nestingdevil | (no subject)

(no subject)

Open PSLs | Just throw up a subject line and GO FOR IT! All's green!

"You, lovely - you can call me, Greed."

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."

Kaito slides warm, nervous palms into the pockets of his slacks. Blossom hadn't been kidding - these are stakes high enough to send any pro slinking back into their gilded holes. But the prize? If he can pull this off, it'll be worth every penny. He had come to make a name for himself. There's no better way to do it than by this.

He pointedly ignores the card save for a cursory glance as it stills on the table. Many a thief's downfall has come because they focused too hard on the reward and forgot to look at the crumbling edge beneath their feet. He's more than that. He hasn't climbed his way here inch by clever inch to be thrown off the precipice at the very end. There's more than money riding on the outcome of his thefts now: there's pride. That card? It may as well be Elias' briefcase now. The whys and wherefores don't matter. Only the process and the result.

His gaze slides to Greed's companion, Dolcetto, a cool and calculating front to cover the low-key anxiety he always gets with the anticipation of a big score. It's the only feeling which reminds him he's still human these days.

"That won't be necessary," he says calmly, flashing Greed a confident smirk in return. "I'll either get that briefcase...or I won't."

Kaito doesn't believe in running. You choose this life, you bet everything you have on it. There's no second chances in this game.

A hint of interest perks behind the Sin's shades. It'd be an easy miss for most; the subtle tick of his eyebrow, the way his eye seems to spin and swell like an ocean current, spinning down the remnants of a ship. Greed's mouth creases. A part of his lip yanks jaggedly to the side - its thin peel, a sharp reckoning of understanding.

Kaito will either get the briefcase or he won't. There is no in between.

"Usually, that's not how it works. But if that's what you want - " A single, audaciously curated nail touches down his chin, feeling out a link of chain. "-ha! I guess who am I to stop you, right? I like you, kid." He snaps his finger below the shelf of his chin, making his gold rings shine glitter to his throat. "Dolcetto here will have everything you need sent to your address. 205 Derby Lane, right?" Greed's brows knowingly bow together; their touch, a secret nod without the need of conversation:

"I know where you live, I know where you are. So, sweetheart, running just ain't an option."

"You'll find the rest by tomorrow morning. Don't bother waiting up for it," the Sin waves his hand and Dolcetto disappears behind a length of curtain. The weight of it drops at the backside of the lounge as hefty as a judge's gavel. "And I wouldn't try to trace the car either, if I were you. Those that work for me - they're friendly enough. But I'm sure even you understand how it is." Slumping, he casually pulls a fresh cigarette out from the hem of his pants. He taps it tip-down against his hip; once, twice. "No need to make things more complicated than they have to be. Besides, you get what you want, I get what I want. Everything else - " Fwwwhoosh. A match lights off the side of his boot and as the Sin's arm moves, the flame pulls with it - the gesture, more similar to a line of gasoline, licking up the heat.

Greed briskly tugs at the filter and his teeth lace in thick clouds of white, drifting smoke. "-ah, it doesn't really matter, does it." It's not a question. The who(s) and what(s) of the operation: their depth is an afterthought. Because this is how the underworld works, how it's always worked. Names are cheap, faces are cheaper, and at the end of the day, worth? Ah, worth.

Does it come directly on reputation.

The Sin shakes his wrist and the match cools to a dark, pitch-fire dim. "Now, unless there's anything else I can do for you," he trails, questioningly. Of course, Kaito could press him more. He could shake him for details. Yet, somehow -

Both of his heels glide back onto the table. Clck, clck. "Expect a visit sometime between now and then. One of mine will give you the ticket you'll need to get into the event." Greed flattens his shoulders back, forcing his chest to expose itself. "And Kaito?" He inhales and the tip of his cigarette slowly churns red, red, red.

"It's been a pleasure."

He nods along amicably enough, silently adjusting plans to do exactly what Greed warns him away from. It's the nature of this business to doubt, protect one's interests, cull dangerous variables from the equation. Does he trust this guy to keep his word? Sure - insofar as they both want something only the other can provide. Only a fool offers trust blindly. Even a hare does not walk straight into the wolf's jaws. He will play the game, but if the man thinks he isn't going to do at least some superficial digging, well... He isn't much of a thief then, is he?

He'll wait though. He'll walk out of whatever circle of hell this underground club sits in, wait for the promised delivery and contact, and then he'll set his little birds searching: stray city pigeons no-one looks twice at, friends who won't betray your trust outside a handful of seed. Plentiful. Expendable. With any luck, they'll have something for him by the time he returns from the mayor's little gala.

