The tone on the tip of his tongue laces in sweet honey-suckle and LA humidity. Even with all the distractions (the glimmer of lights, sparking off both dance floor and bodies alike; the flip and sway of vibrant jewelry catching neon, only to toss it right back), the point of his gaze seems to slice right through. It's still; stagnant. His look, more similar to the headlamps of a truck, splitting the night's highway wide, wide, wide.
Greed touches his chin; his too-long nail, scraping the sprouts of a four o'clock shadow. A wash of gas-line blue slips across his face and as the flooding color moves its way across the establishment, the smile on his lips - it stretches above his hand, toothy and wide. A great white shark's intent, promising more than just a bite.
"You've certainly got a reputation, friend." He starts, his fingers all but fanning along his jawline. To say he's coated would be an understatement. A collection of rings piles atop his knuckles in rich stones and heavy metals; a king's bounty, wordlessly drawing out its terms. Los Angeles has a reputation. Crime, illegal activities, questionable dealings - they're par for the course. But here? Here, he's at the top of it all; a jagged face, crooked and sly, pulling the odds forever in his favor. The man shrinks his lips and as the cruel-sharp tips of his teeth recede, he gives Kaito a slow-look over. He traces his shoulder, his throat - the slight tease of skin, poking out of his collar. It's almost as if he can see right through. As if he's watching for a pulse, as if he's counting the other's soul, beat by beat.
Greed reaches inside the silk of his shirt. "Rumor has it you're looking for a Horseman's card - is that right?" Both of his eyebrows curl above his sunglasses - a devil's horns in plain sight. "They aren't easy to come by, y'know," humming, the man lazily sags in his seat. The card pinched between his fingers slicks black against his skin. "- and they certainly don't come free. If you want this, then you're going to have to do me a little favor. Sound fair?" While he talks, the brunt of his wrist turns counterclockwise. It causes the hard-paper to tease under the swelling shadows like a precious diamond. One that's been locked away, that's been secured, that's been wantonly displayed in case of bullet-proof glass, so, so tempting.
Snck, and the Sin's movements freeze to a switch-blade's point. "Elias the Fourth - ever heard of him?" He doesn't bother looking at Kaito while he asks. Instead, his attention focuses on their mutual object of affection - the card's edges, reflecting white in his shades. The name should be familiar enough. Elias the Fourth, his world-wide computer operation - there's enough money passing through the business to catch anyone's eye. Enough intel to make anyone curious. And while money is key, while cash is king, information? Well.
There's value in words, isn't there?
Greed's eyes slide behind his sunglasses; a serpent's cool assessment. "He's holding a gala with the Mayor in two days. He plans on presenting something - a new project. I want you to find out what it is." He doesn't elaborate, nor does he have to. The intention is as clear as it is silent. A wordless addition:
"I want you to steal it."
A pack of cigarettes appears from his pocket. Greed coolly dips his head, snagging one by the filter. "There's a briefcase being delivered three hours before. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that'll it be going through the usual security measures. Get it, and this is all yours." As if to make his point, the Sin loosely sends the card through his fingers. It flips over his knuckles, dives under his palm - his look, like that of a magician, delighting a crowd. "I'll have one of mine fill you in on the details. Dol -," he purrs, distractedly. The man next to him perks a second later - the pipe clenched in his jaw, hanging in the breath of a freshly-struck match.
"Make sure our friend here has everything he needs, would you?" Lifting his chin, Greed purposely shows off his throat. The tangles of gold strung about his neck slither, then. They dive inside the open part of his shirt like slippery sweat; their slide, more similar to the nails of a woman, tracing him out. Dolcetto quietly lights his pipe and as he shakes the match, the small of his back tiredly peels off the side of the couch. Whether the Sin notices or not, he doesn't say. The trinket in his hand sticks against his thumb and with a light toss, he sends the card spinning across the top of the coffee table.
"That's yours, when it's done. Now, I think that's a pretty fair deal, don't you?" Greed adjusts his foot. The bottom of his heel seals the card to the table's surface - forcing the tip of his boot shooting sky-high. "And if it doesn't work, well."
The Sin licks his lower lip, showing his teeth a second time. "I'm sure we could figure something out."
