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[nestingdevil]

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Ryslig

[surfacereaper]

Arthur stirs awake when his nose hits something padded. He blinks in confusion as he lays in the darkness before reaching out to touch his surroundings. It was compact, not very comfortable and felt very similar to the time he woke up in a grave. He recalls speaking to Sandrath and something involving him taking care of things.

A wave of panic takes over Arthur as he bangs on the lid and calls out, "San! Open up! This isn't funny! San!?"
There was no response and the former paramedic was forced to take things in to his own hands. He starts shifting inside of the coffin, trying to find a weak spot or some opening on a side.

After a few minutes of struggling, the coffin spills out on to the floor and Arthur pushes the lid open. He slowly sits up and takes several calming, deep breaths before scanning the unfamiliar room around him. This wasn't the place he spoke to San, before everything went numb and he lost consciousness. Where was he now and what happened to Sandrath?

A sudden chill in the air makes him realize that he was naked and his paramedic uniform was no where to be found. He quickly raises himself out of the coffin and moves to the closest wardrobe. As he opens the door, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and notices that the scars he had before were no longer there. Odd. His attention shifts to the clothes that were hanging up inside. They were a little big in a couple of areas but they would do for now.

Once Arthur was fully dressed and procured some shoes, he leaves the room and finds himself in what looks like an apartment hallway. He closes the door behind him before venturing downstairs and out the main door to the street.

The sights, sounds and smells that greeted him were vastly different from the port town of Vandare. Various people and beings were freely walking the streets and interacting with each other with little to no hostility. It was still a weird thing for Arthur, he thought supernatural beings and creatures only existed in literature (with a few exceptions).

The former paramedic was unsure on where to go and didn't want to approach or bother anyone with animal features. So, he approaches someone who looks to be mostly human and gets directions to a bar called the Devil's Nest as well as the name of the owner.

Several minutes later, he passes through the establishment's doors and makes his way to the counter.

"Excuse me. Can you help me? I'm looking for someone known as 'Greed'."

LATE AS ALL AND APOLOGIES ALL 'ROUND ...

[nestingdevil]

Smoke drifts along the bar-top as subtle as an anonymous kiss. It dives and twirls, dances and twists; its playful banter, continuously held and manipulated by a none-too-holy hand. Greed pulls his fingers. The collection of bar-side candles stand, then; their flames, like well-bred soldiers, coming to a General's attention. It's a secret, the way the fire teases against the tips of his claws. An unspoken agreement known here, known elsewhere, and ah, doesn't the devil make for a strange bed fellow?

Maybe so. Yet in Djävulenstad, it's the status quo.

Another, nameless patron slumps over and as his hand makes its last-call spread across the counter, the former homunculus perks at the sound. Being called isn't uncommon; being sought out, even more so. The very nature of who and what he is dictates it. An integral piece, dialing in avarice's would-be digits.

Still -

The Sin visibly traces out the backs of his teeth. Immediately, a stroke of Hellfire roasts behind them; his internal temperature, cooking his piling set a soft, milk-yellow fume. "You've found him," he replies and two of his fingers swipe over his throat. The purr stuck in the back of his gullet illustrates itself like a bright, burning star. Soft red, orange, then white, white, white. Greed's eyes flutter behind his sunglasses. He unabashedly marks out Arthur with a swimming flick - the slits of his eyes, more similar to that of a cat, catching a particularly interesting spot of sunshine.

"-though, the real question is: what can I do for you, exactly?" The former homunculus leans his elbow across the bar. He sticks his thumb out. "Ah, but before that, I guess it would help if I got a name, hmn? Since you already know mine." A pinch of his thumb and forefinger extinguishes one of the candles nearby and the wick squeezes catch-blue smoke across his skin. New comers aren't so much a surprise: faces enter, faces leave.

It doesn't mean, however, that he isn't interested.

Whatever gusto the patron had before drains and while he topples in a parade of knocked-over glasses and spilling beer, Greed's lips cinch together as tight as a hardwired stitch. He snaps his finger and the line of sloshed booze quickly evaporates off the bar top. "Gunna guess you're new - that right?" Slurring, the Sin arches one of his eyebrows. It creases up his forehead to reach the bulk of his horns; their base, a wall by any other means, stopping his force. "Why don't you have a seat? I'm sure you and I have a lot we could talk about."

An empty glass appears in his hand, the bottom of it flips, and as the Sin lays it out on a fresh napkin, the ends of the paper turn up on themselves. A devil's X, waiting for a signature.

Because oh, oh, oh, oh, does it only take a name.

S'ok

[surfacereaper]

Arthur's attention shifts to the patron beside him, making sure the person didn't stumble and hurt themselves on the counter. He wasn't on duty, but he couldn't help himself from helping others if they need it.

His gaze moves to the demon barkeeper (who certainly fit the theme of the bar) and blinks in surprise at the colorful spectacle from the other being's throat. He didn't know if Greed was showing off or if it meant a certain emotion. A part of him wished he had spent more time interacting with supernatural beings instead of keeping his distance and not relying on information from Sandrath that might be true or false.

Just as he is about to answer, the patron from before collapses on the bar and causes a noisy mess. Arthur reaches over to check on them as Greed simply snaps his fingers -- claws to dispose of the spill. The motion reminded him of a certain archangel with the same ability. Thankfully, the patron was fine and would probably wake to a bruise along with a hangover.

This wasn't the kind of introduction or welcome he was expecting but he would have to deal. With a quiet sigh, Arthur takes a seat and shakes his head towards the glass before him.

"Arthur and I don't need a drink." He states, well aware of the effect booze has him and even if he wanted one, he couldn't afford it at the moment. Plus San warned him in the past about not making deals or owing a debt to a demon.

As for Greed's question about being new, he wasn't sure how to answer it. If this place was near or on the same peninsula as Vandare, then it would be a no and a bit awkward to explain. For now, his focus was on the confirmation of a certain person.

"Do you happen to know a man who goes by San--" He stops himself, recalling that Sandrath was going by another name. "Xan. I meant Xander."