[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.]
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[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.]