[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.—
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[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.—