against Greed's neck, deliberate, a hum buzzing soft and electric down his spine and through his throat, up to his teeth. The shade leaves one elbow braced, but the other falls; Stocke's fingers slide down the arm leading down to his side, then run claws in a circle around a crimson-bright Ouroboros. A snap of his hips - the demon's greedy greedy greedy, but Stocke has just avarice enough to want to yank the Sin over the edge in return.]

[There's a different kind of pleasure in this.]

oh ?

youthin k sohuh? dont thi nk inneed he remindeer. ive told you bfre - i;mnot abott toforce ya ifyou rent intrested'

letme knoo wif youhear any thing else. ifyou hnve the time

Edited 2017-01-03 23:40 (UTC)

Don't sound so surprised. It was going to happen eventually.

You'll have to forgive me if I don't entirely believe you.

We'll see.

huey hey. imky it a pointt nottolie remrmber?

why woulnd thisltime be anyffrrent?

Edited 2017-01-04 02:30 (UTC)

huess so

Edited 2017-01-04 02:31 (UTC)

You're a demon isn't that reason enough?

Edited 2017-01-04 22:18 (UTC)

wasn t clways. bdises.

last ichkkced so we re you rght? mybe ntbefore. ethhr way doesnt rrelly matte r does it? im ntt boutto holdit aginst you

Edited (A MILLION EDITS LATER JESUS) 2017-01-05 02:44 (UTC)

jus becuse imademo n doesnt menn iman yting lkethe onesyou know. thught wedgot ten past tht

Except you're the most like the demons from home.

Doesn't mean I trust you.

[The current speaks more to his core than anything else. A battery power on the rough Stocke's fingers, a shock on the edge of his lip that coaxes like a black widow's kiss. It's poisonous and commanding; the small jolts and static cling enough to grip his rottenness to the bone. The Sin's wings suddenly go lax and as the other leads him on, the roles feel oddly switched. As if he's being baited, being coaxed, over the edge with nothing more than a silent promise:]

["Come, come, monster. Just a little closer - "]

[Greed's mouth cracks. It splits a hair open - a broken smile made in wicked teeth and deadly desire. He inhales sharply against the back of his throat; taking in the smell, swallowing the charge. This is it: his would-be kingdom made in the touch of it. The feel of everything that's his ripped down to the bare minimum. Avarice's greatest reprise and Stocke's playing all the right chords. All the right notes plucked and pulled with the silent composition of giving in.]

[The Sin's wings snap into the walls and as their tips scrape aside old paint, his stomach knots; a sigh escapes him. Like the first, needed take of breath. Greed buries his cock, the last twitch of muscle exiting on the spade of his tail. It shivers once - the jingle and chime of steel a distant, yet haunting echo.]

[The devil's quiet satisfaction.]

[A brief wave of fire silhouettes through his wings then; the tight membranes drawing out a kind of flutter like the backside of a tapestry with a story to tell. Orange taps through his veins, gold chases through his scales. Greed plants his hands flat against the wall and as his body eases back, the touch of his nose grazes against Stocke's neck. Tasting it, taking in each scent as if it's some sort of gift. He only pauses once he gets to the other's collarbone - the last draft of smog slipping from his nostrils in a thin, silvery-shine sheet.]

Why don't you stick around this time, hmn? [Greed's voice slurs. It's not so much as a suggestion as it is an inclination and while the Sin pulls away, the backs of his knuckles gently graze Stocke's hip. An informal invitation that needs no repeating.]

[The rest of the day, for what it's worth, can wait.]

oh ? kin d ofhrsh dontyou thin k?

gue ss icnt chang your mnd, huh> eh

Maybe.

Who knows? Maybe I'm just seeing how much you're willing to take.

[A soft sense of victory kindles in Stocke's chest, with the strain and the break and the fall - fed by sigh and gentle ringing of metal and the pulse of firelight, cupped carefully in his thoughts like something to be protected. From absences, from the troubles of rival factions, from all the rest of it; there's that, to worry about in good time, and then there's - this.]

