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[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

[nestingdevil]

[It's true that the 'Nest is no stranger to odd sights. But even then, the place is strangely quiet. At least, in terms of a customer base. The various thuds and knocks inside elude to the same conclusion; as the fog slowly slips in, easing through the cricks and cracks of the place like an undetectable threat. From the basement to the upper floor above, the muddled sounds of struggle are hard to ignore. A few hard thuds shake from deep below, a couple of doors rattle and bang. Voices gargle from behind closed rooms, the symphony of it all keeping a-many from wandering too close.]

[Under the crack of Greed's door, the tell-tale heat is a calling card. It blisters beneath the frame, roaring red then idling out like the heavy breathing of a furnace. The door knob smolders to the touch, the metal locks and bolts wavering with the temperature.]

[When Stocke's hilt knocks, silence follows at first. A heavy groan escapes from beneath the door and the thin layer of smoke seeping out retracts inward, coiling back as if switched on the reverse. The bolts and locks holding it closed snap back in a series of clicks and then:]

It's open - [Greed's voice sounds from inside, but it's tinny. Like a communication through cans and the distinct ping, ting, ting of clattering coins chimes through. The door groans open not a second later, its hinges threatening to buckle right off. A breath of air billows out with the intrusion removed and a potent smell of charring wood and ash washes out into the hallway in a violent sigh.]

[makehistoria]

[The heat billowing out, the taste of smoke and fire in the air - Stocke gets the flash of a thought of (burning), and his form jumps like a rewound VHS just set to play, all distortions and broken lines. He shoves the memory away, stabilizes, ignores the phantom sting of letters across his back - all there is there is bone, and it's not solid bone at that. And there's nothing to fear from heat, nothing left of him that can burn or vaporize, only get drowned out by light.]

[But what the temperature is doing is setting off sparks of concern; normally, Stocke's seen Greed keep it more... contained. The slice of a superheated spade-tail or claw through ice, wafts of steam tossed up by a boot, flakes of ash. This time, there's smoke, metal brightening as if held over flame, and combined with that groan -]

[He lets his sword free from his telekinesis; the wooden sheath clatters lightly against the floor, falls to stand tilted against a corner of the corridor. Stocke glides through the doorway, tendrils pulled warily against his back against any future blazes of red glow, some winding through vertebrae. But what he actually says is a careful:] —Are you alright?—

[He sets his own problem aside for now. Greed still needs to be told - if Stocke's lost a physical presence permanently, (as, deep down, he fears,) there are some jobs he won't be able to do. Greed will need to figure out new uses for him. But it's not within-the-next-minute urgent, or even the next ten, twenty, thirty. It can wait.]

[nestingdevil]

[The room inside is almost too dark; like a blackened oven and the radiating heat draws lines in the dark. Shadows move, a form slowly stands. A silhouette under a backdrop of fire that spews and spits inside the open-mouth grate of the furnace. Along the wall, his tail skips across the surface. Skating small trails that singe and burn into whatever paint's still left.]

[Greed plants his hand to the back of his skull, his jaw open wide. The groan that escapes is softy, smoldering; thick. An exhale of smoke lingers by his mouth, lighting up now and again with a few pieces of still-hot ash. They blaze with a wicked red, then blink out of existence when he twists. The bones in his back snap together, running a rhythm of crunches and cracks. A snap, a crackle, a pop and everything's right back where it should be.]

[Circumstances aside.]

[One eye peels open in the dark, the white of it reduced to nothing more that of a hollow socket. Black; from the tips of his hair to the sharps of his claws. Thin vein work lightens with the touch of fresh air and Greed's head sways to the side. At the edge of his frown, a pair of fangs have protruded similar to an under-bite.] Ah-? [He finally manages and his torso lifts, his boot swings out. And the pitch-black roll of smog takes momentum for a test-drive, exiting the room in thinning threads that touch and caress as they move further down the hallway.] It isn't the first time, Stocke. And it would take a lot more to hurt me.

