[By the time Stocke's back, the motorcycle's already settled into idle. The pipes along the rear shake in their barrings. They jangle off in a pit-a-rat-pat - the force of the exhaust causing them to jump and bang like that of old bottles tumbling in a coffin. The Sin keeps one leg stretched out to hold the bike's weight and as the side car teeters, a fuming grin stretches along his face; the last shreds of a cigarette clamped in his jaw all but burned down, down, down to the filter. He pitches it between his claws and one of his nails sheers the tip clean.]
That was fast - [Greed lulls. A sharp spring of fire plays on the pads of his fingers and the butt of his smoke ashes in his hand. Where ever Stocke scurried away the stash is anyone's guess. It couldn't have been far. Somewhere in Bavan, perhaps a safe-house from one of their own. Still, there's still that nagging feeling - a slight itch teasing and heated just under his skin. The former homuculus nudges the kickstand into place; the side of his boot slipping against chrome, smooth and precise.]
[Tck.]
[The Sin drops his shoulders and with a throw of the gears, the cycle's tires start their trundle. His keeps his heel stretched - allowing it to graze over dust, to hover over stone, like a white-hot engine in cruise. A couple of peddles skip between the treads, but once the road flattens, Greed abruptly toes the throttle. The engine immediately rolls over in neutral - the motorcycle all but tossed into a long, burn-out skid.]
[One hop, one whirl, and the bike takes off.]
[The Sin pushes the throttle, causing the speed dial to steadily crank into the red. Thankfully, this part of Bavan is a place he knows. Small shacks stack together in rows while they pass - their tin-top roofs and rough construction merely a blur. Greed reaches past the handle bars. He pushes his knuckle along the dash, flicking the headlights twice.] You said something before, about Dante - [There's something distracted about the way he talks. Maybe, it's the task at hand; maybe, it's that feeling again rearing its ugly head. Either way, he doesn't elaborate and as the flicker of the high beams bounce, the former homunculus lifts his head. Two flares of sunlight answer him at a distance. The reflection of a mirror catching the announcement like a battlefield code. Greed drops the speed of the motorcycle down and the gauges atop its dash collapse. They drop breathlessly back - the movement as brisk as a bulb blown out in a power outage.]
[No, that information about Dante - he wouldn't have attacked without reason. There's more to it; something he can't quite put his finger on, waiting for an answer.]
[For now, though - ]
[The front of the bike hiccups along a step and the Sin tosses out the kickstand again. Li's place, for what's left, is still. Boards crisscross behind the windows, the locks on the front door have been unscrewed and popped out. The former homunculus swings his leg off saddle-side and as he moves to stand, he gives the cracked-flat stone out front a good tap. Once, for good measure. Twice, for assurance.]
[And a third time to let Li know that the coast, for now, is decided clear.]
SORRY THIS AIN'T MY BEST
That was fast - [Greed lulls. A sharp spring of fire plays on the pads of his fingers and the butt of his smoke ashes in his hand. Where ever Stocke scurried away the stash is anyone's guess. It couldn't have been far. Somewhere in Bavan, perhaps a safe-house from one of their own. Still, there's still that nagging feeling - a slight itch teasing and heated just under his skin. The former homuculus nudges the kickstand into place; the side of his boot slipping against chrome, smooth and precise.]
[Tck.]
[The Sin drops his shoulders and with a throw of the gears, the cycle's tires start their trundle. His keeps his heel stretched - allowing it to graze over dust, to hover over stone, like a white-hot engine in cruise. A couple of peddles skip between the treads, but once the road flattens, Greed abruptly toes the throttle. The engine immediately rolls over in neutral - the motorcycle all but tossed into a long, burn-out skid.]
[One hop, one whirl, and the bike takes off.]
[The Sin pushes the throttle, causing the speed dial to steadily crank into the red. Thankfully, this part of Bavan is a place he knows. Small shacks stack together in rows while they pass - their tin-top roofs and rough construction merely a blur. Greed reaches past the handle bars. He pushes his knuckle along the dash, flicking the headlights twice.] You said something before, about Dante - [There's something distracted about the way he talks. Maybe, it's the task at hand; maybe, it's that feeling again rearing its ugly head. Either way, he doesn't elaborate and as the flicker of the high beams bounce, the former homunculus lifts his head. Two flares of sunlight answer him at a distance. The reflection of a mirror catching the announcement like a battlefield code. Greed drops the speed of the motorcycle down and the gauges atop its dash collapse. They drop breathlessly back - the movement as brisk as a bulb blown out in a power outage.]
[No, that information about Dante - he wouldn't have attacked without reason. There's more to it; something he can't quite put his finger on, waiting for an answer.]
[For now, though - ]
[The front of the bike hiccups along a step and the Sin tosses out the kickstand again. Li's place, for what's left, is still. Boards crisscross behind the windows, the locks on the front door have been unscrewed and popped out. The former homunculus swings his leg off saddle-side and as he moves to stand, he gives the cracked-flat stone out front a good tap. Once, for good measure. Twice, for assurance.]
[And a third time to let Li know that the coast, for now, is decided clear.]