"Didn't exactly come here with one," Greed eases in. While he has noticed the angel's rather uncanny sense of luck, he doesn't say anything about it. Angels and their kin had different tricks than him and his. They'd been dealt different cards, hell a different deck in some cases. Murmur's inability to feel the storm about him (least not in the literal sense) fell into one of those variations. A specialty reserved for him and others like him to blend in with what life really gave without having to suffer through the discomforts of it.
Though, even that seems to have a catch.
The Sin clicks his tongue behind his teeth. "Follow me." He doesn't wait or even bother to check to see if the angel is following him. Rather, he appears to be more focused; tuned in. Like a big cat with hunger in its belly and ah, ah, ah, is there prey to be had.
Greed slouches against the rain, his shoes and heels making the slosh and muck pluck themselves into deep, steaming pockets behind him. While he exactly doesn't have a vehicle at the ready, that doesn't mean he can't find one. And in a town as winding as this, in a place full of empty holes to stick him in, it wouldn't be hard to find something of use.
Another shudder of lightning splinters above them, turning the sky into a purpling bruise. "As for that other thing, just leave it to me, hmn? Sometimes I wonder if you actually trust me, handsome." A shivering streetlamp surges above the narrow street they're on in a gassy yellow and while the bulb struggles to keep alight, the Sin's body visibly stiffens. He's caught something in his eye. Something suitable, right, and perhaps, God's chosen aren't the only ones with a little bit of luck.
Greed's arm shoots out from his side in a sudden, violent snap and the flesh on his hand quickly disappears. From his fingertips upward, a second skin begins to crawl itself into place. It turns his nails into talons, his knuckles bulbous and boney. The look of it like an oil slick with the ability to defend itself. The Sin lets out a soft whistle. "Looks like your prayers have been answered," he hums before the block of his fist meets the driver's side window. With a splintering crack and a sprinkle of shattered glass, he's in. All hands, all want, clambering to take what's his.
He shoves a button on the inside of the door and the lock on the passenger's side clicks open with a soft plunk. "After you," he slurs. The angel may have his perks against mother nature, but him? His have always been with the material. The needs of mankind, the desires of them, all but molding under his fingertips. Greed rips opens the plastic console under the steering wheel with little more than a pop and squeal of plastic, leaving the insides as open and raw as freshly killed carcass. Half outside the car, sprawled and stretched, he gets to work. A dash of hellfire there, an impish tweak here - a devilish mechanic, engrossed in his work.
Finally, the Sin leans below the steering wheel. He extends his tongue between two particular wires and a small electric current buzzes over his teeth. Greed grips the upper curve of the wheel to pull himself into the driver's seat, and he yanks the door shut. "It'll take a while to get there. Just don't judge them too much, hmn? They are mine, but they won't bother you unless you give 'em a reason to. Ah - "
A pleased sort of smile graces his face. It lights him up from the inside out; a breath of sorts, filling him up with all that fire, all that wickedness, that he had been missing. Greed thumbs a built-in lighter into the dash and as he turns to check the rearview, he haphazardly throws the car in reverse. Mud and water screams murder under the wheels as he wildly jerks the vehicle out of its parking spot. A second later, and he punches into first gear, forcing the car to zigzag out of the muck; its swinging spin, like a fishtail darting under the tide.
"I expected as much." It was still worth an ask, to place the idea in the Sin's mind that they would both do better to stop moving on foot. Not out of laziness mind, angels did not lack in stamina, but if they were to flee the eyes of their would be captors it might be best to make more haste than foot. The hounds of Heaven would be on their trail before long, best to hide their tracks with all means at their disposal.
"Trust? A tall order in times like these," He scoffs, but despite the monotone it's good natured coming from the frosty angel. He plays the distance and dismissiveness well, and yet here he is sloshing through the mud after the Sin whom he could have easily left to his own devices once the trap was sprung. Could have left him to his fate as well, though that would have proven to be a headache for all further down the line. The universe will always seek balance, a new Sin will rise, and that one might not be as accommodating as the one he's accustomed to.
Ah, their chariot awaits. Gleaming brilliant in the flash of lightning and sputtering of street lamps, just asking for the taking. Of course Murmur feigns a disappointed look at the act of theft and window breaking, but it bore no more venom than the rest of his haughty act did. It was merely the act of going through the motions, behaving as he should in the presence of Sin rather than with any real feeling behind it. Righteousness was reserved for very special occasions, and he did ask for a vehicle. Of course, he was grateful Greed broke the window on his own side, so he can spend the drive being wet and uncomfortable.
While Greed works away on getting the beast running Murmur makes himself comfortable in the passenger seat. He can't drive, so it's not like he'd try to anyway, he also doesn't bother with seatbelts because what are those anyway? So while Greed works, he's popped open the glove box and is taking the time to scribble arcane symbols inside with that chalk produced from within his coat once more. Might as well do a little work while the Sin's busy. He can ward it up more later, once they're out of the thick of it.
"Them?" He asks, ignoring the implication of him being judgmental. He already told Greed that's not his wheelhouse. "Come now, you should know by now I do not make a habit of instigation." He is very polite he'll have you know. As for the driving? He does cast Greed a sidelong glance as if to ask 'must you?' He won't protest, not out loud, but he will make faces of disapproval. "Try not to roll this over on the way, would you?" It wouldn't kill them, but it would be inconvenient.
The car's headlights expand like eyes when he flicks the switch. They open up the once bogged down alleyway with all of its slush and muck into something visible. The shadows chase back into the cracks, the rain sloshes from the windshield wipers like some sort of ritualistic cleansing. Of course, he doesn't notice any of it or (at best), he simply doesn't care. Instead, he's focused on the physical of it all. The whiplash of rain and how it's changed from something bitter to something freeing; how the engine rumbles under his frantically moving fingertips as they click and clack atop the sway of the wheel.
Greed plays footsie with the clutch and the gas as his free hand shoves the gears, effectively reversing his fate and throwing them forward in one fell swoop. At first, he seems to miss the angel's questions entirely - his attention drifting to the sensation of it all. He lets the cracked-tooth window spit rain in his face, he cranks the car a bit faster than is certainly legal. Everything. It's always boiled down to that simplicity: everything. It floods through him as entrapping as an addict to their substance of choice. And like a man chasing his poison, his thrill is just as deadly and just as plainly visible on his face.
