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[There's no reply here. Just somewhere, some place, a loud bark of laughter shakes a building to its very core.]
[That's the fucking joke of a lifetime right there.]
[That's the fucking joke of a lifetime right there.]
oh? are u now? doesnt chgne my bet pissant. tho I do like the name
[There's an attachment this time. And an unseen, all-too-obvious grin.]
almost thin k theres enough to pay off 1/3 of ur debt
[There's an attachment this time. And an unseen, all-too-obvious grin.]
almost thin k theres enough to pay off 1/3 of ur debt
Edited 2021-10-01 02:22 (UTC)
culd be. gotta wish hard enough and mayb e ur dreams will come true pissant
but no sorry. came from everyone here. figured u wuldnt mind. some of it were donations from customers
so far we're up to a good $1K
ah and someones brought out the chalkboard
so far we're up to a good $1K
ah and someones brought out the chalkboard
ha ! u rlly are a little shit arent u?
no ? nois thought youd name it somethng like hold on
...
burnt toast
or emergency meal #1
no ? nois thought youd name it somethng like hold on
...
burnt toast
or emergency meal #1
Opportunity knocks as the waltz comes to an end. The doors swing open at the far end of the hall and a hush sweeps over the heads of those gathered, a single name on everyone's lips:
Solus zos Galvus.
The man himself pauses on the threshold, surveying the room as an eagle might survey its domain: with a cold eye and tilted chin. Though his stature is slightly less than those gathered, no-one with any respect for their own life would dare point it out - for this is the man responsible for the Empire's success. Its influence. Its might. At a mere thirty-five years of age, Solus zos Galvus has not only cemented and consolidated the Empire's rule but also installed himself as its first ever emperor.
The imperial regalia he wears clinks quietly as he strides down the centre of the room. The crowd parts to murmurs of 'Your Radiance', salutes, and curtsies. As zos Galvus passes Greed and his kin, his gaze shifts briefly towards them and he holds their gaze for the briefest of moments. Something in that instant seems to pass between them. Some manner of recognition of other.
--But it's gone in the next second as he strides past and ascends to a balcony with an unrestricted view of the stage. Once he is seated, he waves a hand.
Let the revelry continue.
Solus zos Galvus.
The man himself pauses on the threshold, surveying the room as an eagle might survey its domain: with a cold eye and tilted chin. Though his stature is slightly less than those gathered, no-one with any respect for their own life would dare point it out - for this is the man responsible for the Empire's success. Its influence. Its might. At a mere thirty-five years of age, Solus zos Galvus has not only cemented and consolidated the Empire's rule but also installed himself as its first ever emperor.
The imperial regalia he wears clinks quietly as he strides down the centre of the room. The crowd parts to murmurs of 'Your Radiance', salutes, and curtsies. As zos Galvus passes Greed and his kin, his gaze shifts briefly towards them and he holds their gaze for the briefest of moments. Something in that instant seems to pass between them. Some manner of recognition of other.
--But it's gone in the next second as he strides past and ascends to a balcony with an unrestricted view of the stage. Once he is seated, he waves a hand.
Let the revelry continue.
How the crowd parts, how the world falls so silent, the head of a falling pin could be heard miles away: that's power. Ultimate, unyielding, and relentless. No matter how important anyone else saw themselves here, they all bowed to the arrival of their better. Like deer bending under the will of a taught, strung-out bow.
A shrewd smile passes over his lips, faint and sharp.
The guest of the fucking hour had finally arrived.
Greed shrugs to himself and as he presses the flats of his hands across the front of his suit, he gingerly rises out of his seat. The recognition doesn't surprise him much. They're all out of this picture in some way or another, aren't they? Above it all, watching time and its patrons scurry to the next oblivion. It's always the same, even if the backdrop switches out every now and again. There's always a crowd, always a civilization, always men and women clambering to impress the top.
The Sin weaves through the crowd with a sense of purpose. He spins on his heel one way, tips the other, and while his movements remain fluid, his fingers keep busy. They snag small trinkets: a couple of coins to line his pockets and a note or two of personal scandal. No doubt nothing that would even mildly intrigue his intended guest, but things he would appreciate later.
It's only when a guard gets in his way, does the procession top.
"Sir, you aren't allowed here."
"No?" Greed hums. "Ah, I must have been mistaken, then. This isn't the way to the courtyard?"
"No, it isn't. I'm going to have to ask you to step aside, sir." The guard's hand shoots up; a clear signal that any step further will have drastic consequences.
The Sin's mouth cracks. A moon's crescent sliver in the shape of harmful daggers. "You'll have to excuse me then, friend. Meant no harm." He puts a slur to his words. Not entirely a lie, but not entirely a truth either. He had been drinking; it would be all too easy to assume he was just another overindulgent guess. And that? Well, there was some truth to that, wasn't there?
The guard's audible sigh says he's right on the money. "Sir, you've had a lot to drink tonight. Please, return to your seat."
"Of course," Greed leers forward and his knuckles spread out across the center of his chest. A mocking imitation of cordialness. "But before I do, could you do me one favor?" He comes in close, too near that some might take it for affection. And maybe, the guard does. After all, what sort of party doesn't come with a few who've had a bit too many? It's par for the course. Expected.
The Sin wraps his hand around the back of the guard's neck, coy and delicate. And as his index raises between the point of the man's bones, he cranes his head, allowing his nose to almost touch the other's in a single moment of intimacy.
"What is it you really want?"
"What - ?"
Greed's lips shrink, puckering, and his shades slowly slide down. "I asked you - " The color of his eyes shift, like the tail of a red fish fleeing to the deep. "-what do you really want?" The Sin's nail trembles to a point and pricks into the man's skin. A needle, unknowing and faint.
"What I ..." The guard's words drop off. "-I want to go home. I hate this job. I just want to the tavern and spend the night with Veronica."
"Then why don't you? Don't worry, it'll be our secret, hmn? I'll make sure you don't get into too much trouble. Besides, you only have this one life, don't you? Why not have it all." Greed lifts his hand away and the point of his nail trembles to nothing, leaving behind normal flesh and blood. "Go ahead and take it. I've got things from here." Like a snake releasing a dearly departed meal, the Sin unravels and the guard stumbles away. His motion, his whole self, as dazed as a man wandering through a dream.
A tug as his jacket and the Sin straightens himself. He takes the stairs deliberately. Counting each step, feeling the press of wood against his heels as they click and clap his ascension. It's almost too easy. Too simple.
And by his sheer expression, he absolutely cannot wait to see what the rest of the night will bring.
A shrewd smile passes over his lips, faint and sharp.
The guest of the fucking hour had finally arrived.
Greed shrugs to himself and as he presses the flats of his hands across the front of his suit, he gingerly rises out of his seat. The recognition doesn't surprise him much. They're all out of this picture in some way or another, aren't they? Above it all, watching time and its patrons scurry to the next oblivion. It's always the same, even if the backdrop switches out every now and again. There's always a crowd, always a civilization, always men and women clambering to impress the top.
The Sin weaves through the crowd with a sense of purpose. He spins on his heel one way, tips the other, and while his movements remain fluid, his fingers keep busy. They snag small trinkets: a couple of coins to line his pockets and a note or two of personal scandal. No doubt nothing that would even mildly intrigue his intended guest, but things he would appreciate later.
It's only when a guard gets in his way, does the procession top.
"Sir, you aren't allowed here."
"No?" Greed hums. "Ah, I must have been mistaken, then. This isn't the way to the courtyard?"
"No, it isn't. I'm going to have to ask you to step aside, sir." The guard's hand shoots up; a clear signal that any step further will have drastic consequences.
The Sin's mouth cracks. A moon's crescent sliver in the shape of harmful daggers. "You'll have to excuse me then, friend. Meant no harm." He puts a slur to his words. Not entirely a lie, but not entirely a truth either. He had been drinking; it would be all too easy to assume he was just another overindulgent guess. And that? Well, there was some truth to that, wasn't there?
The guard's audible sigh says he's right on the money. "Sir, you've had a lot to drink tonight. Please, return to your seat."
"Of course," Greed leers forward and his knuckles spread out across the center of his chest. A mocking imitation of cordialness. "But before I do, could you do me one favor?" He comes in close, too near that some might take it for affection. And maybe, the guard does. After all, what sort of party doesn't come with a few who've had a bit too many? It's par for the course. Expected.
The Sin wraps his hand around the back of the guard's neck, coy and delicate. And as his index raises between the point of the man's bones, he cranes his head, allowing his nose to almost touch the other's in a single moment of intimacy.
"What is it you really want?"