He does not allow the thought that he might fail to enter his mind.

The one called Dolcetto sends him ample resources, as promised. He buries himself in his work over the next day or so. The mayoral building is one he has examined before, and these updated blueprints tell him that very little has changed for the event. As ever, the true problem is--

"Security," he breathes.

There's not much time. Two days? He'd rather two weeks, or two months even to set up a truly infallible entrance and exit. But two days is all he has and so two days will have to suffice. Greed's man may have provided the tools, but theft is an art - you can hand any amateur a brush and oils and tell them to paint, but that won't give you a masterpiece.

He assembles his plan, sets his alarm, heads to bed for a solid six hours before his planned departure. He wants to be sharp when he wakes, not lethargic.

Shit.

It's always the unpredictable variables which send a plan spinning into a nosedive.

A child - the mayor's youngest daughter - wandering where she shouldn't, slipped out of sight of her caretakers. A protestor, disrupting the patrols. A guard, running into the men's bathroom for an urgent bowel movement and encountering him mid-disguise. Elias, fastidious turd that he is, immediately ordering a search when word reaches him of a man missing.

And Kaito, spotted with the metal briefcase in hand, when it should have been on its way back to Elias' corporation under heavy guard.

So much for the false prop he had left them with.

They open fire at him as he flees. Things going wrong is nothing new to him. He stays calm while he follows memorised routes through the building, dodging startled workers with graceful ease. He can see the window he plans to vault through and puts on a burst of speed, relief flaring in his chest. Almost there--!

A bullet ricochets and strikes the arm holding the case. He yelps and stumbles, the case landing heavily. For one panicked moment he considers turning back to snatch it up, but he cannot save himself without one good arm to climb. And so he grits his teeth and dives out the window to a hail of gunfire, ducking out of sight amongst the twisted, filthy alleyways of the city.

His bleeding arm leaves a damning trail, and so his first priority is to bind it before he returns to the streets. But all the while his thoughts churn under the horror of his failure. He can't return to his apartment; Greed knows his address.

Shit, he thinks, driving a fist into the nearby wall and getting nothing but aching, bloodied knuckles for his trouble. Shit...!

News travels fast, not by print of paper, but by simple word of mouth. For him, it had been a text; a reserved line, scrubbed out and dialed to the other side of a burner phone.

all cashiers are needed up front
bird with a broken wing

Greed flips his phone closed. He uses his thumb nail to drive out the SIM card - the silent pop, shooting it loose into his hand. A simple application of pressure does the rest and while the thin, metal plate snaps in half, the Sin unwinds himself from his slouch. He snatches his keys from the nearest table with a quick-jerk twist; the assorted set, opening like a toothy, industrialized fan.

The 'strip is already a'buzz by the time he rolls up. Red and blue flashers blink like a beauty's lashes, intent on painting the town; a few guests usher themselves into their lifts. Greed switches the headlamps from on to off, making his car disappear in the dark. He knows these streets, these back-alleys and complicated turns, like the brand permanently inked across his knuckles. And the fuzz? They're predictable. If he makes this quick, he can smuggle his would-be sparrow out before anyone even notices.

Finding him is the hard part.

His rear, fat-bottom tires roll through a puddle's slick. Switching gears from drive to neutral had been a smart move. The engine's too loud - the pipes, too smoldering. Greed nudges the emergency brake to the floor with the tip of his boot, pressing it into place. The car holds, then; its quiet heat, sighing through the hood's brim. The whine from the door is quiet against the screams of sirens and confusion, so he takes a moment. Takes his time. The curve of his back nesting, coiling, against framework steel and 400 horses worth of power.

He hooks his ankles together, dipping his chin just enough to nip the tip of a cigarette, fresh from a pack. He cranks his lighter once, a second time. It's his best at crude signal - one that could go unnoticed, unseen, by all the goings-on.

Here's the last stop.

He shrinks into the shadows when he sees the headlights flash by, cutting the corners of the rubble and refuse in the alley into sharp, monochrome panels. Everything aches his knuckles, his arm, his pride. But he'll face worse if he allows himself to be caught now.

Imagine the stories they'll whisper of him. The great thief who flew too high and burned his wings.

But just as he's hunkering down behind a pile of trash, hoping, praying the car passes on...the headlights switch off, the engine sighs and goes quiet. He can barely hear it over the sirens. Kaito freezes then, heart hammering away in his chest as his worst fears take sudden hold. What had given him away? No, stay calm. They're probably just checking the vicinity. Being thorough and all that.

