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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

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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"

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0.0.0.0 ♦ KILLUA

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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.

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[Stocke doesn't respond, not to the first few words or to Greed's increasingly dangerous tone. A snake baring fangs, coiling slowly to spring, claws clicking like the hiss of a rattle - but the shade's breathing a touch too fast, fingers slowly curling in on his palms. He's not paying attention.]

[He'd crushed the syringe in his own hand, needle bending under a monster's strength; the smaller slivers of shards still pierce his palm, thin streams of black-smoke-blood twining up. Some more of that cure's probably gone into his bloodstream, but honestly - with how much his Hyde had been injecting himself, that's probably the least of his worries. It had been so close, and just a second more... and even without that, the thought of his Hyde having been near Greed for this long -]

[Stocke's nothing if not good at compartmentalizing. He shuts it away and snaps back to attention to '- becoming one of mine. It's a bold move.']

[The shade's tendrils go abruptly very still. For a moment there's no expression at all on his face; then there's a flicker of resignation before he shuts down again. There's no way he can prove anything; the trouble with always having relied on subterfuge is when it comes back around on your own tail...]

[He doesn't have the time to try. Instead of answering the Sin's question, Stocke leads with a,] Boss - don't trust him. Me. Might be better if you just kill him - being like this never lasts long. Shorter each time.

[He pauses, then adds, short -] Get rid of the stash, if you can. It's - [and a hiding place, named, not very far from where they started.]

[And if the Sin thinks it's an ambush? ...might be for the best, really. Sure, it'd be nice if that supply of cure isn't squirreled away for someone to get at, but it'll just mean the Sin's already set on that whole not trusting thing.]

[He doesn't even notice when the gaslight behind him goes dim. Instead, he's focused elsewhere. The splinters of glass sticking out of Stocke's hand are intimate and sharp; like that of a suicide note, aching for someone to hear it. Greed's eyes momentarily tremble and as they try to figure out what color is more suitable (red, for his betrayal. Purple, for something more), the drum of his finger pauses in mid-strike. It stands crooked and kinked above his thigh. The look of a gargoyle, frozen and stilled by the dawn's coming tide.]

["Boss - " All together. "Don't trust him. Me. Might be better - "]

[The former homunculus lifts his heel. He chidingly avoids the other pieces of his glass - his purposeful swing as droning and chilled as murderer, stepping over his corpse. The stash isn't too far and it's just one problem out of the way he can take care of later. Whether or not the other's information is good? That's more debatable. Stocke had been merely inches from his target. He could have made it, if he chose. His quick strike, all but given ample opportunity.]

[Yet - ]

[Greed stops a foot from the other and as his body looms, that heat of his comes off in a wave. However, unlike the countless times before, the dryness of it is vile. The taste, vitriol. A house fire's smother, coming, coming, coming to close Stocke's chapter, once and for-all. But him, Stocke, this version of Stocke: they both know better, don't they. It's the very reason he had the opportunity in the first place. Because avarice may be endless, it may be selfish, but his, his, his - ]

["-sympathy? Who do you think you're talking to?"]

[A tendon in the side of his neck lifts to the surface and the Sin levels his chin.] Giving it up so easily - [The way his tongue prods at his cheek - it's almost a whisper. His hiss, a tea-kettle's warning. Maybe he's taking it at face value, maybe he's merely placating the inevitable. Either way, the former homunculus casually raises his arm. He laces two of his fingers together in a knot - their marriage, their twining, a ceremony in soot.] I really wish I could believe you, but thing's being as they are - [While he talks, the Sin extends his pinkie. Its razor(ed) edge slips underneath the earpiece to his shades and with one, simple pull, he removes them. The pair all but lost in a film of thick, black-tar ash.]

["You forgive too easily -"]

I am sorry, y'know. I didn't want to have to do this. [Greed's tone drops. The look on his face should say it all. The drag of his mouth sags on his lip, the hum in his eyes dials to a simmer. The former homunculus extends his neck and as his sunglasses sink into his collar, he traces his laced-in fingers to the side of the skull. The first tap loosens a quiver of ash from his horns. It ribbons about his wrist like a promise. A reminder of who he is, who they are, wrapped to a thin, choking noose. The Sin hesitates; leaving the seconds, the minutes, to a midnight's countdown.]

[A moment, and Greed knocks the side of his head a second time. He slurs his last word - the sound as strung out and drawn as hypnotist, obliterating consciousness:]

Xerxes.

[Stocke waits, unblinking and unflinching. Through the crackle of glass under the Sin's boots, and the press of fire's heat, so tangible it's nearly a wall - he doesn't step away, but nor does he step closer.]

['I really wish I could believe you,' and he dips his head, eyes falling shut. His tendrils curl to a halt, but - no, this way's for the better. He's deathly still, bracing himself.]

[Whatever he's expecting, it's not that word.]