"What - ?"
Greed's lips shrink, puckering, and his shades slowly slide down. "I asked you - " The color of his eyes shift, like the tail of a red fish fleeing to the deep. "-what do you really want?" The Sin's nail trembles to a point and pricks into the man's skin. A needle, unknowing and faint.
"What I ..." The guard's words drop off. "-I want to go home. I hate this job. I just want to the tavern and spend the night with Veronica."
"Then why don't you? Don't worry, it'll be our secret, hmn? I'll make sure you don't get into too much trouble. Besides, you only have this one life, don't you? Why not have it all." Greed lifts his hand away and the point of his nail trembles to nothing, leaving behind normal flesh and blood. "Go ahead and take it. I've got things from here." Like a snake releasing a dearly departed meal, the Sin unravels and the guard stumbles away. His motion, his whole self, as dazed as a man wandering through a dream.
A tug as his jacket and the Sin straightens himself. He takes the stairs deliberately. Counting each step, feeling the press of wood against his heels as they click and clap his ascension. It's almost too easy. Too simple.
And by his sheer expression, he absolutely cannot wait to see what the rest of the night will bring.
Boring.
The party is a social obligation and not one he had been particularly enthusiastic to attend. He cares nothing for the gossip, the politicking (although he is very good at it) or even the pleasure of more tangible company. Indeed, he is above it all, like a god watching from on high...
In a way that is exactly what he is, although those below are ignorant of the fact.
Solus zos Galvus doesn't appear to have noticed the disturbance at the bottom of the stairs. Or if he has, there isn't a single hint of fear or trepidation in the sharp, narrow gaze he shoots at the interloper who ascends them. He is wary of course - anyone with as much power and influence as he wields must be the source of at least one assassination plot a day - but for now, he remains seated, elbow propped on the arm of his chair and chin resting upon the back of his hand. This man is either arrogant or supremely confident in his own safety.
"What did you do to the guard?" he asks harshly.
The emperor is alone, it seems.
The party is a social obligation and not one he had been particularly enthusiastic to attend. He cares nothing for the gossip, the politicking (although he is very good at it) or even the pleasure of more tangible company. Indeed, he is above it all, like a god watching from on high...
In a way that is exactly what he is, although those below are ignorant of the fact.
Solus zos Galvus doesn't appear to have noticed the disturbance at the bottom of the stairs. Or if he has, there isn't a single hint of fear or trepidation in the sharp, narrow gaze he shoots at the interloper who ascends them. He is wary of course - anyone with as much power and influence as he wields must be the source of at least one assassination plot a day - but for now, he remains seated, elbow propped on the arm of his chair and chin resting upon the back of his hand. This man is either arrogant or supremely confident in his own safety.
"What did you do to the guard?" he asks harshly.
The emperor is alone, it seems.
Edited 2022-02-13 07:29 (UTC)
Up and up he goes and the floor below shrinks like a blurry dream. Faces that had been clear seconds ago melt into one another, fluid, streaming, and morphing into nothing more than twinkling lights and fancy fabrics. It's not hard to see why this an opportune spot. This high above it all, the horizon seems to stretch out to forever. A perfect place for a king, a lord, a God to hover over the humanity constant.
Greed's smile breaks it all in a single moment. A rock at the proverbial house of glass. "Solus zos Galvus," he says, snapping his tongue like a child with a large wad of bubblegum. He savors the depth of the name, the wealth. How rich a man is, simply by title alone.
The Sin innocently touches his chest and his expression softens to a low boil. "Me? No, nothing much. I just let him see what he really wanted out of life." He climbs one more step, making his way beyond the crowd with a bow in his back and sarcasm written on every inch of his crooked face. "Everyone wants something, Solus. Don't tell me you don't. After all, I've heard you're an honest man - that's something we have in common."
Greed sags his head and his fingers curl up across his face. They spread like the legs of a spider testing a web; gentle, tentative, and deadly. A blink of color betrays him though and as his eyes sink back behind his sunglasses, deep and soulless, his mouth shrinks to a squeezing pucker.
"But you're not really concerned about him are you? Just about what I did. I can show you, if that's what you want." He forms his spine into the banister, allowing his body to lean and sprawl as it pleased. In the reflection of his sunglasses, the crowd below has already returned to business as usual. People laugh, ladies clutch their chests and fan their faces with the juiciest of news. Greed reaches into his pocket and pulls out a single coil to dribble over his knuckles.
"All I need is your permission." His hand tips and dives only to snap to a still, leaving the coin pinched perilously between his index and thumb. "Nothing too hard, but you have to be sure. Don't worry - no one else will even notice."
The coin in his hand begins to change as he talks. The silver washes away as sure as tide to the shore and while the cool edges peel back, it's gold that replaces it. Glittering, shining; a capture of sunlight at the tips of his fingers.
Greed snaps it off is thumb, letting it tumble to the ground below.
"Now, it's just you and me." He uncrosses his ankles and stretches out his legs as far as he possibly can. "Whatever you want." He repeats. The Sin's hands wrap around the banister and he shoves himself forward. "Or you could just say no, continue to brood up here, and that'll be it. But where would be the fun in that?" His eyebrow creases his forehead and his smile cooks on his chin. A devil with a mouth sweet enough to savor, but fatal to swallow. "Then again, I could just go ahead and skip all the formalities. But that wouldn't be too pleasant for either of us."
He's close again. Too close for comfort, too close for respect. Greed pulls his sunglasses off his heavy, closed eyes. He clips them to the collar of his coat a second later and his fingers waver. As if holding onto the moment, stretching it, like the last touch before a long send off.
When he opens his eyes and stares up at the man (no, beyond that isn't he?), the slits of his eyes have all but shrunk. No longer are they larger and swallowing, no. Instead, they quiver - needles shaking, desperate and excitable for an answer.
The Sin extends his hand at a distance. "What do you say?"
Greed's smile breaks it all in a single moment. A rock at the proverbial house of glass. "Solus zos Galvus," he says, snapping his tongue like a child with a large wad of bubblegum. He savors the depth of the name, the wealth. How rich a man is, simply by title alone.
The Sin innocently touches his chest and his expression softens to a low boil. "Me? No, nothing much. I just let him see what he really wanted out of life." He climbs one more step, making his way beyond the crowd with a bow in his back and sarcasm written on every inch of his crooked face. "Everyone wants something, Solus. Don't tell me you don't. After all, I've heard you're an honest man - that's something we have in common."
Greed sags his head and his fingers curl up across his face. They spread like the legs of a spider testing a web; gentle, tentative, and deadly. A blink of color betrays him though and as his eyes sink back behind his sunglasses, deep and soulless, his mouth shrinks to a squeezing pucker.
"But you're not really concerned about him are you? Just about what I did. I can show you, if that's what you want." He forms his spine into the banister, allowing his body to lean and sprawl as it pleased. In the reflection of his sunglasses, the crowd below has already returned to business as usual. People laugh, ladies clutch their chests and fan their faces with the juiciest of news. Greed reaches into his pocket and pulls out a single coil to dribble over his knuckles.
"All I need is your permission." His hand tips and dives only to snap to a still, leaving the coin pinched perilously between his index and thumb. "Nothing too hard, but you have to be sure. Don't worry - no one else will even notice."
The coin in his hand begins to change as he talks. The silver washes away as sure as tide to the shore and while the cool edges peel back, it's gold that replaces it. Glittering, shining; a capture of sunlight at the tips of his fingers.
Greed snaps it off is thumb, letting it tumble to the ground below.
"Now, it's just you and me." He uncrosses his ankles and stretches out his legs as far as he possibly can. "Whatever you want." He repeats. The Sin's hands wrap around the banister and he shoves himself forward. "Or you could just say no, continue to brood up here, and that'll be it. But where would be the fun in that?" His eyebrow creases his forehead and his smile cooks on his chin. A devil with a mouth sweet enough to savor, but fatal to swallow. "Then again, I could just go ahead and skip all the formalities. But that wouldn't be too pleasant for either of us."
He's close again. Too close for comfort, too close for respect. Greed pulls his sunglasses off his heavy, closed eyes. He clips them to the collar of his coat a second later and his fingers waver. As if holding onto the moment, stretching it, like the last touch before a long send off.
When he opens his eyes and stares up at the man (no, beyond that isn't he?), the slits of his eyes have all but shrunk. No longer are they larger and swallowing, no. Instead, they quiver - needles shaking, desperate and excitable for an answer.
The Sin extends his hand at a distance. "What do you say?"