Agonising minutes pass. No-one disembarks. The car continues to thrum quietly - as though waiting for something. Someone.

He shouldn't peek out. If it's a waiting game they want to play, then he is damn well going to win it. Yet...

Kaito swallows, leans over cautiously to peek at the car. Wait - isn't that--?

His breath catches. He can see the dim glow of their cigarette, the firefly glow of embers as sin burns through smoke. Is it...safe? Kaito weighs his choices. Weighs the costs. Makes his decision to bolt towards the car and slip into the back seat, door shutting with a muted thud on what he hopes won't be the final chapter of his short life. He can't make himself look at the rear view mirror. He's fucked up the best opportunity of his life and everything - everything - in this world has its price.

And it's there that he waits: in the moment of soft steel clicking together, in the stutter of another rain shower ushering in with a single, sly drop against his forehead. He's not thrilled with the added company. There are cops in every direction, there are faces in the crowd itching to get a look-see. So instead of picking up the pace, he lingers; the choice seconds burning beyond his fingers in the form of a last-call cigarette.

Greed sucks at the space between his teeth and a ribbon of smoke wraps itself around his tongue. With a flick of his finger, he skips what's left of the cigarette into a nearby puddle, extinguishing it permanently. The scenario he's in is a coin toss of the greatest degree. On one hand, he should hurry. On the other, if he makes one, wrong move -

The points of his nails find the driver-side door handle and, with a shallow shrug, he dips inside; the well-worn leather, barely making a sound. Greed shuts the door with a whispered thud. No, if he guns it, there's more than just a couple of jail bars the two of them will have to deal with. The courts in this town don't take kindly to anyone that doesn't have a named building or a corporate slogan lit up in a hundred-thousand volts. And while he has his own, particular brand, his form of currency?

It's not taken Uptown.

Greed grips the rear-view mirror with his thumb and index, cocking it slightly and flipping it to a sharp shine. "Sorry, but you're going to have to lay low for a bit, friend. You've got a lot of eyes lookin' for ya and I'm really not interested in the added trouble. Nothing personal." He pauses, allowing his eyes to reflect like fool's diamonds in the mirror's silver-side surface. Something beneath his seat utters a soft clck when he adjusts it and as he twists the key to roll over the engine, the Sinner man gently eases the car in reverse.

"Still with me, kid?" Greed cranes his neck and elbow over the back of his seat. He almost makes it a point to watch the road rather than the man in question. Kaito's physically hurt, that much he's sure. His pride, on the other hand, is probably in tatters; the pieces of it more similar to window meeting the swinging-side of a steel baseball bat. However, there are worse fates. And a shoot out with the law?

That's beyond any damaged pride.

The back of the Mustang takes a smooth curve outward, forcing the nose into a wide, crescent-moon arch. Greed adjusts the mirror back down as he cuts the wheel. Thankfully, most of the crowd has moved to the epicenter and the traffic this far back is minimal. Greed drops one of his hands to the top of the steering wheel. "Once we hit the city line, you're free to move. Just hold out until then, hmn? Would be a bit of a waste if you decided to die on me back there."

Rumbling like a hungry beast, the car grunts its way out of the alley and onto the main street. Blips of blues, reds, and headlamp-yellows pop off from behind, splashing the windows as bright as shattered Christmas lights. Greed casually avoids them, even turning and shifting as another news van screams by to join the pack.

"Ten minutes until we hit the freeway," the Sin slurs. Lazily, he forces the gear-shift up, inching the speedometer: 25, 30, 45, 50 miles per hour. In the same motion, he snares the lip of his folded-over sunglasses and instinctively waves them open - their resulting swing like that of a Xingese fan, cracked for attention.

Greed bows his head to shove them over his eyes. "What, did you think I was going to kill you? It wasn't a sure-fire operation, kid. Give yourself some slack," he puckers his lip, feeling it with his teeth. "-besides, what's the point? Elias isn't exactly easy pickings and you dead isn't worth the price. Better to get out of there when you had the chance. Ah, well - " He trails off, the tips of his fingers drumming as if to finish what he had to say.

"Won't take long to get to the 'Nest from here. Sit tight."

The thief nods wordlessly, still refusing to lift his head as the car pulls into reverse and gently coasts away from the scene. He sinks down beneath the window so the flashing lights can't catch his silhouette, nursing his injured arm without any outward indication of the pain it must be in. In spite of everything, he dares to begin to hope that he may, at least, survive the night. Either that or he's being driven elsewhere to be 'taken care of' - and not in the benign sense.

