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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

[makehistoria]

[The shade floats there, blinking out of sync with all four eyes, abruptly watching Greed a touch more carefully. There's a feeling of odd anticipation about him, like the air between two stormfronts - wet ground, a chill, a misty taste in the air, and the air of waiting for something to show.]

[The shade's mouth zips shut. He hums softly, buzzing electric. Then he's looping around the demon's back in a short whirl of shadow, settling to a stop behind the Sin's right side.]

[He rests his elbows on Greed's shoulder, head on his fists - "rests." Weightless shadows. But it's only for a second, and then he's abruptly solid, a light pressure on the demon's shoulder. Still levitating, but tangible.]

Don't know what you're talking about, [he agrees. But -] Boss. This is better. [Don't be sorry about it.]

[It's not gonna stop the cure from bouncing him back and forth, but as a monster? He's a lot less resigned to it. Besides, Greed can handle human-him, now that he knows.]

[This close, he can feel the demon's soul glowing in his chest. Souls. A collection, but one at the same time. He leans close to the demon's throat with a quiet static hiss.]

[But it's the earring his eyes fix on as it dangles in Greed's fingers. Right. There's something...]

[Equivalent exchange?]

[He doesn't know any better than Greed what'll happen. Perhaps even less so. But he's pushing himself up and forward over the Sin's shoulder almost immediately, reaching, overlong fingers curling around the red gem and pulling it back.]

[For a second he's balanced there, on one arm ramrod-straight from Greed's shoulder, a gaunt figure looming above the demon's head. Then he taps it three times. There isn't even thought behind it, only - a trade.]

[nestingdevil]

["Don't know what you're talking about, Boss. This is better."]

You think so, huh. [The Sin drawls. No matter where Stocke goes, he's solid in comparison. He doesn't move when he feels the tail-end chill wrap about his shoulders. It grazes his skin, prickles the back of his spine; his own, hand-made ghost, coming to pay its respects. Greed wrinkles his mouth. No, he hadn't been given much of an option. Believing Stocke had been out of the question. Killing him, more so. This had been an act of desperation; the means finding its end and what, truly, is the price.]

[The strangle in his eyes blisters, only to recede in a trickle. The daggers, however - they aren't aimed at Stocke. They're pointedly focused elsewhere. The horizon, for an answer. The nameless culprit, for even daring. The splintering crunch from earlier creeps its way into his mouth and while the other's weight falls at his back, Greed's body cements; the feeling more similar to that of a rock, refusing to budge.] Not an ideal circumstance, friend. Your choice - [The former homunculus tapers his words. They wilt on his tongue. Die in his throat. Regret: it's never suited him. But in the moment, in the very second, a sensation solidifies in his chest. Like that of hot lead, rotting in his stomach.]

[The Sin bows his head, allowing the barest slink of a grin to yank at his face.] No use delaying it. Tch - [From his chin, the bulk of his skull arches in reverse. As if he's inspecting his fate and laughing at it, all in the same breath.] - they sure gave us a lot of trouble, didn't they. What a pain in the ass.

[Whoever started it, though: they're in for a rude surprise. The shade's nail stretches forward and as it taps once, a second time, he can sense it starting to swell. The veins along the side of his forehead go frigid beneath his skin. They pop to the surface - the look of them like a bundle of parasites, rising to a threat. A third strike, and Greed's hands gnarl. The final toll all but striking his core.]

[And what is he, but a blemish. The cardinal sort, coming, coming, coming, to a familiar drum:]

["Baby, don't you remember?"]

["It's a long way down - "]

[Greed's jaw hangs open and while Stocke's hand finishes its dead, a long thread of smoke huffs up from his chest. It tangles about his face like a string - a knot of black trying to find its shadow and tie it down, once and for all. The former homunculus hisses out a sound.] Ah, so that's it - [He smooths. The changes may be slim, but there's no denying the result. His temperature is scathing; his face, vicious. Avarice incarnate to the very T, and what it wants - ]

[A crt, and his neck resets.] Guess we should clean that mess up first, shouldn't we. [His tone brightens. There's no point keeping the cure around; it's already done enough damage. And even if altering his is the brunt of it, surely that? That.]

[It's enough.]