He grows more tense the closer they approach. He has a knife on his person in case of situations like these - two, in fact - but he has a feeling that a knife won't work on this creature. Like him, they're something other and no mere blade will suffice to keep them back.
That said, he's not worried. It would be terribly inconvenient if 'Solus' were to die here however, after such painstaking efforts to raise him to the seat of emperor. Bright, crimson lines spiral down his left arm and a mark of the same colour flashes before his face. Bright like a neon warning for predators: 'Do not eat'.
"There is only one power in this world that can give me what I desire, and it's not you," he hisses. "Find some other, more gullible prey."
After all, he has no proof, no guarantee about what this man (or thing) can do. He has lost too much and worked too long to bet it all on such easy temptation. No, he will need a more tangible guarantee than empty promises before he even begins to consider bending his ironclad principles.
That said, he's not worried. It would be terribly inconvenient if 'Solus' were to die here however, after such painstaking efforts to raise him to the seat of emperor. Bright, crimson lines spiral down his left arm and a mark of the same colour flashes before his face. Bright like a neon warning for predators: 'Do not eat'.
"There is only one power in this world that can give me what I desire, and it's not you," he hisses. "Find some other, more gullible prey."
After all, he has no proof, no guarantee about what this man (or thing) can do. He has lost too much and worked too long to bet it all on such easy temptation. No, he will need a more tangible guarantee than empty promises before he even begins to consider bending his ironclad principles.
Red meets his red, a casual promise of calamity, and the Sin's expression changes. Fear, surprise, intrigue, desperation - he holds them all with that look. The whites of his eyes expand to saucers, forcing his smile to dance on the very edge of madness. It's all consuming. His demeanor like a starved man seeing his first oasis in centuries. In him, everything wild that Garlemald tried to keep at bay breaks in. It seeps out of him in waves, crashing and beating down the civilized barriers of etiquette with a single, twisted smile.
He forgets to breathe, not that it matters. He isn't really living anyway. Not like most.
Greed's teeth chatter and tremble together as if his gums are trying to desperately keep them in place. "Ha - !" He barks. "HA-! Now, who would have fucking thought? You're just full of surprises!" The Sin toes backwards, his heels and the tips of his boots making him retreat, albeit slightly. Emet's threat meets his offer in a union of violence. They stand together, predator to predator, the answer of who could come out on top hanging by a delicate thread.
He wans to know. Needs to know. His core demands it.
Greed pauses and as his shoulders relax, he picks his sunglasses out from his collar. A flick of his wrist opens them again. "Gullible? No, I don't think that about you at all. Judge me all you want Solus, but don't take me for something I'm not."
Exasperation takes hold of him as he fastens his sunglasses back over his face. "It isn't surprising. Most people do deny me at first. But then again, you aren't most, are you?" He presses his fingers up to shove his shades over his eyes while his nails twitch and threaten to leave gauges in the glass. "But what you are - oh, what you are. You're truly something."
The Sin hums wistfully. The way he pointedly avoids looking Solus dead in the eye, the way his mind and attention wanders. He watches nothing and everything all at once. As if a world beyond stretched out in front of him, out of focus and dim to everyone else. "No, I'm not the one you're looking for. I rarely am. But that's always how I end up here. Well, sort of."
How he ended up existing is a more appropriate answer.
Greed's mouth softens and while his neck falls sluggish on the weight of his bones, he raises both of his arms above his end. A signal of surrender, if only in gesture alone. "Your choice, then. You could kill me if you wanted, though I think you already know that'll be a waste of time." He lowers his hands and a feathery dark, not unlike a waft of smoke, frees itself from his arms. It twirls around his wrist before shrinking into the floor below; a toxic heave of smoke disappearing back to the depths.
"We got off on the wrong foot," Greed tongues his cheek. He can taste it in the air; a strength, a source, driving him wild. "You said there's only one person that can show you what you really desire. I don't think you're lying about that. But has it happened yet?" He pauses to run his thumb up the center of his throat. "Or are you still waiting? All I'm offering is a moment. Real, fake, whatever it is - and after, you can do whatever you want. Like I said, killing me might not do much, but if that's your choice - "
Finally, he turns back to Solus, the heaviness on his eyes blatant and stark. There's age in his face that shows not in wrinkles, but in experience. Where years aren't measured in time but by the points of tragedies encountered along the way.
Greed lifts his thumb away from his throat and a sizzle of electricity evaporates off his skin. "Some want fame, others want wealth. But do you know what I find people really want the most?" He mouth goes neutral. "They just want to see a loved one again, or a home they've left behind. The way I see it, greed is no different than hope. What's noble, what's taboo - to me, it's all the same. And is that such a bad thing? Is having too much hope really such a problem?"
The Sin turns away and his weight shifts to favor his left. "Ehh, guess that's a lot of me to ask, isn't it? I haven't even introduced myself yet." Though, he had a feeling Solus (if that was what he was really called), could have easily figured it out by now. He didn't take things at face value. He didn't leave things to chance.
Greed's teeth peer out from his mouth, raw and sharp.
Thankfully, he was a more betting man.
He forgets to breathe, not that it matters. He isn't really living anyway. Not like most.
Greed's teeth chatter and tremble together as if his gums are trying to desperately keep them in place. "Ha - !" He barks. "HA-! Now, who would have fucking thought? You're just full of surprises!" The Sin toes backwards, his heels and the tips of his boots making him retreat, albeit slightly. Emet's threat meets his offer in a union of violence. They stand together, predator to predator, the answer of who could come out on top hanging by a delicate thread.
He wans to know. Needs to know. His core demands it.
Greed pauses and as his shoulders relax, he picks his sunglasses out from his collar. A flick of his wrist opens them again. "Gullible? No, I don't think that about you at all. Judge me all you want Solus, but don't take me for something I'm not."
Exasperation takes hold of him as he fastens his sunglasses back over his face. "It isn't surprising. Most people do deny me at first. But then again, you aren't most, are you?" He presses his fingers up to shove his shades over his eyes while his nails twitch and threaten to leave gauges in the glass. "But what you are - oh, what you are. You're truly something."
The Sin hums wistfully. The way he pointedly avoids looking Solus dead in the eye, the way his mind and attention wanders. He watches nothing and everything all at once. As if a world beyond stretched out in front of him, out of focus and dim to everyone else. "No, I'm not the one you're looking for. I rarely am. But that's always how I end up here. Well, sort of."
How he ended up existing is a more appropriate answer.
Greed's mouth softens and while his neck falls sluggish on the weight of his bones, he raises both of his arms above his end. A signal of surrender, if only in gesture alone. "Your choice, then. You could kill me if you wanted, though I think you already know that'll be a waste of time." He lowers his hands and a feathery dark, not unlike a waft of smoke, frees itself from his arms. It twirls around his wrist before shrinking into the floor below; a toxic heave of smoke disappearing back to the depths.
"We got off on the wrong foot," Greed tongues his cheek. He can taste it in the air; a strength, a source, driving him wild. "You said there's only one person that can show you what you really desire. I don't think you're lying about that. But has it happened yet?" He pauses to run his thumb up the center of his throat. "Or are you still waiting? All I'm offering is a moment. Real, fake, whatever it is - and after, you can do whatever you want. Like I said, killing me might not do much, but if that's your choice - "
Finally, he turns back to Solus, the heaviness on his eyes blatant and stark. There's age in his face that shows not in wrinkles, but in experience. Where years aren't measured in time but by the points of tragedies encountered along the way.
Greed lifts his thumb away from his throat and a sizzle of electricity evaporates off his skin. "Some want fame, others want wealth. But do you know what I find people really want the most?" He mouth goes neutral. "They just want to see a loved one again, or a home they've left behind. The way I see it, greed is no different than hope. What's noble, what's taboo - to me, it's all the same. And is that such a bad thing? Is having too much hope really such a problem?"
The Sin turns away and his weight shifts to favor his left. "Ehh, guess that's a lot of me to ask, isn't it? I haven't even introduced myself yet." Though, he had a feeling Solus (if that was what he was really called), could have easily figured it out by now. He didn't take things at face value. He didn't leave things to chance.
Greed's teeth peer out from his mouth, raw and sharp.
Thankfully, he was a more betting man.
Edited 2022-02-21 19:49 (UTC)
His fingers dig into the arms of his seat. He's glad that the other man has turned aside, as for the briefest moment Emet-Selch's mask slips and a flash of raw fury twists his aging face. He slams it back on quickly enough, reassembling it into Emperor Solus' stern, unforgiving planes. It isn't possible that they know, he reminds himself. They're simply pulling wild guesses out of the air hoping to hit a mark.
