One might expect an angel of the Lord to balk at witnessing one of his brethren melted into gore and ash upon the floor, but Murmur was no mere angel. He'd done his time in Hell's prisons, performed his own fair share of vicious atrocities, this is nothing new to him. He watched, impassive and cold as the angel finally lost his nerve and plead in his final moments.
Pathetic.
He sniffed, lip curling in disdain at the miserable display. If they were going to be courageous enough to play at betrayal, they could at least maintain some level of dignity in their final moments. Really, if you were going to fall, you should commit fully. At Greed's request he glanced up, holding his wings higher as he prepared to depart to do just that. "Do as you will. They have made their choice, and thus the consequences they have chosen shall fall."
And with that he was gone, a gust of frigid wind in his wake.
There was one place Murmur knew would prevent angels from hunting them, consecrated ground. It would be unpleasant for the devils to hunker down there, but it would be unspeakable for an angel to perform an act of violence on such ground. So long as they were there, they were safe. Bido would be the easiest to convince, others less so, but Murmur was persuasive and when he wasn't persuasive enough he wasn't against an old-fashioned scruffing. Granted, that wouldn't do him much good whenever one of the angels did catch up with them first.
It was Roa and Dol who proved the hardest to track down, for Murmur anyway... Their pursuer on the other hand had less trouble. And was, unfortunately, more cunning than his brothers had been. He waited until after Murmur had shown himself to try to persuade the two to rendezvous at the church where he was hiding the others before appearing, forcing Murmur on the defensive rather than able to attack from the shadows. Once they were cornered they were set upon, and their attacker was quick to call in reinforcements.
Murmur would never claim to be a warrior, but he wasn't one to surrender so easily when his back was against a wall. Using his wings as a shield he stood between the demons and their would be executioners. "Flee this place, now." He hissed at the two, calling upon his ice magics to help shield against the other angel's attacks. Of course when they refused to flee in a timely manner Murmur sighed, resigning himself to the inconvenience. The little patches of bloody feathers at his shoulders had been a hint, but they hadn't been the whole story.
In a blaze of holy light that swiftly turned a sickened red he relinquished that carefully cultivated veneer of control, releasing the bloodlust that boiled just beneath the surface of all Blood Angels. The leader and his subordinates hesitated, if only for a moment, at the dripping eye-filled rings of halo and blood drenched feathers that greeted them. A moment of hesitation they wouldn't repeat as Murmur punished them severely with a blast of blood-ice shards razor sharp and vicious.
The battle that ensued was vicious, yet even bolstered as he was by a blind rage he was still one angel against three, and a magician at that. The warriors weathered his magic well, but he did not weather their spears and swords as gently. He'd managed to trick one into impaling himself on a pillar of ice by feigning a fall but still took a spear to the gut for his efforts. He tore the wing off another, an act particularly cruel given that he had only brutality behind him to perform the feat. By that time the one remaining decided this fight wasn't worth the life of three angels, collecting his hobbled comrade and absconding. The night was won, though they'd not be so careless of Greed's trump card angel next time.
When they were gone and the threat passed the rage fell, leaving Murmur to deal with his injuries and exhaustion on his own. This was... more exhausting than he'd be willing to admit. Fortunately he didn't have to, because collapsing did that job for him.
It's cool guys just drag him out of the puddles if you would it's very undignified.
It's hours later that he finds him. Well, a hint of him anyway. Churches weren't off limits for him, but they dulled his senses. Where the rest of the world and it's everything shot off in his mind like sparks, heavenly houses always seemed so dreary in comparison. Like faded gray on a canvas otherwise splattered in neon, they dropped into the background like nothing. Their existence, numb and dim.
The door to the church wheezes open, revealing the cold fog of a coming morning. Soft blues chase at the wood frame; a thick haze teases at the entrance. The Sin's hand wraps around the door and as his black-charcoal fingers choke the wood, a hint of his heat follows. A spark traces out the entrance, eating at anything holy and chasing it away with shy puffs of smoke. It's a small thing, really. A way to both make himself known and to ensure there wouldn't be any other unpleasant surprise for the day.
Greed inhales and his vicious 'Shield evaporates, leaving him with his usual face and usual look, save for a light, faint haze of soot that hovers off his skin like dust. He doesn't say anything as he passes by the rows and rows of pews. Instead, his heels fill the silence - their clacks and clicks shooting off and echoing as brittle as bullets in a chamber.
Foul. Bitter. That's how he feels, counting who remained, who was visibly missing, and who had barely made it at all. The Sin's face goes stiff and cold in the church's sleepy-dawn hush. Even Murmur, someone they all considered practically untouchable, had taken his own toll in the fight. It had been minor of course, but considering how the angel seemed out to the entire world even now. Well.
Ffffz, and a cigarette starts to blaze tiredly on his lip. "Doc, start helping out the rest of 'em. Bido," Greed raises his finger off his hip to gesture and cut the air like a hot, burning knife. "-need you to tap your usual channels. See if the Coven has a few things we can use."
Knocked out by the shock of it all (be it from Greed's appearance or the sudden switch to the usual status quo), Bido instantly jumps to the task. He fumbles a small notebook from the insides of his shredded, burnt-edge cloak, his thin claws flipping pages until he finally finds a blank spot. "What should I ask them for? Mr. Greed..?"
The Sin chews angrily on his smoke, shifting it to the left side of his jaw with a sputtering huff of fire in his cheek. "Seven crossroad nails, three dove tails, and the head of a rattlesnake. Tell them I sent you. If they get you what I need right then and there, their debt's paid. Now go," he pauses and his eyes throb behind his sunglasses. "And watch yourself, Bido. Use all the tricks you have. I don't want anyone damaging any more of my things."
While the pep talk may be lacking by normal means, it causes Bido to brighten just a bit. He nods and in an instant, he's gone again. Crawling away, disappearing into the shadows. Greed lifts his chin and as the Doc of the group gets to work, he slowly bends over to check on Murmur. One hand out, he gently places his knuckles to the angel's cheek.