A good dose of paranoia keeps one alive in this business. Greed ought to know that as well as anyone else. It's especially true of thieves, for whom self-interest is a guiding force. Even when working as a group for a score, one never trusts the rest with anything but a name (sometimes faked) and burner number.

Once they near the freeway he finally stirs. He pushes himself back upright and hesitantly meets the Sin's gaze in the mirror.

"Lotta people don't give second chances," he mutters. "They don't want the ones they've hired to blab about whose money they took. Murder can be covered up but reputation's tarnished for life."

He stares out the window and watches the lights flicker past. He's had a few setbacks in his career, for sure, but nothing so disastrous as this. He'd gotten too cocky.

"...What're you gonna do with me?" he eventually asks. It's long practice which keeps his voice steady. "You're not gonna ask me to try again, are you?"

"I'm not a 'lotta people." Smoke peels off his lip like hot, Florida sweat. Inside the belly of the car, the puffs from his nose form cloudy shapes lit up in oranges and reds bleeding from the dash. Greed's ring-wrapped knuckles play with the knob of his clutch. There's a lot he could say to that fact: that he isn't even remotely like anyone else in the city, that he runs the under-dark not with a fist, but with a beckoning, crooked-claw hand. However, the conversation seems meaningless at a time like this. Especially when his passenger's a fraction hair away from months in a cast.

The streetlights lining the highway race the hood of the 'Stang, giving it a touch of silver-sun pickup. "What?" The man's body subtly straightens, alert. Kaito's question almost makes him do a double-take. Murder has not and has never been on the table, though he supposes that rumors and reputation can easily muddy themselves overtime. He looks the part, acts the part, screams the part with every inch of his skin. And maybe, at some point, he pulled the trigger; dug the knife. He's been around long enough to see his fair share. To say his hands are clean?

Well, that's a dirty fucking lie now, isn't it?

Greed's arm wanders around the back of the passenger seat, allowing his fingers to roam curves of worn, well-loved leather. "That's pretty harsh. Who do you think I am, exactly?" His thumb spreads and the collection of rings along his hand drink in the nightlife like a window, soaking in the light. The sinnerman makes an odd noise in the back of his throat (something between a click and a sigh) before tapping his index finger on the window. "If I really wanted you dead, which I don't, I would have already done it already. Nevermind the fact that that really isn't my style."

"No - " Greed twists his cigarette atop the points of his teeth, shoving it into the left corner of his mouth. "-Martel's already got the 'doc on call. Once we're at the 'Nest, he'll give you what you need. Better to avoid the ER anywhere within thirty miles right now." As much as he talks, he speaks a lot more with his hands. They wave and sway; dip and dive. It's as if all the missing pieces of the conversation are living between those moments - the silent gestures and fly fidgets, all but eluding to things left unsaid.

Wrrrfffpphsh: the driver's window, rolling down. Greed flicks his cigarette out and a spit of sparks clatters along the fast-moving road. "Someone tipped you off. Can't say who, but I've got my ideas." Kimbley, AM, just to name a few. "The fact that you even made it out is good enough for me. We - " He pauses, corrects himself. "-you didn't stand a chance. Learned about it after the fact. Well, the rumor anyway." Greed tilts his head towards the window, causing the spikes at the top of his head to whistle in the wind. The twist in his lip is missing its usual sense of humor. Instead, it's been replaced by something a bit more bitter; their tight knot, more similar to a draw string, cutting off circulation.

No, he has his guesses. He has his ideas. And when he finds out the culprit?

Oh, does Hell have a way of making someone pay.

The hood of the car slouches as he takes the next off-ramp and the speedometer slowly trickles down to something a little less haphazard. "Martel can be a bit of a pain in the ass when it comes to this kind of stuff." Greed yanks the clutch down and the vehicle's back-end lets out a throaty grumble. "She'll make sure you're takin' care of properly." The peak of the 'Nest blinks on the horizon: its red-hot lights, welcoming them home.

Greed slows the car up to the front. He pops the brake in place, cuts the engine. The keys fold into his hand a moment later like a swallowed-up pearl and with a throw of his elbow, he finally looks Kaito in the eye - his gaze meeting over the rims of his sunglasses like shark fins, circling the water. "Ah, right. Just some friendly advice. If you're thinking about being a pissant about it, don't. She'll knock you out before you even have time to think about it. There's a reason they call her The Viper."

Shadows play through the windshield, forcing elongated forms to spill into the cabin. Greed's mouth quirks. "Speak of the devil - "

"Someone tipped me off...?" he echoes. That would explain why they had come looking for the real briefcase so quickly. He had thought he would have more time even with the unexpected interruptions. It goes a small way to salvaging his stung pride, but in the end, he'd still failed to uphold his end of the deal. He lets his head loll against the window with a tired sigh. What a night this has been.

