nestingdevil | (no subject)

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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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[Stocke's off like a shot at the demon's signal, dropping with the barest flicker of movement in the dark. His sword follows - he directs it away from him with a motion of his hand, more because that makes it easier than because it's really necessary, then sinks into the ground.]

[The blade flutes off towards the kid, sheath smacking lightly against his throat. Slowly the sword begins to slide out, gleaming brightly, red and orange and fire-gold playing over it thanks to Greed; finally, the wooden cover clatters to the floor. It's not close enough to cut, Stocke doesn't want that, but it's a warning. Stay in the corner and don't move.]

[The shade, meanwhile, rises up out of the floor behind the last man while Greed's bargaining, the intruder frozen in place and staring. Stocke's soundless up to the point where he darts claws through the man's back; once he clutches the soul, though, there's such a strong sudden urge to (rip it out, now) that he nearly does. It's only the resistant clinginess of a soul desperate to stay in place that snaps him out of it, arm halfway free - he returns the soul to its original position carefully, with the feeling that his heart would be hammering if he still had a human form. (And maybe the static hammering through him is similar enough, even if it's doing it out of hunger.)]

[That should leave these other two pinned - Stocke's eyes rise in time to see Greed's almost-lazy flinch, hear the sigh before the little cross hits the floor. His gaze traces its outline, curious, memorizing; mistakenly, he assumes it's the material that it's made of that's the problem. Salt inside? Not that it matters; now it's out of reach and out of mind, useless to the man as something on the other side of the bar.]

[Then Greed does something, something that pulses brightly through the room to Stocke's senses. It draws him like a moth to a flame - only maybe it's more like the soft light of a glowing creature underwater, with the way the rest of his perceptions dull in comparison. If Stocke still had pupils, they might have dilated; instead his eyes widen, gaping holes of white. It's a pattern of ripples through the room's natural static, stronger with the older man's limpness, until Stocke can hardly believe he'd never felt it before with other souls -]

[The sensation vanishes when Greed's jaws snap shut, and Stocke realizes he's taut as a string, claws twitching gently around the intruder's soul. It's an effort of will to yank himself back from the precipice of instinct - he can't make decisions based on that, even if his actions eventually end the same, or he'll lose all grip on reason to the fog god's curse. And with the return of clarity, he knows he hasn't felt anything with this intensity earlier, or the whole town would've been shaking constantly every time a soul was torn free. It's due to hunger, has to be.]

[In the corner, his blade's just begun to wobble. Stocke steadies it, leaving the edge a centimeter from the kid's neck; steadies himself with it, then straightens up to his full height. Gangling thin and tall, with the stretched proportions of a shadow cast by a faraway lamp - human, Stocke was about average, but now he practically looms.]

[Whatever his resolutions, Stocke's voice feels distant, disembodied when he finally speaks, like his mind's still following the soul down Greed's throat.] —Anything you want me to do with these two?— [He nudges the man he's caught forward with a gentle push on his soul, but without loosening his grasp.]

[There's a delayed, dull shock as the 'and there's another soul gone forever' hits him. A flash of worry that he's only feeling it at all out of obligation, rather than true distress, thanks to the holdup. But nothing speaks to it, not even motion in his tendrils - he's gotten better at controlling them when he has something he wants to keep to himself - and it's soon drowned by the feeling of luminous quarry in his hand.]

Salt? [He sounds dubious as Greed elaborated, if only because of all things to be weak to, why salt? Then again, it really wasn't any more or less pathetic than the amount of monsters who found sunlight a hindrance. Himself one day included. It's not that he was complaining, though. Salt was easy to get a hold of and if it could really ward his brother off, even better.

Once Greed has finished showing off his control over fire, Killua doesn't need to ask now to know that this meant Greed was fire-proof. It left a sinking and dreadful feeling his gut; one of his greatest assets was likely going to be useless against Illumi in the future.] There's a lot of us around. I know at least two others.

[There's a pause as he suddenly comes to realize what the chances of his brother becoming something else--something he's never even seen before--were. He may be completely wrong with his current guess.]

Does salt water count? I mean, towards your weakness. [He slips the question in before he bothers to address the command to show-off, silently lifting his own hand. The skin there starts to head up, nails glowing hot as fire begins to form and swirl at his palm. In a sudden and intentional burst of energy it expands and engulfs his hand, from the second knuckle of his fingers down, in a sizable fireball.] This is all I can do.

[The leader's arm stretches out slowly, unraveling like a flower in bloom. His fingers are white and pale, making the blood vessels and veins stick out against his skin. They almost glow in the dark; as moonlight passes through the 'Nest in watery, waning wisps.]

