Daylight, sunshine: they didn't matter to him, not in the grand scheme of things. He did his business under the moon and finished it by the time dawn decided to rear its lazy, lapping head. Even in this place, he kept to the dankest corners; the small recesses, crooks, and dead-ends, a sanctuary from the impending, fiery morning.
"It's like he's allergic to the sun - "
He didn't have to guess how that rumor came to be.
Which was why it was so surprising when the door opened, revealing, almost ironically, a man so completely the opposite. Rosch stood not as a soldier, but as an engulfing eclipse, righteous to the very core. The Sinner noted the lack of face-plate, another irregularity. Something was different. What that was, well -
Greed's lips cracked beneath the shady brim of his hat. "Is that right?" The silver-slick wheels of his spurs rolled lethargically at the backs of his heels. Splayed out the way he was (legs outstretched on the nearest littered table, feet V(ed) in opposite directions), the metal pieces took on a particularly dangerous edge; the faintest wink of the afternoon highlighting their mud.
Then again, mud, grime: they were the natural state of things.
The Robber's wrist twisted and with it, his overgrown nails flicked away from the stitch of his hat. Thwk. "-not that I'm about to deny you, friend. But I thought you made yourself pretty clear last time." Greed dragged one of his boots off the table, leaving behind a rusty cake of graveyard dirt and clay. He dredged his hands deep into his pockets. One, two. Then, up he was - his whole body moving as one. A terrible, twisted angulation of all his long, long years.
Everything had a price. His was just a different kind of steep.
Greed snapped his tongue. "So-" He lifted his chin. Despite the coverage of his hat, despite all the trinkets and bones that shook beneath his jacket, it was that look that gave him away. The shine in his eyes was tainted, unearthly; like a smoking crystal ball, shaping, turning, coiling, to gift a man his fate. A piano playing in the background abruptly stopped and the keys choked in awkward dissonance.
LATE AS ALL HELL BUT
"It's like he's allergic to the sun - "
He didn't have to guess how that rumor came to be.
Which was why it was so surprising when the door opened, revealing, almost ironically, a man so completely the opposite. Rosch stood not as a soldier, but as an engulfing eclipse, righteous to the very core. The Sinner noted the lack of face-plate, another irregularity. Something was different. What that was, well -
Greed's lips cracked beneath the shady brim of his hat. "Is that right?" The silver-slick wheels of his spurs rolled lethargically at the backs of his heels. Splayed out the way he was (legs outstretched on the nearest littered table, feet V(ed) in opposite directions), the metal pieces took on a particularly dangerous edge; the faintest wink of the afternoon highlighting their mud.
Then again, mud, grime: they were the natural state of things.
The Robber's wrist twisted and with it, his overgrown nails flicked away from the stitch of his hat. Thwk. "-not that I'm about to deny you, friend. But I thought you made yourself pretty clear last time." Greed dragged one of his boots off the table, leaving behind a rusty cake of graveyard dirt and clay. He dredged his hands deep into his pockets. One, two. Then, up he was - his whole body moving as one. A terrible, twisted angulation of all his long, long years.
Everything had a price. His was just a different kind of steep.
Greed snapped his tongue. "So-" He lifted his chin. Despite the coverage of his hat, despite all the trinkets and bones that shook beneath his jacket, it was that look that gave him away. The shine in his eyes was tainted, unearthly; like a smoking crystal ball, shaping, turning, coiling, to gift a man his fate. A piano playing in the background abruptly stopped and the keys choked in awkward dissonance.
The Robber lit his pipe.
"-what can I do for you?"