They want an in. They want a crack in the armour so they can slip through. Well, they won't have it. Twelve thousand years he has laboured for their people. He isn't about to surrender all that work to some creature of the void and their honeyed words.
"Killing you here would raise questions, but not so many that I am unprepared to answer. Get yourself gone before I change my mind," he says gruffly, turning his hard gaze back to the gathering below. He had been prepared to enjoy the performance but...well, now his mood has soured.
They want an in. They want a crack in the armour so they can slip through. Well, they won't have it. Twelve thousand years he has laboured for their people. He isn't about to surrender all that work to some creature of the void and their honeyed words.
"Killing you here would raise questions, but not so many that I am unprepared to answer. Get yourself gone before I change my mind," he says gruffly, turning his hard gaze back to the gathering below. He had been prepared to enjoy the performance but...well, now his mood has soured.
The corner of his lips pucker in amusement. "Oh, did I hit a nerve? Wasn't my intention." He hums and his eyes crease, fluttering and tensing with nasty intent. It is in them (the furrow of his skin, the tightening of his nerves) that dreams of beyond dwell. Where power, wealth, and notoriety reach out with crooked fingers to strangle the opposition.
Greed's teeth grind together so hard they almost crack and spark with the pressure. It's in his nature. He's the scab that never quite heals, the itch that never gets a scratch. And oh, does he love every last second of it.
The Sin's face screws over, tightens, and snaps to finally show his frenzy pure and raw. He simmers. "Get gone?" He tastes his own lips and gingerly pulls them into his mouth; his expression as blissful as someone sampling a fine meal. "As you wish, your highness." The end of his sentence extends and the S(s) draw out to a snake's empty lullaby.
And that's where it changes. The mask slips. The pretense tumbles. A curtain call of a completely different kind.
Greed's tongue rolls out of his mouth, lithely stretching to form a fiery, split-down whip. His transformation is both painfully slow and deliriously fast. Fine dust breaks from his skin in a condensed, black funnel only to spin as it thickens and churns like a whirlpool on a dark night. Greed spreads his arms to his sides and the tails of his coat evaporate; their torn remains spooling out to disintegrating threads.
And he laughs. Oh, how he laughs. His baritone boxes the ceiling and batters the walls with the force of an explosion. Even as he disappears into the swirling swill of his own making, his joy, his hysteria, thunders and claps. No storm could hold candle to it. No tempest could even try.
The Sin's smile breaks through the ash, now twisted and jagged. Where sharp teeth had been before, elongated daggers now take their place, and the pricks of his eyes burn like coals through the mist. A show of his fire, true and plain. "Ha .. AH HA HA HA HA! Who would have ever thought!? You really are something special, Emperor!"
Waves of inky black roll out of his mouth, spilling into his ever-expanding presence. He's everywhere and nowhere all at once. Wisps of himself crawl across the floor, wrap around the banister, and choke them out. Greed purses what's left of his jaw in the mayhem - his expression both tender and unstable. A creature eating itself alive.
When he speaks again, his voice is hollow. Tinny. A can's echo. "I really do admire that about you. Maybe one day, we could be good friends." Holes break through his face, his hair, his throat and the light behind them dims. All the while, another cough of smoke drops out of his jaws and vomits over his feet, swallowing them whole.
Greed tries to breathe this time, but it's too late. He's already crossed the threshold. "I hope you'll think of me differently after this." From the looks of it, he's having difficulty moving. He stretches his arm out with a strain - his fingers almost locked in a tense, clawing grip. He reaches to grab a hold of anything he possibly can. But at the mercy of the whirlwind, he's no match.
Not that it matters. He's right where he wants to be.
His fingers fall apart, break into pieces, and the boney tips sputter off short spirts of electricity. Zzt. Ztt. Ztt. Greed gasps in his own suffocation; the last of the ash in his gut finally filling his nose and mouth to stifle out his laughter.
He's gone a second later, replaced by the sounds of merriment and amusement below. Light creases off glass and party goers alike; a soft melody plays distantly up the staircase. It's silent. Quiet.
It's the pressure that shatters it. The sensation comes from all sides; above, below, inside, and out. Noise amplifies only to splinter under the terrible sensation of buzzing. Like an eardrum blown out by cannon fire.
"You're going to be like that, aren't you. You won't give up and you won't give in until every part of you is suffering. I did tell you - it wasn't going to be pleasant for either of us." Greed's voice is an annoying whisper through it all. His tone hisses above the static, stinging and biting where it can. "It's a shame, your majesty. This could have been so much easier." The Sin exhales, forcing his voice over unseen teeth as prickly as nails grinding down a chalkboard.
Getting to this point was one thing, and he's unsure of the outcome. But he can only imagine the fight on the horizon. After all, possessing an unwilling host is always a challenge. And here? Well.
Here he is fighting the emperor of them all.
Greed's teeth grind together so hard they almost crack and spark with the pressure. It's in his nature. He's the scab that never quite heals, the itch that never gets a scratch. And oh, does he love every last second of it.
The Sin's face screws over, tightens, and snaps to finally show his frenzy pure and raw. He simmers. "Get gone?" He tastes his own lips and gingerly pulls them into his mouth; his expression as blissful as someone sampling a fine meal. "As you wish, your highness." The end of his sentence extends and the S(s) draw out to a snake's empty lullaby.
And that's where it changes. The mask slips. The pretense tumbles. A curtain call of a completely different kind.
Greed's tongue rolls out of his mouth, lithely stretching to form a fiery, split-down whip. His transformation is both painfully slow and deliriously fast. Fine dust breaks from his skin in a condensed, black funnel only to spin as it thickens and churns like a whirlpool on a dark night. Greed spreads his arms to his sides and the tails of his coat evaporate; their torn remains spooling out to disintegrating threads.
And he laughs. Oh, how he laughs. His baritone boxes the ceiling and batters the walls with the force of an explosion. Even as he disappears into the swirling swill of his own making, his joy, his hysteria, thunders and claps. No storm could hold candle to it. No tempest could even try.
The Sin's smile breaks through the ash, now twisted and jagged. Where sharp teeth had been before, elongated daggers now take their place, and the pricks of his eyes burn like coals through the mist. A show of his fire, true and plain. "Ha .. AH HA HA HA HA! Who would have ever thought!? You really are something special, Emperor!"
Waves of inky black roll out of his mouth, spilling into his ever-expanding presence. He's everywhere and nowhere all at once. Wisps of himself crawl across the floor, wrap around the banister, and choke them out. Greed purses what's left of his jaw in the mayhem - his expression both tender and unstable. A creature eating itself alive.
When he speaks again, his voice is hollow. Tinny. A can's echo. "I really do admire that about you. Maybe one day, we could be good friends." Holes break through his face, his hair, his throat and the light behind them dims. All the while, another cough of smoke drops out of his jaws and vomits over his feet, swallowing them whole.
Greed tries to breathe this time, but it's too late. He's already crossed the threshold. "I hope you'll think of me differently after this." From the looks of it, he's having difficulty moving. He stretches his arm out with a strain - his fingers almost locked in a tense, clawing grip. He reaches to grab a hold of anything he possibly can. But at the mercy of the whirlwind, he's no match.
Not that it matters. He's right where he wants to be.
His fingers fall apart, break into pieces, and the boney tips sputter off short spirts of electricity. Zzt. Ztt. Ztt. Greed gasps in his own suffocation; the last of the ash in his gut finally filling his nose and mouth to stifle out his laughter.
He's gone a second later, replaced by the sounds of merriment and amusement below. Light creases off glass and party goers alike; a soft melody plays distantly up the staircase. It's silent. Quiet.
It's the pressure that shatters it. The sensation comes from all sides; above, below, inside, and out. Noise amplifies only to splinter under the terrible sensation of buzzing. Like an eardrum blown out by cannon fire.
"You're going to be like that, aren't you. You won't give up and you won't give in until every part of you is suffering. I did tell you - it wasn't going to be pleasant for either of us." Greed's voice is an annoying whisper through it all. His tone hisses above the static, stinging and biting where it can. "It's a shame, your majesty. This could have been so much easier." The Sin exhales, forcing his voice over unseen teeth as prickly as nails grinding down a chalkboard.
Getting to this point was one thing, and he's unsure of the outcome. But he can only imagine the fight on the horizon. After all, possessing an unwilling host is always a challenge. And here? Well.
Here he is fighting the emperor of them all.
His gnarled hands grip the armrests of his chair as he staunchly faces the seething cloud, face set. The noise rattles him from the inside out, sets his teeth on edge. It's a different pressure to that which lies at the bottom of the ocean. The descent and ascent don't rock him to his core the way this fiend does.
