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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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[ Later on, several days later it's obvious that someone's been there again. There's some strands of purple seaweed on the floor, along with some droplets of water like substance. ]

[It's the second time that he follows the trail.]

[Keeping focus is more difficult each day he comes back. The static in the air sends the veins at the side of his temple jumping; the constant whirl of both machinery and white-noise effectively meshing together to form a kind of high-pitched squeal. Pop, goes a bulb. Crrrrk, goes a speaker. The voice of a radio signal's silent yet drumming demand:]

["Obey, obey, obey.".]

[But following orders, listening to someone else? Has never been his strong suit. And while the infection itches beneath his skin, while his teeth visibly set in a vice, it's that nature of his the urges him forward. The want, no the need, to reclaim practically latching through the fog like pair of claws snaring in the dark.]

[A piece of seaweed slops atop the floor. It pins under his boot in a signal slap; the sticky coils and jellied-top straining as surely as a tight-twisted sponge.]

Thought you'd like to know he's awake.

alrr edy huh ? goo d to knnw. rmor has it heisnn tthe first

thou gh thhts prtty fa st. somme thing i shuuld kn ow?

It was a little more than a week, not sure already is the right answer.

Not that I have noticed. Should I be asking why you felt the need to ask that?

ah ri ght. sorry

gott a admit im alltttle surrised. usullhy you wulldnt hvebothred. st ill donnt liek me vry much ri ght?

no t that iddd hol it aginst you

gunn a guss hes a roud th en ?

Edited 2017-06-12 22:44 (UTC)

I told Stocke too. It's not like I did something special.

And not telling you seemed a little unfair.

He's in the shower. He'll probably be around once he's eaten something. Can't imagine he won't be hungry after skipping meals for a week.

tht right gss i sho uldnt b surprised

mybe bu t thn again

nvevrrmind doe snt mttr

dontt have mmch but ther 's enou gh. ru mor has ithe iisnt the first. a f ew othrs hve had the smae thing hppn.coul dnt tell you wh ythugh. no t rrlly mch togoon

We should be glad he didn't feel like keeping us waiting even longer.

Okay.

Great... at least it's over now and we can all stop wondering if he's suddenly going to stop breathing on us.

Hey, 'boss.'

You in the mood to mark me up?

coul dnnt keep hmdown too lng ri ght? too stubbrn for that

gunn a guss you saw th mesge. mght be somthin wor th look in int o

?

ah ri ght. ont hv one ytt do yu ?

sur e. cmm on by you knw whre to fnd me. sorry. mig t not b so plsaant bu t im u re you cnn hndle it.

He is that.

Yeah I saw it. Not sure I would trust information handed out by Foggy herself. But it's more than we've had in awhile on the information front.

no bt yourr e no t wrong. mi ht be wo rth th time.

an y thin esle?

It's big. Gonna need a lot of your time.

Clear the place out before I get there?

suunds prtty ambitusss bt suitt yourslf.

upstirrs. th ee res t ar tkinng care of ashpppment

[He's avoided it as long as possible; something about marring his skin more than it's already been damaged doesn't sit right with Mello. Easy options were on the table: a simple dot below his right ear, something undetectable that would serve its purpose.]

[But he's never been one to back down from anything, has he? Within a few months he's found his place in a world where so many still wander without alliances or resources; and if that's not something to wear like a badge of honor, what is?]

[Greed might notice that Mello's steps aren't the quiet, swift sounds they were only a few weeks prior. The Gods have gone and taken his grace away and replaced it with a humanity that, at this point in time, Mello is convinced he's won unconditionally. But it's with the same chin-lifted overconfidence that he takes the steps two at a time; pads of his fingers running along a railing as he ascends.]

[There are at least a hundred humans with a steady enough hand to do this; a drop of Greed's blood to mix in with the ink is all it takes, but the idea of anyone else having access to Mello for as long as it might take is preposterous. Hell, he might not even let L do it, at this point.]

[He thinks the Sin should be honored, and it shows with a sardonic lift to his lips when he enters unannounced — he was invited after all — too human and vulnerable to be surrounded by such power. Full bottle of dark liquor in one hand — some cognac he swiped from one of the local bars — and paper with his design tucked into his pocket, he's already twisting the cap when he speaks.]

Where do you want me?

[Airy, mock-distracted.]

Can't be more of a waste than anything else has been.

No, just wanted to let you know he was up.

yo ure nt wron nng. ta lkk to l i ifouoi cnfnd him

gu ss i sh ul th ank yo shuldnt i?

I'm guessing it's usually not easy to find Li then?

You don't have to, but you're welcome.

