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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.

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[A Pandora's box it is, though it's got nothing so nice as hope hidden in the bottom. For all that it was meant to be hope the whole way through, top to bottom it's a promise of horrors.]

[Stocke doesn't raise an objection; Greed'll be able to peel the cover flap open, take a look inside. The thing's full to the brim with syringes; there's some cursory padding between the ones at the bottom, in the form of fabric, but it looks like Stocke ran out before he got through with all of them. They bounce off each other lightly, the tink of glass - though it's reinforced enough, or Stocke's taken enough care, that none have broken yet.]

Bit of a waste, [Stocke agrees, shoulders shifting up in a shrug.] Not so much of one as all the human souls I have to eat to sustain it, though. [Something in his voice sounds like, 'Isn't it?' Testing on edges.]

[The Hyde doesn't truly care - it's preserving himself he's looking out for. Preserving this way of thought. The normal Stocke... he's a little too hesitant to take advantage of opportunities, too lacking in self-preservation, for this one's taste.]

[But it's a good reason for the normal Stocke to have kept with it, right?]

[He inclines his head in response to 'I'm gunna guess it doesn't take just one dose -' that's right. He's in for the long haul. And another smirk to 'Think you can handle it?'] Of course. [He was human enough through all of Specint, though he misses his magic all the more sorely now that he can't be a monster.]

Let me drop off this somewhere safe, [he jerks his head toward the bag of cure,] And I'll be right behind you.

["Not so much of one as all the human souls - "]

[Greed's glance stills to a point. Stocke isn't wrong - the price for his abilities, the cost of being a monster. For them, it had been an inevitable. An undeniable part of their new lives, forced onto them without a solution or loop-hole to outsmart it. But for him, for his, well. That's what they are, aren't they? A by-product of the natural, spat out and reformed as an artificial blasphemy to the very idea. The Sin tests his teeth again. For a second, he forgets - the slice of his tongue all but snapping in his jaw, angry and raw.]

[Thankfully, he does catch it a second later and with a pressing smile, he turns towards the bike; the blood on his lip nothing more than a faint flight of ash.] Suit yourself. Just make sure no one else gets their hands on it, hmn? Don't want the extra trouble - [While the talks, the Sin lifts his arm out to the side. His splays his fingers open; that wave of his, curt and casual. A slip of sunlight rinses through his fingers. It bounces off his scales silvery-white - the color of a desert's high-noon, baking the hour.]

["-villains like you-!"]

[Greed snares his keys out of his pocket, letting them dangle on the hook of a claw.] Li's old place - that's where we'll start. [He lets the words slur around his neck. They develop through the fur of his collar in a noose of smoke; something light, something weaving, snaring, touching, as if it has a purpose.]

[The ring of keys claps in his palm and with a shrug, the Sin treks his way to the motorcycle. Stocke will keep up - one way, another. He doesn't have to take a look-see to know that. Human as he is, loyalty? It doesn't leave so easily.]

[Least, not yet.]

Edited 2017-09-25 05:03 (UTC)

Boss.

h m ? ah rig ht

gussthatsth ena me yourrl y goby hu h

go t somthin ?

Edited 2017-09-29 02:35 (UTC)

[Not so easy, no. You might even say it hasn't left at all. But the expression of it...]

[That's only a surface game. The Hyde's goals, through that loyalty, are a distorted mockery of the shade's.]

Of course. [It's not something he'd want either, the lack of control over who gets and doesn't what he's collected. Not to mention the lack of cure to support himself.]

[The Hyde's true to his word - he catches up barely a minute or two later, circling the motorcycle to nab himself a seat. The bag's notably absent, but he doesn't voice where he's stashed it.]

['Ready.' He doesn't need words to say it, Hyde or not.]

[Maybe.]

No.

Did what I was supposed to do. Got held up by something. Need to know if things have settled down over there at all before I come back. I won't be leaving again.

[Font a while, at least.]

figre d as much. disappr ingliek that lamost thought you diceided to sikip ou t on us. you did mak ee som truble aftrall. cant rellly blam e them ri ght ?

back doorss open whenrbber youre done btt com e see me firs t

If I was skipping out, you'd know. I'm not a coward.

Figured you'd catch on to that by now.

Not blaming anyone for anything. I'm asking you if the humans are starting shit because of what happened. Whether I show up now or later depends on your answer.

I've had enough confrontation for a while, not in a conversational mood. If you tell me it's fine to come back, I'll come. If you want to scold me and set new limitations on me, I won't be part of it.

I'm in a fucking cell. I'm finished being cornered.

[By the time Stocke's back, the motorcycle's already settled into idle. The pipes along the rear shake in their barrings. They jangle off in a pit-a-rat-pat - the force of the exhaust causing them to jump and bang like that of old bottles tumbling in a coffin. The Sin keeps one leg stretched out to hold the bike's weight and as the side car teeters, a fuming grin stretches along his face; the last shreds of a cigarette clamped in his jaw all but burned down, down, down to the filter. He pitches it between his claws and one of his nails sheers the tip clean.]

That was fast - [Greed lulls. A sharp spring of fire plays on the pads of his fingers and the butt of his smoke ashes in his hand. Where ever Stocke scurried away the stash is anyone's guess. It couldn't have been far. Somewhere in Bavan, perhaps a safe-house from one of their own. Still, there's still that nagging feeling - a slight itch teasing and heated just under his skin. The former homuculus nudges the kickstand into place; the side of his boot slipping against chrome, smooth and precise.]

[Tck.]

[The Sin drops his shoulders and with a throw of the gears, the cycle's tires start their trundle. His keeps his heel stretched - allowing it to graze over dust, to hover over stone, like a white-hot engine in cruise. A couple of peddles skip between the treads, but once the road flattens, Greed abruptly toes the throttle. The engine immediately rolls over in neutral - the motorcycle all but tossed into a long, burn-out skid.]