What manner of voidsent are they? Something strong - far stronger than any of them could have foreseen.
"You won't have me," he whispers. The red mark flares before his face. Not for the first time, he wishes it did not limit the power the seat of Emet-Selch can wield. Such ancient magic, however, is not his to undo. "Not in a thousand years. You don't know me, nor the sacrifices I've made to make it here, you shallow creature. You thirst for something you will never truly have."
I know because I, too, have been tainted by Darkness.
Lifting a hand, he gathers his power. More power than even the best mage of this realm can ever bring to bear. So much so that he thinks even those below can surely sense something amiss.
What manner of voidsent are they? Something strong - far stronger than any of them could have foreseen.
"You won't have me," he whispers. The red mark flares before his face. Not for the first time, he wishes it did not limit the power the seat of Emet-Selch can wield. Such ancient magic, however, is not his to undo. "Not in a thousand years. You don't know me, nor the sacrifices I've made to make it here, you shallow creature. You thirst for something you will never truly have."
I know because I, too, have been tainted by Darkness.
Lifting a hand, he gathers his power. More power than even the best mage of this realm can ever bring to bear. So much so that he thinks even those below can surely sense something amiss.
The surge of power shifts through him like a conducting current, leaving an ethereal taste of copper buzzing in his mind. It lights him up as sure as a live, hot wire and his thoughts static and break. His everything leaks out and fills the spaces in between in a tangle of thick ink. In the instant, as two of them remain separate and apart, Greed feels both blind and fully aware of his surroundings. Similar to a bat on a supersonic high, the world about him vibrates in color. Reds crash into blues, whites go off like atom-bomb stars in the back of his mind's eye. They erupt into patterns and collide into one another, only to shatter again like a broken kaleidoscope.
He's never tasted anything like this; never felt anything better. And while he basks in everything this man is, distracted and drunk, pieces of him creep into the gaps between. Moments of who he is, what he is, casting themselves in hisses of static.
Greed sucks in a breath and where he once stood, the faintest hint of a thunderhead pulses silently to life. Whatever grip he has on the patrons below holds, though tentatively so. There's a feeling of something for some of the more attuned few - a glance here, a pause or break in conversation there. The sensation for others is alert; as if someone had briefly sauntered over their grave to kick away the dust. It's a feeling of ill will in the air. A presence of everything evil and rotten crawling to meet each other in dissonant harmony.
Flooding forward with all the force he can muster, the Sin concentrates himself. He tries to bite at Emet's defenses and rip them apart by will and laughter alone. "You're finally understanding. I want it all. Everything you have, everything you've ever wanted. But don't get the wrong idea," Greed's tongue lashes invisible teeth. "-as much as I'd want to, there are limits. I may be bad, but even I have some standards, friend."
The air in the room turns up a notch, then another and another. It's warm in the way a jungle is warm; hot in the way a desert scorches the earth. The Sin makes a noise like lips touching together ever-so-softly. "I can cut you out of this. Remove you from this one moment and give you a taste of it all. A second to be blissfully away from all this bullshit. You just have to give me your hands."
Another flash of violence wriggles into vision. The place isn't here - it's far away. Darkness squirms and infects all it touches. No where is safe from it; not the rocks, not the trees, nor the empty shells of buildings that had once stood as a testament to humanity and mortality, now incubators for creatures starved of the sun. Yet above all the devastation, it is them that linger. Faces made prominent in vague shadows and menacing shapes. Seven of them total stand tall. Towering giants twisted and clawing like the Titans over the destruction of Olympus.
Greed hums from somewhere behind and his arms stretch out, shadowy and intangible. Four of them try to wrap around Emet loosely; their forming fingers turning sharp and crooked. "I'm sure you hear it often. All those people down there singing your praises. If only they knew. If only they realized how special you truly are." The Sin sighs, his exhale catching each edge of him, every barb, in a thin whistle. "You're so much more. Oh, Your Highness, you're just too, too, much - "
His jaws close in, but the pressure radiating off his target is too much to bare. Greed snaps his mouth shut, sudden and brisk. Something has broken. Maybe him from too much energy. Maybe his spell from being stretched too thin. The air in front of them cracks, forming a hairline split like thin ice spiderwebbing underfoot. The Sin's arms retreat to the tune of a thousand snakes and in his chest, a noise stirs; a sound of a purr and a growl storming in delight.
"Just so you know that I'm telling the truth. The name's Greed, not Envy. I make it a point not to lie. But if that's not enough to convince you - " Greed's attention changes direction; a predator seeking out an alternative meal. "I could find someone else if that's what you want. I'm sure you won't have an issue with that, hmn?" A hint of confidence nips back into his jaw.
"Otherwise, we're just going to be doing this all night long. And I don't think either of us want that, do we?"
He's never tasted anything like this; never felt anything better. And while he basks in everything this man is, distracted and drunk, pieces of him creep into the gaps between. Moments of who he is, what he is, casting themselves in hisses of static.
Greed sucks in a breath and where he once stood, the faintest hint of a thunderhead pulses silently to life. Whatever grip he has on the patrons below holds, though tentatively so. There's a feeling of something for some of the more attuned few - a glance here, a pause or break in conversation there. The sensation for others is alert; as if someone had briefly sauntered over their grave to kick away the dust. It's a feeling of ill will in the air. A presence of everything evil and rotten crawling to meet each other in dissonant harmony.
Flooding forward with all the force he can muster, the Sin concentrates himself. He tries to bite at Emet's defenses and rip them apart by will and laughter alone. "You're finally understanding. I want it all. Everything you have, everything you've ever wanted. But don't get the wrong idea," Greed's tongue lashes invisible teeth. "-as much as I'd want to, there are limits. I may be bad, but even I have some standards, friend."
The air in the room turns up a notch, then another and another. It's warm in the way a jungle is warm; hot in the way a desert scorches the earth. The Sin makes a noise like lips touching together ever-so-softly. "I can cut you out of this. Remove you from this one moment and give you a taste of it all. A second to be blissfully away from all this bullshit. You just have to give me your hands."
Another flash of violence wriggles into vision. The place isn't here - it's far away. Darkness squirms and infects all it touches. No where is safe from it; not the rocks, not the trees, nor the empty shells of buildings that had once stood as a testament to humanity and mortality, now incubators for creatures starved of the sun. Yet above all the devastation, it is them that linger. Faces made prominent in vague shadows and menacing shapes. Seven of them total stand tall. Towering giants twisted and clawing like the Titans over the destruction of Olympus.
Greed hums from somewhere behind and his arms stretch out, shadowy and intangible. Four of them try to wrap around Emet loosely; their forming fingers turning sharp and crooked. "I'm sure you hear it often. All those people down there singing your praises. If only they knew. If only they realized how special you truly are." The Sin sighs, his exhale catching each edge of him, every barb, in a thin whistle. "You're so much more. Oh, Your Highness, you're just too, too, much - "
His jaws close in, but the pressure radiating off his target is too much to bare. Greed snaps his mouth shut, sudden and brisk. Something has broken. Maybe him from too much energy. Maybe his spell from being stretched too thin. The air in front of them cracks, forming a hairline split like thin ice spiderwebbing underfoot. The Sin's arms retreat to the tune of a thousand snakes and in his chest, a noise stirs; a sound of a purr and a growl storming in delight.
"Just so you know that I'm telling the truth. The name's Greed, not Envy. I make it a point not to lie. But if that's not enough to convince you - " Greed's attention changes direction; a predator seeking out an alternative meal. "I could find someone else if that's what you want. I'm sure you won't have an issue with that, hmn?" A hint of confidence nips back into his jaw.
"Otherwise, we're just going to be doing this all night long. And I don't think either of us want that, do we?"
For half a moment, he falters. Trapped in this mortal body, for the time being, he can only revisit those days of paradise in his dreams - and even those dreams sometimes end in fire and death. This entity - Greed, as it calls itself - would offer him that dream.
He casts his gaze out over the people below. Solus' people. Not his. Their pride is not his own. Their dreams and aspirations far removed from those of his long-dead people. His aging frame seems to sag under its own weight (or perhaps just the weight of his heavy heart) but his defences remain firm. His conviction is not so easily broken. Why should he care where this creature wishes to feast?
But they're right that they cannot continue this all night, and if he lets them loose in the city then his carefully laid plans may crumble.
"A moment of bliss for, what, my soul?" he asks, his chuckle more a dry cough than anything. Frustrating how these mortal bodies break down after two-score years. Solus is verging on half a century now but he can hear the creak in his joints, the wearing down of cartilage, and sense the slow decline of his own organs. "You will have to bargain better than that. Why should I settle for a moment when I can have an eternity?"