[The shade's circuit-hum abates, receding back to that quiet, static pattern always circling his bones. He blinks slow, eyelids starting to drop once again; the Sin drawing back leaves him feeling slightly colder, and he leans into the graze of the demon's knuckles at his hip, the breath at his neck. Which almost answers Greed already, but -]

[The slur of words pulls that quirk from the edge of Stocke's mouth again. It changes, somehow, into a faint smile even with his eyes shut - small, soft, momentary, but solid as anything real. His tendrils wind slow.]

[Stocke's fingers brush over the brilliant-gold veins in the leather of Greed's wings.] I'll stay, [he says, but it sounds a little bit like an 'Of course.' After all the rest, he can burely call it a plunge.]

[He follows Greed with his eyes still closed, trusting sound and Sin as guides.]

um

mr. greed

i need some advice

can i speak withh you?

?

it s just grred rmember?

donntt seehwy not

Edited 2017-01-30 04:56 (UTC)

er right!

it's just um

about what i want to talk about

um

it felt like i should be more respectfull when asking for advice

and when it's about um

um

i don't really know how to say it

[ HONESTLY SHE DOESN'T REALLY KNOW WHAT IT IS SHE'S COMING TO GREED FOR ADVICE ON. Only that he's been around for a while, so surely he'd have the answer to her problems.

Also he seems to be the one with the most stable relationships in this house. ]

rspct fl? youshld kno w me bttr than that

bt advi ce hu ? hy dontt yycome by. figred its esier todoit inoprson hm?

upstrs - il bearund

ah

o-okay! i'll be right there--!

[ True to her word, there's the steady click of claws against the hardwood floors approaching Greed's room before there's a moment of silence as if someone's hesitating before a knock comes at his door.]

Greed? It's, um-- It's me, Dawn...

[The hallway is quiet at first. Tools of shadows play in a current of smog; the flow of it similar to that of an open-mouthed statue releasing a finalizing sigh. It tosses the lights in a haloing ring; their edges bleeding and blurry. To anyone else, the atmosphere gives off a bad sign; the presence of something lurking behind the door like that of an unknown shape twisting in the thick of a syrupy swamp. But here, in Vandare's notorious south side, under a steady fume of neon, it's a calling card; the mark of sin itself living up to its definition.]

[Which - ]

[Behind the lip of the door, a soft glow begins to blossom. Light oranges and yellows leak into the hallway - their colors growing closer, nearer, as if they're somehow answering her hesitation. While Dawn's one of the first, she's also one of the youngest. Someone out of her element living in the company of crooks and thieves. However, that's never seemed to matter. Like the rest, she's still one of his. Another misfit in a place teaming with unlikely company.]

[A sneeze of ash frees itself from the wooden frame and the Sin plugs the door open on the flat of boot. Without his vest, the scales along his neck take on a subtle hum in the dark. They shine in a team of red and gold; their pattern lacing along the cracks like glue to a broken piece of pottery. Greed shoves his elbow into the far corner and as his arm sags, his wrist rolls to the side. Allowing his fingers to pry open in a dagger-sharp fan.] You don't have to do that, y'know.

[He shrugs and with a wave of his fingers, he sends a bit of dust hurling away.]

So, what did you want to ask me?

[ If Greed decides to check up on the basement he'll notice a scrap of fabric stuck in between two doors of a cupboard, storage, anything like that. The fabric seems to come from a dress.There's also some blood on the floor near a broken bottle. ]

[With the 'Nest as compromised as it is, there have been some measures: the trappings outside, the small wire-tangles left to snare a catch or two. However, that doesn't mean the place has entirely been abandoned and after some time, the Sin himself will check in. Taking supplies or anything else that may come in handy.]

[The blood on the floor is new. Whether it had been there before though, that's harder to say. Their exit had been fast: haphazard. Anything broken, any kind of cuts or scrapes - those would have been inevitable. But there's something about it that seems out of place: that seems too fresh. A small tsk touches on the inside of his cheek and with a tap of his boot, Greed idly pushes the broken bottle aside. The scrap of fabric all but catching his wandering, lazy eye far more than anything else.]

[Staying here too long isn't really an option. But, if someone's been here, then maybe, just maybe.]

[Gingerly, the tips of his nails pluck the piece from its snare. Whatever it is, it hadn't been there before they left. And considering how new it looks -]

Hey, hey -

Edited 2017-04-14 12:02 (UTC)

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