[Mello may have his fear of fire, yet still he draws in. A moth by another name, testing the waters and dipping its toes, despite any harm that may follow. It's an impressive feat - a dangerous attempt. And as the other slips in and claims his place, the former homunculus tentatively lifts his lip. His sneer is nothing sort of a smear; one made in teeth and a brush-stroke of sulfur, hot and yellow. A note of something spoils in his throat and as it dies, bits and pieces leak through his scales. The remnants, a backwash of ash.]

[Greed puckers his eyebrows together.] Didn't realize that was a problem. [He licks his words. Savoring them, tasting them. The other may his point, but then again - if that's what he really wants.]

[A snare of soot wilts off the back of his neck and while it extends, the Sin slowly begins to wrap around the other. He curls in where Mello's started; his winding movement forcing his fallout to tangle between them like a loose-run rope, circling its noose. And isn't it just them? Their constant a dance, a space, inches apart. Greed's eyes heavily droop. He extends a single finger - the brunt of it curved back and aimed right to the shelf of the Mello's chin. Whether he gets to tilt it back or not, that's the other's choice. But considering his proposition, considering his vanity? Well - ]

[He's always considered himself lucky on his bets.]

[The Sin lowers his head, forcing his horns a breathless minute away from his present company. Mello. M. He has a habit of pushing. Whether it's personal boundaries, his worth, his standing: nothing is ever enough. He's not so different from others he's known. His desire is thirsty, his need to be noticed more-so. The former homunculus closes in and as his body looms, one of his legs stretches out. The sharp of his heel taps ever-so-lightly outside their personal bubble; the punctuation of brunt plastic and heat more similar to that of a gunshot in point-blank range. A whiff of smoke traps around his ankle. One wrap, two wraps, three, and it envelopes them. A personal curtain drawn and asking the single question:]

["Is that an offer?"]

[Greed purses his lip.] If you've got something else, I'm all ears, friend. Didn't mean any offense. [It's almost sick, how he says it. His voice is neon-toxic. A poison, better avoided. The Sin extends his tail. The spade of it unwinds with a sense of purpose; as if it's waking up from a deep slumber, only to eat up the sun. The former homunculus rolls the forks of his tongue behind his teeth. No, Mello's a gambler of a different kind. A poker player and all of his cards, oh all of his cards - ]

[Shrrrk. The prongs along the Sin's tail catch the wood floor. They drag themselves lowly - like that of a flat-bellied serpent, crawling towards a source. Greed wraps his hand around his hip and as he tilts, those eyes of his wander. They trace the arch of Mello's throat, follow his veins; his very look as warm and vacant as a forest-fire debating its direction. He taps his boot again just once.] Though, coming from you - didn't really think you were interested. [He teases his teeth while he talks. The prongs of his tongue peek out from his jaws; a brief flicker, to get the flavor. Because, if Mello wants his company, he'll gladly give it.]

[First thing's first - ]

[The Sin drums a finger against his hip.] You're going to have to tell me what you want, though. Not really interested if you aren't. [The insinuation should be pretty obvious. Talking is fine, but company? The kind he's looking for? It's an equivalent exchange. A bargain.]

[And all Mello needs to do is sign the dotted line.]