He casts his gaze out over the people below. Solus' people. Not his. Their pride is not his own. Their dreams and aspirations far removed from those of his long-dead people. His aging frame seems to sag under its own weight (or perhaps just the weight of his heavy heart) but his defences remain firm. His conviction is not so easily broken. Why should he care where this creature wishes to feast?
But they're right that they cannot continue this all night, and if he lets them loose in the city then his carefully laid plans may crumble.
"A moment of bliss for, what, my soul?" he asks, his chuckle more a dry cough than anything. Frustrating how these mortal bodies break down after two-score years. Solus is verging on half a century now but he can hear the creak in his joints, the wearing down of cartilage, and sense the slow decline of his own organs. "You will have to bargain better than that. Why should I settle for a moment when I can have an eternity?"
The crack drives deeper into him, splintering his focus and forcing a pang of something into his core. Greed's breath hitches somewhere (an inhale of air, a jump of soot through the floorboards that's both subtle and alarming all at once) and his mirage briefly falters. Where he exists is in the peripheral. He's there and he isn't. He's whole, but transparent; a shadow of a man, a monster, hovering between one reality and the next.
The Sin almost misses the question. "Your soul? Ha - ! No - " A static shock arcs out of the air, spitting and hissing like a snake electrified in a terrible, wicked red. "-if I wanted that, we wouldn't be talking right now. Besides - ah," his voice dies in his throat. Under all that pressure, under all of Solus's sheer mass, he feels like he's falling. Like he's coming apart, tearing himself open, and bleeding out everything and all he's ever been.
A jagged smile etches in the air and stretches out - the edges of it reaching like nails searching for a wall to scratch on.
"An eternity," Greed finally answers, breathless. There's a sense of a grin in his tone; a tickle of malice pure, raw, and unabashedly wanton. "You're just as greedy as I am, aren't you?" Another tremble of dust vibrates around the banister. It lifts off the wood with a mind of its own; like the aftermath of a deafening rocket shaking the earth from its slumber. "I like the sound of that."
And hasn't that always been the catch? Eternity without the concerns of their own rules, without worrying about him, without all the strings that came attached.
Greed's focus suddenly snaps, his red eyes briefly reforming as pricks in the dim. "I told you that we couldn't do this all night. I wasn't lying, friend." When he speaks, his voice seems far more distant. It's a whisper - a hiss from a violin's string or a hum from a clinking glass. No, he can't do this much longer. Shedding his form had been a risk he was willing to take, but going back? Now? When it's all so, so close -
A member of the waitstaff passes below, unaware and oblivious of what's watching him. Greed gathers himself. "It's either you or that one down there," he slurs. "-then you can decide for yourself."
But he isn't wasting time. A ribbon of ash slithers down the steps, twisting and turning like a thick band of wire seeking out a power source. "It's always been your choice. So, what'll it be?" The soot pauses, rises up, and puffs out; a cobra seconds from a strike.
The Sin almost misses the question. "Your soul? Ha - ! No - " A static shock arcs out of the air, spitting and hissing like a snake electrified in a terrible, wicked red. "-if I wanted that, we wouldn't be talking right now. Besides - ah," his voice dies in his throat. Under all that pressure, under all of Solus's sheer mass, he feels like he's falling. Like he's coming apart, tearing himself open, and bleeding out everything and all he's ever been.
A jagged smile etches in the air and stretches out - the edges of it reaching like nails searching for a wall to scratch on.
"An eternity," Greed finally answers, breathless. There's a sense of a grin in his tone; a tickle of malice pure, raw, and unabashedly wanton. "You're just as greedy as I am, aren't you?" Another tremble of dust vibrates around the banister. It lifts off the wood with a mind of its own; like the aftermath of a deafening rocket shaking the earth from its slumber. "I like the sound of that."
And hasn't that always been the catch? Eternity without the concerns of their own rules, without worrying about him, without all the strings that came attached.
Greed's focus suddenly snaps, his red eyes briefly reforming as pricks in the dim. "I told you that we couldn't do this all night. I wasn't lying, friend." When he speaks, his voice seems far more distant. It's a whisper - a hiss from a violin's string or a hum from a clinking glass. No, he can't do this much longer. Shedding his form had been a risk he was willing to take, but going back? Now? When it's all so, so close -
A member of the waitstaff passes below, unaware and oblivious of what's watching him. Greed gathers himself. "It's either you or that one down there," he slurs. "-then you can decide for yourself."
But he isn't wasting time. A ribbon of ash slithers down the steps, twisting and turning like a thick band of wire seeking out a power source. "It's always been your choice. So, what'll it be?" The soot pauses, rises up, and puffs out; a cobra seconds from a strike.
"Laid low, evading capture. A lifetime on the run.
Don't know the day when I last saw the sun."
The change of the next millennium had brought with it a renaissance of sorts; where technology reigned supreme and superstition had turned the corner towards more mainstream entertainment. No longer did the masses fear what lurked behind every corner. Science had given them the answers to their questions and explanations for whatever went bump in the night. It was an admirable and impressive half truth. A way to calm the herd and keep progress on the ever-chugging train track towards advanced civilization.
But not everyone was on board. And those that still held on, those that still knew, still believed, were the very reason he'd ended up here in the first place.
Greed watches one of the copper pipes hanging above him. He'd noticed the slight crack in it months before. How it rattled whenever the sink a few floors up switched from cold to hot; the way it groaned and whined whenever the weather took a turn for the worse. Today, it's a few healthy inches of rain giving it trouble and as the sliver of a window in the basement's upper corner films up, he catches the small crack bleeding out again. The steady trickle of water, a thunderclap in all his silence.
A tired smile teases on his face. He should have known better, really. Avarice - for him, it meant honesty. Everything he was, everything he is: it's clearly defined. What he wanted and craved, forever worn on his sleeve. Mortals, however, came with the complexities of their small moments on earth. And when one is faced with the idea of being lost for eternity? He can't blame them for being desperate. For deciding to fight, claw, beat, and escape from a cage of their own making, no matter what could be the cost.
The deal had turned a corner as soon as he was summoned. Usually, he knew when someone was going to give him a call. There'd be a hint, a visit, anything. This, however, came with more than a touch of desperation. The man had been frantic when he first arrived: sweaty skin, ringing hands, eyes bulged out like saucer plates on the bad end of a cocaine line. It was if, finally, he knew his end was coming and it was time to clean the ledger and get all that red, Lord all that red, out, out, out.
When the priest showed up, Greed had laughed. Really laughed. After all, what could an average holy man really do?
He hadn't anticipated the angel masquerading as a demon hunter and that.
Well -
Greed lifts his hand, bringing with it a thick chunk of industrial-grade chain. With a snap of his fingers, he calls what he can from the world. A single cigarette crackles between his knuckles - its tip smoldering and smoking from whence it came. He brings it to his mouth. What little he can savor, he does, and while a familiar sensation burns at the back of his throat, his eyes retrace the long pipe again. No, he hadn't been prepared for that little surprise. It wasn't one of the ones he knew, far from it. A new white-collar hot shot looking to climb the ranks. But he, she, they had everything they needed to get the job done. And in the end, he was bound, chained, and dragged down into the bowels of some God (the irony) forsaken basement of a church miles away from his previous destination.
That was in what humans called July; when the humidity really set in and the roaches of the world multiplied in the hot, persistent damp.
Greed winces as his wrist turns just enough to let him exhale through his teeth. The shackles against his skin have been treated to an almost militant schedule. Fresh holy water first, blessed wine second, and a touch of real divinity to seal the deal. Honestly, under any other circumstance, he would be impressed by the whole thing. Each detail of his imprisonment is perfect; the execution of it, air tight. And isn't there a story the mortals used to tell once upon a time? The man of Greece who once tricked death -
His teeth bite into the filter of his smoke, squishing the padding and warping it into a tangled, lumpy mess.
In times like these man made new gods of neon and static, sent their prayers into wires and microphones and their tithes into electronic voids to feed that ever growing hunger. At it's core greed was their most universal sin, the one most human and in truth the one that drove all others. The most consuming, the most dangerous...
And for their nature, the most necessary.
Capturing the very essence of the Sin himself, in the flesh and whole on the mortal plane was absolutely a victory worthy of the highest accolades. One should be proud to have trapped him so thoroughly and it was only appropriate that he be exalted above his given status, that ladder free to climb for one so ambitious. And foolish. Of course, the angel in question had been careful. The prison as it was had been hidden in plain sight, making finding it the proverbial needle in a haystack. Or hay in a haystack, as it were. The city was rife with leaking run down basements, old abandoned tunnels, and all manner of other secret places within which one little demon might be spirited away. With the proper wards put in place it would be all but impossible to find.