[Greed's careful to sidestep the offending appendage, his heels making a short semi-circle around spread fingers. They seem to be reaching in the aftermath - trying to catch something so-far gone.] Eh- [A groan wheezes out of him, his claws already wrapped around the metal frames of his sunglasses to pull them off. The pair hang loosely in his fingertips and the red-light pouring from his eyes is haunting and wicked. A nightmare wrapped neatly in a package and the boy's head leans back, his Adam's apple throbbing just a breath away from Stocke's sword.] - seems like we've got a problem here, don't we.

[Fire churns in his chest, his throat. The shade of burnt-orange cooling back to that inviting kind of gold. The kind men yearn for, the kind he owns. Greed's eyes flick to the older of the two left, watching as something writhes and twitches in Stocke's ever-so-delicate grasp. Whoever the man is, it looks as if he still has a soapbox he wants to stand on.]

[Too bad said soapbox is merely soaked cardboard by this point.] Don't get me wrong -I didn't want to have to do that, but your friend here didn't really give me much choice. [A tip has him leering at the other, a scavenger on his last inspection.] And it looks like you aren't either, are you? [Greed closes the gap between himself, Stocke, and the man trapped between them. His middle-aged face flat-lines between contempt and rage. When he goes to speak, he chokes out a word or two. The hand at his side tries to pull at a buck-knife on his belt to no avail.]

[Greed's eyes hood and his frown falls strongly on his jaw.] Guess we have to do this the hard way. [A quick jerk of his glance has him looking at Stocke, his shoulders slumping. The sunglasses in his claws flip over his knuckles, catching moonlight only to disappear at the lip of his vest. The decision ultimately falls on Stocke, but:] He's all yours.

[The man hitches when he hears those three, solemn words. Rage morphs into cold-chilled fear and the thudding in his chest is almost audible in the bar's silence. His eyes turn to pin-pricks in his skull and he tries to protest, but he can't. Like a some sort of force has been put on him and as he pushes to catch Stocke in his peripheral, a horrible red seeps around Greed's face. Humming like a lonely night in a district made for better company.]

[Greed turns his attention back to the youngest.] And that leaves you - gunna guess you're not as stupid as the rest of 'em. [He crouches down, his tail grinding across the floorboards in a warning. The terrible light in his eyes fades and Greed sinks his hands between spread out thighs.] As long as you don't plan on coming back here, consider this my one time offer. [One claw presses into Stocke's blade, urging it away from the boy's throat. No calm comes to his face, however. The fear frozen, his exhales fast and erratic. The Sin offers him a solid smile - one not filled to the brim with razors.]

[The young man looks at his companion, looks at Greed, then promptly jolts up on his legs like a newborn fawn. A table falls over in his exit and the door bashes when he tears it open. A few jolting steps and whining breathes send him out and gone to whatever the rest of the night has in store.]

['He's all yours.' It'd have been easier, somehow, to have been commanded there, one way or the other - but Stocke shouldn't want the easier route. And yet - if Greed'd said to let the man go, that would've been the end of it, and if he'd indicated concretely in the other direction, then Stocke could've said he hadn't made the choice. (But it still would be; he'd chosen to join up, he chose whether to obey or not. Not getting out of it that easily.)]

[Either way - as it is, the decision's on him. And nearly everything points to taking the man's soul - it'll get rid of him, when this one's likely to come back again, it'll feed Stocke so he won't have to prey on someone else, it'll... and yet, he's still not entirely sure he's not being urged to it just because he's hungry. Would he make the same arguments without that weighing on him?]

[The man's attempts to turn, struggle away... the shade hardly notices them, in comparison to the terrified shaking to his core. An elbow or shove will pass through nothing but cold air.]

[Stocke breathes out, a quiet crackle - it's nothing more than a gesture. A shadow doesn't need to breathe. Then, as dispassionately as he can manage - he wrenches back, quick and violent.]

[The soul doesn't want to go; it stretches like taffy for the short second it has a chance to, blazing bright but quick and weak as the beating of a dying heart. Then it snaps free and the man's eyes go blank - slowly, without something to motivate action, he sinks to the floor, fingers loosening from the knife he was grappling for. Stocke, for a second, tries to loop an arm under the man's shoulder, lower him to the floor himself; it shouldn't matter, anymore, but somehow it does. His hand goes through with a whisper of black, and he pulls it back. Right.]