[But the change in Stocke's voice makes his eye narrow and Greed sways in the direction of the sound. While it had been hard to see at first, what with the onslaught of molten ash and blackened smoke, the other's predicament comes more into focus as the after-burn makes its exit.] Oi, oi, oi - [The tinniness to his voice fades with his baritone and the Sin sinks into his spine, jerking around to get a better look at just what sort of problems the fog has brought this time.]

[There's nothing much left to Stocke, in all honesty. Wisps of shadow cling helplessly to exposed bone, the hollows of his eyes wander without pupils to guide them. Greed takes one step forward and his tail cuts through the air, slicing a fresh line ash free from the tip. He doesn't hesitate in the slightest, moving in to further inspect what's his] - you've got it a bit worse, hmn?

[He comes in close, but the space given is somewhat of an unspoken agreement. Light, fire - whatever Stocke's become, that much has been made clear. A weakness of sorts and the former homunculus tips his chin. At the edge of his nose, his sunglasses shine in a fiery glow. As gold and red run races across the silver rims. Greed nudges the pair up his eyes with the edge of his knuckle and while it's hard to hear, the growl in the back of his throat lights up. Stoking his neck to a brilliant shade of gold. But then it's gone and the color of his skin quickly fades back into that of cooling charcoal.] You all right?

[The leathery whip of his tail slithers along side Stocke, its barbed tip poised to strike. It finds its intended target and his tail coils around the still-warm knob to the door, slowly easing it shut again. Greed's a bit closer now and the grin he has is a little more forced. Weary.]

Looks like we've run into some bad luck.

<ihatespiders99>

[dialtones]

Are you the owner of the Devil's Nest?

[makehistoria]

[Dark as hell beyond the entrance - and maybe that's appropriate phrasing, given the occupant. Skipping embers and lines of crimson, flashes of light that mess with night vision enough to make the room stay dark. Lucky Stocke's a shade, then - and even so, it's the the gleam of Greed's new fangs that makes Stocke trace free his silhoutte from the rest of the room, black demon instead of odd dark shape.]

[Greed doesn't lie. But Stocke knows very well the trick of using your own standards instead of those of others, of making an 'I'm alright' mean anything from a surface graze to 'well, I'm not dying.' And 'it isn't the first time' doesn't mean anything besides, maybe, 'not as much of a surprise.' He stares at Greed, unblinking, making sure for himself; white glow cuts through pitch smoke, finally thins to curved lines as he agrees.]

[Worse...?] —Could make an argument the other way. This saved my hand, earlier.— [His voice keeps its customary evenness, but it's strangely light, as if he's trying too hard to make a deadpan joke. And maybe that's what gives it away.] —Then again, not sure I wouldn't rather have lost it, if that was the exchange.—

[(Stocke's terrified, frightened down to the - ha - bones of not being able to have any control. First he lost the Chronicle, then his humanity, and both of those he could've dealt with. But then it was choice, eating people, sacrificing them, and now it's his body; he's only glad he's got telekinesis, or he'd be reduced to a ghost. What's next? His voice? His mobility?)]

[- he's fine. Fine. (He is also lying to himself. That's another trick he knows.)]

[Obligingly, he straightens when Greed comes closer; his arms spread slightly to the side instead of hanging in front of him. If held naturally, the claws dangle past his knees, arms so long and thin as to unnerve. It's as if someone were putting together a human and screwed up the proportions past all repair. His head, neck - they're still solid, if mouthless. But down further it's a tracery of ribs and spine, at least until it reaches his legs, which are almost as bad as his other limbs.]

['Bad luck' nets a sizzle-crackle-hiss, not quite a soft, short laugh. But if it were one, it'd be bitter, or filled with dark amusement, or both. That's one thing to call it.] —Borrowing my question?— [Again, it's a subtle difference, but it sounds just a tad too blithe. Stocke seems to realize, because he pulls himself together; he's slipping slowly, and he doesn't like it. He needs to actually be fine, and the first step to it, in his own mind, is to say it aloud.] —A little inconvenienced, but I'm in one piece.—

[Then it's back to the reason he's here. Abruptly, words businesslike despite the static, he adds:] —I can't go solid. Not sure if I'll get it back, but either way, for now I'm limited in which of my normal duties I'll be able to do.— [There's only so much telekinesis can do.] —...there may be new ones I can help with. Going through walls shouldn't be entirely useless.—

<avaricious>

[nestingdevil]

you could sy that thogh if youre asking thre must be somthing you want

thst right?