"Hope you're still with me, handsome. Because we have some unfinished business I think you'll be interested in."
The church was chosen because angels, even those pushing the bounds of acceptable allegiances, wouldn't dare commit acts of violence within their territory. Even if they were found, they'd be safe at least from them. Murmur had picked one rather subtle and out of the way, so ideally they should be safe there for the time being. However long it took for Greed to finish cleaning up the mess.
Thankfully Roa and Dol had been kind enough to drag Murmur with them after the altercation and didn't leave him out in the street to be found by someone less savory. He was still out of it by the time Greed arrived, though far less from his injuries and far more from his inability to tolerate the Rage. It was something he fought so hard to suppress, was it any wonder when he did have to use it it took so much out of him? Still, one angel against three were fairly impressive odds considering he'd driven them back unarmed and largely unprepared.
When Greed touched him he twitched, a pulse of energy radiating from him both subtle and undeniable. A quiet dread and rapture alike, warning and welcome, before subsiding back into silence. Murmur was there he was simply recuperating. A few moments longer and he finally managed to crack one eye open, the final dregs of the bloodrage draining from it as he grunted in annoyance. "Wouldn't happen to have brought me a tea, would you?"
Greed pulls the cigarette out of his mouth and lifts it up and away to tap a bit of ash onto the church-room floor. "I'm sure I could come up with something," his lips move in the whispers of smoke as they puff and coil about his face like a thundercloud trapped in a jar. While the Sin flattens one of his hands on his thigh, he lets the other hang lazily between his legs. One twist, and he rolls his wrist, sending the bracelets on his hand hopping and skipping up his arm.
When his fingers finally snap together, something porcelain and fragile shivers delicately between his boots. The cup and saucer he's conjured up aren't his usual, nor do they appear to be anything remotely modern. Blue designs wash themselves against the white; a faint lick of gold lines the lips of both. They match in a way that's purposeful - as if someone long ago had poured their very soul into them to make the perfect pair.
Greed gingerly pushes the steaming drink forward, his pinkie idly yanking at the teabag as softly as a fish trying at a bit of bait. "Sorry if it isn't exactly what you're used to. Not really my specialty."
Idly Murmur waves the smoke away from his face, wrinkling his nose in mild distaste. Normally he doesn't mind much, but right now he's not exactly in his best form so Greed will just have to forgive his poor manners. While Greed worked on his conjuring Murmur shifted to sit himself up, wincing slightly as the pain shooting up his side reminded him he did indeed just take an angelic spear to the gut... and that he should probably take it easy for a while.
Human weapons he could shrug off like they were nothing, even demon arms were more nuisance than menace, but angel blades were designed to kill not only demons but their own brethren. It's who they first went to war with, after all. You see this is exactly why he usually doesn't stick around for fights. After his momentary distraction due to still bleeding he refocuses on Greed and the tea. Well, one couldn't argue he didn't at least have style. Flavor may be a different story.
Gingerly he reached out to accept the offering, granting Greed a wry smile. "I am not especially picky, it should be sufficient. My thanks." That'll hit the spot. "Did everyone make it out?"
Greed's pupils dilate violently, the heat in them still struggling to simmer to a cool. Murmur's question hits hard. The ones that made it out are a sorry bunch now, spending their time licking their wounds or tending to those who are far more worse for wear. Others, however. The Sin's mouth forms like a flash chill to gold; his frown soft, but firm.
"Don't worry about it," he says, lowly. "For now, need you to take care of yourself, hmn?" Greed tongues the filter of his smoke to drag in a fresh breath of ash. Ash. That's where some of them went. Burned to dust and scattered only to be lost to neither Heaven nor Hell, but to the void in between. A nothing, an emptiness.
The Sin stretches his legs and as the tendons snap and crunch, he casts a look over the pews. Dolcetto and Roa, over at the old-wood confessional, cleaning their cuts and slices with fresh brandy. Martel tending to Bido in the most comforting way she can. Bido and his visible tremors making his hood quiver in the gloom. Greed's jaw sets and threatens the filter of his cigarette, making the paper and tobacco floss brisk between his teeth.
He pops something against the inside of his cheek and a peel of lemon sleepily unfurls around his knuckles; the look of it like a snake, hatching from a shell. "Just in case you need it," he slurs before gingerly pinching the curl at the rim of Murmur's cup.
A delicate topic to be sure, but one that needed to be clarified nonetheless. It was important to know their status, they were safe only for the moment after all. Hands may be needed sooner rather than later.
"It is for prudence that I ask, while they are unlikely to attack us in this place, it is best to know where we stand." He echoes that frown, taking Greed's silence to mean that of those not scattered about the temporary safe zone, it was unlikely they'd be returning. His gaze followed Greed's, they were in a sorry state, likely the Nest wouldn't survive another surprise assault. Not like this. "Tell me, did they happen to collect that fallen wing in their retreat?"
A strange, macabre request perhaps but Murmur had a reason for it. He always did, after all, and removing the wing while allowing its owner to escape with their life had been a calculated maneuver. Allowing himself a momentary distraction he accepted the lemon, plopping it with grace into his tea. "My gratitude," He does, in fact, like the flavor.
Something coy tugs at the corner of his mouth. Between the cigarette smoke and the ghostly blue of the abandoned church, a heat suddenly fumes across his face; as if some want, some desire, has already been satisfied.
Greed inhales, eating away half of his cigarette. "Know me too well, don't you?" Purring, he breathes his words into life in a rush of air through his nose. "Doc's got it in the safest place in the world." The Sin cants his head, causing the rest of his body to tip and teeter like a dancer drunk on applause. "Figured it'd be a good spot. Besides, it gives me an excuse to give our good ol' friends upstairs a message in return for the shit they pulled tonight."