The Sin's mouth warps into a lunatic's sneer and faint trails of black-rich smoke peel through his teeth. He starts in again with a small bark of laughter. "Ha - ! A tall order, huh? I suppose," his tongue lashes out and the tip languidly begins to split in a rake of hot, red coals. "Can't blame me for trying. Here - " He fishes a phone out from the pocket of his vest and haphazardly tosses it into Murmur's lap. "-dial 003-12-7. If someone picks up the line, just say Ouroboros. It'll connect you to our next stop."
Wildly, he lets the wheel spin through his fingertips and the car bounces onto a main road. "You do know how you to use one of those, right? Nevermind." He waves his wrist and the black screen statics. At first, it merely blues out in the dark; the sudden onslaught of fake light and bright colors all but washing the inside of the vehicle in a soft, foggy haze. The Sin makes a few, simple gestures with his fingers and as traffic lights blare their greens, their yellows, and reds, the phone begins keying in the numbers one at a time:
003-12-7
Greed takes another erratic turn onto the freeway. "As for the other thing - " He begins while the phone connects to the radio of the car. For a while, a dial tone is all he gets; its tolling noise a constant heartbeat waiting in anticipation. When it clicks to a receiving end, he wastes no time.
"Oi, oi, oi - coming in hot, sweetheart. And I've got company this time - "
"Where the FUCK have you been!?" A male's voice practically barks through the car's sound system, making it static as the Sin carelessly plunks into a rather large pothole.
"Oh - ? Sounds like the hound's a little mad with me. C'mon, don't be like that," Greed's voice curls out of his throat like a fire trying to flirt. The skin around his neck bristles in turn and flakes of pitched soot quiver off the dip of his collarbones. "Ran into a little bit of trouble and not the usual kind."
The man through the radio's silent for a second. "What kind of trouble? Are you ok? Where are you? And what do you mean company? Greed - Boss - "
The Sin's laughter hisses from his grinning mouth, wide and smoggy. "HA - ! Oh, don't stick that tail between your legs just yet. We'll just say I had a little divine intervention - " That earns a quick sputter of curses through the speakers and Greed jovially slaps the steering wheel a few times. "No, he's not that bad. Remember what I told you? There's - "
"-no such thing as no such thing, yeah. I know - ! But can we really trust this guy? I mean we're talking about - "
"Now, no need to be rude. He's right here," Greed gestures with his hand at nothing the man on the other side of the line could possible see and that shuts up the call real quick. The sound of a shattering bottle makes its way through the receiver. Whether the Sin hears it or is, as par for the night's course, ignoring it is tough to say. "Just close up early. Get everyone who doesn't need to be there out. And - " He pauses to shoot a look at Murmur.
"-if you've got things we need, now's the time to ask."
Greed was having far too much fun driving. Fortunately Murmur didn't have enough sense of what was legal, reasonable, or safe to be concerned about it. He's immortal and nearly impossible to damage under "normal" means, so he has no real concern for his physical integrity nor Greed's. At the moment inflicting a need for additional healing might be unwise, but not something he was going to bother bringing up. He's a big demon he can look out for himself.
It was fortunate that it didn't take Greed long to remember he was dealing with someone who probably rarely, if ever, touched anything even remotely technological. When he handed Murmur the phone the angel just looked at it in deep confusion. Brows furrowed, expression one of intense puzzlement as he rolled it over in his hands trying to figure out what exactly he meant by "dial" and how one was supposed to do such a thing anyway? To him it seemed nothing more than a shiny flat rectangle of plastic and glass, utterly alien as anything beyond something one might use to prop up an unbalanced table.
Whatever gestures and magic incantations Greed used to activate the device served in no way to clarify how it worked, and Murmur just held it up pinched delicately between his fingers like he expected it to explode or something. Eyes darting between the object and where he thought one of the speakers was, and Greed, as absolutely nothing manifested to answer the questions reeling in his mind. What was this, how did it work, what was this trickery? And who was this Greed was talking to anyway?
Murmur was going to protest them continuing to talk about him like he wasn't there, but Greed took care of that before his confusion slowed down long enough to get words out. Okay, so, whatever this strange rectangle was it facilitated ranged communication. That wasn't impossible to grasp, the how wasn't necessarily important at the immediate moment even if the question would chew him up all night until he got an answer.
It took him several more moments to realize he was being invited to speak. "Ah..." Hold on, the angel is rebooting. "Well. I suppose if you want to remain difficult to find I could arrange something. I will require goat's blood. A quantity sufficient for the size of your domicile." You're gonna need a lot, Greed, a whole lot. "Graveyard dirt, and soot I... think you can manage without additional preparation." Glancing at how much Greed soots all on his own, they'll manage that just fine.
An exit sign passes overhead warning them of the next runoff from the highway. Greed turns back to the road. "Did you get all that, Dol? Think you and the rest can round up what we need?" His hand yanks the lighter from the dash and another cigarette appears on his lip, ready to light. "Dol?"
"Yeah, fuck, yeah I got it. I don't know where the fuck we're going to find some of this, but I'm on it. I'll send Martel up to the butcher on the other side of town. She gets along better with the woman there anyway - " The Sin inhales his smoke as the man rattles on and the tip fumes a toxic orange-blue. "As for the rest of it, it's gunna take us some time. Boss, can you at least tell me what the fuck is going on?"
Greed shoves the lighter back into the console with an audible plnk. "I thought I was pretty clear about that. Don't tell me you're going deaf - " Again, his comment gets him a string-sputter of swears through the receiver. "-oi, oi, oi. All right, all right, calm down. The deal went south." He breathes in and the black coating on his throat begins to stretch upward, threatening both his jawline and ear. "The last one - the investor. Turns out he has friends with good information. Caught me off guard."
"Bradley? How in the shitting hell did he get his hands on - ?"
"Doesn't matter," the devil chimes back in, clipping the questioning off at its head. "-we'll be there in another 30 minutes. Just make sure you get it all handled, huh?"
