[Stocke curves into the prick of Greed's talons at his back, stretching underneath like some tenebrous beast. His hand at Greed's neck slides up, carding through black hair; then it hits one of the Sin's horns and slows, following the spiral with a thumb. The shade's claw scrapes lightly over ridges, disrupting curls of demon's smoke.]
[Stocke himself slows at Greed's prompting and the nip of jagged teeth, his eyelids drifting down halfway. His eyes glow bright, too bright; a soft ring of static round the edges rather than the center. This...]
[They snap back to alertness as the shade catches Greed watching him - he makes a soft noise, questioning. But there's the Sin's hand splayed at his back, a light pressure; Stocke follows along. As he always has, always will, Ryslig permitting.]
[It's a good thing his extra limbs aren't so much a solid encumbrance as another monster's would be: the shade's paying hardly as much attention to his surroundings right now as he should be. His tendrils twist around each other, fan out languidly - jitter to a halt only when the Sin pulls back, leaving Stocke breathing slightly harder than usual. A warmth stays, a kindling furnace very unlike a shade's cool mist.]
[Greed wouldn't be mistaken if he guessed this was entirely new. Stocke'd never had the time or inclination (or had Heiss arranged it that way?), and Ernst... it's entirely possible, but Stocke doesn't like to think of the shattered fragments of memory he now has, let alone search them for something like this. He doesn't want to claim them as his.]
[It means he's flying part-blind.]
[That's nothing unusual. He'll figure it out as he goes; Stocke's made a decision, and he's not often one to turn back.]
[Still, it doesn't keep a self-deprecating quirk from the corner of his mouth when he feels Greed's teeth again. He can sense the press of the demon's knuckles down his spine, the light vibration at the side of Greed's throat as the demon hums; too much he's suddenly overly conscious of, and the rush of static in him's no different.]
[His hand drops from the Sin's neck to his back, the other one rising to meet it; he trails fingers down the membrane of Greed's wings. With gold flames dimmed, there's nothing but a faint sting to them - touch outstrips it, leaving behind a sensation that's not entirely unpleasant. This time it's Stocke's turn to have his eyes slide shut.]
no subject
[Stocke himself slows at Greed's prompting and the nip of jagged teeth, his eyelids drifting down halfway. His eyes glow bright, too bright; a soft ring of static round the edges rather than the center. This...]
[They snap back to alertness as the shade catches Greed watching him - he makes a soft noise, questioning. But there's the Sin's hand splayed at his back, a light pressure; Stocke follows along. As he always has, always will, Ryslig permitting.]
[It's a good thing his extra limbs aren't so much a solid encumbrance as another monster's would be: the shade's paying hardly as much attention to his surroundings right now as he should be. His tendrils twist around each other, fan out languidly - jitter to a halt only when the Sin pulls back, leaving Stocke breathing slightly harder than usual. A warmth stays, a kindling furnace very unlike a shade's cool mist.]
[Greed wouldn't be mistaken if he guessed this was entirely new. Stocke'd never had the time or inclination (or had Heiss arranged it that way?), and Ernst... it's entirely possible, but Stocke doesn't like to think of the shattered fragments of memory he now has, let alone search them for something like this. He doesn't want to claim them as his.]
[It means he's flying part-blind.]
[That's nothing unusual. He'll figure it out as he goes; Stocke's made a decision, and he's not often one to turn back.]
[Still, it doesn't keep a self-deprecating quirk from the corner of his mouth when he feels Greed's teeth again. He can sense the press of the demon's knuckles down his spine, the light vibration at the side of Greed's throat as the demon hums; too much he's suddenly overly conscious of, and the rush of static in him's no different.]
[His hand drops from the Sin's neck to his back, the other one rising to meet it; he trails fingers down the membrane of Greed's wings. With gold flames dimmed, there's nothing but a faint sting to them - touch outstrips it, leaving behind a sensation that's not entirely unpleasant. This time it's Stocke's turn to have his eyes slide shut.]
[Over anything else:] Show me.