But Murmur was never one to give up, no matter how daunting a task. He had a familiarity with the shifting underbelly of dark and twisted places that most of his brethren would balk at in horror. His status, order of Angels and order of Thrones equally allowed him to slip largely unnoticed. Angels of the lowest rank and lowest sphere, nothing to be concerned about, and Thrones of the highest and most alien order and yet believed mindless machines, their inner workings no more complex than that of gears. If there was one truth about his duplicitous brethren it was this: to exist only within the light was to render oneself blind.
Almost as soon as he'd heard the news Murmur had gone to work trying to locate the captured Sin, but the other angel had been unusually thorough. With wards and bindings galore they had ensured that for as tiny and uninspired as Greed's cell was, it was hidden even from the piercing eyes of the Angel of Sight. However, he hadn't gotten as far as he had relying on singular methods alone. Eventually the angel slipped, just enough, and Murmur found his way.
The irony of utilizing an old church basement hadn't been lost on him, but Murmur couldn't risk going through the front door, no, not for this escapade. It was one of those basements with a narrow window just above the ground, against which mud and water pooled in the torrential rain. Hardly the most dignified approach, but one subtle enough all the same. As quiet as he could manage, though the old hinges creaked and screamed their protest that was fortunately drowned out by the thunder and rain, Murmur managed to pry the window open enough to poke his head in.
"You've got yourself in something of a predicament, I see."
It was impossible to tell if the waft of cold was from him, or just from the air outside given the ferocity of the storm.
And for their nature, the most necessary.
Capturing the very essence of the Sin himself, in the flesh and whole on the mortal plane was absolutely a victory worthy of the highest accolades. One should be proud to have trapped him so thoroughly and it was only appropriate that he be exalted above his given status, that ladder free to climb for one so ambitious. And foolish. Of course, the angel in question had been careful. The prison as it was had been hidden in plain sight, making finding it the proverbial needle in a haystack. Or hay in a haystack, as it were. The city was rife with leaking run down basements, old abandoned tunnels, and all manner of other secret places within which one little demon might be spirited away. With the proper wards put in place it would be all but impossible to find.
But Murmur was never one to give up, no matter how daunting a task. He had a familiarity with the shifting underbelly of dark and twisted places that most of his brethren would balk at in horror. His status, order of Angels and order of Thrones equally allowed him to slip largely unnoticed. Angels of the lowest rank and lowest sphere, nothing to be concerned about, and Thrones of the highest and most alien order and yet believed mindless machines, their inner workings no more complex than that of gears. If there was one truth about his duplicitous brethren it was this: to exist only within the light was to render oneself blind.
Almost as soon as he'd heard the news Murmur had gone to work trying to locate the captured Sin, but the other angel had been unusually thorough. With wards and bindings galore they had ensured that for as tiny and uninspired as Greed's cell was, it was hidden even from the piercing eyes of the Angel of Sight. However, he hadn't gotten as far as he had relying on singular methods alone. Eventually the angel slipped, just enough, and Murmur found his way.
The irony of utilizing an old church basement hadn't been lost on him, but Murmur couldn't risk going through the front door, no, not for this escapade. It was one of those basements with a narrow window just above the ground, against which mud and water pooled in the torrential rain. Hardly the most dignified approach, but one subtle enough all the same. As quiet as he could manage, though the old hinges creaked and screamed their protest that was fortunately drowned out by the thunder and rain, Murmur managed to pry the window open enough to poke his head in.
"You've got yourself in something of a predicament, I see."
It was impossible to tell if the waft of cold was from him, or just from the air outside given the ferocity of the storm.
The chill is different from that hanging about the basement. It's fresh and almost inviting; a sigh a life creeping through all that damp, all that wet, with a sarcastic promise of freedom. Greed's smile, as tired as it is, sharpens behind his bruised fingers. Ironic that his saving grace would be a touch of grace itself. A lordly usher from high above, yet oh-so tangled in the ick and stink of the mortal plane that it stuck to him like tar.
A flare of orange ignites as he takes another drag off his cigarette. "You could say that," he hums behind the soft part of his hand. Thin wisps of smoke peel between the cracks of his fingers only to die on his skin and morph into heavy, numbing clouds. They have no where to go and just like him, the smoke wanders aimlessly for an exit; their metaphor not lost on him in the slightest.
Scabby blood splinters on his forehead as he arches his eyebrow. Greed lowers his hand from his face and his wrist cracks the side of the metal slab he's been chained to with a ghostly rattle. "You sound like shit yourself." The Sin's lips quirk to reveal his unnaturally sharp teeth. By the looks of it, he's been down here a while. The small splits in his lip are dry despite the basement's dank disposition, his skin's pale, and the chains biting into his flesh have left their tell-tale marks. Around his throat, a reddish-purple bruise angrily festers. Of course, it won't last - they never do. But with a thorough binding, even devils have their limits.
For the time being, he's at their mercy.
Greed flicks his fingers to send a wad of ash wafting to the floor below. "Had a little run in with one of yours," his voice hisses through his teeth and another rush of smoke drives itself out of his nose. It cruises across his chest; the look of it like a dead-man's army rushing to the battlefield. "-they interrupted one of my deals. Kind of rude, if you ask me." A touch of humor plays in his tone and on his face. Just because he's pinned like some sort of museum prize, that doesn't mean he's defeated. Far from it. After all, what is it they say?
Idle hands and the devil?
One of his ankles fidgets and the chord of heavy metal laced underneath the table strangles to a tight, hard line. "Don't suppose I can still count on you to be a little more reasonable, can I?" Greed tries to turn his neck to peer at the window, but his prison quickly puts an end to that. A few links of chain grip deep into his throat. They reopen a couple of the half-crusted wounds, making them crack, bleed, and split into fresh reminders. "Shame, I don't even get to have a good look at you. What a pain in the ass."
Again, he tries and again, he fails; the sudden, choking grunt in his throat a clear indication.
The Sin lets his head fall back with a solid thd against the table, and he lets out a short laugh. "You haven't changed at all. Not that I expected to you, but - " His tongue touches his lip and drags it back into his mouth. He can taste his blood again: how foreign it almost feels and how familiar it is now. Greed's finger traces out what's left of his cigarette. No, nothing does change. Angels don't change, they're bound by their decrees. Devils don't change, they're pulled by their nature. And mortals, ah mortals. They aren't even close to an exception. Even as the world turned towards something different, those inclinations, those wants, those needs, those fears - they would still be there, wouldn't they?
Yet maybe, just maybe -
Another pillow of ash falls from his smoke, forgotten and lost to the unforgiving concrete. Greed edges his eyes open. "I wasn't going to kill him, y'know. His life had already done that for me. I never actually kill the ones who take my deal. That's their choice." He swallows and the collar clamped to his neck shifts ever so slightly. "You'd think they would know that by now, but it always comes down to this. They beg for their life back, but I never even took it in the first place. Ha - !" The Sin barks, coughs, then quickly returns the cigarette back to his mouth.
"I give them every opportunity. And don't get me wrong, some do. They turn their lives around, take what I've given them, and go out for more. Hope," slurred are his words; his voice merely strings and whispers of smoke. "-there's nothing wrong with having too much hope. Yet, yours would say that's somehow a bad thing and that they deserve whatever's coming for them."
The cigarette shrinks under that need of his and its orange glow dampens. "Kind of a rotten deal, don't you think?"
A flare of orange ignites as he takes another drag off his cigarette. "You could say that," he hums behind the soft part of his hand. Thin wisps of smoke peel between the cracks of his fingers only to die on his skin and morph into heavy, numbing clouds. They have no where to go and just like him, the smoke wanders aimlessly for an exit; their metaphor not lost on him in the slightest.
Scabby blood splinters on his forehead as he arches his eyebrow. Greed lowers his hand from his face and his wrist cracks the side of the metal slab he's been chained to with a ghostly rattle. "You sound like shit yourself." The Sin's lips quirk to reveal his unnaturally sharp teeth. By the looks of it, he's been down here a while. The small splits in his lip are dry despite the basement's dank disposition, his skin's pale, and the chains biting into his flesh have left their tell-tale marks. Around his throat, a reddish-purple bruise angrily festers. Of course, it won't last - they never do. But with a thorough binding, even devils have their limits.
For the time being, he's at their mercy.