➥ THE DEVIL'S NEST | 1980s Lingo | Closed to Kaito
The tone on the tip of his tongue laces in sweet honey-suckle and LA humidity. Even with all the distractions (the glimmer of lights, sparking off both dance floor and bodies alike; the flip and sway of vibrant jewelry catching neon, only to toss it right back), the point of his gaze seems to slice right through. It's still; stagnant. His look, more similar to the headlamps of a truck, splitting the night's highway wide, wide, wide.
Greed touches his chin; his too-long nail, scraping the sprouts of a four o'clock shadow. A wash of gas-line blue slips across his face and as the flooding color moves its way across the establishment, the smile on his lips - it stretches above his hand, toothy and wide. A great white shark's intent, promising more than just a bite.
"You've certainly got a reputation, friend." He starts, his fingers all but fanning along his jawline. To say he's coated would be an understatement. A collection of rings piles atop his knuckles in rich stones and heavy metals; a king's bounty, wordlessly drawing out its terms. Los Angeles has a reputation. Crime, illegal activities, questionable dealings - they're par for the course. But here? Here, he's at the top of it all; a jagged face, crooked and sly, pulling the odds forever in his favor. The man shrinks his lips and as the cruel-sharp tips of his teeth recede, he gives Kaito a slow-look over. He traces his shoulder, his throat - the slight tease of skin, poking out of his collar. It's almost as if he can see right through. As if he's watching for a pulse, as if he's counting the other's soul, beat by beat.
Greed reaches inside the silk of his shirt. "Rumor has it you're looking for a Horseman's card - is that right?" Both of his eyebrows curl above his sunglasses - a devil's horns in plain sight. "They aren't easy to come by, y'know," humming, the man lazily sags in his seat. The card pinched between his fingers slicks black against his skin. "- and they certainly don't come free. If you want this, then you're going to have to do me a little favor. Sound fair?" While he talks, the brunt of his wrist turns counterclockwise. It causes the hard-paper to tease under the swelling shadows like a precious diamond. One that's been locked away, that's been secured, that's been wantonly displayed in case of bullet-proof glass, so, so tempting.
Snck, and the Sin's movements freeze to a switch-blade's point. "Elias the Fourth - ever heard of him?" He doesn't bother looking at Kaito while he asks. Instead, his attention focuses on their mutual object of affection - the card's edges, reflecting white in his shades. The name should be familiar enough. Elias the Fourth, his world-wide computer operation - there's enough money passing through the business to catch anyone's eye. Enough intel to make anyone curious. And while money is key, while cash is king, information? Well.
There's value in words, isn't there?
Greed's eyes slide behind his sunglasses; a serpent's cool assessment. "He's holding a gala with the Mayor in two days. He plans on presenting something - a new project. I want you to find out what it is." He doesn't elaborate, nor does he have to. The intention is as clear as it is silent. A wordless addition:
"I want you to steal it."
A pack of cigarettes appears from his pocket. Greed coolly dips his head, snagging one by the filter. "There's a briefcase being delivered three hours before. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that'll it be going through the usual security measures. Get it, and this is all yours." As if to make his point, the Sin loosely sends the card through his fingers. It flips over his knuckles, dives under his palm - his look, like that of a magician, delighting a crowd. "I'll have one of mine fill you in on the details. Dol -," he purrs, distractedly. The man next to him perks a second later - the pipe clenched in his jaw, hanging in the breath of a freshly-struck match.
"Make sure our friend here has everything he needs, would you?" Lifting his chin, Greed purposely shows off his throat. The tangles of gold strung about his neck slither, then. They dive inside the open part of his shirt like slippery sweat; their slide, more similar to the nails of a woman, tracing him out. Dolcetto quietly lights his pipe and as he shakes the match, the small of his back tiredly peels off the side of the couch. Whether the Sin notices or not, he doesn't say. The trinket in his hand sticks against his thumb and with a light toss, he sends the card spinning across the top of the coffee table.
"That's yours, when it's done. Now, I think that's a pretty fair deal, don't you?" Greed adjusts his foot. The bottom of his heel seals the card to the table's surface - forcing the tip of his boot shooting sky-high. "And if it doesn't work, well."
The Sin licks his lower lip, showing his teeth a second time. "I'm sure we could figure something out."