<ihatespiders99>

[dialtones]

That's right. Are you hiring?

[He gets right to the point, at least...]

<avaricious> 1/2

[nestingdevil]

nevr was one todny antone friend

comeby and we'll seehwat we cn do

the names' greed thinnk youcolld do me thfavor?

<avaricious> 2/2

[nestingdevil]

ah rghht

just tell em youre nre for me

<ihatespiders99>

[dialtones]

[This guy's messages were atrocious. They were harder to read than Hisoka's, but considering the messaging system-- Well, it's fair. He's not one to judge based on typing habits anyway.]

Greed. I'll come by right now, then. You can have my name once I'm there.

<avaricious>

[nestingdevil]

oh -? thsts not usully how it wrks

but fine suit yurself

--> action?

[dialtones]

[He didn't say anything against it, so Kurapika's going to assume it's not an issue. He'd prefer to keep his name off the network, and he's still not decided on giving his real name or a cover-up when he shows up...

But, he'll stop messaging there and take a few minutes to get into disguise... It's simple. A short wig works well enough and won't get in the way, especially if he ends up being able to do this regularly, as work. His clothing is the first women's outfit he could find in town, feminine but not over the top. Enough for people to make assumptions and not connect it with the real him, he's figuring.

From there, he heads out to find it. It's not hard since he'd wandered past it before even contacting Greed. A neighborhood like this was exactly what he was looking for.

When he enters, he speaks to the first employee he finds.]

I'm here for Greed.

action; 3/4ish

[killectric]

[Killua stood outside the entrance of Devil's Nest for a bit, curiously peering in through the windows. Whoever it was that suggested this place to him must have mistaken him for someone a little older than thirteen. Oh well, he wasn't committed to anything just yet, and it's not like he was worried even with how shady the place looked.

Desperation led him to push the door open and waltz inside. Heading towards the center of the bar with his hands casually in his pockets, Killua speaks up.] Yo. So who's the owner around here?

[He didn't have a name or even a face, so he'll just get right to the point.]

[nestingdevil]

[The room is baking inside and some of the wallpaper drips off in ribbons at the corners. Not enough to worry about, but enough to make a statement. Either he doesn't notice or he's too busy concerning himself with what stands before him; a shadowy mass, twisting and turning through stark-white bone. What used to be Stocke is nothing more than a shell and had he not known the other before, it would have been a bit difficult to make out.]

[The air thins with the release of smog and the tip of Greed's tail scurries away from the door handle. The metal piece is a bit misshapen in the aftermath, the smooth surface concave in some places.] It's a bit inconvenient - [The Sin starts in and when his tongue touches his teeth, it's like a crack of a molten-hot whip. The forked piece glows in hell-fire, snapping off then rolling back into his mouth. A few sizzles graze inside his cheek, illuminating his bones in an ashen shade of black.] - though I guess it's to be expected. Things being as they are, well -

[He's interrupted by a belching squeal and one of the doors further down the hallway flies open. Greed instantly perks at the sound, his jaws setting into an uncanny frown. The large, curved-teeth on either side of his mouth slice, then open. Releasing a breath of ash that plumes out and dissipates.] Tsk. Our friends aren't exactly very giving, are they.

[Thankfully, he knows what to expect. At least, he has an inclination. Once the fog dissipates, the more monstrous transformations should subside. Though it's speculation at best and the Sin's eyes narrow behind his sunglasses when he rights them again. The blare of red behind them burns and fades, lingering back in bright, scurrying streaks.] Ha - ! I guess you could say that, but I've already told you: I don't let anyone take what's mine, Stocke. Fog god, or not.