By the time they pull up, his head's starting to drift. Fading adrenaline, shock setting in, and loss of blood send his thoughts spiralling towards a black hole from whose edge he's barely stopping himself from falling into. He couldn't sass the medic even if he wanted to.

"Don' worry," he says faintly. "Met a witch doctor once...who nearly cursed me when I...tried to flip her skirt..."

He passes out before he can finish the thought.

A day or two goes by and nothing comes of the event. Least, nothing he couldn't handle personally; in the form of a few broken fingers, one fractured jaw, and someone who paid him dearly with three molars and a gold tooth. Questions, though - leads. They died as soon as the sun showed its ugly head the next day. Whoever tipped off the operation had disappeared, skipping town as cleanly and neatly as hotel's strip-room service. It's a loss, sure enough, but at the end of it? He's made his cut, called it even.

There's just, one more thing -

The door to the room swings open haphazardly, its groan a whining, haunted-house sigh. Greed tosses his keys onto the nearest pile and they hit something soft in the darkness, collapsing it in a airy, marshmallow-puffed sigh. "Y'know, you've been out for a while, friend. Almost has me thinkin' you like it here." Cheeky. The Sin's smile sharpens bright on his face, making his teeth stick out between the cracks of his lip like white-marble daggers. "Not that I'd deny you. But you never really seemed the sort - "

One of his shoulders arches, causing half of his vest to slip off his back. "It'll be a few months before you're back to normal, but the 'doc gave you the clear. Just don't do anything stupid in the meantime." Rather than look at him, the Sin purposely avoids eye contact. He distracts himself with the environment of the room instead; grabbing a pack of cigarettes off the dresser, snatching a coin from a dish, pushing away various cans and bottles with the side of his boot. Because, maybe, he does have a little guilt. After all, he had hired Kaito for the job: he should have been more thorough. More aware. More -

Greed leans towards the window, pries it open, and lights his cigarette as he halfway clambers out; his one leg firmly planting on the fire escape below. He takes a drag silently at first - the fresh hit of smoke, burning into his cheek like a long-lost lover's kiss, filling him up. "I'll give you a ride wherever you need to go. Just let me know when you're ready."

Kaito crawls unwillingly out of the oblivion he's spent the past days cradled in. The room is unfamiliar, but this is not an unusual thing for him to wake up to. What is unusual is having company whilst he's here.

He's vaguely aware of people passing in and out to check up on him. He wakes up, eats a few bites, falls back unconscious again with the room spinning, and when he opens his eyes once more there's just this dark room and tight bandages swathing his injured arm. The people Greed keeps seem to mean well, funnily enough, which is the only reason why he hasn't tried to skip out of the window at the first chance he gets (well, apart from the fact he wouldn't get too far in his condition). There's no such thing as charity in his world though, and he's acutely aware of the unspoken debt which mounts with each passing hour.

Greed's less harsh than some of the employers he's had the misfortune of working with, but Kaito's got his own code of honour to consider. One doesn't just take without giving back somehow. So when the man himself finally visits his sickbed and makes his offer, the thief opens his mouth with every intention of taking that ride out. It's not that he's ungrateful - far from it - but that's exactly the problem.

Greed's not making eye contact with him. It reads like nonchalance, but there's something else beneath it. It's that something which gives him pause.

"Aw, wanna get rid of me so soon?" he quips instead. A bit of humour to test the waters.

Edited 2020-08-06 03:57 (UTC)

A spider-line crack wrinkles at the corner of his mouth, turning up his lip and showing the barest hint of his teeth to the winking, cloud-shroud moon. Humor is easier for him to manage. The constant in(s) and out(s) of the days prior were nothing, if not daunting. Awkward, even. Kaito's shit-talker attitude is a breath of fresh air.

"Not that I'd deny you kid, but sleeping on the couch for the last couple of days has kind of put a damper on things," he hums and his arm sways out, causing his wrist to rotate wildly. One of his fingers snaps a second later - the connection of skin on skin clapping, as if to make some sort of point. As much as he does take, the Sin gives back as good as he gets. Yet, even while his lazy-lack eyes slide in the other's direction, a kind of shrill hesitation steadies in his gaze; the quick-trill glance, all but tallying up the damages like a cash register, ringing the till.

One broken arm, two possibly fractured ribs, a couple of sprained fingers, and an ankle that's seen better days.

"Will it be cash or credit, sir?"