"We'll take care of it. Just .. " The man trails off as if he's trying to find his words and pick them carefully. "Just be careful, would you? I know you'll be fine and nothing's taken you out yet, but - "
The cigarette shrinks in the Sin's teeth; his grin and insatiable hunger making short work of the tobacco. "Easy pup or I'll start thinking you've missed me. See you soon." With that, he waves his wrist and the call severs. Greed tiredly slaps his turn signal. "Sorry about all that. Dol tends to get a little frantic when things aren't ideal, but he's not so bad. A worrier sure, but he'll get you what you need."
He guides the car onto an offramp. Away from the highway, the signs of visible settlement quickly thicken. Houses and wooded off-shoots give way to bigger buildings and shopping centers. Wherever the Sin's made his home in this world, it's where people are. And while most places have either closed for the night or are on their way out, it's clear that he's planted himself in the midst of it all: a forest, a hiding spot, of steel, concrete, and lights that never truly go out.
A demon in a proverbial haystack.
Greed takes the main drag with little care of speed. "Try not to be too much for them, will you? They don't tend to like your kind very much." Another corner, a third. The deeper they go, the tighter the streets become until they're nothing more than one-way roads splintering out as confusing as a ball of knotted string. When he finally slows, it's under a brilliant, red light that he creeps. The sign above is damp under the weather; the paint of it old and well-loved. The Sin jumps the car up onto the curb as one of the floodlights strobes intermittently.
He cuts the engine. "Welcome to The Devil's Nest, angel."
"I would suggest trying a goat and a graveyard, respectively," Murmur muttered dryly, unimpressed with the lackey's complaints. He's already stuck his neck out further than he should have, and having to babysit more than one demon didn't exactly sit well with him. He shot Greed a look that clearly implied he thought the Sin's henchmen were morons, and continued. "It must be goat's blood, understand? No substitutes, no mixing. Unless of course you wish to experience what a smiting feels like. Oh, and a paint brush. Clean one." Can't be mixing unknown compounds into spell work, it will throw the whole balance off.
After that he's content to shut up and let Greed deal with his yapping comrade. Once the call was over and the strange device no longer needed he just set it in a convenient enough looking compartment, casting a sidelong glance at the Sin.
"You are certain they're competent?" They didn't sound competent. "And if I may... what was that about someone getting their hands on something?" Murmur didn't miss any of that, though he did note it had been cut off before Dol could say too much. He expected he'd be brushed off, but it didn't hurt to try.
Thankfully Greed knew how to hide himself, well... as well as he could among a world like this with little knowledge of the arcane. That said it would only do so much good, their adversaries wouldn't be traveling by vehicle or foot, they'd be traveling by air and use senses far above those of mortal kind to hunt their quarry. They had to work quick, and Murmur would have to make it harder for them to be sniffed out by Heaven's own forces. Hell might have their hounds... Heaven didn't need them. Meticulously Murmur memorized their streets, their signs, and whatever landmarks he could on their trip. He'd need to know how to get back there, for once he was finished with is work it would also become difficult for him to perceive.
Greed's comments about him being "too much" for his crew only earned another one of those flat looks. He'll be exactly as much as he pleases, thank you very much. "I am doing you and yours a favor, if you'll recall." So they're just going to have to deal with it, whether or not they like him. Besides, he was there to do a job, not make friends.
Finally at a stop Murmur opened his door, pausing to sniff the air before stepping out, nose wrinkled in distaste. Crawling with demons it set his teeth on edge and prickled every alarm bell in his senses. He'd tolerate it, of course, but that didn't mean he was any more comfortable being there than they were going to be having him around. He gestured for Greed to lead the way. "Best you introduce me." So they knew better than to start anything. Murmur wasn't one for a fight, that didn't mean he wouldn't defend himself should the need arise.
The driver's side door swings open with a brisk press of his heel. He practically kicks it wide, and all of the rain, all the gloom, comes flooding back. But unlike before, the chill's pointedly missing. Now, it's humid. A temperate, almost Cuban sigh pours into the car, bringing in a sweet, hard-to-discern smell.
It's the scent of the living: their foods and drinks, their fumes and industries, their nights and their lives washing over in a wave of cohabitation.
Greed shakes his cigarette and a spiral of smoke meets the fog like the embrace of friends meeting after a long departure. "What? Oh, that," he starts in while his body lifts itself out of the car. Much like before, his movements are ghoulish; he's heavy and light, tense and yet oh-so at ease. The Sin tiredly shrugs his shoulder while he passes under the roof of the car. "That's a long story. And like you said, we don't exactly have a lot of time."
Exposed to the weather, his smoke threatens to go out. The tip of it shivers under the neon overhang - a heartbeat more, and it could die out forever. Yet, it never does. Forcibly, the heat hangs on despite it all, and Greed idly shoos the driver's door closed. "Ha - !" He barks, forcing another peel of ash to shed from his throat. "That's a little harsh, huh? You haven't even met them yet."
He waves at something around his face before pocketing his hands and strolling toward the entrance. The alleyway he's chosen as his spot is nothing to write home about. Old, rust-toothed garbage cans stare back at the two of them like husked-out jack-o'-lanterns; their packaged insides, black and bulbous with garbage. The Sin nudges an empty bottle of something out of the way and as it scratches into a corner somewhere, he pauses.
"There's really only a few you need to know about," his back to Murmur, Greed begins to list things off on his fingers. "Dol's a hellhound and a pretty good one too. He's just a bit excitable. Martel's got a little bit of snake in her, so try to keep on her good side. Bido's harmless, just keep an eye on your valuables. As for Roa - " He trails off, and the silence fills with every clip and clop of his heels as he makes his way downward. "- he's a bit bullheaded, if you get what I mean. Silent type. He won't bother you unless you make him bother you. Other than that, if you need something brewed, it's the 'Doc you wanna talk to."
Finally, he closes in on the entrance. Whether on purpose or simply because he happened to like it, the door itself is pretty nondescript. A series of bolts lock it into place on the other side and a small slat at the top harkens back to a completely different time. The only thing of note are the candles. An arrangement of them melts softly in the corner; their blacks and golds mixing together in a raw, metal-worker's sludge.
Greed flicks out one finger and the nail on his hand curves, cutting raw sketches into the steel. "When I say three, try not to inhale. I know yours don't breathe, but trust me on this one." His hand arcs and sulfur lines begin to follow his movements. Up, down, around, sideways. The Sin breaks to put his cigarette back in his mouth. "You ready? One - "
He moves upward with his sketch and his earlier lines begin to ignite.
