[The problem with Stocke is that: he seeks it out. Whether intentionally or not, trouble always seems to be nipping at his heels. His reprieves are short-lived and often, they're few and far between - his urge to stick his hand in the next would-be hornet's nest, more habitual than anything else. Maybe that's why he isn't so much surprised as he is resigned when he finally gets to Vandare. The soreness from weeks prior still aches deep in his bones. Right shoulder, down. Torso, chest. Greed's boots touch on familiar cobblestone in a sigh of dust - the pat of his feet, like that of a ghost, (re)visting its old home.]
[How many months has it been? How many years? And at the end of the day, just how much was the cost?]
[The former homunculus lifts his chin, the promise of rain turning his shades milky and slick. It's been a long time, but he couldn't forget. With the event still fresh in his mind, the small things - they weigh as heavy as a burden. A lead anchor by all definition, making him sluggish out of eye shot and tiring him when there isn't an audience to watch. Greed visibly frowns. The remnants of the old Nest still blacken a pit of where it used to be. Of course, most of it has been picked clean, yet the evidence of what once was - ]
[A single plank of termite-snacked wood flops on the corner and the Sin touches his teeth together. Stupid's already done and over with, indeed. Whatever Stocke's done, it spells nothing good. Elias's grip had been a firm one. No amount of trying had loosened it. No visitations had cleared the air. To have it suddenly, alarmingly, disappear - well.]
[Well]
[The lid to the laptop creaks, its screen blinks blue-white, and under the scratchy tck-tck-tck of a street light, the feed belatedly flips on.]
>>avaricious has posted an AUDIO MESSAGE. If you wish to listen, type LISTEN02
Back soon, huh. [Greed's voice slinks low, low, low. On the other side of the line, the churn of his cigarette is as obvious as it is scathing. It bites into the receiver with a particular kind of whine; the cloud of smoke in his teeth, thick and rolling. Stocke. Stocke, Stocke, Stocke. It always comes down to him, doesn't it? It always comes down to this. The Sin's upper lip audibly peels upward. Dry, would be a good word for it - the sound of his sourness, more similar to age-stained fly paper, freeing itself from a wall.] I guess I don't have to ask you what you did, do I. Friend.
[Bitterness curdles on his tongue. After what they've been through, one would think it would have been enough. However, that's never quite been the case, has it? The world is never enough, nothing is ever enough. Greed's jaws grind harsh into the recording. No, nothing is ever, ever, enough. And yet.]
[Yet.]
[The cigarette in his hand topples into a puddle, hissing its demise.] Is that what you think I wanted. Didn't I tell you before? When will you get it - [The Sin snaps the forks of his tongue, letting his words trail faint.] - doesn't matter. Too late for regrets, right?
<avaricious>
[How many months has it been? How many years? And at the end of the day, just how much was the cost?]
[The former homunculus lifts his chin, the promise of rain turning his shades milky and slick. It's been a long time, but he couldn't forget. With the event still fresh in his mind, the small things - they weigh as heavy as a burden. A lead anchor by all definition, making him sluggish out of eye shot and tiring him when there isn't an audience to watch. Greed visibly frowns. The remnants of the old Nest still blacken a pit of where it used to be. Of course, most of it has been picked clean, yet the evidence of what once was - ]
[A single plank of termite-snacked wood flops on the corner and the Sin touches his teeth together. Stupid's already done and over with, indeed. Whatever Stocke's done, it spells nothing good. Elias's grip had been a firm one. No amount of trying had loosened it. No visitations had cleared the air. To have it suddenly, alarmingly, disappear - well.]
[Well]
[The lid to the laptop creaks, its screen blinks blue-white, and under the scratchy tck-tck-tck of a street light, the feed belatedly flips on.]
>>avaricious has posted an AUDIO MESSAGE. If you wish to listen, type LISTEN02
Back soon, huh. [Greed's voice slinks low, low, low. On the other side of the line, the churn of his cigarette is as obvious as it is scathing. It bites into the receiver with a particular kind of whine; the cloud of smoke in his teeth, thick and rolling. Stocke. Stocke, Stocke, Stocke. It always comes down to him, doesn't it? It always comes down to this. The Sin's upper lip audibly peels upward. Dry, would be a good word for it - the sound of his sourness, more similar to age-stained fly paper, freeing itself from a wall.] I guess I don't have to ask you what you did, do I. Friend.
[Bitterness curdles on his tongue. After what they've been through, one would think it would have been enough. However, that's never quite been the case, has it? The world is never enough, nothing is ever enough. Greed's jaws grind harsh into the recording. No, nothing is ever, ever, enough. And yet.]
[Yet.]
[The cigarette in his hand topples into a puddle, hissing its demise.] Is that what you think I wanted. Didn't I tell you before? When will you get it - [The Sin snaps the forks of his tongue, letting his words trail faint.] - doesn't matter. Too late for regrets, right?
I'll be waiting.