[One hop, one whirl, and the bike takes off.]

[The Sin pushes the throttle, causing the speed dial to steadily crank into the red. Thankfully, this part of Bavan is a place he knows. Small shacks stack together in rows while they pass - their tin-top roofs and rough construction merely a blur. Greed reaches past the handle bars. He pushes his knuckle along the dash, flicking the headlights twice.] You said something before, about Dante - [There's something distracted about the way he talks. Maybe, it's the task at hand; maybe, it's that feeling again rearing its ugly head. Either way, he doesn't elaborate and as the flicker of the high beams bounce, the former homunculus lifts his head. Two flares of sunlight answer him at a distance. The reflection of a mirror catching the announcement like a battlefield code. Greed drops the speed of the motorcycle down and the gauges atop its dash collapse. They drop breathlessly back - the movement as brisk as a bulb blown out in a power outage.]

[No, that information about Dante - he wouldn't have attacked without reason. There's more to it; something he can't quite put his finger on, waiting for an answer.]

[For now, though - ]

[The front of the bike hiccups along a step and the Sin tosses out the kickstand again. Li's place, for what's left, is still. Boards crisscross behind the windows, the locks on the front door have been unscrewed and popped out. The former homunculus swings his leg off saddle-side and as he moves to stand, he gives the cracked-flat stone out front a good tap. Once, for good measure. Twice, for assurance.]

[And a third time to let Li know that the coast, for now, is decided clear.]

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

[At first, the feed's eerily hushed. The blades to the fan cut through the air in a cycle; a constant spin, twirling, twirling, twirling as droning as a hotel room left vacant. The quiet, though - it doesn't last. The furnace at the backside of his room abruptly huffs to life. It erupts in a series of pops - the leftover coals trapped behind the grate snapping off, one at a time, like bullets popping from a gun. The Sin's teeth touch and while it may be hard to hear, a distinct whine creeps into the recording. The shrill wheeze similar to brittle steel finally buckling under a weight.]

["I'm in a fucking cell."]

Oi, oi, oi - [Greed's tone is low - the ball of smoke stuck in his throat breathy and deep. A single scratch soon follows; the sound of grinding wood crisp, sharp, and tinged with a hiss of heat.] - you should have told me before. [He starts, the forks of his tongue cracking inside his jaw. Mello's already given his dues. Through his offerings, through his measures to pay off a debt he never, truly could. It had been a struggle no doubt, but the end result had been satisfactory. Not perfect, of course not, but then again - ]

[ - how does one pay off a life that's already spent?]

[The former homunculus skirts away - the thud of his boots bristling with ash.] You're in Bavan, right? [He slurs. Leather, a brush of fur - they crawl into the recording. His shifting movement quick and brisk. Greed snatches a set of keys and as he pockets them, the furnace suddenly dies out. As if it's been squelched; like that of a fire put out with a bucket.]

Word has it you've already taken care of things here. I'm not interested in punishing you, M. [The bite to his tone is scathing. Stocke, Dante, the others - there's no question that Mello crossed a line. But he made his amends, swallowed his pride. And now, now - ]

[The Sin pauses. A stagnant groan soon follows; the joints to his door wrenching themselves open, wide and aching.] As for the rest - not really much else you can do, is there?

Edited 2017-10-05 03:36 (UTC)

[Three for three, then — Mello has given more than he'd intended in such a short span of time: his body, his submission, exposure to something that no one — not even those he holds close — have seen. Be it the liquor that warms his head as much as his spine, be it a need to test the waters to gauge the extent of Greed's need to possess, Mello has gone far beyond what he would consider acceptable in the way of subjugation, whether or not the Sin realizes.]

[And his new 'boss' is a spectacle, isn't he? Trails of heat and a nonchalance that would put the most impassive to shame, Mello has it in him to provoke above all else. Test waters, nip at sharp edges until they give; the too-ambitious boy who grew into something so criminal never did have a taste for boundaries.]

[But first, first. He'll slip around the demon with the grace of the feline form he possessed before the Gods cursed him with eternal life within death, demand the utmost attention that he hasn't had enough of with languid, attentive eyes. Blood and ink and possession mean nothing in the face of exposure, and it's with no regard for personal space that the blonde slips his hand beneath the glass — possess the possessions — and seeks to pull it towards himself as though another ounce of alcohol is something he needs, right now.]

[Really, he's shared so much tonight. The least Greed can do is share a quickly-warming liquor that can be easily replaced.]

What's your endgame?

[The sanguine tint to his cheeks is irrelevant, the sway on his feet a mere side-effect. Mello's question holds the levity that it would on any other day — it's something he's always wondered, in the end.]

Gather what you figure is worthy of being yours, make Elias pay for treading on your territory — then what?

[Because there's always, always an after. No one with any sort of ambition exists in a state of comfort; contentment comes to those who aspire to nothing.]

[Oh, shit. No. This wasn't his aim by any accord. Mello's side will initially reflect mostly silence, the occasional sound of a guard's footsteps audible to the most attentive, and the shift of his own leather against leather as he leans in close to the laptop is quick, near-insistent.]

Wait —

[He's in Bavan. Bars enchanted and bringing his power to a level of near-uselessness, small cell cracking him more and more each day. But it's almost over, almost paid — Mello's settled many debts in the last month or so, this being the final he intends on seeing through.]

[Voice insistent, near frantic. It can't happen this way; standing against L is grounds for Mello to make an enemy of anyone, regardless of their dynamic. A shift of knees against concrete, and when he speaks again, his voice is lower if not more severe.]

I need to do my time.

[No explanation will be given unless demanded. It's a weak stance to take, he knows. Something he has no intention of repeating, but Greed's immediate response was unexpected, welcome as it is.]

Just needed to know the stakes, figure out where to go from here. I can't have you — or anyone — interfering.

