[On the other side of the room, the Sin drifts to a pause. He already has one of his hands spread open wide, the dangles of his claws hovering like that of a witch, churning her brew. An exhale slips through his nostrils only once; his smile thinning and flattening to a hazy, basement-lull glow. The pains, the aches, the stings of where he's been - against it all, M remains unfazed. Still pushing the envelope, prodding the seal, to get the answers he so, so wants.]
[Curiosity may have killed the cat, but really, who can blame him.]
[Greed pinches his thumb and finger around the glass head of a canter, slowly turning it open.] Hmn? What did you have in mind? [He keeps his tone airy and light - the hum of his voice capturing the air. It causes a shrink of soot to peel away from his throat. A drift grainy and distant. What M's thinking could mean a million things. Ryslig, the others, him and his. The stopper to the canter unravels and with snaring plck, he takes it into his claws. The carefulness of his touch more similar to that of a jeweler admiring a once-in-a-lifetime piece. A second later, he places it down on the flat top of the dresser. Leaving a print of ash to stain its edge.]
Never said you couldn't ask. Figured it would come up sooner or later. [A tilt of his head brings his eyes teasing over his shoulder. Unlike usual, the red in them is quiet this time; the purple-pink as cool as mist chasing out the midnight hour. Greed blindly reaches for a glass. He lets his nails play inside the lip - gliding it back, smooth. Timeless. Until glass chimes glass and with a casual push of middle finger, the former homunculus levels the canter's lengthy neck. The body of it balanced at the crook of his claw like that of a teeter-totter, rocking on a point. He makes sure to level it just shy of his knuckles - the pour of liquor thick and running.]
[Because the night, it heaves with the bleakest secrets. The shadows wait in the black. And Mello, Mello, Mello - ]
[He's awake, all right. Awake and aware with the devil on his back.]
[Greed chokes the bottle, bringing it upright with a tck. As is his standard, the scotch he's chosen is rich. A top-shelf flavor, squirreled away from the main bar below. The Sin rings his hand around the edge of his portion, clipping it.] So, what do you want to know? [He murmurs. Despite only being out for a few seconds, the exposure to his heat is already beginning to pick up a film. Sweat and steam rotates inside the glass - the look of it mimicking a light fog, rolling along the shore. Either he doesn't notice it, or he simply doesn't care; the scotch all but hanging at his side like an accessory.]
[In the moment, Mello?]
[He has all his undivided attention.]
[Cnk, and one of his claws strikes out a note.] Only fair, after all. Equivalent exchange - [The Sin sing-songs, his one foot sliding forward. No, Mello's given him plenty to tonight. His body, a canvas. His loyalty. Even parts of him he's made sure to kept hidden and locked away, out of a private need for security. What questions he has, he'll answer. One for one, two for two. For let it never be said. Let it never be mistaken.]
[Honesty may be a virtue, but there's nothing so pure, so raw, than sin, sin, sin.]
no subject
[Curiosity may have killed the cat, but really, who can blame him.]
[Greed pinches his thumb and finger around the glass head of a canter, slowly turning it open.] Hmn? What did you have in mind? [He keeps his tone airy and light - the hum of his voice capturing the air. It causes a shrink of soot to peel away from his throat. A drift grainy and distant. What M's thinking could mean a million things. Ryslig, the others, him and his. The stopper to the canter unravels and with snaring plck, he takes it into his claws. The carefulness of his touch more similar to that of a jeweler admiring a once-in-a-lifetime piece. A second later, he places it down on the flat top of the dresser. Leaving a print of ash to stain its edge.]
Never said you couldn't ask. Figured it would come up sooner or later. [A tilt of his head brings his eyes teasing over his shoulder. Unlike usual, the red in them is quiet this time; the purple-pink as cool as mist chasing out the midnight hour. Greed blindly reaches for a glass. He lets his nails play inside the lip - gliding it back, smooth. Timeless. Until glass chimes glass and with a casual push of middle finger, the former homunculus levels the canter's lengthy neck. The body of it balanced at the crook of his claw like that of a teeter-totter, rocking on a point. He makes sure to level it just shy of his knuckles - the pour of liquor thick and running.]
[Because the night, it heaves with the bleakest secrets. The shadows wait in the black. And Mello, Mello, Mello - ]
[He's awake, all right. Awake and aware with the devil on his back.]
[Greed chokes the bottle, bringing it upright with a tck. As is his standard, the scotch he's chosen is rich. A top-shelf flavor, squirreled away from the main bar below. The Sin rings his hand around the edge of his portion, clipping it.] So, what do you want to know? [He murmurs. Despite only being out for a few seconds, the exposure to his heat is already beginning to pick up a film. Sweat and steam rotates inside the glass - the look of it mimicking a light fog, rolling along the shore. Either he doesn't notice it, or he simply doesn't care; the scotch all but hanging at his side like an accessory.]
[In the moment, Mello?]
[He has all his undivided attention.]
[Cnk, and one of his claws strikes out a note.] Only fair, after all. Equivalent exchange - [The Sin sing-songs, his one foot sliding forward. No, Mello's given him plenty to tonight. His body, a canvas. His loyalty. Even parts of him he's made sure to kept hidden and locked away, out of a private need for security. What questions he has, he'll answer. One for one, two for two. For let it never be said. Let it never be mistaken.]
[Honesty may be a virtue, but there's nothing so pure, so raw, than sin, sin, sin.]