He slinks back and as his heels rap-rap-rap across the church floor, the Sin takes the lead. He weaves away from the pews and up to the ceremonial platform; his legs and torso maneuvering between wreckage and stockpiles alike more similar to a vulture plucking its way through a funeral's buffet.
It's only when he gets to the confessional, does he pause. What had probably been a pristine structure once has quietly transformed over the night. The wood's been smeared in oil - a dump of ashtrays, matchboxes, and cash from the bar litters the carpet. Greed takes it all in with a lopsided grin; his eyes reignited to a gassy purple-pink.
He strikes the back of his teeth with his tongue. "Welcome to our little congregation handsome. Let me show you around - " He starts and with a gentle lift of his wrist, the curtain to the confessional pulls away, revealing the severed wing. Someone, at some point, had taken the time to carefully wrap it. Red-silk curtains from the bar's private rooms loop around the feathers, leaving it cushioned, yet stable for transport.
The Sin shuffles to one side of the tight space to leave Murmur enough room to enter. "Thought it might be worth saving," he pinches his cigarette from the tip to snuff it between his fingers. "Guess they weren't wrong, huh?"
Greed leans forward, his lips pursed. For a while, he just stares at it - all the feathers left without an owner, how much space it fills. There's worth there, and he knows it. It calls to him like blood to a shark. The price of it, the power of it, the sheer unfathomable possibilities.
Yet -
The cigarette butt finds the confessional's floor and the Sin eases back and away into a sluggish slouch. "Equivalent exchange," he remarks, absently. "For what you did back there. It's yours."
"I make it a habit to know well those I choose to engage with, yes," He responded with a wry smirk of his own. Gingerly he moved to stand, wincing slightly at the sting. The wound would heal quickly enough, but angelic weapons were particularly suited to damaging other angels just as well as they were designed to cut down demons. Of course he knew they'd collect the fallen wing, they couldn't resist a treasure like that. Nor the act of revenge it represented.
That was all part of Murmur's calculated plan.
Sipping his tea he moved to follow, curious how Greed would define the "safest place" possible for such a thing. Of course, he quickly regretted wondering and had to shake his head at the sight of such a defiled confessional. Not that he had any particular attachment to the practice, the ways of mortals were not the ways of angels after all. How they decided to repent was up to them... even so, this church was one he did not want the demons getting too comfortable in. It was still consecrated ground, after all, and that was the very thing protecting them right now. Angels would not perform violence here, it would be unsavory to them.
For now even they were granted sanctuary in such a place.
"I expected they might," He looked pleased, brushing past the Sin to inspect his prize. He did raise an eyebrow at all the pomp and show of gifting it to him, and couldn't help the faint exasperation that escaped him. It belonged to him by right of battle, but that was hardly the part he was exasperated by. "You really must stop underestimating me, Avarice." Now he's using the name to express his disappointment. "This," He reached out and tweaked a feather, and for the briefest moment a flash of a most predatory grin crossed his features. "Is bait. I have already laid the groundwork. Three cast from their earthly vessels, three failing to tear down a tarnished traitor, and one to lose a wing in the process. Not only have we cost them grave injury, but more than that they have been humiliated. This one will stop at nothing to have his wing returned, lest he be disgraced for eternity."
There was a triumph there, subtle and yet as sharp as any of his blades of ice. As though victory could be claimed already in a battle not yet even fought. "With this, you have an avenue for revenge. Moreover you have an avenue for information, which is far more valuable now as forces align against you. We have but to lay the trap."
Murmur planned it all out. As soon as the attack happened every step had been calculated, every angel taken down, every angel allowed to escape, and even his own injury had all been moves in a greater game. Greed was lucky this one was on his side.
Just as swiftly as the first had gone out, a new cigarette appears between the Sin's fingers in a single, slick motion. He plays with it; flipping it over a knuckle, making it disappear into the palm of his hand only to have it appear out the other side again with nothing but air and an assurance of a quick fix.
Greed arches an eyebrow and as it breaks over the rims of his shades, the look on his face is uncanny. It's sick with desire; fumed with want. But it isn't for his usual. Gold, riches, women, company, sex - no, those couldn't hold a candle to what he truly desires. That need, no that right for pure, raw vengeance; it grips at him like a snare. The corner of his mouth shrinks and his teeth crack open, inviting and welcoming the butt end of his cigarette as smoothly as a signature to paper.
When his thumb ignites again, the flame shimmers to a rich, fat-bellied gold. "Sounds like you've got this all planned out," he swirls his tongue to release a spiral of fresh smoke. "-knew I shouldn't underestimate you. It's pretty impressive." He ashes a bit onto the floor and carefully smooths out any hot coals with the heel of his boot. "Made a few calls of my own. The Coven - " Trilling, the Sin lifts a hand into the air to twirl at a strand of soot until it condenses and reshapes itself into something of a curvy figure. "-Bido's making sure they take care of the rest. By tonight, the 'Nest'll be back in working order. Just might be harder for some of my infrequent visitors to find the place for a while. You still got the thing I gave you?"
The matchbox: a one-way ticket. Greed fumbles through his pockets to pull one out. "If not, I got one of these left for the time being. Call it a precaution." He pushes the side with his thumb to check the contents and a couple of measly sticks rattle and roll into a corner. "Don't have a lot left, so you'll have to hold off until then. In the meantime, I have my own to deal with."
Because heavenly bodies weren't the only ones working tonight, oh no. They had help. Help from deep below in a crooked shape and a vile face that he knew all too well.
The devil sharpens his teeth on the filter of his cigarette, making the paper wheeze like a lung, blackened by disease. "Never been one to pass on a discount myself. And what's better than two for the price of one? Besides - " Red brands behind his sunglasses, burning into the glass and pulsing as sure as a wildfire raging deep in a wooded pit. "-I think it's about time little Envy got their dues."