[And again, for what seems like the hundredth time since he first set foot near the Sin close enough to taste the soot coming from his scorching form.]

Need you to trust me on this, yeah. I just wanted to know the stakes, figure out how to handle things once I get out of here.

[And if it helps any— ]

Won't be more than a few days, now. I've been here for nearly a month; I'm not looking for rescue.

[Stocke trades watching the Sin and the road sprinting by like rolling a coin from heads to tails over his knuckles, slowly, deliberately. The skip of asphalt, smoother than Vandare's cobbles, still has his eyes flickering sideways every once in a while. Now that he's human, and with any luck it'll be made permanent...]

[Humans don't have the strength or stamina of a monster, do they? They need tools. And while he can do an automobile, it's not convenient for the narrower streets. So:]

You'll have to teach me how to drive one of these, [the former shade notes. He doesn't raise his voice, and with the loud growl of the engine making it hard to hear, you'd almost think it an aside to himself. But the 'You'll' gives that the lie.]

[Dante again, huh. The Hyde's eyes shut, then open.]

...put it this way. I can't tell you exactly what he's thinking, but you don't want to be near the human Dante unless you've an itch to be human yourself.

[The bike rattles to a halt; Stocke slides off, turning his head slightly at the sharp tap of Greed's boot on stone. Then his focus returns to the building. Yeah, he remembers this place. He wasn't out this way nearly as often as Greed, he thinks; Li's Greed's the same way Stocke's posse of informants are his, or maybe the same way Stocke... is? Was? His. But enough. He can use that, the Hyde thinks - ]

[Has only a moment to think, because it's been hours since the last time they swapped and suddenly he can feel himself inverting again.]

[Let it not be said Stocke, Hyde or not, can't think fast. Yeah, he was dumb for not thinking of this, but then he knows his un-Hyded self would have warned Greed anyway. So maybe this is for the best.]

[He doesn't say anything - instead, in the last few seconds before he's a monster again, he goes for Greed's back with a chrome-tipped syringe. He knows he won't get another shot before the demon's warned, and eventually Greed will need to be turned. Not to mention the Sin'll be an enemy again as soon as his monstrous self is done.]

[The Hyde doesn't make it, just barely.]

[The first Greed will hear of this whole thought process - it's the sound of shattering glass, just behind him. If he looks behind him, he'll see: Stocke, staring at his hands, dripping with cure fluid and broken shards. He's close enough to reach out and touch - or to have reached out and tried to stab, if it had been only a moment longer.]

[More notably - the shade's fingers are clawed again, eyes glowing white. And his tendrils, back, are jittering slightly - as if shaking.]

[It's the same scene Li will probably see coming out.]

[Ah, there it is. The shot between the eyes, the arrow making a bulls-eye, right to the heart of it. The former homunculus splays out his lips. They stretch from one corner of his face to the other - a chaste smile on anyone else, wide and hungry. He curdles a noise along the flats of his teeth as if savoring the idea and as the warmth in his chest billows up his throat, the Sin plucks up his own glass. His nails hum against the sides with a single note: like a dot on the line and boy, boy, what have they signed themselves up for.]

That's a pretty bold question - [He slurs. His endgame; they couldn't really know, could they? An idea, sure, but infinity - it's lost on the mortal lot, isn't it? There's no real concept to it. Something endless, intangible, and forever, stretching years and centuries after everything's already dead and gone. Greed's muscles visibly stiffen. The bones in his spine, the veins beneath his skin; they're rigid and taught. Like that of trap, powered by a live wire. He doesn't notice how much his nails are scratching, nor does he seem to care; the glass below them all but screeching as the tips of his talons sink their mark as subtly as a knife to a bedpost-conquest. What he wants, what he needs. The Sin lifts his glass and as the other squeezes in, he meets his movement toe-to-toe. His waltz drifting to keep just enough space between them, both apart and near.]

Elias, the Fog God - you don't really think it's just about revenge, do you? [As he talks, the former homunculus trails throughout the room. He wanders by the bedpost, cruises towards the furnace; the small flicker of flame trapped inside the grate meeting him in a feverish greeting. No, there's so much more. So much to have, so much to take, just inches from his too-demanding hand. Greed sets his portion down on top of the furnace and when he lifts his arm away, the crack in the side is clear and visible. The fissure seeming to stretch, stretch, stretch like his own making, clawing by desire.]

[Because what he needs, what he's hungry for.]

[The world just isn't enough.]

[The Sin smooths his fingers along the lip of the furnace, tracing it.] What I want - [He repeats. The tone of his voice is drippy and wet - as if he's stuck in a dream. A kind of delirium clouding him over more similar to that of an addict on a fix. Greed lifts his shoulder. His spine crunches into place, the flats of shoulder-blades punch at his skin. The expression of a creature possessed by its definition, brought down to the very raw of it. Mello's question is simple, sure. But he's already started the reaction. His inquiry merely a light to an inevitable, powder-keg fuse.]

[And oh, oh, is it too little, too late.]

[The tendons along his arms twitch and as they pull, the sound that follows is trembling. His claws animate themselves - their sharp slides and punctual tck-tck-tcks more similar to that of body on the third-rail, taking the juice. Greed sets his jaw and his wrists stagger(ly) twirl.] - men, women, money, henchmen - [The former homunculus rolls each word. The lead in his mouth is obvious now. It ways him down, slurps in his cheek. Every notion itching like an undying thirst in the back of his throat. However subtle it is though, the violent jerk of his back is anything but. The sudden yank forcing his wings to jaggedly unfurl to the tune of a spider stretching under the blink of a strobe light.]

[Didn't they teach him? Didn't they tell him?]

[Truth he may get, but there's so much more in Pandora's box.]