[Greed tosses his hand into the air, the jagged markings of inky-black skin heating again with the movement. On fire; from deep, deep down he can feel it. A burning sensation that has nothing to do with the physical manifest. A need and oh, is he parched.] No, it shouldn't be. [He extends his hand, gently prying open his claws to further inspect the other. Trails of black shift through his fingers, twisting through the gaps like stray smoke. Again, his expression falls and the former homunculus takes one step forward, then another.]

Haven't run into any other trouble, have you? [He starts in again, but not without a distance in is voice. His head is pulsing, his core racing. The heavy drum beat thudding his temples, screaming out for one thing only:]

["More."] Either way, it looks like we'll have a long night ahead of us - [One eye rolls around in his socket, turning back to Stocke.] - think you can handle it?

[nestingdevil]

[At this time of day, the bar is a little more quiet. The lights are dim and the curtains are drawn, giving the air a smokey, dreary look. Stale cigarette smoke clings to the ceiling, suspended without the constant bustle of people coming in and out.]

[A woman at the counter perks when the door chimes and a sliver of light cuts inside, slicing a pale beam through the place. Bits of dust brighten with the onslaught, only to disappear as they plunge back into the dark. Across her neck, scales of blue shimmer and she bares her teeth for a moment. Not in a threat, but in surprise. Her eyes squint and she immediately turns her head, tossing the pale-white of her hair to and fro. She waves it away soon after, the bin in her hands clinking and jingling with the sudden movement.] Yeah, he's here - [She finally says with a sigh. The bin's placed onto the counter with a thud and as the door closes shut, there's a visible ease in her shoulders. She throws her head back to the new comer, ice-green lips puckered out in slight suspicion.] - what do want with him?

[A small fire catches nearby, crackling in the open maw of a fireplace rather suddenly. The flames stoke unannounced, but it's enough of a warning. From above, the floorboards shake and quiver. As thunderous heels shoot off; the pace daunting, yet oddly purposeful. The woman turns away, peering upwards with a soft scoff.]

[From the darkened stairwell above, a glow of orange slowly seeps in. Like the very fire recently-caught below, it grows; spilling a gold wash down the rusted-iron steps. A lofty sigh follows, the sound crackling similar to stoked charcoal. One foot falls, then another. Showing off a signature pair of curved-tipped boots.] Oi, oi, oi - now, that's not very nice. I'm expecting a few today, sweet heart. Try to be a little nicer, hmn?

[Greed coils around the winding staircase, his claws shoved deep into his pockets. The steps rattle under his heels and the bolts shiver from where they hardly manage to stay. He shoots a grin to the nameless woman, his mouth full of a deadly set.] Besides, you should know how this works by now. Don't worry. [And he doesn't sound upset at all. Almost pleased, appreciative. One shoulder rolls back, sending the fur of his collar to caress his jawline. He hits the lower floor with a clack, circling the woman to take a look at just who's shown up at his doorstep.]

Oh-? Sorry, that was a little rude. [The Sin's eyebrows touch above his pitch-black shades and he dips slightly to touch at his collarbone.] You must be one of the ones from the network - [A simmer vibrates in his throat and the black coating alongside his neck stokes to a muted orange.]

- so, what can I do for you, lovely?

[nestingdevil]

That'd be me.

[The voice comes from behind Killua, its baritone hard to miss. From the mirrored sidewall and the hefty collection of liquor, a reflection paces. The muted images swarm into one another, showing off in a smear of burning black. But there's no denying that one thing; showing in curved-bottles and a smoked-stained surface is a brimming smile. Full of too-sharp razors that slice together in a row more befitting of an undersea predator.]

[Greed rounds the other, his body half-sunk and teetering over his hips. How he walks is predatory-slow, daunting. The two pairs of horns growing from his skull bristle with the heat trapped inside, sending wicked lines of red smoldering in intricate, circular patterns. He presses his lips together, side-glancing his would-be guest through the gap of his sunglasses. He's young, brash. And like too many others he's had the pleasure of meeting.]

[Ryslig isn't exactly lacking in the sort.] Though this really isn't a place for kids - [The former homunculus starts in and the barbed edge of his tail cracks out, pressing into the side-entrance door to make it swing. He's behind the bar not a second later and one eyebrow shot curiously over the rims of his sunglasses.] - but I'm sure you already knew that. You wouldn't be here otherwise.

