the name's greed (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nestingdevil) wrote2014-11-10 09:21 pm
nestingdevil) wrote2014-11-10 09:21 pm
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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
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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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[Greed doesn't turn around. Instead, his eyes wander behind his shades, alight and flickering; a match's stroke, touching both steel and glass, an equivalent promise. "it won't let me out,". The former homunculus mindlessly counts his keys.] No, I'm not. [He starts, matter-of-fact(ly) and a knot of heat churns red in his throat. Bitter isn't exactly the right word for it, nor is disappointment. Instead, it's deflation that hints at the backs of his teeth; his wheeze of smoke, thin, frail, and fading, just fading, for a reason.]
[They had abandoned Vandare a long time ago. So, why the unnecessary effort?]
[The collective ring of keys snaps brisk in his hand; their shedding sparks, an unspoken threat.] And you did it anyway. All this time - you still don't get it, do you? [Lashing, his tail teases fire at the forest floor, though nothing lights. It's too damp for him to cause a blaze just yet and considering the last time Stocke had tried - the Sin shelves his keys deep into his back pocket.] You really are a lot more trouble than you're worth, y'know.
[Silence. Part of him, at least a sliver, has an idea. Maybe, it was retribution; an armistice. Stocke's interference of their former haunting, a last, ditch effort to put an old fight to rest. It's a grand notion, but the cost? Ah, the cost.]
["A fiddle of gold against your soul, sweetheart - "]
[Greed traces the other's reflection in his sunglasses and the small shifts of change mute, dull.] Just how many times are you wiling to risk it, before you lose it all? Don't play stupid, Stocke. You know the price as much as do. [The weight on his shoulders slops heavily; allowing his fur to drape low, low, low, like a balloon, losing its air.] Ehh - that's never going to stop you though, is it? You'll always be one of those. Even now, after everything, you'll put yourself on the line, if you think it means someone else won't have to.
It's pointless. [And ah, there it is: the bite. The former homunculus touches two of his teeth together. With one foot up, he languidly rolls back in the other's direction; the play of his feet, forcing dirt and mulch to skirt a semi-circle's design into the ground below. Holding a grudge has never been his forte and with his? It could be said it's an impossibility. Stocke's done this twice, now. Perhaps more. And every time, every time, the devil is the one who comes to collect.]
[Be his body, his soul, or all else in between.]
[Greed watches his tendrils.] I've told you, haven't I? Humans think greed is just for money and power, but that's not everything. You want to save the world. It's pretty admirable, I'll admit that much. But - [Close now, the signs of something are blatantly obvious. Stocke's static runs jagged in his glance; his eyes, like that of a radio-signal's plea, cutting in and out. The Sin's expression narrows. At present? He boldly ignores them. Something's wrong, something's not quite right. Yet.]
[Yet, yet, yet.]
[Brushing, the Sin slides past Stocke; his shoulder, a hair close to the other's.] Let's go.