[A scathing scrrritch breaks up the stillness and as the Sin's claws rake up his thighs, the smoke they leave behind blots him out. His own eclipse, challenging the sun.] The Fourth isn't enough. The Fog isn't enough. I want everything you can possibly think of, M. And what they have - it's the top of the list - ! [He barks, excitable. Maybe, this isn't the time. Maybe, this isn't right. Still - ]

[When has he ever played by the rules?]

[Greed glides his foot out to his side. The roar in his belly calms not a second later - his phosphorous burn, short and sweet. He coaxes his wings back to a fold and as their gnarly hooks lock into one another, the crackles in the furnace immediately snuff themselves out. As if his composure alone commanded them to a quench. The former homunuclus lifts one finger.] Dante wasn't wrong back in Vandare, but don't get the wrong idea. Lying, killing - I've still got my standards. But this town, it's just too small. And my avarice, well - it runs a little deeper than that.

[While he finishes, the Sin carefully takes up his glass again. The sliver in its side has stopped its movement - leaving behind an imprint akin to a tree marred by a bolt of warning lightning. No, the world was and is ever enough. And where the Gods may think they have their place, well - ]

[It wouldn't be the first time he's has tempted the odds.]

Edited 2017-11-06 22:18 (UTC)

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

["Wait-"]

Ah-?

[Greed stops and along the recording, everything seems unwind. No longer does the door haunt on its hinges; no more do his boots thud along the floor. Instead, it's faintly quiet - the only hush, a meeting of keys, barely slapping together. The Sin slumps his shoulder. Making M for a Martyr. His need to sacrifice. In the end, he really wasn't that off, was he?]

[However - ] You want to stay there, then? [He mulls it over; that tongue of his pressing against his cheek with the idea. This is Mello's payment. An action he believes is right, a penance he thinks he needs. The former homunculus huffs on the other side of the receiver - his smile waning down to a sliver.] Humans - you still think you deserve it, after everything else. Ehh - [He lifts his chin. On his end, the feed lets off a crackle; as if a candle nearby has puckered to life, low and waxy.]

[No, given the choice? Freedom has always been his, but - ]

[Greed drops his keys and when they thwck against a wood surface, the resignation is clear. This is what Mello wants - this is his desperation. Someway of cleaning the slate to start fresh, new.]

[So be it.]

Suit yourself. Just tell me when you're out. [He waves his fingers while he talks; as if brushing off the idea and shooing it away as simply as dust in a corner. He couldn't force the other if he tried and really, what would be the point? It's his decision. And in the end, isn't that how it goes?]

["I've always been a fan of choice - "]

[The Sin draws up his heel again and in the receiver, the dull scrape of wood is relaxed and sluggish.] A few days. After that, I'll be there. [And he will. No one else, no one more.]

[Just the devil and his steel, waiting to take one more back with him.]

[Where he stands, the former homunculus seems to blot out the sun. A crease of orange-rinsed-gold plays on his shoulder in a trickle effect; as if the day's weaning hours are falling to his command, rinsing his soul and showering it with one of the things, one of many, he demands. Greed chirps a noise behind the flats of his teeth. One of the slats in the windows flutters in response - the dull shudder of a gas lamp, cranked and measured to a low, low burn.]

Ah, right. Didn't have these where you're from. If that's what you really want though, I guess I can teach you. [The Sin puckers his lip. With his attention hooked on Li's staggered signals, he doesn't even sense it coming. Instead, he merely carries on - the monster stepping to the day's drum, meeting it beat for beat. Ryslig, though, still has its unpredictable(s). And just like that, within a second, everything, oh, everything - ]

[He hears the glass first. How it strains and whines like a gun shot. How it shatters so, so close to his ear, brittle and sharp. Greed's muscles visibly stiffen. In the split moment between then and now, the seconds try to catch up with themselves: Stocke's sudden closeness, his now-clawed hand wide open and guilty. It's as if time's been gradually dialed to a drag - the actions, the reactions, like a slow-motion replay, pointing out the details. The Sin's neck cranes over his shoulder and as his eyes widen, the wrench of his lips is surprised. Vicious. He's rigid and raw; tense and still. Every muscle, every vein and tendon, as taught as a spring, loaded for the pull. The former homunculus sinks his heel back and as the point of his boot lifts, the stones caught below fume to a shine. Their sides turn red; their cores, an intense orange. The beginnings of a fire barely, just barely, contained.]

Oi, oi, oi - [Greed lifts his hand. He flits two of his fingers briskly to the side - the motion aimed at the window an all too-clear signal to get, get, get. Whatever just happened, whatever's going on - Greed cool(y) shifts his body. It's as deliberate as it is predatory. His whole demeanor, a killer in cold blood. The Sin's lips turn down at the corners and as he watches Stocke, the glow from his eyes begins to shift. A brittle hum pounds into the lenses - their constant throbbing as alarming as a check-engine light, blaring a warning.]

[Greed's mouth hesitates.] - that wasn't very nice. Guess that was for me, wasn't it. [With an arch of his head, he rolls his glance back to the broken vial. The liquid dripping out of it, the small pieces scattered across the ground - the Sin takes one step forward and as his boot falls, he traps a piece underneath. Forcing the glass to wheeze, wheeze, wheeze until the pressure becomes too much.]

[Crk.] So, that's it. Pretty rotten trick, if you ask me. [He touches his tongue to the backs of his teeth - the inside of his cheek, alight and airy. He may not know the whole picture, but the parts that make sense are beginning to draw it out for him: Dante, somehow being a threat. Stocke's odd behavior. Greed lifts his boot and with a none-too-subtle sweep, he kicks one of the pieces away; allowing the shard to skip and jump until a dark spot or a shallow hole takes it.]

[Whatever comes first.]

You really didn't think that would work, did you? Why don't we just cut to the chase - [As he talks, the tips of his claws start to click together. He keeps up a playful pace; as if he's running through the scenario and picking it apart, inch for inch. Doppelganger(s) aren't anything new in Ryslig, far from it. But - ]

[But.]