"Two - "
Sparks crack into life. They chase every inch of his design like a gunpowder fuse or a sparkler years past its expiration date. Whatever the source of the heat is, it's warmer than before. Stifling. White billows bleed into the steel, eating away small, hissing flecks until the small passage they're in becomes glaringly bright.
"-three."
And what crashes in is delirious. Shrill, violent static consumes the space - its presence both silent and impossibly loud; like that of an atom bomb dropped at a range far too close for comfort. For a few, horrible seconds, that's all there is: an endless white, a chamber of noise, clawing, biting, and scratching at wherever it can.
Then, comes the smell.
Putrid, raw, sweaty, sweet: they're all there, tumbled together and shaken just for good measure. The Sin makes some sort of noise in the back of his throat that's pleased, excited, and menacing at the same time; its tone akin to that of a man being both choked and willing to pay for it. When he exhales, the fantastic lights and nauseating sound fall back to nothing. Nothing save a dingy bar that (most certainly) wouldn't pass any current mortal codes.
Greed tests his neck. "AH - it's been a while since I had to do that," he takes his sunglasses from his face and swipes them once. A ceiling fan up above them trundles on its cables and as the dust and ash settles, he's met with the clambering of people. There's movement out back, soft shouts from below. The Sin weakly raises to his feet and with one hand out, he presses a single finger inside his ear.
"Boss - Boss - !" A man howls from the other side of the bar. It's the one from earlier, now made flesh. Where Greed may have height and demeanor on side, Dolcetto seems to have speed and maneuverability. The hellhound dodges obstacles (tables, a thrown aside chair, glasses) without missing a beat - his focus, trained on the Sin in question.
Greed sags his wrist to wave the hound away. "It's nothing, Dol. Just needed some insurance," the Sin purses his lips; his expression similar to someone from a dentist's office after a couple of numbing shots. "Did you get most of what we need yet?"
The hellhound fidgets. "No, not all. Martel's still out - " Dolcetto's eyes wander to Murmur and it's there, just there, that his true nature gives him away. His eyes aren't brown, they're yellow. His teeth aren't smooth, they're gnarled. The hound's upper lip twitches as if it doesn't know what to do with itself. "Gree - boss," he whispers.
"Yeah, I know. But he wouldn't be here if I didn't owe him one or didn't trust him. Angel, meet Dolcetto. Dol, meet the reason we're going to have a long night."
It's very obvious Greed's dodging the question, which Murmur expected. For the moment he decided to let it drop, but that didn't mean he wasn't sticking a mental pin in it and going to continue listening for clues later. His interest was piqued, and being the information broker that Murmur was meant he wouldn't stop hunting until that curiosity was sated. As far as the accusation of being harsh goes, Murmur just gave Greed yet another one of those flat and unimpressed stares. It didn't take much to guess that the general level of competency was suspect here, given how easily Greed himself had been captured, and Murmur wasn't expecting to be proven wrong on his hypothesis.
Having nothing further to say on the subject of Greed's minions or their location Murmur stays silent, eyes wandering about taking in the details. Old walls stained with ages past, faded and fresh graffiti layers deep, piles of rusted and rotting trash and debris forming twisted abominations in the dark. All the signs of human life in its stinking, twisted refuse that rolls downhill and piles upon the 'less desirable.' It was a matter of fact that the most interesting of their species could often be found in places like this. Even more a matter of fact one could gauge the quality of a society by just how deep these urban junkyards went. For how they treated their least fortunate directly weighed against the value of those sitting at the top.
This world was rotten. Fortunately they'd been sworn to never do another flood.
As much as he seems to no longer be paying attention Murmur was listening to Greed's instructions. Thankfully he in fact did not need to breathe, and was mindful not to inhale when the demon began forging the door to his domain. Were Murmur a fledgling to such things he'd likely have been startled by the sudden violence of it all. The light, the sound, the smell would have sent most angels reeling in a panic of holy light and lashing out. Greed's lucky he's not dealing with someone more skittish, or he might have had a few burns that would prove much harder to heal than the minor inconvenience of his capture.
As it was, Murmur appeared barely phased by it all. Once it was over he simply blinked down at the devil on his ass, reaching up to casually dust some rain off the shoulder of his coat while the one identified as "Dol" came crashing over exactly like an over excited pit bull terrier. To his credit, Murmur didn't move. Not to assist, nor to get out of the path of a rampaging hell hound. He, more than most, understood the song and dance of bluff and bluster. To flinch would be to show weakness, to puff up and display would be to show threat. To do nothing at all? Well, he's long found that to have a much more amusing effect. No threat, no bluster, no flinching or showing off. Only calm watching with his head canted ever so slightly to one side. Curious, but not too curious. Let the demons scrabble about finding their footing with an enemy in their midst, he can wait.
"What were you saying about competence again?" He asked lightly, flippantly even as he eyed Dol fidgeting and admitting his failure. Really, just how hard was it to go out with a shovel this time of night? He did offer something of a faint inclination of his head in greeting. Polite, if heavily reserved. One did not risk excessive deference to a hound they didn't know. "I suppose there is a point to be made, if not for me your night may have been cut tragically short." Do stop blaming him for your failures, Greed, he doesn't much appreciate it.
While Murmur may be an unphased statue through it all, the Sin's more like a bruised boxer at the end of a rather grueling night. His hand rubs at aches deep in the muscle of his neck; his face is relaxed, yet tired. And when he tests his footing, he does it in a way that's tentative - as if the world may just finally open up and swallow him whole without remorse, pity, or even the slightest bit of hesitation. Only once, does he falter and when the squares of his heels clck-clack out of sync, Dolcetto visibly stiffens.
But that's it. No comment, no exchange of words. The devil quickly corrects himself and sets his path back to the bar.
"I told you, they're mine. Stop worrying so much," Greed's back dips and his jacket falls like liquid off his shoulders. He takes the time to shrug it off on a nearby stool where it drops disheveled into a pinched-up pile of upturned leather and fur. "-at this point, it'll be almost impossible for them to track us down. We have some time, angel."