[There's a short, almost ridiculous moment where Stocke tries to figure out what he's supposed to do next, without a mouth to feed with - but the hand holding the soul's already lifting it up to his ribcage, nudging it inside. The soul beats against the edges like a caged bird, as if there are invisible walls between the bones. Then, moments later - it rips into shreds, dissolves into sparking lights and is gone. It leaves behind nothing more than a inaudible impression of something very like a wail, tinny and remote.]

[Stocke swallows, the action as fruitless as his breath, even as everything goes sharp and clear with the crispness of just having fed, an overabundance of detail. It fades enough for him to pick out his telekinesis being shoved against - he lifts his head and rotates towards it, leaving behind what might as well be a corpse on the floor. The kid's already running, door slamming behind him - Stocke's not even sure if he saw what happened to his second associate or was spooked off beforehand. Either way, the shade pulls the sword away so Greed's no longer holding it back, slips it gently back into its sheath. It glides almost casually back to Stocke's side.]

[He doesn't want to say anything, right now - instead he releases the threads he had attached to the mans' weapons, uses the ability instead to right the toppled table and lift the firearms onto it. The bodies... mechanically, he decides he probably wouldn't be able to do much more than drag them, they're too heavy for anything else. He leaves them where they are for Greed or someone else in the Nest to handle.]

[A thought a moment later has his tendrils twisting towards the door; he drifts towards it and sticks his head through, checking for any more backup outside. Not expecting any - they'd have called them in upon confronting Greed - but not leaving it up to chance. It takes him another few beats to find his voice again once he pulls back. If there are reinforcements it's a warning, but otherwise, quiet...] —What was that down in the basement, before?—

[His ankles lock loosely together under the table, making the dramatic jut of one of them smack deafening into the peg holding it upright. Greed leans back, or he tries to. The leather-like flaps of his wings fold inward, teeter, then stretch. Hoisting themselves to fan across his shoulders, extending outward like added appendages made for grabbing. For taking and stealing. It's almost an ironic sort of gesture, a crude poetry written in Ryslig's design.]

[Everything was and is his for the taking.] Wouldn't know. Not really interested in testing it out anyway. [The Sin lifts his head, abruptly choked off as Killua follows his two step with one of his own. Fire plumes in an outstretched palm, igniting his sunglasses like dull-coals raked back to life. Greed's smile is fierce and intrigued. The tip of his tongue rolls against the roof of his mouth and his own heat comes to the call. Glowing from the inside out, giving a brief look inside - like an x-ray marred in tar, his bones light up. A swallow cools him and with it, the show's over.] Oh-? Now that is something - [There's heavy want on his tongue, a sickly purr in his throat.]

[The fire's out, but not his need for more, more, more.] I'm sure that isn't all you can do, but you're not one to give it all away either. I like that attitude of yours. [The former homunculus props up his shoulder, nudging his head almost playfully to the side. One eye presses closed beneath his sunglasses, sending the opposing eyebrow rising sky-high.] So is this what you plan to do? Get information for information? There's a better deal, y'know.

[He slouches as he speaks, leaning comfortably in his seat. Owning the joint both physically and metaphorically - a king and his proverbial castle. Greed taps his finger dully against the leather, plucking a silver plug in the process.] I might not be so good, but I'm not so bad either. The mortal lot always has a problem with that - what's good, what's wrong. What's taboo. People tend to think greed is just for money and wealth, but that isn't all. [A pause.] Wanting a better life, protecting a loved one - [When he lifts his gaze to lock eyes with the other, the pulse of red is unmistakable. Like the devil staring back, the slits of his pupils are needle-sharp points of black. Highlighted by the ghastly glow, practically burning themselves in the backside of each lens.]

- and what's mine is just that. If I didn't take care of them, I wouldn't really be me. Consider it - [His words trail off with a shrug and Greed leans forward. His hands go to his pockets and his body rises out of the booth, looming over the table like some sort of terrible fable creeping in past midnight.] - your choice. Like I told you before, I'm not interested if you aren't.

[As the body takes the fall in slow-motion agony, Greed eases to stand. The last dying breath of the man's soul is crushed between Stocke's ribs, giving a strobe-light effect to the bar once again. Lightning in a thousand bottles and the Sin slowly removes and opens his sunglasses. The lip of his thumb nail peels an earpiece open, letting it swing wide with a click. With the threats gone, the bar goes quiet again; deathly so.]

[Greed presses the shades to the crook of his nose, pushes the glass with his fingers, and rights them. It's a souring waste, but not something to change his mood too much. After a few seconds, his smile slices wide open. With his back to Stocke, the fur of his collar rises to cradle his neck and throat.] I'm sorry you had to do that. [It's the only solace he gives. The trembles from the basement below have all but subsided and Greed pivots, a catch of moonlight turning his skin a pale shade of blue. He turns his head to examine the body briefly - it isn't dead, but maybe death would be a better fate. He steps over the lifeless wrist and the knuckles on the man's fingers are white. Tight, as if he still had a last ditch effort to stand on.]