[The former homunculus shuts the space between them, giving only inches.] - becoming one of mine. It's a bold move. [He starts, the hiss of tongue as keen as heated switchblade.] So, why don't you tell me who you really are. [Again, he pointedly raps his nails together. Tap for tap, they draw up a series of sparks - the threat of them more similar to the end of a fuse, toyed and mocked by a faulty lighter. The spade of his tail lifts behind him and with a loathsome coil, it slips to his side. Effectively stirring both ash and fog to a thin, grainy sheet.]

[Because mock him, Ryslig has. But buyer, buyer beware.]

[The devil never forgets.]

[Stocke doesn't respond, not to the first few words or to Greed's increasingly dangerous tone. A snake baring fangs, coiling slowly to spring, claws clicking like the hiss of a rattle - but the shade's breathing a touch too fast, fingers slowly curling in on his palms. He's not paying attention.]

[He'd crushed the syringe in his own hand, needle bending under a monster's strength; the smaller slivers of shards still pierce his palm, thin streams of black-smoke-blood twining up. Some more of that cure's probably gone into his bloodstream, but honestly - with how much his Hyde had been injecting himself, that's probably the least of his worries. It had been so close, and just a second more... and even without that, the thought of his Hyde having been near Greed for this long -]

[Stocke's nothing if not good at compartmentalizing. He shuts it away and snaps back to attention to '- becoming one of mine. It's a bold move.']

[The shade's tendrils go abruptly very still. For a moment there's no expression at all on his face; then there's a flicker of resignation before he shuts down again. There's no way he can prove anything; the trouble with always having relied on subterfuge is when it comes back around on your own tail...]

[He doesn't have the time to try. Instead of answering the Sin's question, Stocke leads with a,] Boss - don't trust him. Me. Might be better if you just kill him - being like this never lasts long. Shorter each time.

[He pauses, then adds, short -] Get rid of the stash, if you can. It's - [and a hiding place, named, not very far from where they started.]

[And if the Sin thinks it's an ambush? ...might be for the best, really. Sure, it'd be nice if that supply of cure isn't squirreled away for someone to get at, but it'll just mean the Sin's already set on that whole not trusting thing.]

[The stretch of Greed's lips is matched in a subtle tip of Mello's own; he's always been bold, hasn't he? Strutting into unknown territory the way he did that first night — a mark of audacity that has tattooed him to his core, more so than the superficial ink and irritated raises of skin that line his chest, torso. That his boss would expect anything else is laughable, but he doesn't, does he? Just a taunt, a prod that the too-human blond takes in stride when he drops his hand in some small act of compliance.]

[It wasn't his intention to snatch, after all. Just a test — true greed knows no limits, does it? All right, then.]

[Step for step — subtle as the dance is — Mello's guerilla tactics for attention have no effect on something so ancient; obvious as this is, he'll persist. What does it matter, in the end?]

Think it's fair enough, yeah.

[Slurred, maybe. Just the edges, just the nuance. Questioning authority is a step down from obliterating it completely, and if Greed only knew — oh, that would be cause for strife, wouldn't it. A subtle shake of his head, half-takes the room with it. No, it's not about revenge, because revenge is nothing more than a means to an end. A cog, an instrument: Mello knows the concept well. His own revenge was nothing more than a tool to take and take until he stood on top because, well — ]

[The half-drunk human standing before Sin has always wanted the world too, hasn't he? There are nuances to this sort of thing; no explanation is needed. Someone with ambitions so high understands full well that obstacles are just those. An endgame is far beyond that, far beyond figureheads and posing entities.]

I'd be disappointed if they were your goal. [A one-shouldered shrug; nonchalance can be matched movement for movement. Dead at nineteen, Mello knows ambition more than the average 'human' Greed might have encountered, but hubris is something to be kept at bay until it's needed. Because I'm nothing you've ever known is an idiot's declaration.]

[Actions speak louder than words, when all is said and done.]

[But oh, prideful boy — don't mock the Devil, himself.]

And this town; it's a hub, I know.

[Semantics, really. But the Sin likes to speak in circles, doesn't he? Pull them round and round until their demand for answers fall to the wayside; Mello was never someone to be deterred so easily. Beneath it all, he's been trained to replace his world's greatest detective — not that he'd be particularly keen on sharing that information. A flick of his tongue over the corner of his mouth, and he'll step back if Greed thinks he's going to lead him along in a fruitless whirl.]

[Eventually]

The cities are yours — [The people? Well.] — the Gods are out of the way. [And Mello thinks he likes this game, pressing as it is. Skirt along the edges of sin; reach forward to flick a fingernail against the side of the demon's glass.] Everyone accepts your bargains —

[Demon at the crossroads.]

No one wants to take what's yours, which is — [Smirk.] everything. [A tip of his chin; Mello sways on his feet just a bit too much to make an argument for complete coherency, right now. Unimportant, dismissed with a quick righting on his balance.]

[He asks because — Because.]

There's nothing left. And you — [In this life and the last.] you're eternal. [As is Mello, as is everyone here, where immortality even after death is a curse that some of them would relish.]

Do you sit on a throne and bask in it all, or do you wait for someone to rise against you?

[If there's a hint of challenge to the question, it's unintentional. Really.]

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

[The exhale is forced, exasperated. Being imprisoned this way has essentially removed Mello's ability to manage his tone — an animal in a fucking cage: when he speaks his voice is raw, lacking the cool demeanor he tries so hard to maintain when conversing with Greed. If the grit of his teeth is audible, it's not something of which he's consciously aware.]

I don't want to stay here. About to tear these fucking walls apart if time doesn't pick up.

[Which it won't. The scrape of claws against cement is loud enough to cause a stir a few cells over, a rustle of fabric that even with his dulled abilities, Mello can pick up on with acute sharpness.]