Blindly, he stretches out his arm and lets his fingers search the backside of the bar. "Besides, haven't you ever heard the phrase? When there's no gold left, turn right, go left - ah." Srct: his nails find something and dig in. A hungry connection, sharp and cutting. Greed lifts a hefty bottle of Hell-knows-what from a hidden compartment and as his teeth tear through the cork like a hyena to a bone, a sliver of a smile creases on his face. It's the same one as before, though haggard. A devil-may-care attitude flooding in as the liquor pours deep down his throat. Because demons, devils - they were like that, weren't they? Creatures with enough ego, enough of a complex, that they always kept crawling back.
One of the bar stools tips dangerously to the side and Greed settles in, his one leg kicked up and stretched out on the counter's beaten-in edge. "Pup, you already got the dead man's dirt, right? Then we're just waiting on Martel." He tosses the cork of the bottle onto the bar top, letting it spin like a dreidel. "That woman's someone you don't have to worry about."
"Martel hasn't been gone that long, anyway." Dolcetto chips in. He's pointedly avoiding looking at Murmur when he can, save for the few, chaste examinations and glares. It's all too obvious that the hellhound has some internal conflicts about the situation. On one hand, there's an enemy in their midst. An enemy, by all accounts, they shouldn't even be speaking to right now. On the other hand -
On the other hand.
Greed takes another healthy swig of his drink before slapping the bottle on the bar top, making the liquor skip a beat in the glass. "Our heavenly friend does have a point, though. Try to make him feel comfortable, huh?" The Sin lifts his head. In the muddied mirror of the bar, his reflection seems to warp. It's still him: that same face, that same pin-prick stare. Yet, his eyes: they're brighter than before. A red bleeds out of them like tail lights chasing in the dark.
Greed sways his wrist. "Get something ready in one of the spare rooms. Once Martel gets back, we'll get everything settled." Another flaking peel of ash tumbles off his knuckles and Dolcetto's mouth screws itself into a worried frown. Again, however, he says nothing and instead eyes Murmur one last time before disappearing back into the building's deep and numerous pits.
The Sin flattens his hand on the bar top. "Take a seat, angel. Could be another few minutes before Martel shows up." A noticeable change chokes in his throat. It clings there, holding on and debating. He can't let down his shield, he never could. Yet, pushing himself as he did -
Greed's teeth tighten together into a jeering grin and the black at his collar hitches up a little more over his jawline. "You've really got me in a pickle don't you, you little pissant? Tch." His nails dig into the wood of the bar. He doesn't bother hiding it anymore; that black skin (as dark as oil and just as slick), the way his nails have extended and bent like a vulture's ever-seeking talons. It's the monster underneath it all, finally coming to the surface. An ugly thing, rotten and consuming.
And now? Now he has a debt to pay.
The Sin's mouth opens and a cloud of smog exhausts from his lungs. "Guess I owe you. So, what is it you want? When all of this is said and done. I am fair, remember. Equivalent exchange." He waggles his claws. "Name it and we'll see what I can do. I'd really hate to have a debt hanging over me."
Angels are like that, statuesque, unyielding. As different at Murmur was from his brothers he was also just as much the same. Watching, ever watching, and very rarely do they act. Though being here was an act of rebellion in and of itself, one cannot expect him to be particularly emotionally invested in as much of a risk as Greed poses. His existence remained tenuous, and until the dust settled it would continue to be that way. However, Murmur wasn't one to do things in halves, he would put in his best effort as he had been all night. Their escape was reasonably clean, all things considered, and their trail rather efficiently disguised. They had time, even if that wasn't much comfort to the angel at the present.
The hound may be uncomfortable having such an intruder, but Murmur was in the thick of an enemy's nest and severely outnumbered. He was no more comfortable with the situation than they.
"I have not heard such a phrase, no." He confessed, only looking perplexed at the strange wording. So, while Greed dug around for whatever it was he was after Murmur helped himself behind the bar counter as well, but he was looking for something quite different. A bowl, simple stainless steel and exactly what he needed. He tossed it on the counter next to Greed. "Ash in that, if you would." He's going to need it for what he's brewing. Might as well collect everything they can while they wait for the main ingredient.
As for Dol, Murmur seemed content pretending he wasn't there. The hound could scowl and glower all he wanted, Murmur wasn't going to be bothered by it. Now it was just a waiting game, his least favorite. The offer of a seat was met with a flat stare for a few moments before he sighed and relented, moving back around to go perch on a stool, eventually settling with his back and elbows leaned up against the bar. "One would think you'd be at least moderately more grateful, all things considered," He quipped lightly, not acknowledging the 'pissant' accusation.
The offer, though, was met with something of a sly sideways smirk on the angel's part. "I'm afraid that is a debt you're going to have to carry for a time, demon. When it is time you will hear my request and not a moment before." Greed's just going to have to squirm on it. No one enjoys having a debt hanging over them, bad news for Greed is that Murmur rather enjoys collecting them.
Greed coolly slides one of his eyebrows up as soon as the bowl comes into view. What was that, about a pound of flesh? "Get right to the point, don't you. Fine." He gently ushers the bottle away to present his wrist. The second coating across his skin is smooth and lightless like steel smoked beyond recognition. Yet unlike metal, it seems to bend flawlessly where it needs to. It's like whatever it is, it was meant for him. A perfect design for a creature so far removed from the idea of purity.
"It's all in God's plan," they say. Perhaps that isn't so far from the truth.
A healthy clump of ash wafts off his hand and goes topside into the bowl. "You're missing a lot up there. Sure, you're watching it, but you're still missing the most important things. I don't get it." Humming, he reaches up to his throat to give his neck a light scratch. While his nails should, by all accounts, tear his flesh to ribbons, they meet the charcoal coating like gears grinding in the dark, and sparks fissure off his fingertips. "That's the problem with you and it's why yours always seem to have to resort to extremes. Tell me, when's the last time you really sat down with them? Really gotten to know them? You could learn a few things from the mortal lot."
When he yanks his claws away, the shells of his nails are thick with soot. Greed taps them off into the bowl. "Miracles aren't worth shit anymore. It's what you do that matters. Isn't that what they teach you up there? Eh." The lines he scratched in blister to gold. They make a map of his throat; how it dips in places, how it thickens out into the bottom of his skull, how it expands whenever he sucks in at the backs of his teeth.