[An ashtray still burns on the surface of the bar and a few bottles have already been pried open, drained, and served. The night's young and the customer base is still in its quiet stages. A few yellowed-eyed and sharped-fanged folks linger in the recesses, watching idly or entertaining themselves as the day switches hands. Greed shoots a look over Killua for a second, noting just how many have already taken their spot for the night.]

[But then, it's back to business at hand.]

The name's Greed - [The Sin begins and one claw opens up. The blackened tips scrape together, coaxing a collection of sparks that ignite in a flash. Further down the length of the bar, a few candles wake to the call; their wicks turning with an airy whoosh.]

- now that I've given you mine, what can I do for you, exactly?

[dialtones]

[Being greeted with a question like that was exactly what he was expecting. In situations like this, that was normally the case, wasn't it? Paranoia or worry weeding out whatever could be a threat or a nuisance. He's well prepared to answer, as well, but as the flames shoot up, the atmosphere in the room changes and he finds his eyes drifting to the stranger coming down the steps.

By the time the descent and show of it is over, Kurapika is certain this is precisely the type of place he was looking for. At the same time, he wonders if it might have been a better idea to wait until he had more up his sleeve to make up for his lack of abilities.

It was too late for thinking on that, though.

Despite being overall 'impressed' (if that was the word for how he viewed these scenes), his face stays cold even when he's greeted in such an active and friendly manner. The most he moves is a slight raise of his chin as he makes his goal known in his voice, which is about as ambiguous as his appearance. There's no point hiding it or skirting around the topic.]

I'm here for a job. You say you're not one to turn anyone away, so are there no requirements?

[makehistoria]

[Static ripples down Stocke's tendrils at the sizzling - unintentional warning sent and recieved. The heat's a non-issue, but Greed's on the edge of snapping out bright orange and yellow and red, metaphorical lava poking out between the cracks, gleaming. Sparks of fire like the jump of lightning.]

[Regardless, besides his eyes widening slightly, he doesn't move when Greed extends his claws. He floats deathly still - trusts that much.]

[Smoke and shadow bends around the talons; bones stay sharply defined, smooth dark curves wreathed in black, but they're no more corporeal for all that. (Cold, that's the only thing they are - nothing near sub-zero, but they might as well be in the contrast of the demon's room.) Stocke lifts an arm and waves it through the edges of Greed's open claws to demonstrate - same's true for them. Same's true for everything, really. Greed needn't have opened the door after acknowledging the knock; Stocke could've drifted from one side to the other unobstructed as soon as he set down his blade.]

[What, trouble other than the offhand mention of nearly losing an arm and whatever was the fog god's doing?] —...nothing besides that caused by the new group starting to change. City's been quiet since yesterday.— [In part thanks to the festival held in Bavan - he'd darted over there for a bit once he'd noted the lack of activity in Vandare, all focused elsewhere - and in part thanks to the fog since then. Long nights as they caused for the monsters, they were worse threats for entirely human inhabitants of the peninsula.]

—Haven't got a choice but to handle it.— [But whatever his words, he's more than ready for anything that'll let him prove to himself he can still do things, even like this. Half to mentally emphasize that, he reaches out with telekinesis, catches one of the clouds of ash Greed's breathing out. He loops that once around his upraised arm, a controlled circle, before letting it free to dissolve.]

[Only after does he realize Greed's 'mine' didn't throw him off - he didn't even note it until almost a full minute or two after. Right, well... chalk one more up to 'getting used to it.' It has been something like two months.]

[To make up for the momentarily disoriented flicker in his eyes, he adds,] —...I tracked down that second name.— [The one from the squealer Stocke'd caught and Greed'd... terrified out of his wits.] —Businesswoman heading one of the peninsula's shipping companies. Widowed. Moved to Bavan with the rest of her family a bit over a month ago.— [And there was why, even though he'd traced her a while back, he hadn't done anything; she'd gone, and left the Devil's Nest temporarily alone.] —But she's coming back by herself in a week to administrate.