At this juncture Murmur would find it more strange if his proposition didn't elicit a dramatic response. Greed was a creature easy to predict, by his nature he coveted everything there was or ever could be to covet, but the trick was in knowing what he valued. It wasn't simple gold or trophies, no, it was those who he had claimed as his own. And Envy had made a dreadful mistake in bringing harm upon them. It was only reasonable to quell this threat before things got out of hand.
"Still working out some of the details," Murmur continued, moving to find himself a clear spot on the pew to rest and sip his tea, apparently unbothered by the severed limb in his company. He gestured for Greed to join him, they'd not had a moment to truly sit and discuss much of anything, much less tactics. At the question he reached into one of the many inner pockets in his thick coat, drawing out the box of so far unused matches to rattle it at the Sin. He'll be fine, and if need be he's sure he could collect a few more.
Before Greed could leave him so quickly again he chimed in: "I have a request."
"And what sort of details would those be?" The Sin asks, his voice tangled up in a slur. The sound that shivers out of him is a mix of a purr and a hum; the tune of it, a sweet, honey-suckle poison. Because he is predictable. What he wants is simple, what he craves is easy: an eye for an eye, a tooth of a tooth, and if Envy is the ugly monster, Avarice?
Avarice is the loaner quick on the heels whenever jealousy overextends its reach.
Greed tosses his cigarette into a ceremonial goblet as he follows Murmur's lead, leaving the idea to simmer for a later time. "Not exactly a clean night, so I don't expect results right away," he starts in while his body falls into an empty spot on the pew. With no regard to the sanctimony of things, he lets his legs and arms sprawl. He hooks his heels up and across the back of the pews and the rest of him sags to fill up the space. His whole demeanor still casual, cool.
"Oh-?" He cocks his head slightly to the side. "And here I thought you'd never take me up on an offer. Well, shit - " The Sin pops his lips, causing something hot to stir in his cheek. "Name it. Whatever you want," he begins before cutting himself off with a wave. "-no strings attached. Devil's honor."
"The where, for a start. Choose a suitable location, one that would be unlikely to arouse more suspicion than necessary. I will need time to prepare the binding wards, but it shall be done. Once that is in place we need merely bait the trap. Between my work and that of the coven capturing your messenger pigeon will be assured."
Again an eyebrow rose, the faintest hint of a smirk briefly touching his features, more tooth than necessary and with an air that he expects Greed will soon come to dislike what it is he wishes to request. "It is not for me," Of course not, it never is. "The angel. I would prefer it if you did not slaughter him. While he has transgressed against you remember that they act on orders and little else. Doubtful he even understands the web he's fallen into. Being forcefully evicted from one's Earthly body is agony enough, but outright destruction is..." He looks distant for a moment, maybe even pained, but it's brief and Murmur is a master of keeping his facial features under control.
"Their numbers only dwindle. There is only one method by which angels come into existence and a new one has not been created in millennia. Your display of mercy will not go unnoticed."
He may be an exile, but he still carries the weight of duty even if it seems counter intuitive.
Greed's fingers tip and tap atop the pew in thought. "I think I have a spot that'll work. But the rest of them stay here," he orders, his nail stopping short enough on the wood to draw a thin line. "I don't need any more of my things getting damaged. That being said, the place hasn't been touched in a while, so I might have to clear it out myself. How much time do you need?"
But for how quickly that serious tone comes, it's gone; in a flash of teeth, in a too-wide grin that gapes, stretches, and promises to one day, oh one day, swallow the world and everything in it. The Sin's eyebrows touch ever-so-slightly together; his face, a picture-perfect vision of eagerness. "Somehow, I thought that'd be the case - you really push a hard bargain, friend." His tongue lashes, splitting and reforming together again like magnetic glue.
However, his expression drops. Vengeance, payback: it's a thin line for him to walk. Because Murmur isn't wrong. The angel has already been stripped to its core; reduced and smothered, a punishment worse than anything he could possibly give. Still, that core of his twists and writhes. It pushes up his throat, making his jaw set and his eyes wander, as if looking for an answer. "It's a waste. I get it. Still," a heat rises off his finger as it turns crooked and sharp, making the wood of the pew hiss in a smoke. "-no one takes what's mine, Angel. I hope, for his sake, he remembers that."
Greed yanks his heels down, causing them to smack hard against the church's stony floor. "I'll make sure he doesn't die, but I can't promise anything else." Meaning, well, anything. Because isn't it true? A pound of flesh is a drop in the bucket.
And greed, ah greed: how it always calls for more.
"It is best they keep their distance." He agreed. There wasn't any need to utilize more of the Nesters, best to not have to worry about keeping them out of harm's way while trying to trap an angel. Even one of lower rank, such as the one whose wing he tore off, was a dangerous adversary to demons and their kin. "I will require time enough to collect materials, should you find yourself taking longer than I to clear the space then I suppose I could lend a hand." Loathe as he was to do so, despite his display Murmur did not enjoy fighting.
"I never do things by halves, you should know that by now." He responded in kind with an echoed smirk, much diluted compared to Greed's all-consuming grin. It was a difficult request, but an important one all the same. He had a feeling Greed would come to see it his way. "Your actions will be remembered, of that I can promise you. For angels, mercy is not weakness it is divine. They will know the threat for what it is, that you had every right to take back what was taken from you and then some. In light of that siding with any of your brethren again will be unlikely."
Murmur gestured dismissively, he wasn't asking Greed to be gentle by any means. "Do as you will, it will be a valuable lesson in vetting allegiances. Besides, at the end of this your reward will be much more delectable than one plucked pigeon." Greed could do whatever he wanted to Envy, especially once his Heavenly envoy had been dispersed.