Greed turns his eyes back onto the city; the dim slurry of another wee-hour morning waxing over his eyes like raw, painted glass. "When did you become such a pissant, anyway?" The man's shoulders shrink into his neck and without the company of his vest, he's left with nothing but the tight fit of his neck scratching shirt - one missing the sleeves, rough around the edges, and cut just enough that some of his tattoos peek out like stark, neon lines racing his skin.

The Sin grabs another cigarette from his pants pocket, pauses. "Whoever really ratted you out skipped town. Sorry we couldn't find more," he traces his teeth with the tip of his tongue while he talks; like a man mulling over a world-shattering secret. "As for our deal, consider your part paid in full. No need to make more a mess of this than it already is. Better to forget it for the time being. Now - "

Greed's signature smile lightly festers on his face, forcing itself through the cracks. "-do you want that ride, or not?"

Is this his bed? Kaito wonders with some surprise. He hadn't paid it much mind during his convalescence but now his eyes flick over the room with renewed interest. He'd love to poke around a bit (not steal; he'd never take advantage of Greed's kindness like that) but the man is right: he can't stay here forever. The cigarette smoke travels mostly outward but its acrid smell still hangs in the room. Nicotine sticks to the walls over the years no matter how hard one tries to scrub it clean. Kaito doesn't complain; he's used to it.

He carefully manoeuvres to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs over the edge. "Being a 'pissant' runs in the family I'm told," he quips back. "Ready to go whenever you are."

"Does it now," Greed's tongue wonders his mouth, stifling his voice to a scalding, fireside croon. Family traits are nothing new to him. Sure, he may not be considered part of the good ol'tree anymore and he isn't complaining, but there are habits engrained into him. Pieces he can't quite ignore.

Business is business, after all. And business?

It runs in the family.

A subtle click of his teeth and the Sin snaps up straight, his legs carrying him in a waltz better suited to a festive ghoul prancing around a cemetary. "Right. I'm sure you've got people that are worried about you. Let's get going."

He crosses the room just as quick, yanking keys, an extra pack of smokes, and a wallet that had definitely seen better days. Old notes and cards poke out of every small fray; like a book covered in notes and reminders.

"I should probably know where we're going first, shouldn't I?"

Oh, that's right. He chews his lip, mind flipping through every safe house and bolt hole within a few miles of here.

...Where IS 'here' anyway? He supposes that would be rude to ask, but the worst that Greed can do is blow him off, right?

"Um, where are we right now? I don't want to make you drive halfway across the city if I can help it," he says sheepishly.

His heel's in the lip of the door when he pauses; a man caught between one threshold and the next. Greed reaches up to the wooden frame and taps his finger against it.

"You don't know? Christ kid, I thought you would have figured it out by now." His shoulders slouch and with a swirl of his wrist, he pries his fingers loose and spins them. "We're not even near the city. Can't have trouble too close. It'll take you hours to get back."

He shoves his hands into his back pockets. "As for the exact place, sorry but that's a secret. You gave yourself away there, friend. So, you're going to have to forgive me for the next part. Nothing personal." Greed leans to the right and two of his men (though men isn't the right word for it) come through the door. One, a woman, has shaved her hair short and a thick, black cloth tenses between her swollen-raw knuckles.

"Blind him, but make sure not too tie it too tight, huh?"

His bottom lip slides out into a little pout. But he sighs. It's his own fault for falling unconscious in a stranger's car. He remembers driving out of the city but not much else beyond that.

He doesn't protest against the blindfold, although he does find immense amusement in the fact that Greed thinks a mere blindfold is going to be enough to stop him from working out backwards where the hideout is. Or perhaps Greed already knows and is simply making a point. Whatever the case may be, Kaito intends to remain alert this time.

"Just drop me off at the edge of the city then. I can find my own way from there."

As Kaito is led out to a pace of heavy footsteps and creaking floors, Greed takes the lead. His steps echo off every hole and corner like a dying, sputtering firecracker holding onto its final pop. It's sluggish, weighted; his guilt and sense of ease fighting each other for a pure sense of dominance.

He sighs when the door opens and the outside world spills in. The warmth is an obvious indicator that morning or noon of a new day has already settled. "Ehh. Don't take it so hard, huh? I really don't mean anything by it. But things as are they - well, you know better than most. There's plenty of people who'd want to take what's mine."

Greed waves his wrist and the sound of his bracelets clatter as softly as a rattlesnake lazily buzzing its tail. "I got it from here. Head back in before someone sees you."

