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[nestingdevil]

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, avaricious. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 012.07.333.07 *** avaricious has joined 018.07.154.55 <avaricious> ithsihoitiwrks ? <BANNED USER> SCREENED MESSAGE. UNSCREEN? Y/N -- <avaricious>thdvllsnst <avaricious> vdndrere

CONTACTS

0.0.0.0 ♦ "MASON" | Heather

TEXT ABOUT THEM GOES HERE.

0.0.0.0 ♦ STOCKE

TEXT ABOUT THEM GOES HERE.

0.0.0.0 ♦ AOBA

TEXT ABOUT THEM GOES HERE.

0.0.0.0 ♦ "JUSTINE"

TEXT ABOUT THEM GOES HERE.

0.0.0.0 ♦ KILLUA

TEXT ABOUT THEM GOES HERE.

0.0.0.0 ♦ ZOLF J. KIMBLEY

TEXT ABOUT THEM GOES HERE.

0.0.0.0 ♦ EDWARD ELRIC

TEXT ABOUT THEM GOES HERE.

0.0.0.0 ♦ "XANDER" | SANDRATH

TEXT ABOUT THEM GOES HERE.

Comments

[makehistoria]

[There's a silent acknowledgement of Greed's condolences in the guttering light of Stocke's eyes - he appreciates it - but it's not so much him doing it the shade cares about as it is the soul-eating happening at all. One more time, he looks at the almost-corpse; this group knew what they were doing, going after what might as well be a monster stronghold, and it's not as though he hasn't killed before, but... (But.)]

[Souls are another matter. A life taken will move on; a soul taken... ends.]

[It's hitting him harder without the fog of hunger, but at the same time he's glad for that. He doesn't want to reach a day when he stops caring, whatever the kind of person. That's a slippery slope to head down.]

[Shoving the feelings back for later, on the other hand, is fair game. Especially the kind of later where he's too tired to think about them. He pulls himself away, follows Greed's motion.] —I'm on it.— [Maybe he'll get a glimpse of that elusive basement-dweller, while he's at it. Though if he hasn't seen them yet...]

[The shade glides across the bar, by little sparkles of glass sunken safely into cracks in the floor and trails of Greed's ash on the floor, marks of where the demon's swaggered. Angles of moonlight reflect off coloured bottles as he passes, made dull by the dark's grayscale vision; the tabletops gleam with glimmers of hellfire thrown off Greed's wings. A turn of Stocke's wrist has his sword following him as he heads down.]

[Long night, was it...?]