Rising out of the crook of the pew, Greed gives a slow, dismissive wave over his shoulder. "No, no need. I can take care of it," he drawls in, his voice as fine as churning smoke. There's something about the way he stands (the semi-slouch, the way one of his heels lifts drearily off the floor to hover on the point of his toe) that says it all. He's weighing it out; chewing it. The debate of what he wants and his own, self-inflicted rules battling for control.
On the one hand, killing would be a waste, sure enough. On the other hand, he deserved something. Retribution: a tax, a payment with interest, and if Heaven wasn't about to pay the fee, well.
A series of holes begin to pit under the point of his boot; their formation, sluggish and pickled in rot. Greed's shoulders stiffen. "A valuable lesson - is that it?" A drop of wet falls form his mouth and sizzles gold onto the concrete. "You really are a pain, you know. But fine - it's a deal." He pockets his hands and as the angry smear beneath his foot puts itself out, the Sin lets his body fall lax; his ego, all but coming in to smother the notion.
He can wait. After all, his real target should be easy to bait. Envy was and is a predictable creature. No doubt, it's still licking its wounds from earlier. And a loss for jealousy? Well, that would just piss it off enough to do something stupid, wouldn't it?
Greed's mouth wrangles itself into its usual, self-appreciating grin. "Give me a couple of hours. I'll call you on Martel's phone." He thumbs over his shoulder to gesture back at the crew behind him. "She can give you the direction of the place once I'm done."
Murmur wasn't telling Greed not to get his due, not at all, he was simply directing that retribution in a more... constructive direction. A war with Heaven would do nothing but cause more loss. It was unnecessary, and more than that Heaven didn't need pulled into the quarrel between warring Sins. It wasn't normal for them to get involved in such things anyway, this would only serve as a reminder.
And in a way, paint Greed in the light that Murmur saw him, or at the very least the light he pretended was the case: Predictable, and most interested in maintaining his own little kingdom. Not a threat to Heaven, not a threat to stability. Murmur was gambling that in the long run those of the Holy City would be disinclined to repeat this endeavor and instead choose to leave Greed to his devices. He keeps to his own, they to theirs, and the other Sins will have to find new pawns for their games. Murmur of course would always be on their hit list, but that was a problem for a later date.
With Heaven out of the way peaceably, Greed could focus his efforts on the real problem: Envy. "There are other boons to this path," Murmur advises, mysterious as ever. He's not going to go into unnecessary detail, he's not lead Greed astray yet. Finishing off his tea he set the cup aside gingerly, pushing it back toward the Sin to return to his treasury, wherever that might be. "Excellent. Understood. I will return when I have obtained what I need."
He'd like more time to heal, but time was never a gift he had enough of. Before Greed could say anything else he was gone, little more than a gentle cool breeze and the faintest flap of a wing to signal his departure. He'd return by the appointed hour.
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Pathetic.
He sniffed, lip curling in disdain at the miserable display. If they were going to be courageous enough to play at betrayal, they could at least maintain some level of dignity in their final moments. Really, if you were going to fall, you should commit fully. At Greed's request he glanced up, holding his wings higher as he prepared to depart to do just that. "Do as you will. They have made their choice, and thus the consequences they have chosen shall fall."
And with that he was gone, a gust of frigid wind in his wake.
There was one place Murmur knew would prevent angels from hunting them, consecrated ground. It would be unpleasant for the devils to hunker down there, but it would be unspeakable for an angel to perform an act of violence on such ground. So long as they were there, they were safe. Bido would be the easiest to convince, others less so, but Murmur was persuasive and when he wasn't persuasive enough he wasn't against an old-fashioned scruffing. Granted, that wouldn't do him much good whenever one of the angels did catch up with them first.
It was Roa and Dol who proved the hardest to track down, for Murmur anyway... Their pursuer on the other hand had less trouble. And was, unfortunately, more cunning than his brothers had been. He waited until after Murmur had shown himself to try to persuade the two to rendezvous at the church where he was hiding the others before appearing, forcing Murmur on the defensive rather than able to attack from the shadows. Once they were cornered they were set upon, and their attacker was quick to call in reinforcements.
Murmur would never claim to be a warrior, but he wasn't one to surrender so easily when his back was against a wall. Using his wings as a shield he stood between the demons and their would be executioners. "Flee this place, now." He hissed at the two, calling upon his ice magics to help shield against the other angel's attacks. Of course when they refused to flee in a timely manner Murmur sighed, resigning himself to the inconvenience. The little patches of bloody feathers at his shoulders had been a hint, but they hadn't been the whole story.
In a blaze of holy light that swiftly turned a sickened red he relinquished that carefully cultivated veneer of control, releasing the bloodlust that boiled just beneath the surface of all Blood Angels. The leader and his subordinates hesitated, if only for a moment, at the dripping eye-filled rings of halo and blood drenched feathers that greeted them. A moment of hesitation they wouldn't repeat as Murmur punished them severely with a blast of blood-ice shards razor sharp and vicious.
The battle that ensued was vicious, yet even bolstered as he was by a blind rage he was still one angel against three, and a magician at that. The warriors weathered his magic well, but he did not weather their spears and swords as gently. He'd managed to trick one into impaling himself on a pillar of ice by feigning a fall but still took a spear to the gut for his efforts. He tore the wing off another, an act particularly cruel given that he had only brutality behind him to perform the feat. By that time the one remaining decided this fight wasn't worth the life of three angels, collecting his hobbled comrade and absconding. The night was won, though they'd not be so careless of Greed's trump card angel next time.
When they were gone and the threat passed the rage fell, leaving Murmur to deal with his injuries and exhaustion on his own. This was... more exhausting than he'd be willing to admit. Fortunately he didn't have to, because collapsing did that job for him.
It's cool guys just drag him out of the puddles if you would it's very undignified.
PHEW SORRY FOR THE DELAY ..