Gravel crunches as his entourage disappears back from where they came and Greed gingerly pinches his fingers around Kaito's wrist. "This way, watch the door." When he grabs the handle, the rings on his finger chime off with a soft chnk of metal on metal. "I'll bring you to the closest stop. After that, it'll be up to you."

The door snaps shut behind Kaito, cold and definite. It isn't his first choice, doing it like this. But the hand they've been dealt is tipping; the scales aren't balanced. If someone knew, then more unsavory company knows, and Lord, Lord -

Greed climbs into the driver's seat and the leather wheezes under him, groaning and grinding until he starts up the engine. He throws the car in reverse with wild abandon, forcing the tires to kick up dust and broken asphalt like a man's dying cough. A punch of his wrist sends the car forward and out onto the wide, semi-open road.

"Really, this isn't supposed to be a punishment, kid. Think of it as," he hums over the radio, his free hand turning listlessly over and over. "-an insurance policy. For me and you. I can deal with the usuals. People always want something. But - " He chews on his words, slouches, and while his knees spread, the man named Sin scoffs at himself. "-forget it."

The car slows and Greed flicks on a directional. Tck. Tck. Tck.

"Watch yourself, that's all I'm saying. I'm not good, but I'm not so bad either. Others are just bad, kid. Bad enough that they'll make an example out of you just to send me a message. You understand?"

He manages well enough until it comes time to climb into the car. Deprived of sight, all other sounds and smells come into sharp relief: the sigh of the wind, the crunch of gravel, the bitter cold abruptly cut off by the snap of the car door, wrapping him with the stench of old nicotine.

"Don't worry about me. I didn't live this long by being careless." He tries to sound cheery. That bungled theft isn't the first near-death experience he's had. It likely won't be the last. No point in dwelling on past failures - you either learn from them or you quit.

And even then, quitting is not so simple for people like him.

"Close enough is good enough. Hey, maybe I'll visit when things die down!" he jokes. "I don't like failing a job. I've got my own reputation, you know?"

Thankfully, the steady flow of traffic and the need to pay attention saves him from a reply. It gives him a moment; a second to think of all the possibilities that could be waiting ahead. Would they even come? If so, who would show up? When? And how much damage would they leave behind to send their regards?

The car's engine rumbles with a ping of exhaust and as the nose turns sharply left, Greed silently stews. He nips furiously on the side of his cheek with enough pressure to split the skin and draw blood into his mouth, angry and bitter. And it's as bitter as he feels. His existence in the moment a tense and brittle quiet.

When he finally does speak up though, he hides it all. Buries the feeling and lets it writhe and quietly scream deep in his chest. "Ha! If you say so. Got a lot of pride, don't you?" The ashtray in the center console opens with a plastic pop.

Greed rolls down the window and as he knuckles the built-in cigarette plug, he lifts the hot coils to his face. In the corner of his vision, he can see the heat pouring off in lines; they make the horizon blur, landmarks quiver, and ah, isn't there something poetic in it all.

But he isn't a man for poems. He isn't a man for philosophy. No, he's someone made for the ugly side of life. Where morals spin down the drain only to collect in the raw sewage of reality.

A sharp inhale sucks fresh smoke into his throat and it burns just right. Greed turns the wheel. The parking lot he's chosen is a perfect intersection for what he needs. There will be witnesses, and it's close to public services (transportation, hospitals, law enforcement, good Samaritans). He jerks the car into park and taps a clump of ash from the tip of his smoke.

"But I don't think you'll be coming by for a visit," he hisses through the butt of his cigarette. "-least, not unless you forgive me." He's purposely vague. He has to be. This is the part he hates, and the way he exits the car speaks to that. The driver-side door rockets open, causing the springs and bolts to creak their displeasure. A second later, Greed's heels slap down on hard pavement. A horrible kind of resolve takes hold of him with every move. He's walking too fast. Too quick.

When the passenger door rips open, the man named Sin tries to snag Kaito violently by the collar. Better to catch him off guard, make him tumble over himself. Anything to make it look real.

Because while he has to make a show of it, he'd rather not cause more harm than necessary.

He yelps - perhaps exactly as Greed plans, or perhaps his underling really does yank Kaito a bit too hard. Either way, it adds to the theatre.

If he weren't already injured, he would catch himself before the fall. As it is, his cheek scraps the bitumen, clawing fresh lines of red over youthful skin. His arm jolts with a new wave of pain and it's echoed in his ribs and ankle as he sprawls across the unforgiving ground. It hurts. Fucking hell, it hurts.

Breathing hard and blinking past tears of pain, he rolls himself upright as his brain tries to parse what's going on. He has a rough idea of where they are, but why?