[After a second, he continues:] —...her younger daughter was eaten by one of the transformed, late last year.—

[killectric]

[This guy's presence was nothing to take lightly. Killua knew just from looking at him that he should tread carefully. He had that sort of aura about him, and Nen wasn't something he needed sense that; observation was enough.

Observation too, brought another realization. Greed's horns and claws were not unlike the ones his brother had gotten during the recent fog. While Killua had considered the prospect that Illumi was becoming a Gargoyle like him, this had him reconsidering. Whatever he was, if he was the same thing as his brother... Then this trip might actually prove more useful than he thought. If he can find out what Illumi is becoming before he does, he'll be able to find out his weaknesses too. He'll protect Alluka and his friends yet.

With this in mind, Killua remains steadfast even as Greed stalks like a predator nearby. It's curious that he's not being dismissed immediately because of his age, although it probably would have been easier to impress him that way.]

I'm Killua. [He starts in the same unfitting casual tone as before.]

I heard you were hiring, but I'm not really interest in working at a place like this, you know? Still, I was hoping we could work something out. I want information.

[And now he had even more to ask.]

[nestingdevil]

[The tip of his toe presses into the door, causing it to slowly drift ajar again. In the hallway, the few lights still holding flutter - most of the candles have gone out and any bulbs still in one piece are foggy, ashen. The glass burning from the inside out. A door lays flat in the hallway, its structure splintered and cracked. Greed's lips pull aside, sliding one jagged-tooth against another for a brief flicker of a snarl.]

[Then, gone.] That so - ? Don't get me wrong Stocke - she might end up being trouble for us, but I've still got my rules. I don't fight women. [But that doesn't mean he'll idly sit and wait it out either. Not with how dismal his would-be second looks; not with how parched he feels. His hand falls loosely at his side and the tips of his claws barely touch one another. The pounding in his head is worse, the heat at the corners of his vision more so.]

[He just doesn't seem to care.] Humans tend to get righteous when it comes to that. Not that I blame her - [The former homunculus' throat recoils and starts to drop. The heat source falling and falling and a pulse-beat undulates further in his chest. Where a heart should be, but off somehow. Greed throws his foot, slowly bringing his heel down first to let the rest of his boot pat against the floorboards with a distinct, sharp click.] - but we've got a bit more of a problem on our hands.

[Hunger. That's the word for it; not for food or for drink. Not for sleep or for sex. But for everything; everything and anything and the Sin's shoulders rise up, his body leans forward. The brush of shadow at his backside is cooler, chilled. Rinsing over him and the small bursts of fire veining through his arm huff and die out. They'll reignite again, now doubt. But for now - ]

No, you don't have a choice. And I've always been a fan - never been one to work for anyone else. [Greed's voice is lofty, air. As he tips his head, eyeing Stocke through his sunglasses a second time 'round. They're warm to the touch, the metal holding them together wafting with edges of steam. Red blares against the backside of his sunglasses, the strength of it waxing and waning every-so-often. He sneers blindly; not at Stocke, but at something else. A feeling down in the 'Pit; wriggling and tugging him to a destination.]

Looks like you could use the favor this time.

[Another thunderous quake vibrates from the basement, the sound muted through the various floors. The walls shake once, then stop. Greed coils his head around the door and for flash, his frown is back again. It doesn't fit his face, that look. Almost angry, feral.]

[Wrath.] Tsk - [A forced grin presses on his jaw line and the Sin takes the lead. Down the hallway he goes, the remaining light bulbs beating out. Whether it's him, them, or the situation, it's difficult to say. But as the minutes count down and as slowly-trickling fog creeps in, the 'Nest falls dim. Shadows lick where light used to be, replacing it in an eerie silence.]

[It'll be a long, long night.]

[nestingdevil]

For a job, huh? [The Sin echoes back. His body straightens slightly and he shoots an over-the-shoulder glance at his female company. A wordless transaction passes between them; her nodding and him grinning. Showing tooth for tooth, fang for fang in a silent exchange. She leaves the bin where it is, her painted nails touching at the fabric of her collar. She exits with a knowing kind of smirk, disappearing down the next hallway as she gingerly flicks her hair back into place with a throw of her knuckles.]

