[Where he stands, the former homunculus seems to blot out the sun. A crease of orange-rinsed-gold plays on his shoulder in a trickle effect; as if the day's weaning hours are falling to his command, rinsing his soul and showering it with one of the things, one of many, he demands. Greed chirps a noise behind the flats of his teeth. One of the slats in the windows flutters in response - the dull shudder of a gas lamp, cranked and measured to a low, low burn.]
Ah, right. Didn't have these where you're from. If that's what you really want though, I guess I can teach you. [The Sin puckers his lip. With his attention hooked on Li's staggered signals, he doesn't even sense it coming. Instead, he merely carries on - the monster stepping to the day's drum, meeting it beat for beat. Ryslig, though, still has its unpredictable(s). And just like that, within a second, everything, oh, everything - ]
[He hears the glass first. How it strains and whines like a gun shot. How it shatters so, so close to his ear, brittle and sharp. Greed's muscles visibly stiffen. In the split moment between then and now, the seconds try to catch up with themselves: Stocke's sudden closeness, his now-clawed hand wide open and guilty. It's as if time's been gradually dialed to a drag - the actions, the reactions, like a slow-motion replay, pointing out the details. The Sin's neck cranes over his shoulder and as his eyes widen, the wrench of his lips is surprised. Vicious. He's rigid and raw; tense and still. Every muscle, every vein and tendon, as taught as a spring, loaded for the pull. The former homunculus sinks his heel back and as the point of his boot lifts, the stones caught below fume to a shine. Their sides turn red; their cores, an intense orange. The beginnings of a fire barely, just barely, contained.]
Oi, oi, oi - [Greed lifts his hand. He flits two of his fingers briskly to the side - the motion aimed at the window an all too-clear signal to get, get, get. Whatever just happened, whatever's going on - Greed cool(y) shifts his body. It's as deliberate as it is predatory. His whole demeanor, a killer in cold blood. The Sin's lips turn down at the corners and as he watches Stocke, the glow from his eyes begins to shift. A brittle hum pounds into the lenses - their constant throbbing as alarming as a check-engine light, blaring a warning.]
[Greed's mouth hesitates.] - that wasn't very nice. Guess that was for me, wasn't it. [With an arch of his head, he rolls his glance back to the broken vial. The liquid dripping out of it, the small pieces scattered across the ground - the Sin takes one step forward and as his boot falls, he traps a piece underneath. Forcing the glass to wheeze, wheeze, wheeze until the pressure becomes too much.]
[Crk.] So, that's it. Pretty rotten trick, if you ask me. [He touches his tongue to the backs of his teeth - the inside of his cheek, alight and airy. He may not know the whole picture, but the parts that make sense are beginning to draw it out for him: Dante, somehow being a threat. Stocke's odd behavior. Greed lifts his boot and with a none-too-subtle sweep, he kicks one of the pieces away; allowing the shard to skip and jump until a dark spot or a shallow hole takes it.]
[Whatever comes first.]
You really didn't think that would work, did you? Why don't we just cut to the chase - [As he talks, the tips of his claws start to click together. He keeps up a playful pace; as if he's running through the scenario and picking it apart, inch for inch. Doppelganger(s) aren't anything new in Ryslig, far from it. But - ]
[But.]
[The former homunculus shuts the space between them, giving only inches.] - becoming one of mine. It's a bold move. [He starts, the hiss of tongue as keen as heated switchblade.] So, why don't you tell me who you really are. [Again, he pointedly raps his nails together. Tap for tap, they draw up a series of sparks - the threat of them more similar to the end of a fuse, toyed and mocked by a faulty lighter. The spade of his tail lifts behind him and with a loathsome coil, it slips to his side. Effectively stirring both ash and fog to a thin, grainy sheet.]
[Because mock him, Ryslig has. But buyer, buyer beware.]
DON'T EVEN WORRY ABOUT IT
Ah, right. Didn't have these where you're from. If that's what you really want though, I guess I can teach you. [The Sin puckers his lip. With his attention hooked on Li's staggered signals, he doesn't even sense it coming. Instead, he merely carries on - the monster stepping to the day's drum, meeting it beat for beat. Ryslig, though, still has its unpredictable(s). And just like that, within a second, everything, oh, everything - ]
[He hears the glass first. How it strains and whines like a gun shot. How it shatters so, so close to his ear, brittle and sharp. Greed's muscles visibly stiffen. In the split moment between then and now, the seconds try to catch up with themselves: Stocke's sudden closeness, his now-clawed hand wide open and guilty. It's as if time's been gradually dialed to a drag - the actions, the reactions, like a slow-motion replay, pointing out the details. The Sin's neck cranes over his shoulder and as his eyes widen, the wrench of his lips is surprised. Vicious. He's rigid and raw; tense and still. Every muscle, every vein and tendon, as taught as a spring, loaded for the pull. The former homunculus sinks his heel back and as the point of his boot lifts, the stones caught below fume to a shine. Their sides turn red; their cores, an intense orange. The beginnings of a fire barely, just barely, contained.]
Oi, oi, oi - [Greed lifts his hand. He flits two of his fingers briskly to the side - the motion aimed at the window an all too-clear signal to get, get, get. Whatever just happened, whatever's going on - Greed cool(y) shifts his body. It's as deliberate as it is predatory. His whole demeanor, a killer in cold blood. The Sin's lips turn down at the corners and as he watches Stocke, the glow from his eyes begins to shift. A brittle hum pounds into the lenses - their constant throbbing as alarming as a check-engine light, blaring a warning.]
[Greed's mouth hesitates.] - that wasn't very nice. Guess that was for me, wasn't it. [With an arch of his head, he rolls his glance back to the broken vial. The liquid dripping out of it, the small pieces scattered across the ground - the Sin takes one step forward and as his boot falls, he traps a piece underneath. Forcing the glass to wheeze, wheeze, wheeze until the pressure becomes too much.]
[Crk.] So, that's it. Pretty rotten trick, if you ask me. [He touches his tongue to the backs of his teeth - the inside of his cheek, alight and airy. He may not know the whole picture, but the parts that make sense are beginning to draw it out for him: Dante, somehow being a threat. Stocke's odd behavior. Greed lifts his boot and with a none-too-subtle sweep, he kicks one of the pieces away; allowing the shard to skip and jump until a dark spot or a shallow hole takes it.]
[Whatever comes first.]
You really didn't think that would work, did you? Why don't we just cut to the chase - [As he talks, the tips of his claws start to click together. He keeps up a playful pace; as if he's running through the scenario and picking it apart, inch for inch. Doppelganger(s) aren't anything new in Ryslig, far from it. But - ]
[But.]
[The former homunculus shuts the space between them, giving only inches.] - becoming one of mine. It's a bold move. [He starts, the hiss of tongue as keen as heated switchblade.] So, why don't you tell me who you really are. [Again, he pointedly raps his nails together. Tap for tap, they draw up a series of sparks - the threat of them more similar to the end of a fuse, toyed and mocked by a faulty lighter. The spade of his tail lifts behind him and with a loathsome coil, it slips to his side. Effectively stirring both ash and fog to a thin, grainy sheet.]
[Because mock him, Ryslig has. But buyer, buyer beware.]
[The devil never forgets.]