About anything, huh? [The former homunculus silently slips in as the other takes his seat; practically in time with Killua and his elbows meet the surface on his side of the bar, his arms folding loosely at the lip. Tracing up his arm is the same slick-black; like his hands have been permanently tarred with oil.] Ha - ! I like that attitude of yours, kid. And you're not the first - you've got my attention.
[But as his company goes on, Greed cocks one brow casually; his lips running a curved line against his jaw.] That's a pretty tall order. I already have a couple helping me in Bavan - [His voice rattles in his throat, simmering like a collection of R(s) rolled and held at the tip of his tongue. He flings one arm out, bringing up a set of talons in a swing of charring-scales. One claw taps into the surface of the bar lightly, giving punctuation to his point.] - I don't really know much about the fog god, just the rumors. Apparently the last time, a few struck a deal and got something out of it. What they got, I really couldn't say. Didn't really interest me at the time and I've never been one to take orders from someone else.
[Information of the fog god comes and goes; sometimes, there's more. Mostly, it's less. Just rumors that lead elsewhere, talk that goes nowhere. Not that it entirely matters to him; the information is just that: business. What the fog god wants, what the end goal is?]
[He's got a different agenda entirely.]
[A hiss of laughter creeps out of him when the conversation switches and Greed slowly goes on the rewind. His nails skip across the flat-top wood, scratching a few hot lines in the process.] Now that's an interesting question - [His voice trails off, holding on with baited breath. Then hook, line:] - word says a demon. [And so do the symptoms; horns, claws. A pair of wings neatly folded behind his back that rest in a dormant kind of ash. Greed clicks his heel behind him, slowly whirling his head up to give a slight scratch under his throat. The vein word is molten; fingering out in links of wicked red.]
no subject
[But as his company goes on, Greed cocks one brow casually; his lips running a curved line against his jaw.] That's a pretty tall order. I already have a couple helping me in Bavan - [His voice rattles in his throat, simmering like a collection of R(s) rolled and held at the tip of his tongue. He flings one arm out, bringing up a set of talons in a swing of charring-scales. One claw taps into the surface of the bar lightly, giving punctuation to his point.] - I don't really know much about the fog god, just the rumors. Apparently the last time, a few struck a deal and got something out of it. What they got, I really couldn't say. Didn't really interest me at the time and I've never been one to take orders from someone else.
[Information of the fog god comes and goes; sometimes, there's more. Mostly, it's less. Just rumors that lead elsewhere, talk that goes nowhere. Not that it entirely matters to him; the information is just that: business. What the fog god wants, what the end goal is?]
[He's got a different agenda entirely.]
[A hiss of laughter creeps out of him when the conversation switches and Greed slowly goes on the rewind. His nails skip across the flat-top wood, scratching a few hot lines in the process.] Now that's an interesting question - [His voice trails off, holding on with baited breath. Then hook, line:] - word says a demon. [And so do the symptoms; horns, claws. A pair of wings neatly folded behind his back that rest in a dormant kind of ash. Greed clicks his heel behind him, slowly whirling his head up to give a slight scratch under his throat. The vein word is molten; fingering out in links of wicked red.]
The real question is - why do you want to know?