[There's a trick to avoiding the conscious pain that comes with injury — be it willing or no — that Mello picked up a long time ago, when the acute sting of fire prickled at his skin for weeks after the initial bomb that tried to take him down with everyone else; something beyond medicating or actively soothing the source because in the end, it's all triage and when that wears off? It leaves him with a lingering discomfort that distracts from missions and breathing. Unacceptable, and while Greed speaks and works with a sharpness that should have him reeling, the human body beneath his claw is actively softening, relaxing while Mello focuses on the finer nuances of what's happening here.]
[Soot and reassurances, a forced surrender on his part that he gives to no one, but Greed always did stand out among the rest. Something in the demon's claim draws the blond's attention to the present, the here and now, and a smug, knowing smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. He knows these damn things mean nothing; he's an intellectual, after all — but there's something in comfort of the familiarity and what it represents. He's protected because he's above the rest — always has been — and the symbol covering raised skin and marred flesh that should have resulted in his death is a testament to how hard he's fought, how infallible he was, even then.]
[A mark of pride scrawled over his body disguised as something more intimate — it's always been about victory, in the end.]
No such thing as 'good,' yeah? People who draw lines in the sand never end up on the right side.
[And that's all he's saying, because with words come full awareness, and with full awareness comes a near-agony that will black him out if he lets it.]
[Somewhere along the line, sharp eyes have fallen shut, the bottle slack in his hand. The tap against his rib elicits a glance, nothing more, and he thinks that even L wouldn't be so brazen with something as volatile as Mello. Then again, he came here of his own accord — undeniably human and disgustingly weak — and if it were even a possibility in his mind that the sin had intentions to bring him more pain than necessary, he would have taken something smaller, quick. Hidden and effective; no one outside of Djävulenstad would know of his associations. Earlier, he wanted to keep low, and Kira was the mission.]
[Now? They can all burn in Hell for all Mello cares; he's found a place where status doesn't mean a fucking thing, and yet still somehow sets him apart from those who reside outside of their city's gates. There's an intimacy here despite their sprawling streets, one reflected in this — here where a human sets himself at the feet at something that could tear him apart with a trust reserved for no one.]
[Fingers grip the bottle's neck when the demon's hand knocks against it, and unpleasant is an understatement when Mello tips his head back to drain more than he should in a few, large gulps that go down like the fire that has burned, is burning, will burn — and oh, Greed makes good on his warnings, doesn't he? No matter his skill at distraction, the final swallow is punctuated by a long, sharp hiss between clenched teeth, and when the edges of his vision begin to hollow and go dark, it's only his innately stubborn nature that keeps him from snatching at the other's wrist; anything to make it stop.]
[But Mello chose this, so.]
[So he'll stop just short of cringing, gooseflesh rising in the wake of Greed's work — something intricate and permanent left with a fleck of a claw — and the buzz of dark liquor has taken its toll enough for Mello's head to swim where he should react; that was the point after all, wasn't it?]
Mm?
[He lifts his chin in some slow movement, offers a nod that hardly tells the story of how difficult it was to bear the pain of something that shouldn't have done a thing to someone who has seen death and walked out on the other side. A pale arm slips over his eyes, and focus isn't something that will come easy any time soon. Mello's never been much of a drinker, and the half-empty bottle is probably more than he's consumed in a short period of time, ever.]
[He was only nineteen when he Kira stopped his heart in his chest, after all.]
It's not so bad, [He lies, and oh it's a blatant one. Barely concealed because even now, pride is bleeding just beneath the surface, seeping out through sanguine droplets over ink and newly-damaged skin. When he stretches, it's with a languid sort of movement, and here is all right, for now. It's quiet, and Greed's company isn't all that unwelcome considering that while human, Mello is nothing more than a potential meal out there. Doesn't matter that he's armed to the teeth — and he's prayed for this so many times, and now that he has it? He would prefer to have his power back.]
no subject
[Soot and reassurances, a forced surrender on his part that he gives to no one, but Greed always did stand out among the rest. Something in the demon's claim draws the blond's attention to the present, the here and now, and a smug, knowing smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. He knows these damn things mean nothing; he's an intellectual, after all — but there's something in comfort of the familiarity and what it represents. He's protected because he's above the rest — always has been — and the symbol covering raised skin and marred flesh that should have resulted in his death is a testament to how hard he's fought, how infallible he was, even then.]
[A mark of pride scrawled over his body disguised as something more intimate — it's always been about victory, in the end.]
No such thing as 'good,' yeah? People who draw lines in the sand never end up on the right side.
[And that's all he's saying, because with words come full awareness, and with full awareness comes a near-agony that will black him out if he lets it.]
[Somewhere along the line, sharp eyes have fallen shut, the bottle slack in his hand. The tap against his rib elicits a glance, nothing more, and he thinks that even L wouldn't be so brazen with something as volatile as Mello. Then again, he came here of his own accord — undeniably human and disgustingly weak — and if it were even a possibility in his mind that the sin had intentions to bring him more pain than necessary, he would have taken something smaller, quick. Hidden and effective; no one outside of Djävulenstad would know of his associations. Earlier, he wanted to keep low, and Kira was the mission.]
[Now? They can all burn in Hell for all Mello cares; he's found a place where status doesn't mean a fucking thing, and yet still somehow sets him apart from those who reside outside of their city's gates. There's an intimacy here despite their sprawling streets, one reflected in this — here where a human sets himself at the feet at something that could tear him apart with a trust reserved for no one.]
[Fingers grip the bottle's neck when the demon's hand knocks against it, and unpleasant is an understatement when Mello tips his head back to drain more than he should in a few, large gulps that go down like the fire that has burned, is burning, will burn — and oh, Greed makes good on his warnings, doesn't he? No matter his skill at distraction, the final swallow is punctuated by a long, sharp hiss between clenched teeth, and when the edges of his vision begin to hollow and go dark, it's only his innately stubborn nature that keeps him from snatching at the other's wrist; anything to make it stop.]
[But Mello chose this, so.]
[So he'll stop just short of cringing, gooseflesh rising in the wake of Greed's work — something intricate and permanent left with a fleck of a claw — and the buzz of dark liquor has taken its toll enough for Mello's head to swim where he should react; that was the point after all, wasn't it?]
Mm?
[He lifts his chin in some slow movement, offers a nod that hardly tells the story of how difficult it was to bear the pain of something that shouldn't have done a thing to someone who has seen death and walked out on the other side. A pale arm slips over his eyes, and focus isn't something that will come easy any time soon. Mello's never been much of a drinker, and the half-empty bottle is probably more than he's consumed in a short period of time, ever.]
[He was only nineteen when he Kira stopped his heart in his chest, after all.]
It's not so bad, [He lies, and oh it's a blatant one. Barely concealed because even now, pride is bleeding just beneath the surface, seeping out through sanguine droplets over ink and newly-damaged skin. When he stretches, it's with a languid sort of movement, and here is all right, for now. It's quiet, and Greed's company isn't all that unwelcome considering that while human, Mello is nothing more than a potential meal out there. Doesn't matter that he's armed to the teeth — and he's prayed for this so many times, and now that he has it? He would prefer to have his power back.]
[Being prey never did suit him, anyway.]