[Greed's close to Stocke not a moment later. Silent for a moment or two, taking his would-be second with a glance. If there's worry on his face, it's short lived.] Probably one of the others. [The Sin turns his head over his shoulder, straightening his spine. The howling and wailing, similar to a symphony of banshees, is gone. Nothing but stillness, a death rattle's last call.]

[Greed waves over his other shoulder, beckoning Stocke to follow.] I'll take care of everything up here. Better check on anyone downstairs. Wouldn't want anymore surprises tonight. [It's been a long time since he's had to deal with a body, but he's no stranger to the concept. Greed's wings unfurl, a new fire kindling between the veins. He takes one step forward and a circle of ash burns in his heel.]

[He won't ask if Stocke's all right; physically, there's nothing to show of their encounter. What sort of lingering aftermath? He can only guess. They had been similar; war stories that haunted. That clawed when night settled in, making them remember.]

[He doesn't need to press the issue.]

[Instead, Greed's hand lowers to the older man: the leader of the pack. His claws wrap round a limp wrist and the body jerks up with an odd kind of ease. Like a rag doll being dragged behind a young child, the man slides across the floor. His old leather boots bounce when they hit a snag and Greed pauses. A chill wind whistles under the entrance and the door jitters a bit in the dark.]

[There's a silent acknowledgement of Greed's condolences in the guttering light of Stocke's eyes - he appreciates it - but it's not so much him doing it the shade cares about as it is the soul-eating happening at all. One more time, he looks at the almost-corpse; this group knew what they were doing, going after what might as well be a monster stronghold, and it's not as though he hasn't killed before, but... (But.)]

[Souls are another matter. A life taken will move on; a soul taken... ends.]

[It's hitting him harder without the fog of hunger, but at the same time he's glad for that. He doesn't want to reach a day when he stops caring, whatever the kind of person. That's a slippery slope to head down.]

[Shoving the feelings back for later, on the other hand, is fair game. Especially the kind of later where he's too tired to think about them. He pulls himself away, follows Greed's motion.] —I'm on it.— [Maybe he'll get a glimpse of that elusive basement-dweller, while he's at it. Though if he hasn't seen them yet...]

[The shade glides across the bar, by little sparkles of glass sunken safely into cracks in the floor and trails of Greed's ash on the floor, marks of where the demon's swaggered. Angles of moonlight reflect off coloured bottles as he passes, made dull by the dark's grayscale vision; the tabletops gleam with glimmers of hellfire thrown off Greed's wings. A turn of Stocke's wrist has his sword following him as he heads down.]

[Long night, was it...?]

This is all I can do as far as Gargoyle stuff goes. [Killua acknowledges Greed's suspicions, but doesn't clarify. Of course he can do more than that, but they were exchanging monster information right now. Nothing more and nothing less. He would offer up more if he needed to, but that need hasn't arrived just yet.]

Your idea of a better deal is trying to own me. [The words are cold again, his eyes narrowed.] Right? Well the only person I belong to is myself.

[Growing up in a family that wanted nothing more than to control him, to mold him into what they wanted, Killua won't allow himself to stoop that low. His entire being rejects it. He's here to stop his brother from trying to own him, so why the hell would he stumble out of one hell and into another? Maybe Greed isn't as bad as Killua thinks, but he can't help but be repulsed by the idea on principle.]

So unless you can accept that, then I guess this is all I plan to do. If I run out of information, I'll do favours, but I don't want your protection. [Unless Illumi puts his friends into danger, or backs him up into a corner--he's not going to budge.]

Edited 2015-03-29 18:26 (UTC)

[For a second, the Sin scoffs. His body goes stiff. Then, in a violent cracking of bones, his throws his head back wide. The laugh that comes out of him is as loud as it is putrid; tendrils of leftover smoke rise from his gullet and the noise booms inside the small enclosure - like a thunderstorm trapped in a bottle. He slaps his hand against the leather seat, issuing a crack similar to a dulled out whip.]

Ha - ! You've got it'll wrong. Of course, you'd be one of mine - but it isn't all like that. I don't plan to force you to do anything - [The Sin's throat gleams in rich, hellish fire. As he lowers his skull again, his smile alights with a brim of teeth.] - but no. The people who work here are mine, that's true. But don't mistake me for something I'm not, kid. Take it or leave it, your choice.