Linden's got this system in place, yeah, and it's not going over well with anyone. If I call people in and get myself out — [A long, long pause. So tempting.] — it'll break this thing before it begins.

[And because he doesn't exactly possess a wide array of conversational partners right now — ]

No one wants this prison here; these laws are inane. If I don't do my time, it gives everyone the green to raid this place every time one of their own ends up in here.

[Breathe. Breathe.]

But they won't stop at that, yeah, they'll go after him. Then we'll have a bigger problem than someone playing cops and robbers where there's no place for it.

[Oh, but he'll gladly accompany Greed back to Djävulenstad when all is said and done. Rustling, and there's a click of bootheels on the floor when Mello begins to pace.]

He won't listen to me. [But.]

But you —

[He'll let that hang for a moment; whether or not Greed wants to become involved is unpredictable. If the prison affects him in no way, there's no reason to intervene, is there?]

[He doesn't even notice when the gaslight behind him goes dim. Instead, he's focused elsewhere. The splinters of glass sticking out of Stocke's hand are intimate and sharp; like that of a suicide note, aching for someone to hear it. Greed's eyes momentarily tremble and as they try to figure out what color is more suitable (red, for his betrayal. Purple, for something more), the drum of his finger pauses in mid-strike. It stands crooked and kinked above his thigh. The look of a gargoyle, frozen and stilled by the dawn's coming tide.]

["Boss - " All together. "Don't trust him. Me. Might be better - "]

[The former homunculus lifts his heel. He chidingly avoids the other pieces of his glass - his purposeful swing as droning and chilled as murderer, stepping over his corpse. The stash isn't too far and it's just one problem out of the way he can take care of later. Whether or not the other's information is good? That's more debatable. Stocke had been merely inches from his target. He could have made it, if he chose. His quick strike, all but given ample opportunity.]

[Yet - ]

[Greed stops a foot from the other and as his body looms, that heat of his comes off in a wave. However, unlike the countless times before, the dryness of it is vile. The taste, vitriol. A house fire's smother, coming, coming, coming to close Stocke's chapter, once and for-all. But him, Stocke, this version of Stocke: they both know better, don't they. It's the very reason he had the opportunity in the first place. Because avarice may be endless, it may be selfish, but his, his, his - ]

["-sympathy? Who do you think you're talking to?"]

[A tendon in the side of his neck lifts to the surface and the Sin levels his chin.] Giving it up so easily - [The way his tongue prods at his cheek - it's almost a whisper. His hiss, a tea-kettle's warning. Maybe he's taking it at face value, maybe he's merely placating the inevitable. Either way, the former homunculus casually raises his arm. He laces two of his fingers together in a knot - their marriage, their twining, a ceremony in soot.] I really wish I could believe you, but thing's being as they are - [While he talks, the Sin extends his pinkie. Its razor(ed) edge slips underneath the earpiece to his shades and with one, simple pull, he removes them. The pair all but lost in a film of thick, black-tar ash.]

["You forgive too easily -"]

I am sorry, y'know. I didn't want to have to do this. [Greed's tone drops. The look on his face should say it all. The drag of his mouth sags on his lip, the hum in his eyes dials to a simmer. The former homunculus extends his neck and as his sunglasses sink into his collar, he traces his laced-in fingers to the side of the skull. The first tap loosens a quiver of ash from his horns. It ribbons about his wrist like a promise. A reminder of who he is, who they are, wrapped to a thin, choking noose. The Sin hesitates; leaving the seconds, the minutes, to a midnight's countdown.]

[A moment, and Greed knocks the side of his head a second time. He slurs his last word - the sound as strung out and drawn as hypnotist, obliterating consciousness:]

Xerxes.

[Stocke waits, unblinking and unflinching. Through the crackle of glass under the Sin's boots, and the press of fire's heat, so tangible it's nearly a wall - he doesn't step away, but nor does he step closer.]

['I really wish I could believe you,' and he dips his head, eyes falling shut. His tendrils curl to a halt, but - no, this way's for the better. He's deathly still, bracing himself.]

[Whatever he's expecting, it's not that word.]

[The shade's head snaps up, expression subtly between startled and confused - he doesn't know what happened in his own head, that time the Fourth God cracked everyone's open. He feels like he should recognize it, and yet -]

[Then he winces, one hand - shards of glass and all - rising to the side of his head. There's a flicker of shadow-black over all of his skin, even that which was shapeshifted to look human, as something clicks. (Something very like a key.)]

[...Stocke is getting really tired of having his head messed with today. Though this version's vastly preferable to the other one; he can feel Greed shook something loose, but it's still better than the Hyde. Bubbling deep underneath, his resignation's burning into anger - he wants to hunt down Dante, hunt down the lab that started all this, most of all hunt down the Hyde he can't reach because it's inside him -]

[- but he owes the boss first, yeah?]

[Absently, the shade shakes off his solid, human form, rising into the air. Glass splinters and shards drop from his hands, suddenly nothing for them to grip; Stocke lifts hands in front of him again, four eyes narrowing at the streams of smoke-blood flowing up. He extends an over-long white tongue, running it over the cuts to seal them shut.]

Hey, boss. Good to see you again. [Again? Why again? Stocke can't tell without the memories of his dreamscape, but it feels right to say. Either way, his voice now's more static than not.] Not sure if this'll take care of - [Telekinesis stirs the remnants of the syringe below. That. Still, the shade half-grins as he cuts off, jagged. That's fine. If this... looseness is what it takes Greed to trust that it's him, he can live with that - they'll screw his Hyde over, figure out some way to get him to stick monster, and then -]

[...then, why doesn't he stay this way? It's a lot better than Stocke usually feels.]

[The shade's hovering with his face above the Sin's eye level right now - he folds forward to match it, claws dangling lazily. For some reason, his gaze follows Greed's earring for a moment before returning to the Sin's face.]