Public location. Sudden, rough treatment. Was the earlier kindness a bluff?

...No. No, he doesn't think so. Surely not. But...

Kaito tries to breathe carefully past all his hurts, gasping, "Greed, what--?"

With the midday sun blaring at his back, Greed's face contorts. He's fighting himself on so many different levels: anger, distaste, his internal conflict between his nature and what he has to do now. He's never been a man easily ruled by someone else. But in this instance, his choices are limited; his freedom's gone. Every precaution, every inch he's ever gotten, circling back to bite him in the throat.

"You'll never get out if they're in charge of your departure, Greed."

Another stray stone of asphalt scurries out from underneath the tip of his boot and skips across pavement like a flat rock on a summer's still lake. "What? Did you think I'd just let you get off that easily?" He steps closer, leering and baring a strained, manic smile. "Ha - ! You do remember who I am right?" His heel slams down. "I'm Greed, not a fucking charity case. And because you cost me, it only feels right that I return the favor. Equivalent exchange," his mouth spits venom and his tongue lashes his teeth. Lying has never been his strong suit, but that doesn't mean he can't adapt. And this? It's like any other show: give the patrons what they want, make it memorable, make it real, and never, ever let them forget.

A weight settles into his chest that he can't describe. It writhes in him, screams through every inhale of smoke he takes and strangles deep in his lungs.

"They'll never let you go - "

Greed grunts and reaches into the backside of his slacks. "You shouldn't have trusted me to begin with. That was your first mistake." He quickly switches one cigarette out for another, the motion a frantic gesture of fingers and desperation. The tip of the fresh smoke meets the new one and the Sin sucks in, clawing old tar deep into his chest and leaving an oily film of ash to linger in his cheek.

Greed flicks the spent butt to the pavement; his heel all but grinding it to dust. "Tch," he snarls around his smoke and nearly bites through the filter in the process. All of this, all of this - it always comes back, doesn't it? Ghosts of himself, of his own, haunting every step he takes. And while he can handle it, Kaito doesn't know the signs. How they move, where they go, the ways in which they work. It isn't fair to put the kid up to that kind of torment.

Better to cut the cord while they still have the chance.

Greed crouches down a foot away, his knees spread out and his hands sunk low. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth. The way it hangs between his knuckles feels heavy. The smoke twines in his fingers, the ash slowly sloshes off into thick, wadded clumps. There's a weight on his shoulders that's clear now, it almost hurts. As if his whole world could shatter in an instant. As if, no matter how far he ran, no matter his choices, it would all lead to the same conclusion.

He takes another drag and his fingers wrap around his face. "I need you to get as far away from here as you can. Anyone you care about, anyone you love," Greed watches the clouds pass them by. They move over his face and his sunglasses like a passing tide. To anyone else, the day is just that: another day. Another 9-to-5 for a paycheck, another call home, another jog to add to the routine. He'll never have those moments, not really. And he doesn't regret it.

Still, here, at the brink of it all -

Greed bows his head - the last cloud of smoke slowly escaping his mouth a tell of sorts. As if it's trying to desperately say what he can't.

"Pack it up and go. Just get as far away from here as you can, kid."

Edited (JUST .. didn't sound right the first time APOLOGIES ALL 'ROUND) 2022-08-30 01:32 (UTC)

A whiff of ash and nicotine makes its way down even here. Kaito struggles to sit upright but doesn't try to stand. He's winded, probably got another bruised rib - definitely the look of someone beaten down for a job not done.

He still doesn't quite understand. Greed's words ring in his ears and it seems like his surroundings do too but it all conflicts with the care he'd been given. The man has to be lying. Right? Kaito's always put more stock in verbs than nouns. Words are flimsy - words get broken all the time in his world but you can't take back a hand that's been dealt on the table.

One thing does get through to him though: get out.

Making use of his one good hand, he pushes himself backwards, scrabbling, scuffing shoes, cloth, and more skin as he puts distance between himself and the smoking demon.

"Th-thank you," he manages to stammer out. For what? Anyone watching might wonder. Kaito does too. For the mercy, probably.

Whatever the case, he manages to get to his feet and starts to run (stagger, more like). He can only hope that he doesn't get a bullet in the back for it.

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➥ THE DEVIL'S NEST | 1980s Lingo | Closed to Kaito

hello yes I come a month late bearing gifts

I'M ALSO LATE TO THIS JAM ...

shuffles...this in...

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➥ SKIPPING HEAD | let me know if this works!

/thumbsup!

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surprise, one year later

JUST AS LATE...

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