Greed flicks his fingers to send a wad of ash wafting to the floor below. "Had a little run in with one of yours," his voice hisses through his teeth and another rush of smoke drives itself out of his nose. It cruises across his chest; the look of it like a dead-man's army rushing to the battlefield. "-they interrupted one of my deals. Kind of rude, if you ask me." A touch of humor plays in his tone and on his face. Just because he's pinned like some sort of museum prize, that doesn't mean he's defeated. Far from it. After all, what is it they say?
Idle hands and the devil?
One of his ankles fidgets and the chord of heavy metal laced underneath the table strangles to a tight, hard line. "Don't suppose I can still count on you to be a little more reasonable, can I?" Greed tries to turn his neck to peer at the window, but his prison quickly puts an end to that. A few links of chain grip deep into his throat. They reopen a couple of the half-crusted wounds, making them crack, bleed, and split into fresh reminders. "Shame, I don't even get to have a good look at you. What a pain in the ass."
Again, he tries and again, he fails; the sudden, choking grunt in his throat a clear indication.
The Sin lets his head fall back with a solid thd against the table, and he lets out a short laugh. "You haven't changed at all. Not that I expected to you, but - " His tongue touches his lip and drags it back into his mouth. He can taste his blood again: how foreign it almost feels and how familiar it is now. Greed's finger traces out what's left of his cigarette. No, nothing does change. Angels don't change, they're bound by their decrees. Devils don't change, they're pulled by their nature. And mortals, ah mortals. They aren't even close to an exception. Even as the world turned towards something different, those inclinations, those wants, those needs, those fears - they would still be there, wouldn't they?
Yet maybe, just maybe -
Another pillow of ash falls from his smoke, forgotten and lost to the unforgiving concrete. Greed edges his eyes open. "I wasn't going to kill him, y'know. His life had already done that for me. I never actually kill the ones who take my deal. That's their choice." He swallows and the collar clamped to his neck shifts ever so slightly. "You'd think they would know that by now, but it always comes down to this. They beg for their life back, but I never even took it in the first place. Ha - !" The Sin barks, coughs, then quickly returns the cigarette back to his mouth.
"I give them every opportunity. And don't get me wrong, some do. They turn their lives around, take what I've given them, and go out for more. Hope," slurred are his words; his voice merely strings and whispers of smoke. "-there's nothing wrong with having too much hope. Yet, yours would say that's somehow a bad thing and that they deserve whatever's coming for them."
The cigarette shrinks under that need of his and its orange glow dampens. "Kind of a rotten deal, don't you think?"
It wasn't so bad as all of that. Oh, indeed, the most righteous of his brethren would sneer and snort at the very idea of actually enjoying the company of the monkeys. The very idea akin to the worst kind of blasphemy. In the end, Murmur had to wonder what it was they were so afraid of? Was it their own flaws, reflected back at them in these strange fragile, confused creatures? Was it the realization that no matter how far humans fell, they could still hold such grace in their short, miserable lives? Of course none of that was of particular import at the moment, he had a mission and one that very well might end with a lost pair of wings if he weren't careful.
Despite how Greed might feel about the holy host, there were those among them who still remembered their roles, and that at their core they're all just different sides of the same coin.
"Do I?" The stranger inquired as he'd ducked back out of the window to readjust, reaching in to grasp beams just above the window's frame to brace himself as he slid backwards in through the narrow opening and landing almost silently on the floor. "I suppose it has been a long few nights." Not chained and tormented, perhaps, but busy. Then again, Thrones didn't sleep. That nature resulted in its own kind of weariness with time. "Yes I had noticed that," He quipped at the remark of how Greed came to be in this situation, a bottle of ice cold water pressed against his chained hand. It wasn't much, but it might get some life back into him while Murmur went to work.
For his part he wasn't particularly remarkable to look upon. Average, almost aggressively so, and yet he still had that strange air of something not quite human about him that often marked his kind. Perhaps it was the way he carried himself, a little lighter and a little more graceful than his form might imply him capable of. Perhaps it was the way he never quite made full eye contact, often seeming focused on something else miles away, or listening for a voice only he could hear. He did pause, tilting his head to the side in an almost bird-like mannerism as he listened to ensure that none had yet detected his invasion. "As I am certain you are well aware, my brethren are not well known for their manners. I, on the other hand, do still find value in them. It isn't poison, by the way." He'd not be cruel enough to bless water he was offering a demon to drink.
After a brief tour of the room, nose crinkled in mild disdain at the smell his eyes finally fell fully on Greed's battered form. While his expression remained one impossible to read, there was clearly some calculation going on there. Now that he was in, how exactly did he propose to get the demon out without drawing any attention? That's going to be the tricky part. That, and breaking down the chains and wards without removing an arm or two in the process.
"Mankind has ever had the flaw of placing the blame on all but their own heart, their own choices. It is the cost of free-will after all. However, I am no Dominion or Principality, it is not my calling to judge. Judgement is not why I am here tonight." In other words, Greed didn't really need to explain himself. The wretched soul that thought to ransom a Sin off to the holy host in order to save himself would be dealt with by those suited to the task. Suffice it to say the discovery of Greed's escape would not look good on his head.
"You presume much, Avarice." There's a lot of proclaiming going on there, and not a lot of asking. Murmur would have expected more curiosity, but perhaps his current state had left the Sin bitter and jaded. Well, time enough to correct that error, not that the strange angel was making it particularly obvious what he was up to just yet.
He set to work, first breaking down the angel captor's wards and replacing them with his own, intricate designs drawn in simple chalk over stone walls and rotten door. Wards to silence, wards to disguise the presence of those within. And most of all wards to delay detection while the seals that kept Greed immobilized were systematically dismantled. It would take some time, and the chains would be last, as Murmur had enough presence of mind to make a show of his truce lest the demon try to take a piece of him for his efforts. It never hurt to be cautious.
Despite how Greed might feel about the holy host, there were those among them who still remembered their roles, and that at their core they're all just different sides of the same coin.
"Do I?" The stranger inquired as he'd ducked back out of the window to readjust, reaching in to grasp beams just above the window's frame to brace himself as he slid backwards in through the narrow opening and landing almost silently on the floor. "I suppose it has been a long few nights." Not chained and tormented, perhaps, but busy. Then again, Thrones didn't sleep. That nature resulted in its own kind of weariness with time. "Yes I had noticed that," He quipped at the remark of how Greed came to be in this situation, a bottle of ice cold water pressed against his chained hand. It wasn't much, but it might get some life back into him while Murmur went to work.
For his part he wasn't particularly remarkable to look upon. Average, almost aggressively so, and yet he still had that strange air of something not quite human about him that often marked his kind. Perhaps it was the way he carried himself, a little lighter and a little more graceful than his form might imply him capable of. Perhaps it was the way he never quite made full eye contact, often seeming focused on something else miles away, or listening for a voice only he could hear. He did pause, tilting his head to the side in an almost bird-like mannerism as he listened to ensure that none had yet detected his invasion. "As I am certain you are well aware, my brethren are not well known for their manners. I, on the other hand, do still find value in them. It isn't poison, by the way." He'd not be cruel enough to bless water he was offering a demon to drink.
After a brief tour of the room, nose crinkled in mild disdain at the smell his eyes finally fell fully on Greed's battered form. While his expression remained one impossible to read, there was clearly some calculation going on there. Now that he was in, how exactly did he propose to get the demon out without drawing any attention? That's going to be the tricky part. That, and breaking down the chains and wards without removing an arm or two in the process.
"Mankind has ever had the flaw of placing the blame on all but their own heart, their own choices. It is the cost of free-will after all. However, I am no Dominion or Principality, it is not my calling to judge. Judgement is not why I am here tonight." In other words, Greed didn't really need to explain himself. The wretched soul that thought to ransom a Sin off to the holy host in order to save himself would be dealt with by those suited to the task. Suffice it to say the discovery of Greed's escape would not look good on his head.
"You presume much, Avarice." There's a lot of proclaiming going on there, and not a lot of asking. Murmur would have expected more curiosity, but perhaps his current state had left the Sin bitter and jaded. Well, time enough to correct that error, not that the strange angel was making it particularly obvious what he was up to just yet.
He set to work, first breaking down the angel captor's wards and replacing them with his own, intricate designs drawn in simple chalk over stone walls and rotten door. Wards to silence, wards to disguise the presence of those within. And most of all wards to delay detection while the seals that kept Greed immobilized were systematically dismantled. It would take some time, and the chains would be last, as Murmur had enough presence of mind to make a show of his truce lest the demon try to take a piece of him for his efforts. It never hurt to be cautious.
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