[The shade's head snaps up, expression subtly between startled and confused - he doesn't know what happened in his own head, that time the Fourth God cracked everyone's open. He feels like he should recognize it, and yet -]

[Then he winces, one hand - shards of glass and all - rising to the side of his head. There's a flicker of shadow-black over all of his skin, even that which was shapeshifted to look human, as something clicks. (Something very like a key.)]

[...Stocke is getting really tired of having his head messed with today. Though this version's vastly preferable to the other one; he can feel Greed shook something loose, but it's still better than the Hyde. Bubbling deep underneath, his resignation's burning into anger - he wants to hunt down Dante, hunt down the lab that started all this, most of all hunt down the Hyde he can't reach because it's inside him -]

[- but he owes the boss first, yeah?]

[Absently, the shade shakes off his solid, human form, rising into the air. Glass splinters and shards drop from his hands, suddenly nothing for them to grip; Stocke lifts hands in front of him again, four eyes narrowing at the streams of smoke-blood flowing up. He extends an over-long white tongue, running it over the cuts to seal them shut.]

Hey, boss. Good to see you again. [Again? Why again? Stocke can't tell without the memories of his dreamscape, but it feels right to say. Either way, his voice now's more static than not.] Not sure if this'll take care of - [Telekinesis stirs the remnants of the syringe below. That. Still, the shade half-grins as he cuts off, jagged. That's fine. If this... looseness is what it takes Greed to trust that it's him, he can live with that - they'll screw his Hyde over, figure out some way to get him to stick monster, and then -]

[...then, why doesn't he stay this way? It's a lot better than Stocke usually feels.]

[The shade's hovering with his face above the Sin's eye level right now - he folds forward to match it, claws dangling lazily. For some reason, his gaze follows Greed's earring for a moment before returning to the Sin's face.]

[The chillness in his glance, the distance: it should say it all. Greed's frown is absent and distasteful; the image more similar to that of a sinner, accepting judgement's final call. The former homunculus takes one more step forward and as the glass splinters and broken shards see themselves through, he doesn't bother watching them. Instead, they collapse to the ground in a tnk'ling twitter. The ricochet of a mirror, broken in a fit.]

["Sorry to keep you waiting - "]

["-this isn't me trying to make it up to you."]

[Greed eyes arch upward. They're still in their focus: a deadly encounter and Lord, Lord, even the devil has his breaking point. Because this isn't the first time someone's tried to take what's rightfully his and Stocke's been the brunt of it. It's been repeated again and again, effort for effort. An attack on his very want, hitting him like that of a railroad spike, shoved to pin him down for good. The Sin's upper lip curls back and as his teeth claw their way forward, the lamp in Li's window suddenly brightens. The flame running high, uncontrolled, until its life quickly burns out.] Didn't give me much of a choice. [He starts in. Deep, is his tone. His voice more similar to that of a monstrous pit, cracking the earth. No, they didn't give him much choice. Whoever designed the cure had a purpose and while he probably wasn't the intended target, the end result - ]

[Greed's teeth grind and in the back of his jaw, something clicks out of place. A stray spark ping-pongs between his cheeks. It bounces from one side, races to the other; the devil's tennis match and now, now, now, now.]

[The ball's in his court.]

[The former homunculus shakes his head, clearing the fog.] Don't remember it, do you? Back then - [The stretch of his words is dreamy and tired. The exhaustion as drawling as time itself, watching the world pass it by. Greed straightens his neck and when his eyes meet white-socket static, he immediately swings his head over his shoulder. That usual smile of his turning reserved. Forced.] Wish it could have been different, but -

["-things are as they - "]

[Greed's shoulders pinch in. Ah, right. They had made an offer, hadn't they? An exchange weighed out, leveled, and equivalent to the end. The Sin closes his eyes and with a sway of his arm, he shoves his pointer finger just under the gem of his earring. It hovers above his nail in a drop of red; the poise like that of an axis and oh, could the entire world spin on the edge of his hand.] You want that, huh. Seems only right, though I can't really tell you what'll happen. [However, he can take a guess. If Xerxes calls Stocke's monster, this should be no different. An overload maybe. A desire, more so. To take, take, take, all that's been swindled away.]

[Thankfully, Stocke's already given the location. It shouldn't take them too long to deal with the rest.]

[A drop, and the Sin fans out his hand. The way he holds himself is poised. His very image that of the devil, holding out for the handshake.] Three times should do it. [As if to demonstrate, he raps his nail against the earring.] I can't promise it'll be too pleasant. Hope you won't hold it against me. [A pause. Greed swallows against his throat. The gloom of smog trapped in his gullet hushes between the plates his scales. It filters out, hovers around. A dead-chimney's last exhale minutes, seconds, before the scheduled demolition.]

[Because if there's anyone who could, it would be one of his, wouldn't it. One of his, pulling, pushing, to complete the bargain.]

[And truly, he wouldn't have it any other way.]

[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.]

["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.]

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