the name's greed (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nestingdevil) wrote2019-03-04 06:30 pm
nestingdevil) wrote2019-03-04 06:30 pm
(no subject)
Open PSLs | Just throw up a subject line and GO FOR IT! All's green!
Open PSLs | Just throw up a subject line and GO FOR IT! All's green!
Open PSLs | Just throw up a subject line and GO FOR IT! All's green!
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"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?"
surprise, one year later
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."
JUST AS LATE...
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?"
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...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.
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"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?"
no subject
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."
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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?"
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"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?"
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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.
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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--?"
no subject
"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."
no subject
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.