Greed wraps his free hand around the neck of the bottle and plugs it with a finger. "As for that," he snaps his tongue off the roof of his mouth. "No one said I wasn't grateful, pissant. I just don't like it when I can't settle my debts. And considering you, well." He noncommittedly shrugs one shoulder. "Not that I don't like you, but you tend to be a bit of a pain in the ass sometimes. It's too bad, really. If things were different, I think you and I could be good friends."
But they were batting for different teams and playing for different masters. Angels and demons didn't become friends.
The Sin shifts in his seat and slowly drags his foot off the counter to notch it into one of the rungs of the stool. A rumbling laugh shakes his throat. "Ha -! See, I told you - you are a pissant and a greedy one at that. This is why I like you. At least you aren't afraid to set your terms. But don't get the wrong idea," he slurs and the claw he has shoved in the liquor bottle hooks, drawing a faint line inside the glass. "I don't work for anyone else. You can call in your favor, but don't expect anything other than that."
A light blinks off in his jacket. Greed slaps his foot outward to tilt the seat and drop the phone into his waiting hand. "That's Martel. She's on her way back with the last thing you need - " The Sin's expression softens, amused. "Sounds like she had a bit of a time with it, too. I won't hear the end of it."
"I am never 'off the clock' as it were." Murmur doesn't know what taking breaks means, he's a workaholic through and through. Wouldn't know what to do with himself with downtime, and even now he was barely containing his impatience at a lack of constructive activity. To his credit he wasn't pacing or perching weirdly... yet. He had every reason to be anxious. Quick as he might be able to flee if anyone so much as caught a whiff that he might be involved he was as good as executed. Angels did not typically believe in evidence or investigations, much less anything remotely like a fair trial.
"We cannot get involved, you know that. Our very presence is enough to nullify free-will, mortal kind cannot know of our involvement or existence. I am certain you see it still, the reverberations of our influence millennia after we stopped making contact remain." He gestures dismissively, letting out an impatient snort. "What's to miss? The destruction of this world, their greatest gift? The degradation of their souls? The efficiency by which they slaughter themselves? There may be no shortage of spare vessels to inhabit, but that is far from a ringing endorsement." That is to say it's been thousands of years for him since he'd last bothered to walk among mortal kind in any meaningful capacity.
Again a flippant and dismissive gesture, punctuated by Murmur lifting himself to perch on his stool more like a bird, rather than sitting in it like a normal person. It lets him keep his hands folded together in a triangular shape so that he resists the urge to fidget. It's unbecoming. "They teach us not to get involved. As I said, it is not our place. Only despair follows such acts, or has no one told you the truth behind the Flood?" He cants his head to the side curiously, now fixing Greed with that unnervingly heavy stare of his. A weight which feels as though it's peeling away at one's very essence layer by layer to lay beneath a microscope.
There's a disdainful huff at Greed's complaints. "You would hardly be useful to me on someone else's leash." Not that Murmur had any intention of putting him on one either, but it's amusing to hold the implied threat there all the same. Keep Greed guessing what might be coming down the line. "And you think we cannot now? Why?" It's not like he actually has any friends to speak of, so this is hardly different. Still, he did have to wonder what made it so impossible.
Then there was an interruption from their conversation, Murmur finally released Greed from his dreadful stare to stare blankly at a wall thousands of miles away. "Good. Finally." Once he was done perhaps he could just be on his way. Surely Greed could look after himself from this point, no? "Do they no longer keep a healthy supply of goats around?"
The Sin's finger idly slides out of the liquor bottle, leaving behind a smear of sludged sulfur in its wake. He wears an expression on face that's both jeering and thoughtful in the same breath; as if he has a million things to say, a million stories to tell, trapped behind his bear-trap smile. Angels are and were a complicated lot. They drew lines where there didn't need to be any, created rules that made little to no sense. Everything boiled down to absolutes: what was righteous and what certainly wasn't. And in all that black, all that white, they left little room for the cool, comfortably gray.
A shame. He always found that gray so much more inviting.
Greed cocks one of his eyes open to watch Murmur. "There it is. You're always thinking in absolutes. Sure, they aren't perfect, but it wasn't so long ago that yours weren't either," he tests his mouth again and a feather of ash lifts off his lip to join the rest of his growing collection. "I can't blame you, it's in your nature to see the worst of what they are. But tell me this: if you really think there's no point, why bother? Everything you do - " Trailing off, he eyes the bar's back mirror again. The points of him (the ones that pass as human anyway) are starting to fade more and more. His pupils trill in their sockets, threatening to pull apart and multiply like cells in a furnace, his skin is a pale, his teeth have elongated ever-so-slightly. Greed draws his shoulders up to his ears and as he pulls himself from his stool, the cloud he leaves behind is murky and thick. A devil's fog, whispering his movements.
"Why? Because you'll always be like that." He lifts his clawed hand and taps at the air. "You'll always be running to the morals that define you and I'll always ignore them. You can't help what you are, handsome and neither can I." The Sin tips his head to offer a cagey, toothy grin. "Doesn't mean I don't like you, far from it. If things were different, I'd have you in a heartbeat. Everything that you are, everything that you can do. But I told you: everyone wants something they can't have. I'm no different. Mmn."
Jerking, the Sin meets the sound of an opening door with an admiring look. "I'm not one to be on anyone's leash. And I think, at the end of the day, neither are you if you gave it a chance." Loud thumps rumble from the stairwell as he talks. Someone (something) has arrived with a hefty cache. "Save that thought, though. Seems beautiful has come back with everything you need."
Sure enough, a younger woman slinks into view from the bowed-out overhang making up the bar's entrance. At first glance, she could easily pass as human. Her nearly shaved head and face tattoo give her the look of a military brat gone rogue. Yet unlike Dolcetto, there's a cold demeanor about her that screams; that shouts, hisses, and silently rattles to keep far, far away.
Greed's smile brims when he sees her and he can't help the short, curt whistle as he watches her shoulder a rather burly, freshly slaughtered goat. "Well, well. That certainly is impressive, lovely."
Martel gives him a single, cool stare before shoving the goat off her shoulders and onto the floor with juicy thud. "Nothing impressive about it - what kind of shit did you get into anyway, boss?" She catches Murmur and her eyes narrow, if only by a hair. "I actually don't want to know all the details. Can Roa carry this to where ever you need it to go?" The knife strapped to her shoulder pops out after a quick play of her fingers and Martel casually wipes it on her pants.