The door to the church wheezes open, revealing the cold fog of a coming morning. Soft blues chase at the wood frame; a thick haze teases at the entrance. The Sin's hand wraps around the door and as his black-charcoal fingers choke the wood, a hint of his heat follows. A spark traces out the entrance, eating at anything holy and chasing it away with shy puffs of smoke. It's a small thing, really. A way to both make himself known and to ensure there wouldn't be any other unpleasant surprise for the day.
Greed inhales and his vicious 'Shield evaporates, leaving him with his usual face and usual look, save for a light, faint haze of soot that hovers off his skin like dust. He doesn't say anything as he passes by the rows and rows of pews. Instead, his heels fill the silence - their clacks and clicks shooting off and echoing as brittle as bullets in a chamber.
Foul. Bitter. That's how he feels, counting who remained, who was visibly missing, and who had barely made it at all. The Sin's face goes stiff and cold in the church's sleepy-dawn hush. Even Murmur, someone they all considered practically untouchable, had taken his own toll in the fight. It had been minor of course, but considering how the angel seemed out to the entire world even now. Well.
Ffffz, and a cigarette starts to blaze tiredly on his lip. "Doc, start helping out the rest of 'em. Bido," Greed raises his finger off his hip to gesture and cut the air like a hot, burning knife. "-need you to tap your usual channels. See if the Coven has a few things we can use."
Knocked out by the shock of it all (be it from Greed's appearance or the sudden switch to the usual status quo), Bido instantly jumps to the task. He fumbles a small notebook from the insides of his shredded, burnt-edge cloak, his thin claws flipping pages until he finally finds a blank spot. "What should I ask them for? Mr. Greed..?"
The Sin chews angrily on his smoke, shifting it to the left side of his jaw with a sputtering huff of fire in his cheek. "Seven crossroad nails, three dove tails, and the head of a rattlesnake. Tell them I sent you. If they get you what I need right then and there, their debt's paid. Now go," he pauses and his eyes throb behind his sunglasses. "And watch yourself, Bido. Use all the tricks you have. I don't want anyone damaging any more of my things."
While the pep talk may be lacking by normal means, it causes Bido to brighten just a bit. He nods and in an instant, he's gone again. Crawling away, disappearing into the shadows. Greed lifts his chin and as the Doc of the group gets to work, he slowly bends over to check on Murmur. One hand out, he gently places his knuckles to the angel's cheek.
"Hope you're still with me, handsome. Because we have some unfinished business I think you'll be interested in."
<3
Thankfully Roa and Dol had been kind enough to drag Murmur with them after the altercation and didn't leave him out in the street to be found by someone less savory. He was still out of it by the time Greed arrived, though far less from his injuries and far more from his inability to tolerate the Rage. It was something he fought so hard to suppress, was it any wonder when he did have to use it it took so much out of him? Still, one angel against three were fairly impressive odds considering he'd driven them back unarmed and largely unprepared.
When Greed touched him he twitched, a pulse of energy radiating from him both subtle and undeniable. A quiet dread and rapture alike, warning and welcome, before subsiding back into silence. Murmur was there he was simply recuperating. A few moments longer and he finally managed to crack one eye open, the final dregs of the bloodrage draining from it as he grunted in annoyance. "Wouldn't happen to have brought me a tea, would you?"
Yep, he's fine, even if he is a bit groggy still.
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When his fingers finally snap together, something porcelain and fragile shivers delicately between his boots. The cup and saucer he's conjured up aren't his usual, nor do they appear to be anything remotely modern. Blue designs wash themselves against the white; a faint lick of gold lines the lips of both. They match in a way that's purposeful - as if someone long ago had poured their very soul into them to make the perfect pair.
Greed gingerly pushes the steaming drink forward, his pinkie idly yanking at the teabag as softly as a fish trying at a bit of bait. "Sorry if it isn't exactly what you're used to. Not really my specialty."
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Human weapons he could shrug off like they were nothing, even demon arms were more nuisance than menace, but angel blades were designed to kill not only demons but their own brethren. It's who they first went to war with, after all. You see this is exactly why he usually doesn't stick around for fights. After his momentary distraction due to still bleeding he refocuses on Greed and the tea. Well, one couldn't argue he didn't at least have style. Flavor may be a different story.
Gingerly he reached out to accept the offering, granting Greed a wry smile. "I am not especially picky, it should be sufficient. My thanks." That'll hit the spot. "Did everyone make it out?"
SORRY FOR THE DELAY
"Don't worry about it," he says, lowly. "For now, need you to take care of yourself, hmn?" Greed tongues the filter of his smoke to drag in a fresh breath of ash. Ash. That's where some of them went. Burned to dust and scattered only to be lost to neither Heaven nor Hell, but to the void in between. A nothing, an emptiness.
The Sin stretches his legs and as the tendons snap and crunch, he casts a look over the pews. Dolcetto and Roa, over at the old-wood confessional, cleaning their cuts and slices with fresh brandy. Martel tending to Bido in the most comforting way she can. Bido and his visible tremors making his hood quiver in the gloom. Greed's jaw sets and threatens the filter of his cigarette, making the paper and tobacco floss brisk between his teeth.
He pops something against the inside of his cheek and a peel of lemon sleepily unfurls around his knuckles; the look of it like a snake, hatching from a shell. "Just in case you need it," he slurs before gingerly pinching the curl at the rim of Murmur's cup.
No worries! Likewise tbh I'm in crochet hell
"It is for prudence that I ask, while they are unlikely to attack us in this place, it is best to know where we stand." He echoes that frown, taking Greed's silence to mean that of those not scattered about the temporary safe zone, it was unlikely they'd be returning. His gaze followed Greed's, they were in a sorry state, likely the Nest wouldn't survive another surprise assault. Not like this. "Tell me, did they happen to collect that fallen wing in their retreat?"
A strange, macabre request perhaps but Murmur had a reason for it. He always did, after all, and removing the wing while allowing its owner to escape with their life had been a calculated maneuver. Allowing himself a momentary distraction he accepted the lemon, plopping it with grace into his tea. "My gratitude," He does, in fact, like the flavor.
