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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

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0.0.0.0 ♦ STOCKE

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0.0.0.0 ♦ AOBA

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0.0.0.0 ♦ "JUSTINE"

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0.0.0.0 ♦ KILLUA

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0.0.0.0 ♦ ZOLF J. KIMBLEY

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0.0.0.0 ♦ EDWARD ELRIC

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0.0.0.0 ♦ "XANDER" | SANDRATH

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Comments

[nestingdevil]

>>avaricious has posted an AUDIO MESSAGE. If you wish to listen, type LISTEN04

Never wanted to do anything to me? That's a little rich - [Tight, seething. Greed unwinds his fingers from the cover of the laptop, resulting in a harsh scritch of staggering plastic. The hooks of his nails drag on his side of the line. They skitter atop the lid; tuning the surface like that of cat claws sprung into an unsuspecting slab of wood. Even if the initial threat wasn't intended for him, the end's still the same.]

[Bite him once, shame on him. Bite him twice, however - ]

[The Sin's smile widens and on the recording, something brittle snaps out of place. A lonely crunch.] That much? Ha - ! Just who the hell do you think you're talking to? [While it's hard to make out, a distinct sizzling makes its way onto the receiver. It's far off, light: like that of a candle's end left to burn itself out in a pool of molten wax. The former homunculus gives his tail a lazy flit.] Sorry, but if you think that's all, you really don't know me very well. [His voice drops, then. A baritone pitch, the note of it low and broiling at the back of his jaws. Greed's mouth opens and as cool air meets his heat, a tinny trill tests against the feed.]

[Distant, yet still so dangerously, dangerously, close.]

Will you now. [He hums. The last of the device falls out of his grip. Like the other's voice, it cracks across the receiver - almost meeting it in some kind of shattered, dissonant harmony. Greed puckers his lip. A beat of thick silence is what follows. Throttles of pungent air choke the receiver. It falls weighted along the line -the taste thick, humid; a house fire's drawling crackle.] That's really too bad.

[Another piece of plastic pops. What it is, what it could be - Greed doesn't pay it much mind. Instead, he mindlessly traps it under the crook of his nail and it's there that it fissures. Creating a sound akin Styrofoam melting atop a hot-cranked oven.] Y'know, it's always better to take my offer, but I guess I couldn't talk you out of it, could I. [Rhetorical, of course. Mitsuhide's mind is a minefield laced in hornet's nest. Usually, the Sin would merely forgive and forget: his odd habits, his childish demeanor trying to balance reason with insanity. But there's a line: a distinct one.]

[And it only took the Wendigo seconds to cross it.]

[The former homunculus rolls his tongue along the roof of his mouth. He's forgotten about the shard of plastic during the conversation and while it quickly melts beneath his finger, the receiver picks up its dying gasps: the lengthy crinkle and shallow ploop bringing its demise to a final end.]

Have it your way.