"I'm sure he can. Good job, Martel," the Sin pockets his hands and shuffles his feet closer to the carcass. "No one bothered you while you were out, did they?"
Martel pauses, her knife held stiff and at the ready. After a moment, she shoves it back into its sheath with a leathery shhhss. "No, no issues. But - " Now that she's gotten a better look at him, her expression subtly shifts. She makes out Murmur again, chases Greed's ash. It isn't worry on her face, least not the normal kind. It's a hesitation. A concern buried under layers of defense and a need to coil up and constrict any feeling, any at all, until it chokes itself out.
She rubs her thumb against her index finger. A nervous fidget. "-you are ok, right?" She asks, softly.
Greed dips his spine to flash his extended teeth. "I'm fine, I promise. Just ran into some trouble. Our friend here is gunna fix it. Then, we'll all be on our merry fucking way." His lips shrink back together. "Don't worry about it. You've done everything you need to tonight. Go take a break. We'll let you know when it's all done."
The rules made sense to them, sometimes. Often they were methods of control. Not being creatures that adapted quickly like mortals they tended to swing in wild extremes, if something goes poorly it then becomes outlawed. Such they learned during the Fall, such they learned during other numerous mishaps. In the time it took them to learn a new lesson generations of mortals had come and gone in the blink of an eye. That wasn't to say they couldn't, and that wasn't to say things didn't change in subtle and dramatic ways over time.
"I never said there was no point, do not put words in my mouth. You also continue to make sweeping assumptions about me. You are not much different than that which you condemn." Maybe Greed touched a nerve, maybe Murmur is just getting tired of circular conversation and stress. It was hard to say, but there seemed to have been the very slightest cold edge that creeped into his usual monotone at that. Thankfully he was spared having to elaborate or continue with the tired argument not terribly long after. He does have enough time to cast Greed something of a puzzled look at the claims of being willing to 'have him.'
Not knowing how to respond to that, Murmur's happy for the distraction of Martel arriving with their package. Hopefully the slaughtering didn't involve cutting too many holes in it, they need all the blood they can get. At the very least this one looked more competent than Dolcetto did.
While they spoke Murmur hadn't moved, simply remained perched where he was like a weird bird, silently regarding the conversation. When he said he needed the blood he assumed that would come alongside a bucket... perhaps he should have been more clear? Well, nothing for it now. They'll make do with whatever they can find.
"You were setting up a room for this, yes?" Back to business as usual, all sign of emotion gone again. It's easier to be the impartial mask, he's been playing that game so long it just comes naturally.
As he leans down to grab the carcass, Greed slowly raises his arms to a mock surrender. It causes the fog of smoke hanging about him to gather thickly around his head - like swarm of buzzing, crop-hungry locusts readying themselves for their coming famine.
Shallowly, the Sin hangs his head. "Hey, hey - calm down, would you? You know I didn't mean anything by it." His spine writhes when he responds; as if a bundle of snakes were squirming just beneath his skin, ready and waiting to strike at whatever got too close. "I like you, angel. Haven't I said that enough?" His clawed hand stretches out and strangles the goat's bloated-belly carcass by one of its remaining horns. "I'm merely sayin' - it would be a lot easier if you weren't on anyone's side."
He pulls and the dead animal slowly slips off the floor, leaving behind a dreadful trail of loose hair and slop. Greed adjusts his arm to bring the goat's milky-eyed stare close for an inspection. "It's not like I'm taking orders from below. Haven't been for a while, actually." His pupils tense and shiver to brittle points as he examines the butcher's empty kill. There's no life left in those vacant eyes, just death. A nothingness, a void, where they should be something. Whether it bothers him or not though, it's hard to say. The way he turns his wrist to get a better look at the killing-cut, how he flippantly adjusts his hold to follow the puncture wound to the obvious cause of death: there's something disturbingly vacant about it. As if the concept of mortality is somehow foreign, impossible, for him to understand.
The Sin breaks the staredown with another even smile. "'Suppose it's just not who I am." Meaning he reports to no one. Not his wretched kin, nor any other masters of the dominion below that may try otherwise. No, he's a rogue prince and an aloof king a long way from home with no intention of ever going back.
Though many sure have tried.
Greed rolls the goat onto one shoulder and jumps to settle the body into the crook of his neck. "Besides, my greed's just too much. If I stayed with them, it would never be satisfied. And that's enough of a reason for me. I just hoped that maybe, someday, you could be the same." He jerks his head to the side and the swarm of soot trapped about his skull finally thins, revealing the splintered, veiny cracks donning the crown of his forehead. "Nevermind that, though. You needed a room, right? C'mon," the Sin's voice slicks hot at the back of his teeth. Already, his tongue has visibly split somewhere along the line and the forks of it run like liquid fire over his lower lip. "-should it just be us, then? Or do you need the rest of 'em around to seal the deal?"
Deeper, deeper, deeper into the building he goes, moving passed unmarked doors, unlit corners, and skittering eyes that are there one moment and gone the next. If his prison were the epitome of holy grounds, his sanctuary is the total opposite. Things and creatures dart and move through every piece of the building like permanent haunts. Even the structure itself seems off in a way: the pipes groan through the floorboards, the lights blink sporadic nonsense. To the mortal lot, the proper description might be a hell hole. And ironically? Well.
It isn't that far from the truth.
Greed pauses at one of the many vague doors down a hallway and with a soft kick, he forces it open, bringing with it musty cobwebs and the scent of wet-slick concrete and brick. "Been a bit since I've been down here, so watch your step." An unearthly glow throbs from down below as the Sin elbows a questionable light switch. Silt, dust, forgotten times: they plume out as he descends. Each step, every groan of a stair, only releasing more, more, more.
The Sin balances the goat as he shuffles and skips over a step or two to avoid a large hole. "I'll have to get that fixed eventually. Keep to the left. Don't need you falling today, hmn?"
"I am not asking for flattery or platitudes, I am asking you to cease making generalizations and assumptions about my motives and character." He doesn't think it's unfair to expect Greed to practice his own preaching. He's been making demands that Murmur give his goons a fair shake all night, something that he has largely done even if he was perhaps uncharitable toward the hellhound for asking stupid questions. While it was as much Murmur's fault for ever keeping his own council and that council closely guarded, if one were to take even the slightest look at his actions they might come to see that he is most certainly not driven by some Heavenly fervor. He hadn't burned the place to the ground, after all.