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Greed inhales, eating away half of his cigarette. "Know me too well, don't you?" Purring, he breathes his words into life in a rush of air through his nose. "Doc's got it in the safest place in the world." The Sin cants his head, causing the rest of his body to tip and teeter like a dancer drunk on applause. "Figured it'd be a good spot. Besides, it gives me an excuse to give our good ol' friends upstairs a message in return for the shit they pulled tonight."
He slinks back and as his heels rap-rap-rap across the church floor, the Sin takes the lead. He weaves away from the pews and up to the ceremonial platform; his legs and torso maneuvering between wreckage and stockpiles alike more similar to a vulture plucking its way through a funeral's buffet.
It's only when he gets to the confessional, does he pause. What had probably been a pristine structure once has quietly transformed over the night. The wood's been smeared in oil - a dump of ashtrays, matchboxes, and cash from the bar litters the carpet. Greed takes it all in with a lopsided grin; his eyes reignited to a gassy purple-pink.
He strikes the back of his teeth with his tongue. "Welcome to our little congregation handsome. Let me show you around - " He starts and with a gentle lift of his wrist, the curtain to the confessional pulls away, revealing the severed wing. Someone, at some point, had taken the time to carefully wrap it. Red-silk curtains from the bar's private rooms loop around the feathers, leaving it cushioned, yet stable for transport.
The Sin shuffles to one side of the tight space to leave Murmur enough room to enter. "Thought it might be worth saving," he pinches his cigarette from the tip to snuff it between his fingers. "Guess they weren't wrong, huh?"
Greed leans forward, his lips pursed. For a while, he just stares at it - all the feathers left without an owner, how much space it fills. There's worth there, and he knows it. It calls to him like blood to a shark. The price of it, the power of it, the sheer unfathomable possibilities.
Yet -
The cigarette butt finds the confessional's floor and the Sin eases back and away into a sluggish slouch. "Equivalent exchange," he remarks, absently. "For what you did back there. It's yours."
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That was all part of Murmur's calculated plan.
Sipping his tea he moved to follow, curious how Greed would define the "safest place" possible for such a thing. Of course, he quickly regretted wondering and had to shake his head at the sight of such a defiled confessional. Not that he had any particular attachment to the practice, the ways of mortals were not the ways of angels after all. How they decided to repent was up to them... even so, this church was one he did not want the demons getting too comfortable in. It was still consecrated ground, after all, and that was the very thing protecting them right now. Angels would not perform violence here, it would be unsavory to them.
For now even they were granted sanctuary in such a place.
"I expected they might," He looked pleased, brushing past the Sin to inspect his prize. He did raise an eyebrow at all the pomp and show of gifting it to him, and couldn't help the faint exasperation that escaped him. It belonged to him by right of battle, but that was hardly the part he was exasperated by. "You really must stop underestimating me, Avarice." Now he's using the name to express his disappointment. "This," He reached out and tweaked a feather, and for the briefest moment a flash of a most predatory grin crossed his features. "Is bait. I have already laid the groundwork. Three cast from their earthly vessels, three failing to tear down a tarnished traitor, and one to lose a wing in the process. Not only have we cost them grave injury, but more than that they have been humiliated. This one will stop at nothing to have his wing returned, lest he be disgraced for eternity."
There was a triumph there, subtle and yet as sharp as any of his blades of ice. As though victory could be claimed already in a battle not yet even fought. "With this, you have an avenue for revenge. Moreover you have an avenue for information, which is far more valuable now as forces align against you. We have but to lay the trap."
Murmur planned it all out. As soon as the attack happened every step had been calculated, every angel taken down, every angel allowed to escape, and even his own injury had all been moves in a greater game. Greed was lucky this one was on his side.
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Greed arches an eyebrow and as it breaks over the rims of his shades, the look on his face is uncanny. It's sick with desire; fumed with want. But it isn't for his usual. Gold, riches, women, company, sex - no, those couldn't hold a candle to what he truly desires. That need, no that right for pure, raw vengeance; it grips at him like a snare. The corner of his mouth shrinks and his teeth crack open, inviting and welcoming the butt end of his cigarette as smoothly as a signature to paper.
When his thumb ignites again, the flame shimmers to a rich, fat-bellied gold. "Sounds like you've got this all planned out," he swirls his tongue to release a spiral of fresh smoke. "-knew I shouldn't underestimate you. It's pretty impressive." He ashes a bit onto the floor and carefully smooths out any hot coals with the heel of his boot. "Made a few calls of my own. The Coven - " Trilling, the Sin lifts a hand into the air to twirl at a strand of soot until it condenses and reshapes itself into something of a curvy figure. "-Bido's making sure they take care of the rest. By tonight, the 'Nest'll be back in working order. Just might be harder for some of my infrequent visitors to find the place for a while. You still got the thing I gave you?"
The matchbox: a one-way ticket. Greed fumbles through his pockets to pull one out. "If not, I got one of these left for the time being. Call it a precaution." He pushes the side with his thumb to check the contents and a couple of measly sticks rattle and roll into a corner. "Don't have a lot left, so you'll have to hold off until then. In the meantime, I have my own to deal with."
Because heavenly bodies weren't the only ones working tonight, oh no. They had help. Help from deep below in a crooked shape and a vile face that he knew all too well.
The devil sharpens his teeth on the filter of his cigarette, making the paper wheeze like a lung, blackened by disease. "Never been one to pass on a discount myself. And what's better than two for the price of one? Besides - " Red brands behind his sunglasses, burning into the glass and pulsing as sure as a wildfire raging deep in a wooded pit. "-I think it's about time little Envy got their dues."
