[Names. They have a meaning, don't they? A means of ownership, of individuality, of identity. He's had plenty in his time, none of which are his real one. No, that was wiped away years ago. And where there's a mystery, there will always be rumors: something about a ship sinking off the coast decades prior, a story of a warehouse conveniently burning down under more questionable circumstances. None of them are right, of course. But that's the thing - people will always fill in their questions with answers of their own. And his?]
[Ah well, have they always counted on it.]
[If he were a different man, he might have thanked them. But he isn't, and he never will be. He left them for a reason, after all. Maybe that's why he chose this spot in the first place. What had once been a thriving industrial district, the city's Southside has now become a cesspool of sorts. Boarded-up buildings stand empty on the street and the few businesses that have stuck around have either closed down for the night or are just starting to open up again; their rolled-tin shutters, whining and skipping to the tune of thick, rust-caked chains.]
[No one goes to the Southside unless they have a reason to go to the Southside. And usually? It's a single destination they have in mind.]
[A sliver of light cuts across the bar, and Greed slowly lifts his head. Two women flank either side of him. They tangle themselves over his shoulders and torso, loose and unbothered; their wandering hands only pausing once they realize just who has come walking through the doors. Michael may not be a regular, but he has a reputation. And considering what he's brought with him? It wouldn't take too much stretching of the imagination to guess why he's here.]
[Greed slides a wedge of lime across the lip of a drink before anchoring it on the edge of the glass. No, they all know exactly where Michael is going and as he disappears into the back room, the man named Sin mouths something against the jaw of the woman to his right; his smile, teased in threads of smoke.]
[By the time he makes his way out back, what's left of his previous company are trinkets. A thin touch of lipstick stains the side of his neck peeking from the fur collar of his jacket, and a hint of perfume halos all around him. The smell, a mix of him, them, and the constant, heavy afterburn of cheap tobacco. Greed nudges the door closed with the back of his heel, letting it shut silently behind him. This deep inside, the noise from the bar is muddled at best. A few conversations blur behind the walls and as a roar of laughter rattles out front, he casually slips away from the door - his pace, unhurried and lax.]
Oh? Did I now? Suppose I owe you for the trouble then, don't I. [Greed's eyes chase away from the case to slide up Michael's arm. He follows each and every part of him: the way his suit unassumingly snugs his shoulders, how his vest cuts into him, shaping out the raw muscle underneath. It'd be easy for someone to take the man for a simple target. But that would be a mistake. A deadly, costly mistake, and one that he knows all too well.]
[Nothing, no nothing, is ever what it seems.]
[Greed leans forward to thumb a stack of cash. He lets the bills fan over his nail - their peel more similar to a deck of shuffled-slow cards. He clicks his tongue behind the backs of his teeth with an appreciative snap.] Always have to make sure everything's in order. Ha - ! I'm not surprised. You never could leave anything to chance, even if there's no point.
As for our friends - [He drops the stack back onto the pile.] - you can let them know that our deal still stands. Long as they keep holding up their end of the bargain.
[He turns, then; the money all but forgotten. In the end, it's simply another payment. Another transaction, another equivalent exchange. No, what he has his sights set on is worth so much more. And as he settles one of his heels next to Michael's, Greed leans forward. He eats up the space between them with nothing more than a smile; the points of his teeth, daggered and slick. He hovers one of his fingers close to Michael's tie and his eyes drop to his throat.]
[He pulls away at the last second, letting the point of his knuckle smooth down the soft, silky fabric.] Now, since I kept you waiting and all, think it's only right I make it up to you. [Greed's eyes tick upward, meeting his reflection in the other man's shades.] So, what do you have in mind, Blues?
[ Prejudice isn’t what makes him frown every time he walks in here, it is the clientele and their inability to try to behave. Michael has a code, he always has, and those who don’t follow it are left behind. Sometimes violence is necessary, he knows that better than anyone, but the constant barrage of violence brought on by simple slights and a wrongly perceived glance is disgusting. It reminds him of the behavior of a fussy child who has their favorite toy confiscated.