[He doesn't need to explain himself nor does he have the care to. Killua has his own opinions; his own line drawn in the sand. The former homunculus lets his lips part with a pursed expression.] Suit yourself. Information and favors will get you so far and I'm not about to say no. [The air cools, the heat simmering down deep in his chest. Greed taps his seat again, gingerly arching an eyebrow in Killua's direction.] But if you ever changed your mind, you already know how to find me.

[His ankles unlock, sending his thighs spreading wide. Greed places his palms against the leather running up each leg, then tips of his claws biting with a scratch.] Anything else, or is our business done here?

I'll leave it. [Killua stares at Greed with an unwavering and intense gaze as he speaks. Nothing Greed says is doing anything to change his mind, and Killua doesn't even bother to address it past his final dismissal.]

There's more. I still want to know the names of the people who made a deal with the fog god. Even if it's just a rumour. [Most of his high-profile concerns regarding demons were answered now. If Greed could summon fire than he was clearly resistant to it. That meant if Illumi was one of them, his own powers wouldn't be much of a threat for long.]

Edited 2015-03-31 01:40 (UTC)

[He taps his middle and index against the table, canting his head just slightly to show off his throat. His expression is pursed, one eyebrow sliding up with Killua's answer.] That's fair, I guess. Though, it's still a bit of a shame - [How he speaks is slippery; oily. Flitting off his tongue to flicker against the pronged tip. Greed rolls his wrist across the surface, spreading his palm wide.]

I'll tell you the names, but they aren't much. [And they'll all lead almost no where. Dead ends, corrupt word of mouth - rumors can pass so long before the real information's lost in the shuffle. Greed swings his leg over the other knee as he gestures outside of the booth. He's acknowledged with a silent nod - a man this time, his scowl lined deep in his face. A pen and napkin find themselves in the Sin's snaring grip and he jots down a few. The list is only about five names long and it's folded between his fingers and pressed to the table. One slide sends it Killua's way.]

Next time you're in Bavan, find someone named Mason. She's picking up some of my shipments. Bring them back here and consider it payment for this. [A lean to the right makes his matching wing spread. Slowly unfurling in a leathery sheen of black and the tips skate across the opposing wall; making a terrible shrill sound off the facing.]

Anything else you've got for me?

[Killua's quieter than before, just wanting to get what he wants and get out of here. He leans forward to grab the napkin, glancing at the names inside before he stuffs them into the pocket of his lengthy track shorts. They were already memorized, the gesture was pointless.]

Mason? Got it. [If Greed wasn't going to offer up their private channel or address off the bat, Killua assumed he either didn't know it, or he wanted him to figure it out on his own. Either way, he's found targets with less information.]

No, that's it. [He's gotten what he needed for today. Greed didn't get the privilege excess information--not when everything Killua held back was a potential bargaining chip.]

Edited 2015-04-07 16:12 (UTC)

Then I guess we're done here - [Though unlike Killua, Greed doesn't seem apt to move. Instead, his hand shoots up lazily beside his head and his claws unfurl, wafting through the air to chase away the thought. Lasting threads of smoke run and disappear between his knuckles, drifting aimlessly out into the hallway.] - though I doubt this is the last time we'll see each other, hmn?

[The Sin clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, sending the forks rattling. He watches the other leave with mild interest and his temple slouches against the knuckles of his other hand. He shrugs when Killua's finally gone and a soft flick of a match sparks. Something clacks against the surface of the table.]

[Despite everything, the kid hadn't been a waste of time in the slightest.]

I won't be able to come the bar for a while. Something came up that needs to be taken care of.

hmn ?

ah ? donttll me you rn itno moretrouble

yiu allrught?

I didn't and I'm fine. Someone I know is struggling with their changes.

wounnt br the frsttime. new one 'm guessing

jst makr sure to keepinntocuh been hearing intrsintg rumros lately

You would be correct.
What kind of rumors?

few ofthe nrw ones arentliek bfre

not chnging likewe did kindofa bit oftruble

Do your sources have any idea what they're becoming? Or is that information still figuring that out?

[Although San was slowly piecing things together on his end with the corpse of a friend laying near by.]

woulndt know mybre sometingntodo with theway theygot thre

rmuor hsit thesmome of them are liek thosesortires bout the livingddead whethrro not thatstrue

well

Some kind of "living dead"? Some literature describes them as undead. I'm not surprised the deities are adding to that category.

thats thermor anywdfy

though sooudsslike theseones hdad it diiffrentnhan most ofus. somthing bout a room bfroe waking u hrere

keep an eyeouthmn? and ifyou find nythingintreresting makesure to bringithree

I'll look in to the matter once things calm down.

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