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"Still working out some of the details," Murmur continued, moving to find himself a clear spot on the pew to rest and sip his tea, apparently unbothered by the severed limb in his company. He gestured for Greed to join him, they'd not had a moment to truly sit and discuss much of anything, much less tactics. At the question he reached into one of the many inner pockets in his thick coat, drawing out the box of so far unused matches to rattle it at the Sin. He'll be fine, and if need be he's sure he could collect a few more.
Before Greed could leave him so quickly again he chimed in: "I have a request."
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Avarice is the loaner quick on the heels whenever jealousy overextends its reach.
Greed tosses his cigarette into a ceremonial goblet as he follows Murmur's lead, leaving the idea to simmer for a later time. "Not exactly a clean night, so I don't expect results right away," he starts in while his body falls into an empty spot on the pew. With no regard to the sanctimony of things, he lets his legs and arms sprawl. He hooks his heels up and across the back of the pews and the rest of him sags to fill up the space. His whole demeanor still casual, cool.
"Oh-?" He cocks his head slightly to the side. "And here I thought you'd never take me up on an offer. Well, shit - " The Sin pops his lips, causing something hot to stir in his cheek. "Name it. Whatever you want," he begins before cutting himself off with a wave. "-no strings attached. Devil's honor."
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Again an eyebrow rose, the faintest hint of a smirk briefly touching his features, more tooth than necessary and with an air that he expects Greed will soon come to dislike what it is he wishes to request. "It is not for me," Of course not, it never is. "The angel. I would prefer it if you did not slaughter him. While he has transgressed against you remember that they act on orders and little else. Doubtful he even understands the web he's fallen into. Being forcefully evicted from one's Earthly body is agony enough, but outright destruction is..." He looks distant for a moment, maybe even pained, but it's brief and Murmur is a master of keeping his facial features under control.
"Their numbers only dwindle. There is only one method by which angels come into existence and a new one has not been created in millennia. Your display of mercy will not go unnoticed."
He may be an exile, but he still carries the weight of duty even if it seems counter intuitive.
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But for how quickly that serious tone comes, it's gone; in a flash of teeth, in a too-wide grin that gapes, stretches, and promises to one day, oh one day, swallow the world and everything in it. The Sin's eyebrows touch ever-so-slightly together; his face, a picture-perfect vision of eagerness. "Somehow, I thought that'd be the case - you really push a hard bargain, friend." His tongue lashes, splitting and reforming together again like magnetic glue.
However, his expression drops. Vengeance, payback: it's a thin line for him to walk. Because Murmur isn't wrong. The angel has already been stripped to its core; reduced and smothered, a punishment worse than anything he could possibly give. Still, that core of his twists and writhes. It pushes up his throat, making his jaw set and his eyes wander, as if looking for an answer. "It's a waste. I get it. Still," a heat rises off his finger as it turns crooked and sharp, making the wood of the pew hiss in a smoke. "-no one takes what's mine, Angel. I hope, for his sake, he remembers that."
Greed yanks his heels down, causing them to smack hard against the church's stony floor. "I'll make sure he doesn't die, but I can't promise anything else." Meaning, well, anything. Because isn't it true? A pound of flesh is a drop in the bucket.
And greed, ah greed: how it always calls for more.
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"I never do things by halves, you should know that by now." He responded in kind with an echoed smirk, much diluted compared to Greed's all-consuming grin. It was a difficult request, but an important one all the same. He had a feeling Greed would come to see it his way. "Your actions will be remembered, of that I can promise you. For angels, mercy is not weakness it is divine. They will know the threat for what it is, that you had every right to take back what was taken from you and then some. In light of that siding with any of your brethren again will be unlikely."
Murmur gestured dismissively, he wasn't asking Greed to be gentle by any means. "Do as you will, it will be a valuable lesson in vetting allegiances. Besides, at the end of this your reward will be much more delectable than one plucked pigeon." Greed could do whatever he wanted to Envy, especially once his Heavenly envoy had been dispersed.
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On the one hand, killing would be a waste, sure enough. On the other hand, he deserved something. Retribution: a tax, a payment with interest, and if Heaven wasn't about to pay the fee, well.
A series of holes begin to pit under the point of his boot; their formation, sluggish and pickled in rot. Greed's shoulders stiffen. "A valuable lesson - is that it?" A drop of wet falls form his mouth and sizzles gold onto the concrete. "You really are a pain, you know. But fine - it's a deal." He pockets his hands and as the angry smear beneath his foot puts itself out, the Sin lets his body fall lax; his ego, all but coming in to smother the notion.
He can wait. After all, his real target should be easy to bait. Envy was and is a predictable creature. No doubt, it's still licking its wounds from earlier. And a loss for jealousy? Well, that would just piss it off enough to do something stupid, wouldn't it?
Greed's mouth wrangles itself into its usual, self-appreciating grin. "Give me a couple of hours. I'll call you on Martel's phone." He thumbs over his shoulder to gesture back at the crew behind him. "She can give you the direction of the place once I'm done."
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And in a way, paint Greed in the light that Murmur saw him, or at the very least the light he pretended was the case: Predictable, and most interested in maintaining his own little kingdom. Not a threat to Heaven, not a threat to stability. Murmur was gambling that in the long run those of the Holy City would be disinclined to repeat this endeavor and instead choose to leave Greed to his devices. He keeps to his own, they to theirs, and the other Sins will have to find new pawns for their games. Murmur of course would always be on their hit list, but that was a problem for a later date.
With Heaven out of the way peaceably, Greed could focus his efforts on the real problem: Envy. "There are other boons to this path," Murmur advises, mysterious as ever. He's not going to go into unnecessary detail, he's not lead Greed astray yet. Finishing off his tea he set the cup aside gingerly, pushing it back toward the Sin to return to his treasury, wherever that might be. "Excellent. Understood. I will return when I have obtained what I need."
He'd like more time to heal, but time was never a gift he had enough of. Before Greed could say anything else he was gone, little more than a gentle cool breeze and the faintest flap of a wing to signal his departure. He'd return by the appointed hour.