[Inside, the room stagnates in a sluggish humidity. Halos of red lights cruise about its surface; their look more similar to a particular district known by its intention. The constant glow and throb thrown up to continuously drag them in, one by one, with the promise of an lucid, yet wholly-aware transaction. The furnace near the furthest wall prompts him first and as the crackles of spent wood claw between the bars, the Sin inhales - his well-lit cigarette flaring his smile into focus as surely as a flashlight stilling in the dark.]

[Because no, he hasn't missed the change. Where Mello's presence is usually faint, a new weight trudges at the back of his heels. It announces him far before he even has the chance to barge in and while his quiet may be missing, some things really never do change. His attitude, his lack of question, just as prideful and bold as the last. Greed plucks the cigarette from the tip and as the pads of his fingers extinguish its spark, he casually drops it into a glass nearby. Leaving the flame to choke itself out in a soft, solitary hiss.]

That's your choice, don't you think? [The Sin answers. While the bar below may be active, the room is a stark contrast. There are no women to keep him company, no onlookers leering to take a peek. It's empty. A last night call suspended as if time itself's been slowed to an agonizing crawl. Greed wraps his fingers around the arms of his chair; the tips of his claws leaving behind an outline of shallow, smoking pock marks. Tattooing has never been his specialty, but Mana's gift had come with a bit of a fail-safe. An exclusive tell to make sure history?]

[It didn't repeat itself.]

[Greed slouches forward, his fingers snagging the lip of a vial nearby. The inkwell is small, (in)descriptive: an object most would overlook. He twists off the glass stopper with a flick of his thumb and as it unscrews, his other hand catches the plug.] You mentioned being here for a while - guess you've got something in mind, then. [While he talks, he sets the topper on a dresser nearby. The ink stuck to its surface rewinds when he leaves it. The drips, drops, and streaks moving as wetly as an oil-slick with a conscious thought. The former homunuclus slinks his head towards his shoulder; his absent vest allowing a slink of soot to grace his back like a thin, sheer shroud. He pats his foot and in an instant, the ash collapses to the floor.] I probably don't have to tell you, but it's not exactly very pleasant. Sure you're up for it?

[The question comes over the dip of his shoulder. Of course, he already knows the answer. The bottle of liquor in Mello's hand is enough of an indication. His resolve, even more so. Mello's never been one to turned down a challenge. More often than not, he runs towards it. Brazenly bolting right into the thick with nothing more than a bullet-charged smile and a look that could kill. God, kill, kill, kill.]

[And if this is what he wants, well - ]

[Greed plucks his sunglasses from his face, their single click clapping together like a dry-socket trigger. He places them next to the bottle and as his hand comes back up to his face, the reflection in the mirror shines in a film. His inspecting look more similar to man checking to see just what's been stuck to the bottom of his boot.] Ehhh - [He starts. He extends the crook of his finger and without a moment of hesitation, the Sin opens his jaw. The tips of his teeth snap against his skin - the quick motion as sure as a mouse-trap springing on its target. One crunch, one nick, and he pulls away; leaving the blood from the wound to trickle on both his chin and knuckle in a reddening smear. A few drops is all it takes before the heat rises up again and as the cut blisters, the former homunculus turns the ink well in a lofty circle. He churns it once, twice. The mix of ink and blood forming one, terrible cocktail. He's already done it for some of the others. The process is simple. A drop of him, a dash of black, and here, here's the label. One to sign them away to particular name.]

[The brand of avarice, forever stuck to the skin.]

[A splash licks the side of the bottle and the Sin dips his finger in. He lifts a healthy helping of ink into the bowl of his claw; its color deep and pit(less). He cleans off the excess with the side his thumb - the thinning strands mimicking that of drool lurching from the jowls of a hungry dog.]

[Greed snags a stool with his foot, dragging it towards him.] So - wanna tell me what you have in mind? [He slurs and under the bleed of limelight, the glob on his finger turns a particular pitch. Like blood itself, cradled and carried to a hint of admiration.]

[For far be it for the devil to deny what the other truly wants.]

b itt ofn undrstandmnt. cnt relly bl ammme him though dooing whthe doooes - notrxctly wo rtth the at tenton.

seeemmms on ly fai r. t ell hm i snnt yu. he'lllll mrkk sure to ake cre of it

thaaat is if hee hs nanythn

Fair enough.

Here's hoping he does.

con siiidring whthe doo s h mmi ght atllest tell yu whre to strt

bttrr th annn not hing righ t?

Edited 2017-07-05 00:10 (UTC)

Most anything at this point is better than nothing.

But yeah, hopefully he'll have some ideas on where to start.

Thanks.

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<Mello> (Backdated to sometime during the grand opening of Djvsalksfgntostadnudsdjun - May)

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<avaricious> dbkj SPITS ...

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acción

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THANKS FOR THE PATIENCE ..

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