Decided to keep it, then? [The Sin's question comes out distracted. The how(s), the why(s); out of the two of them, only the latter makes sense. Most of the 'Nest, if not all, had been human once. The desire to go back, the ability to choose who or what they are - the former homunculus leers forward. How close Stocke's slipping in doesn't matter. In the end, there's a unsaid trust here: a knowing that comes with years, with experience, and as the satchel rattles airily, Greed extends his hand. He tries to yank at the side - effectively peeling it back and inspecting like a creature curiously toying with an unmarked paper-bag.]
[No one said Pandora's box had to be ornate, after all.]
[The Sin grabs his hip with one hand.] Yeah, they would be. Could do a lot more with those abilities of yours. [He answers. Being normal: he's never understood it. Even before Stocke, Ryslig, he'd known a few who had wanted the same thing: a mundane life. Something base, plain, and missing all the perks the "other" had to offer. Of course, there had been exceptions. Those who had little choice or say as to what would become of them.]
[Still - ]
[A brief chnk tunes along the tip of his nail; his prodding finger all but rap-tap-tapping one of the buckles.] Little bit of a waste, if you ask me. But - [But. The Sin tongues the inside of his cheek. If Stocke wants to be human, not even he could stop him. He's said it before, hasn't he? Choice, the ability to do so - that much hasn't changed. Greed's shoulders visibly slouch. No, in the end, even the ones before had pained for the yesterdays. When things were less complicated and the world seemed so straight and simple.]
[Ryslig's really not so different.]
[The curve of his boot swings to the side and as it lifts, another puff of dry-dirt skirts beneath his boot. It dirties the leather - turning the black color dusty and dull. Greed winds his tail around his thigh.] - nevermind. Doesn't matter now. [He lulls. The afternoon sun glints off his shoulder; the image of him mimicking that of a dusty apparition. A line separating the mortal and the not-so-much.]
[Because this is how it's always been and while nothing's impossible, even here?]
[Some rules still apply.]
So, what do you want to do with it? I'm gunna guess it doesn't take just one dose. [It's a shot in the dark. Medicine, vaccinations, the rest: he only has the vaguest understanding. Maybe, Stocke'll need it constantly. Maybe not. Either way, from the sounds of it, there's plenty to go around. The Sin casts another look over to the side; the sharpness to the other's smile, missed by a mile.] Got some things to do in town. You interested? [He asks, his focus blatantly elsewhere. No, the changes are clear, but it's still Stocke. One of many, one marked, and they're his, his, his - ]
[Greed pivots and with one hand over his shoulder, he throws out two of his fingers; a gesture to follow.] We still have friends in Bavan that owe us some favors. They've been holding onto some things while we were getting situated. Think you can handle it? [From the dip of his throat, a lonely willow of smoke coils around his neck. It dives into his fur like a thread; weaving dip for dip, bump for bump, until the clear afternoon wipes it out completely.]
[Humans may not last long, but for however they do?]
no subject
[No one said Pandora's box had to be ornate, after all.]
[The Sin grabs his hip with one hand.] Yeah, they would be. Could do a lot more with those abilities of yours. [He answers. Being normal: he's never understood it. Even before Stocke, Ryslig, he'd known a few who had wanted the same thing: a mundane life. Something base, plain, and missing all the perks the "other" had to offer. Of course, there had been exceptions. Those who had little choice or say as to what would become of them.]
[Still - ]
[A brief chnk tunes along the tip of his nail; his prodding finger all but rap-tap-tapping one of the buckles.] Little bit of a waste, if you ask me. But - [But. The Sin tongues the inside of his cheek. If Stocke wants to be human, not even he could stop him. He's said it before, hasn't he? Choice, the ability to do so - that much hasn't changed. Greed's shoulders visibly slouch. No, in the end, even the ones before had pained for the yesterdays. When things were less complicated and the world seemed so straight and simple.]
[Ryslig's really not so different.]
[The curve of his boot swings to the side and as it lifts, another puff of dry-dirt skirts beneath his boot. It dirties the leather - turning the black color dusty and dull. Greed winds his tail around his thigh.] - nevermind. Doesn't matter now. [He lulls. The afternoon sun glints off his shoulder; the image of him mimicking that of a dusty apparition. A line separating the mortal and the not-so-much.]
[Because this is how it's always been and while nothing's impossible, even here?]
[Some rules still apply.]
So, what do you want to do with it? I'm gunna guess it doesn't take just one dose. [It's a shot in the dark. Medicine, vaccinations, the rest: he only has the vaguest understanding. Maybe, Stocke'll need it constantly. Maybe not. Either way, from the sounds of it, there's plenty to go around. The Sin casts another look over to the side; the sharpness to the other's smile, missed by a mile.] Got some things to do in town. You interested? [He asks, his focus blatantly elsewhere. No, the changes are clear, but it's still Stocke. One of many, one marked, and they're his, his, his - ]
[Greed pivots and with one hand over his shoulder, he throws out two of his fingers; a gesture to follow.] We still have friends in Bavan that owe us some favors. They've been holding onto some things while we were getting situated. Think you can handle it? [From the dip of his throat, a lonely willow of smoke coils around his neck. It dives into his fur like a thread; weaving dip for dip, bump for bump, until the clear afternoon wipes it out completely.]
[Humans may not last long, but for however they do?]
[They always, always, leave an impression.]