He comes here for one reason and one reason alone, the Sin who currently graces him with his presence. In another world? They probably would have been enemies but something about this charismatic asshole lured him in like a moth to a flame. Sometimes he thinks about doing the world a favor and smothering him with a pillow but therein lies the rub — Greed just won’t die. ]
You are always trouble, Greed. If I collected every time there was an inconvenience, you would never get anything done around here. [ His shades hide the amusement dancing in his eyes but the exasperation is palpable in the air. Sometimes he wonders why he keeps this up. ]
Leaving things to chance is precisely why your competition is struggling. It’s better to act, their movements are predictable enough to counter. It often makes me wonder whether they are doing this for sport rather than financial gain, though they lack the conviction to succeed in either.
Your friends. [ The correction is soft but swift. ] If it were up to me, there wouldn’t be a deal in place. I’d say I don’t trust them as far as I can throw them, but we both know I have quite an arm. And I’ve never missed a target.
[ A handkerchief is plucked from his back pocket so he can reach up and scrub away the lipstick on his neck. The color is wrong, offensively gaudy and clashes with his image, it has nothing to do with jealousy. The lingering stench of the cheap perfume is the only offensive thing to him in this room. ]
While you’re still caked in the aftermath of your prizes for the evening? You’re bold, aren’t you? A drink will suffice, I won’t keep you long. If you look at me any more intensely, you will bore a hole through me. [ A pause, then he leaves him with an appropriate quote for the occasion. He sees those eyes. ] Not all that tempts your wandering eyes and heedless hearts, is lawful prize; nor all that glisters gold.
[ Rather than wait, he pointedly slides around the former homunculus to grab it himself. He knows where everything is kept, he always has, he is usually just polite about waiting until offered. He is tired, the job is done and now it is time to hang up his wings for a little while. As much as he prides himself on an immaculate appearance, removing his tie some days is liberating. ]
Do you want one?
[ Michael lowers his shades, casually beginning to loosen his tie. And if he happens to throw a certain look over his shoulder, pay it no heed. Clearly he is trying to get a bit more comfortable. Or he is simply forcing Greed to work for his supper tonight out of spite.
Probably the latter. He really does dislike dealing with his new friends and punctuality is gospel. ]
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no subject
[Ah well, have they always counted on it.]
[If he were a different man, he might have thanked them. But he isn't, and he never will be. He left them for a reason, after all. Maybe that's why he chose this spot in the first place. What had once been a thriving industrial district, the city's Southside has now become a cesspool of sorts. Boarded-up buildings stand empty on the street and the few businesses that have stuck around have either closed down for the night or are just starting to open up again; their rolled-tin shutters, whining and skipping to the tune of thick, rust-caked chains.]
[No one goes to the Southside unless they have a reason to go to the Southside. And usually? It's a single destination they have in mind.]
[A sliver of light cuts across the bar, and Greed slowly lifts his head. Two women flank either side of him. They tangle themselves over his shoulders and torso, loose and unbothered; their wandering hands only pausing once they realize just who has come walking through the doors. Michael may not be a regular, but he has a reputation. And considering what he's brought with him? It wouldn't take too much stretching of the imagination to guess why he's here.]
[Greed slides a wedge of lime across the lip of a drink before anchoring it on the edge of the glass. No, they all know exactly where Michael is going and as he disappears into the back room, the man named Sin mouths something against the jaw of the woman to his right; his smile, teased in threads of smoke.]
[By the time he makes his way out back, what's left of his previous company are trinkets. A thin touch of lipstick stains the side of his neck peeking from the fur collar of his jacket, and a hint of perfume halos all around him. The smell, a mix of him, them, and the constant, heavy afterburn of cheap tobacco. Greed nudges the door closed with the back of his heel, letting it shut silently behind him. This deep inside, the noise from the bar is muddled at best. A few conversations blur behind the walls and as a roar of laughter rattles out front, he casually slips away from the door - his pace, unhurried and lax.]
