[Stocke takes his own step closer. Just the one, not a click or tap on the wood beneath to evidence it, but the shade's used to letting the Sin make the last move too-close, pushing boundaries. His settled spot's always been to the right or just behind, a gap of one arm's reach between - this is an oddity.]
[Stocke's version of too-close is not quite so obtrusive, much like his footsteps. A ghost in the dark; his eyes shutter closed.]
[This near, he doesn't need them to feel the glow of Greed's demon's core spilling out through the cracks, even without touch - rich as molten metal.]
[It's almost too much a relief not to have gnawing hatred eroding his control, having to shore it back with every heartbeat, every breath in between. Stocke has the feeling that with nothing to push against he's yawing too hard in the other direction. He doesn't really care.]
Sorry to keep you waiting. [Wry, a faint wisp of amusement - like the trail of smoke from a snuffed candle. Stocke's eyes stay shut; the shade's tendrils trail through ash and ember, leaving an echo of a pattern.]
no subject
[Stocke's version of too-close is not quite so obtrusive, much like his footsteps. A ghost in the dark; his eyes shutter closed.]
[This near, he doesn't need them to feel the glow of Greed's demon's core spilling out through the cracks, even without touch - rich as molten metal.]
[It's almost too much a relief not to have gnawing hatred eroding his control, having to shore it back with every heartbeat, every breath in between. Stocke has the feeling that with nothing to push against he's yawing too hard in the other direction. He doesn't really care.]
Sorry to keep you waiting. [Wry, a faint wisp of amusement - like the trail of smoke from a snuffed candle. Stocke's eyes stay shut; the shade's tendrils trail through ash and ember, leaving an echo of a pattern.]