[But for how much Mello is encroaching, the Sin returns the favor tenfold. His chest dips when the other crawls along his glass; his exposed neck open and wide as M slinks through every single one of his words like a firing-squad, lined up and packed with plenty of ammo. And he has enough to spare, doesn't he? Each one of his questions, digging further to the truth. To see the heart of it all, beat for beat.]

[However, even so, there's that little thing he's forgot. A little detail he's missed. Because while Mello may be his, while he may belong?]

[Nothing, truly, comes free.]

[The former homunculus scuffs the lip of his glass with his finger. The smear he leaves is oiled and grainy; the taste like that of charcoal coughed up and spat out from the mouth of a lead pipe. He gives his teeth a playful click. A porcelain chime.] Pretty persistent, aren't you. [Greed rolls his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It follows the arch of his gums, traces the grooves; his smooth talk as subtle and brazen as a lover-for-hire trying to raise the stakes. This town: it's just the start of his empire, isn't it? His very making binding him, choking him, and only the cure is more, God, more, more, more, more - ]

[Greed's expression bristles and as the forks of his tongue lap away, the spark they leave pops off in cheek; forcing the skin to hum from the inside out like that of a negative, thrown up for inspection. He pats the side of his glass.] Oh, don't I wish I was immortal - I may be built a bit tougher, but that doesn't mean I haven't died before. And taking from them - [The Sin pucker his mouth; his smile, now an appreciative purse.] - I don't care what anyone else does. Human, monster, something else. That'll be their choice. I did tell you, didn't I? I'm not a good guy, M. But forcing someone to do something they're not interested in - I wouldn't really be me, now, would I.

[It isn't a question. Mello isn't new to this. He's heard the song, seen the dance. Listened to the same rhythm, over and over, knowing that they would end up in the same place that they started. The former homunculus dips his chin and as the flats of his boots brush the floor, he begins to tighten his coil. The hold of his claws loosens, then drops - the glass and whatever's left all but given to the other without a word.]

[Greed pops two of his fingers into his mouth and with a brisk flick, he cleans the brim.] Everything's mine, friend. Now, later. [While he talks, the Sin's eyes dreamily drift. A hint of smoke teases in front of his face. Like a thin veil, it blurs his colors. Brightens his glow. The gassy fume carving him out and sinking in as jagged as neon paint, calling from an alleyway. No, he's not like the rest of them. And in the end, oh in the end - ]

[The Sin abruptly pulls himself away. A shred of soot chases him while he goes - its fingers trying, almost desperately, to weave their way along Mello's collar.] My turn. [His back to Mello, the former homunculus stretches out his hand. He makes a pile along the edge of his dresser: his sunglasses, his vest, a clip of keys, and a couple of loose coins tossed aside in a mound more suitable to a bachelor's uncaring collection. One of his claws traps a stray piece of copper and as his nail pins in, Greed slumps into his back.] That ambition of yours - you didn't get to finish everything you started, did you?

[The surface of the coin brightens. Slowly, the stray-orange copper starts to fade away. It warps and peels. Reddens and simmers. The shade of it, an electric grill, cooking, cooking, cooking. Greed lifts his talon away and when it breaks, the hole left is black and smokey. A bullet's exit wound, leaving behind a reminder. Mello isn't the only one in the 'Nest who's life was cut short.]

[Which -]

Even if you don't stay here, the possibilities are endless. There are other worlds out there, after all. [He pauses. At the corner of his jaw, a thin snuff of smoke twirls about his head. It delicately tangles in his horns - a touch soft, loose, and oh, oh, oh.]

[The Sin pats his foot and immediately, the halo around him drops.] You asked if I'd wait for someone else to try to take over, but that's not how it works. [Greed pinches the coin, lifting it into his palm.] What's mine is just that and my offer always stands. You, the others, and everyone else. It'll be your choice. A one time deal -

[After all, doors take a bit of effort to open, don't they? A key, something else, and if there ever was a payment to be had - ]

[Dnk, and his heel snaps back along the floor.] Think that's enough for now. If you want to stay, feel free - [Greed shoves his hands back into his pockets - his slight cant, chiding and sarcastic.] - you can have the rest of that, if you need it. [He motions to the bottle lazily with his elbow. A second goes by, another.] Unless you need anything else?

[Because, really, sin can only give so much. He's built in selfishness. Molded by desire. A serpent made, constantly and forever chasing its own tail.]

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

[Linden. The former homunculus puckers his mouth on the other side of the line. For Mello, it all comes back to him, doesn’t it? Their connection is a web of sorts. Like a pair of birds tied by a string, where one goes, the other follows. And as time goes on, the knots only begin to tighten. The inevitable choke leaving both him and his tangled in a situation, both sticky and personal.]

[And here, oh here comes to the spider.]

[Greed sheepishly lifts his shoulders. While it’s impossible to see, the show of his grin is priceless. The wet smack of his lips practically peels into the recording. Like that of a pried band-aid gone sour.] Me, huh. [The Sin tastes his words. They trill down his throat in a sweet vibration; the sound of sweet-booze liquor, tumbling to its final destination. One of his nails grazes his thigh and as it traces the side of his leg, the leathery seam skips underneath. Once, twice, three times, then a fourth. As if the idea itself is somehow, somehow - ]

You really think he'll listen to that? You said it yourself - a prison isn't exactly very popular. [But. A hint of hesitation plays on the sharps of his teeth. L's got a debt to pay, doesn't he? His ledger is hefty, the interest even more so. The former homunculus sways the flat of his boot across the floor; its pass, only a whisper in the receiver.]

I'll see what I can do to. [While he talks, Greed leverages the door again. The smoke at his ankles, the suffocation around him; they trail about the recording. A haunting's presence slipping in, second by second, inch for inch, until it's far, far, too late.]