Oh? Did I now? Suppose I owe you for the trouble then, don't I. [Greed's eyes chase away from the case to slide up Michael's arm. He follows each and every part of him: the way his suit unassumingly snugs his shoulders, how his vest cuts into him, shaping out the raw muscle underneath. It'd be easy for someone to take the man for a simple target. But that would be a mistake. A deadly, costly mistake, and one that he knows all too well.]
[Nothing, no nothing, is ever what it seems.]
[Greed leans forward to thumb a stack of cash. He lets the bills fan over his nail - their peel more similar to a deck of shuffled-slow cards. He clicks his tongue behind the backs of his teeth with an appreciative snap.] Always have to make sure everything's in order. Ha - ! I'm not surprised. You never could leave anything to chance, even if there's no point.
As for our friends - [He drops the stack back onto the pile.] - you can let them know that our deal still stands. Long as they keep holding up their end of the bargain.
[He turns, then; the money all but forgotten. In the end, it's simply another payment. Another transaction, another equivalent exchange. No, what he has his sights set on is worth so much more. And as he settles one of his heels next to Michael's, Greed leans forward. He eats up the space between them with nothing more than a smile; the points of his teeth, daggered and slick. He hovers one of his fingers close to Michael's tie and his eyes drop to his throat.]
[He pulls away at the last second, letting the point of his knuckle smooth down the soft, silky fabric.] Now, since I kept you waiting and all, think it's only right I make it up to you. [Greed's eyes tick upward, meeting his reflection in the other man's shades.] So, what do you have in mind, Blues?
no subject
He comes here for one reason and one reason alone, the Sin who currently graces him with his presence. In another world? They probably would have been enemies but something about this charismatic asshole lured him in like a moth to a flame. Sometimes he thinks about doing the world a favor and smothering him with a pillow but therein lies the rub — Greed just won’t die. ]
You are always trouble, Greed. If I collected every time there was an inconvenience, you would never get anything done around here. [ His shades hide the amusement dancing in his eyes but the exasperation is palpable in the air. Sometimes he wonders why he keeps this up. ]
Leaving things to chance is precisely why your competition is struggling. It’s better to act, their movements are predictable enough to counter. It often makes me wonder whether they are doing this for sport rather than financial gain, though they lack the conviction to succeed in either.
Your friends. [ The correction is soft but swift. ] If it were up to me, there wouldn’t be a deal in place. I’d say I don’t trust them as far as I can throw them, but we both know I have quite an arm. And I’ve never missed a target.
[ A handkerchief is plucked from his back pocket so he can reach up and scrub away the lipstick on his neck. The color is wrong, offensively gaudy and clashes with his image, it has nothing to do with jealousy. The lingering stench of the cheap perfume is the only offensive thing to him in this room. ]
While you’re still caked in the aftermath of your prizes for the evening? You’re bold, aren’t you? A drink will suffice, I won’t keep you long. If you look at me any more intensely, you will bore a hole through me. [ A pause, then he leaves him with an appropriate quote for the occasion. He sees those eyes. ] Not all that tempts your wandering eyes and heedless hearts, is lawful prize; nor all that glisters gold.
[ Rather than wait, he pointedly slides around the former homunculus to grab it himself. He knows where everything is kept, he always has, he is usually just polite about waiting until offered. He is tired, the job is done and now it is time to hang up his wings for a little while. As much as he prides himself on an immaculate appearance, removing his tie some days is liberating. ]
Do you want one?
[ Michael lowers his shades, casually beginning to loosen his tie. And if he happens to throw a certain look over his shoulder, pay it no heed. Clearly he is trying to get a bit more comfortable. Or he is simply forcing Greed to work for his supper tonight out of spite.
Probably the latter. He really does dislike dealing with his new friends and punctuality is gospel. ]
Or am I drinking alone tonight?