[As soon as he hears voices - rough and unfamiliar, angry - Stocke closes his eyes and falls back, slipping into the Nest's shadows. They haven't brought light with them, and that's their mistake; not only does that leave him freer to move, it means they won't be able to see him. He doesn't even need to go invisible; good, since he can't afford that right now.]
[He listens as they hiss back and forth, claws tensing in the dark; finally, his eyes crack barely open, just another line of moonlight from a window or a gleam off an abandoned bottle. Greed's moving glow is sure to draw more attention - Stocke takes the opportunity to rise silently up to the ceiling, guide his sheathed sword away from him, above the intrudors. There's no reflection off the unpolished wood, but even so, Stocke waits a moment or two before following. As he passes Greed - just before the demon heads down the stairs - he lets one tendril droop, trail through Greed's shoulder. It's just another flicker of darkness in the gloom, a whisper of cold, but what it means is 'I'll be waiting up above for a signal.']
[The intruders wouldn't be expecting anything from above; people rarely did. Flight-capable monsters might've changed that, some, but within the enclosed confines of the bar, without the sound of flapping wings, there'd be no forewarning.]
['Little bird thief'... do they mean Mason? Or some other harpy that hangs around here? It'd be a lot easier to pull up possibilities if he hadn't started pulling at the seams hungrily as soon as static whispered (prey), so he shelves the thought and focuses on the present. His eyes, still thin slits, fix on the shotgun.]
[It's not a magical firearm like back home, he knows that after the months he's spent here. Ammunition, not spells. Stocke's not too worried about being shot, but if they aim at Greed - can he stop a slug? It'd be moving too fast for his telekinesis, he thinks; not safe to test now if he's right. Instead he reaches out a mental thread to hook the firearm itself. He doesn't twitch it, not yet, but if there's a move to shoot - he'll try to yank the barrel upwards.]
no subject
[He listens as they hiss back and forth, claws tensing in the dark; finally, his eyes crack barely open, just another line of moonlight from a window or a gleam off an abandoned bottle. Greed's moving glow is sure to draw more attention - Stocke takes the opportunity to rise silently up to the ceiling, guide his sheathed sword away from him, above the intrudors. There's no reflection off the unpolished wood, but even so, Stocke waits a moment or two before following. As he passes Greed - just before the demon heads down the stairs - he lets one tendril droop, trail through Greed's shoulder. It's just another flicker of darkness in the gloom, a whisper of cold, but what it means is 'I'll be waiting up above for a signal.']
[The intruders wouldn't be expecting anything from above; people rarely did. Flight-capable monsters might've changed that, some, but within the enclosed confines of the bar, without the sound of flapping wings, there'd be no forewarning.]
['Little bird thief'... do they mean Mason? Or some other harpy that hangs around here? It'd be a lot easier to pull up possibilities if he hadn't started pulling at the seams hungrily as soon as static whispered (prey), so he shelves the thought and focuses on the present. His eyes, still thin slits, fix on the shotgun.]
[It's not a magical firearm like back home, he knows that after the months he's spent here. Ammunition, not spells. Stocke's not too worried about being shot, but if they aim at Greed - can he stop a slug? It'd be moving too fast for his telekinesis, he thinks; not safe to test now if he's right. Instead he reaches out a mental thread to hook the firearm itself. He doesn't twitch it, not yet, but if there's a move to shoot - he'll try to yank the barrel upwards.]