[Greed watches her go before turning back to present company.] You've got part of it right. I'm not one to turn anyone away, but there are some requirements. [He lifts his head, showing off the blackened length of his throat. The thinly-placed patches of scale slide off in opposite directions - in lengths similar to stretched, irregular rectangles.] Working for me is a little bit different - the name's not just that.

[With the two of them alone, the former homunculus eases a foot forward. Closing gaps and choking off the breathing space; any personal bubbles pushed, prodded, and otherwise popped.] You'd be working for me - I don't really care what you are, what you're becoming. This place isn't for anyone normal and if you've heard, then you already know - I do take care of what's mine - [His voice purrs off, rolling in the backside of his throat as the fork of his tongue rattles against his teeth. Greed's eyebrows push together, shooting up from his sunglasses.]

- that's the deal. I expect some loyalty, after all. Room, board, everything else? That's taken care of. [He inspects like a vulture; teetering over his hips, bending his spine. Every move of him wild, energetic. Yet lazy, sleazy: at ease.] First thing's first -

[One claw extends, the crook of it tapping against the other's shoulder lightly. His lips push together and from behind him, his tail idly coils and retracts. Similar to a feline that's just happened on a curious thing.] - what's your name?

[nestingdevil]

Killua - it's a pleasure. [From behind the bar, Greed gets to work. There might not be many customers to tend to, but there are still some. The thick chord of his tail wafts out aimlessly, touching bottle after bottle with a sort of gentleness that would be best suited for a mother 'Croc. The barbed end skitters across glass, its pieced-flesh jiggling with a set of three silver coins.]

[A bottle flips into his hand, his knuckles wrapping around the rather long cork. He pauses in the middle of it, a surprised sort of look gracing him. Until his teeth split his face wide open and a small hiss of laughter churns in his throat. Burning embers flick from his tongue and Greed tilts his head back, yanking the cork up and out in the process.] Ha - ! You're more informed than you look. That's pretty impressive - [The laughter simmers out, the cork pops. Into the open mouth of a trash barrel it goes, disappearing with a drop behind the bar.] - that's a shame, but I won't force you. Not interest if you aren't.

[Information, though. Greed snatches a glass by the lip, his claws skittering in the inside drop to draw a few lines. He pours out a healthy helping of something; red, thick. It spews in the glass and the smell is a souring sterile.] I can work something out, just depends on what you've got to offer. Nothing in this world is free, kid. [He pauses, letting the liquor pop and splash with a few wet smacks.] Equivalent exchange - [The same montage he's said before and Greed plugs the bottle with his thumb, sending it back to the depths of the bar. He gestures into the air for someone behind Killua, his index and middle beckoning in silence.] - information for information. Or something else, if it's worth it.

[A smokey hand wafts past the other, its fingers bony and exposed. The man is nothing more than a shell; his long black hair slowly pilfering off into shapeless, bruised-colored air. His white, pupil-less eyes roll in his sockets, briefly acknowledging Killua. Then the drink's gone and the stranger with it. Back to darker, quieter pastures.]

But you've come to the right place. [Greed's voice charms back in and his tail slides back to the floor; out of sight, out of mind.] What are you looking for?

[killectric]

[Killua had already heard enough about how Greed treated his employees to know he didn't want to work for him--formally, anyway. From the start he had made that clear; what he was trying to find now was a loophole. It sounded like the guy was willing to compromise, so he would start there.]

I can do just about anything, so that shouldn't be a problem. [He moves forward, taking a seat at the bar and resting his elbows on the counter. He may be cautious, but he was not afraid. Greed didn't seem liable to attack him without reason.]

I want to know everything you have on the fog god. Anything I already know doesn't count. [Raising his arm, Killua points at the older man.] Plus I'm interested in what kind of monster you are.

[Greed seemed to have some sort of power over fire. That was bad, if he really was the same species as his brother. Here Killua had hoped Illumi wouldn't be immune to his only advantage. The last time he saw him, he certainly didn't seem to be.]