[For the Lord may forgive and the warden may release. But the devil - ]

[He'll always come back.]

[Greed hooks his keys into the lip of his back pocket, forcing the chrome plates to tnk-tnk-tnk out of focus.] Ah. I'm sure this goes without saying, but whatever you did, I want to know. [There it is. That little warning, that low-brow simmer. After all, this isn't the first time Mello's been on thin ice. He did it before. Back in town, without a single worry or care as to the consequences. However, actions? They have a way of catching up.]

[Hopefully, Mello doesn't need a repeat.]

[The former homunculus extends his tail and as that flat of his spade pats the top of the device, an airy crack interrupts the feed.] Two days. In the meantime, make sure you're ready. [He repeats. The lid of the laptop crch and cricks. Finally though, the wheezy hinges snap closed. Forcing the feed to abruptly cut as sure as a knife, tossed from its case.]

[Two days isn't long, but it's enough. And if Mello's true to his word, well.]

[There's no better friend than sin, sin, sin, sin at the back.]

[The chillness in his glance, the distance: it should say it all. Greed's frown is absent and distasteful; the image more similar to that of a sinner, accepting judgement's final call. The former homunculus takes one more step forward and as the glass splinters and broken shards see themselves through, he doesn't bother watching them. Instead, they collapse to the ground in a tnk'ling twitter. The ricochet of a mirror, broken in a fit.]

["Sorry to keep you waiting - "]

["-this isn't me trying to make it up to you."]

[Greed eyes arch upward. They're still in their focus: a deadly encounter and Lord, Lord, even the devil has his breaking point. Because this isn't the first time someone's tried to take what's rightfully his and Stocke's been the brunt of it. It's been repeated again and again, effort for effort. An attack on his very want, hitting him like that of a railroad spike, shoved to pin him down for good. The Sin's upper lip curls back and as his teeth claw their way forward, the lamp in Li's window suddenly brightens. The flame running high, uncontrolled, until its life quickly burns out.] Didn't give me much of a choice. [He starts in. Deep, is his tone. His voice more similar to that of a monstrous pit, cracking the earth. No, they didn't give him much choice. Whoever designed the cure had a purpose and while he probably wasn't the intended target, the end result - ]

[Greed's teeth grind and in the back of his jaw, something clicks out of place. A stray spark ping-pongs between his cheeks. It bounces from one side, races to the other; the devil's tennis match and now, now, now, now.]

[The ball's in his court.]

[The former homunculus shakes his head, clearing the fog.] Don't remember it, do you? Back then - [The stretch of his words is dreamy and tired. The exhaustion as drawling as time itself, watching the world pass it by. Greed straightens his neck and when his eyes meet white-socket static, he immediately swings his head over his shoulder. That usual smile of his turning reserved. Forced.] Wish it could have been different, but -

["-things are as they - "]

[Greed's shoulders pinch in. Ah, right. They had made an offer, hadn't they? An exchange weighed out, leveled, and equivalent to the end. The Sin closes his eyes and with a sway of his arm, he shoves his pointer finger just under the gem of his earring. It hovers above his nail in a drop of red; the poise like that of an axis and oh, could the entire world spin on the edge of his hand.] You want that, huh. Seems only right, though I can't really tell you what'll happen. [However, he can take a guess. If Xerxes calls Stocke's monster, this should be no different. An overload maybe. A desire, more so. To take, take, take, all that's been swindled away.]

[Thankfully, Stocke's already given the location. It shouldn't take them too long to deal with the rest.]

[A drop, and the Sin fans out his hand. The way he holds himself is poised. His very image that of the devil, holding out for the handshake.] Three times should do it. [As if to demonstrate, he raps his nail against the earring.] I can't promise it'll be too pleasant. Hope you won't hold it against me. [A pause. Greed swallows against his throat. The gloom of smog trapped in his gullet hushes between the plates his scales. It filters out, hovers around. A dead-chimney's last exhale minutes, seconds, before the scheduled demolition.]

[Because if there's anyone who could, it would be one of his, wouldn't it. One of his, pulling, pushing, to complete the bargain.]

[And truly, he wouldn't have it any other way.]

[The shade floats there, blinking out of sync with all four eyes, abruptly watching Greed a touch more carefully. There's a feeling of odd anticipation about him, like the air between two stormfronts - wet ground, a chill, a misty taste in the air, and the air of waiting for something to show.]

[The shade's mouth zips shut. He hums softly, buzzing electric. Then he's looping around the demon's back in a short whirl of shadow, settling to a stop behind the Sin's right side.]

[He rests his elbows on Greed's shoulder, head on his fists - "rests." Weightless shadows. But it's only for a second, and then he's abruptly solid, a light pressure on the demon's shoulder. Still levitating, but tangible.]

Don't know what you're talking about, [he agrees. But -] Boss. This is better. [Don't be sorry about it.]

[It's not gonna stop the cure from bouncing him back and forth, but as a monster? He's a lot less resigned to it. Besides, Greed can handle human-him, now that he knows.]

[This close, he can feel the demon's soul glowing in his chest. Souls. A collection, but one at the same time. He leans close to the demon's throat with a quiet static hiss.]

[But it's the earring his eyes fix on as it dangles in Greed's fingers. Right. There's something...]

[Equivalent exchange?]

[He doesn't know any better than Greed what'll happen. Perhaps even less so. But he's pushing himself up and forward over the Sin's shoulder almost immediately, reaching, overlong fingers curling around the red gem and pulling it back.]

[For a second he's balanced there, on one arm ramrod-straight from Greed's shoulder, a gaunt figure looming above the demon's head. Then he taps it three times. There isn't even thought behind it, only - a trade.]

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SORRY THIS AIN'T MY BEST

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i can't believe i took a month on this jesus (i'm very sorry)

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DON'T EVEN WORRY ABOUT IT

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