[dialtones]

[More than the idle rumors on the streets and any information he'd picked up on a whim by browsing the network, Kurapika was learning from the behaviors of the people here. Now, too, as the owner steps closer and threatens his comfort with a presence that's practically suffocating. It's difficult to ignore the monstrous changes his body must have gone through, and from the way he holds himself, he's certain that hiding it wasn't a goal from the start.

It's an impressive. Kurapika's confidence wasn't something that wavered in the face even of the most notorious band of thieves, but here, before this man and without his nen, he's on edge. He's too close and he doesn't like the tone in those words, but that's exactly what he's looking for.

His mind is racing and composure is something he has to consciously keep, but he manages well. His skin was terribly pale to begin with, thanks to his own changes, so that wasn't giving anything away, and his eyes were always fierce to begin with. The most he had to stay conscious of was that he didn't get too emotionally excited in any way over these words, actions or his own thoughts. If his eyes turned scarlet at all while he was playing this part, it would ruin any illusion. A connection could be made.

One hand rises, swiping a bit of his own hair from his eyes. A name.... Yes, he'd thought of that on the way here.]

Justine.

[There's a pause long enough to let that set in, but not long enough to seem like he's expectant over it.] I'm not the type who thinks I can serve myself with this job without giving anything in return. Loyalty won't be an issue.

[Those are just words, he knows, but he's well acquainted with taking the steps to prove it, as well. He's still talking, it seems, enough that his fangs show between words.] I won't be needing room and board. What I came here for can be taken from the work itself. I believe we can help each other, though I've no way to prove it until I'm given a chance.

[His stiff posture finally breaks as his hand shifts to hold up between them, fingers splayed and aimed at Greed's chest like he's not against shoving his potential-future-employer away from him by the chest. He's not really sure that this is the best move, but in this case, it's his emotions moving him, flaring up in small ways to avoid a total outburst.] But don't mistake loyalty for subservience. I won't hesitate to speak my mind.

[makehistoria]

[Humans. He was, he's still - ...or is he? He wants to say he still counts himself, if only to spite the fog god of this, but he hasn't since he ate his first soul.]

[Apparently that doesn't make a difference in this; Stocke can't blame the woman either. Can't feel much besides pity, really - even without Greed's 'I don't fight women,' he wouldn't have wanted to do anything to her. All the same, his job is to protect this place, the monsters here.] —No need to fight.— [Quiet.] —Just convince her the 'Nest isn't worth the trouble.—

[How is the harder part; small things aren't likely to dissaude someone with that sort of grudge, and more extreme ones are - tasteless. Especially considering the circumstances, and the slightly older child she has remaining. Something he'd rather leave as a last resort. So the first thing that comes to mind that's still available -] —...maybe find something to keep her busy enough in Bavan, once she returns, that she has no time to invest in Vandare.— [Then all they have to do is last out the couple of weeks she'll be here first.]

[As Greed goes, Stocke floats after, eyeing the floor under him as it shakes, tendrils swishing uneasily at Greed's expression. (Usually he sees less scowling, more of a voluntary grin - if a wolfish one.) Dark swirls around them, and mist, leaving Stocke just a pair of glowing eyes - at least until he reaches for his sword's sheath as they pass, dragging it back through the air and into incorporeal ribs. He'd rather have it with him, have something to resort to that isn't ripping out people's souls -]

[Stocke swallows as ravenousness hits him with the thought, but it feels stilted without a mouth or real throat; the noise it makes is a thin electronic whine. (Like a pale imitation of an actual swallow made by someone solid.) He's hungry, been pushing himself as near to the limit as he dared again, and using his invisibility recently had only made it worse. (In fairness, he hadn't known it would - most of his previous uses had been not long after he'd fed, hadn't made enough of a difference to be notable. But now...)]

[Stocke lifts one dangling claw slightly to his side - but his sword's hilt isn't there, not with the way he's carrying it now, and his fingers wouldn't be able to curl tight around it even if it were. He doesn't have the luxury of that little tell, nothing material to ground himself with. So instead he glides in Greed's wake silently, shadowing.]