After another long flat stare Murmur just moved on, hopping down from his stool to start making his way toward the halls. The sensation of the conversation being brushed aside nigh palpable in that simple gesture. He wasn't interested in playing these games, he had a job to do and he'd get it done. The whole sordid affair was starting to leave a bad taste in his mouth.
Death was no more poignant to the Celestial. While he had tasted its bitter sting, the distinction between the life of an angel being snuffed out and that of a mortal creature was as distinctly different as the death of a star and the impact of an asteroid. Death was in their nature, some things required sacrifice, and this night was no exception.
"Oh, don't act wounded now. Do not preach at me then play the victim when your carelessness comes back to bite you." This time his words lacked the icy sting they had earlier, he was back to feigning boredom with the conversation. It wasn't like the angel was good at being conversational, not when he found the subject tiresome. Greed didn't know his stance on mortals nor was he inclined to spend the whole night defending himself. It was tiresome and pointless. No, words were deceptive, it was only in action one could best perceive another's intent.
"At least one pair of hands that can run a paint brush, otherwise whatever you need. Their presence is not required." He just needs them to do the heavy lifting because that's monkey work and Murmur isn't doing monkey work, even if he does like them just fine. He follows along silently, little more than a frosty shadow at their backs down the twisting hallways. The angel does not seem particularly bothered by the presence of spying eyes and skittering darkness. It is as much home to him as the blinding light of Heaven, but again... Greed wouldn't know that would he? Again Murmur only leveled a flat, unamused gaze at the demon telling him to watch his step. He could see just as well in the dark as he could in the light and scarce needed to concern himself with balance. Still, he makes no further comment, merely following along on the despicable path toward damnation's gut.
"I am hardly inclined to break a bone, you realize." He chides, still sounding bored as he skips over it with that obnoxious grace of the holy ones. Still unbothered, still barely even acknowledging the depths to which they were crawling. One would expect one of the holy ones to be complaining and squirming by now, fussing about the filth and degeneration. Not this one, he took it in stride and moreover managed to look wholly unimpressed with the whole thing.
A shallow whistle sharpens sarcastically through his teeth. "Is that what you think? That I'm here for pity? C'mon, now," the Sin saunters down the stairs and with one arm stretched out, he waggles a finger; his notion something crude and dismissive. "-you know I'm better that. I was just saying. Didn't mean anything by it." For how rude he may be, how blunt he acts, there is truth in what he says. It isn't so hard to wound him. He's sin incarnate, after all. Opinions, assumptions - they're par for the course.
Besides, Pride was and is belongs to someone else entirely.
Greed shrugs and the goat's dead-fish head flops against his back, bloated and heavy. "Got the perfect one in mind. I think you'll like him," he starts in as more and more, the steps fall away. The angel is certainly right about one thing: the building isn't up to code. Least, nothing that would pass mortal laws and regulations. Fumes of unknowns sigh out of exposed pipes like the mouths of statues frozen in perpetual yawns; slick streaks of unholy bile trickle through the cracking foundation. If the Sin cares, he doesn't show it, even as he steps into a rather hefty puddle at the bottom, causing his heels to sizzle and pop like a blacksmith's hot irons to a cooling vat.
"No, you're not. But I forget what's down here. Figured I'd give you the courtesy," he hums, his body bowing into the single, solitary light furiously blinking away at the bottom of the stairs. This far down, there isn't much to see. A few emergency signs blur red from the twisted corners and time-worn holes, but other than, the basement is simply a wild, cave-like system. Whatever this part of the building once served for, it's been reduced to a belly. A place for his avarice to collect, store, and hide things away through the years.
Greed wipes his boot onto a dry spot, smearing a crescent shape into the concrete. "Besides, I think if I let you slip into something, our friend here would be pretty concerned." The Sin slinks out of the light's harsh, milk-yellow glow to sink into the dark again. "You still up there with us, Bido? You can come out, y'know. Mur here won't hurt you."
As if answering, something skitters above them, moving fast and balanced between the exposed beams and rotten wood. Whatever it is, it's small enough to travel seamlessly through all of the building's obvious hazards. Soft scritches chitter in the ceiling's nesting mess and as Greed moves, so do the sounds; their patterns like that of a cat cautiously following to see if maybe, just maybe, it'll get a meal for all its trouble.
The Sin pauses and the noises drop silent again. "Oi, oi, oi - come on down. It's safe, I promise." There's a clear shift in his tone in comparison to the rest of his crew. Where Martel had been given the usual slick and sweet and Dolcetto experienced his crude, oddly loving jeers, Greed handles this new comer with a sense of delicateness. As if Bido, whatever he is, could break by words and words alone. It's an intentional gesture and as Greed slowly lowers the goat's body to the ground, he opens himself up. His arms go wide, his chest beckons. It's a silent motion; a quiet answer:
"No one, nothing, will hurt you while I'm here."
And it does do the trick. One of the boards a few feet up bends as a distorted looking sack carefully lowers itself to the ground. The creature is both short and shy - his stance more similar to a beggar that's been beaten too many times to count. The burlap pile immediately runs to Greed to hide between his legs and examine the goat. "I - sorry, Mr. Greed. I wasn't sure - I was worried. I was - "
Greed curls his warm hand atop the man's head, patting it twice. "I know, but I'm fine. Remember? It takes - "
"- a lot more to hurt you, I know. But I heard about Bradley and the rumors about him being Wrath and I - "
The Sin's face darkens. "Yeah, surprised me too. Guess they needed a better host. But this one's nothing to worry about. He's here to make sure they don't follow. Think you can handle his demands?"
"Perish the thought," He didn't really think that, but rubbing Greed the wrong way was an ample kind of petty revenge for all the trouble Greed's put him through tonight. Especially while endlessly running his mouth, if he didn't know better Murmur might think he was ungrateful for the save!
"Oh?" Now he was intrigued, the others he'd been given warnings about to not bother or be too harsh, he'd yet to have the Sin suggest he might like one. As they travel it occurs to him that it's very fortunate he doesn't need to breathe, and that while his sense of smell was strong in specific ways things didn't tend to register as putrid as easily as they would for mortals. The fumes of this place would be dreadful for the mortal kind.
The strangeness of the stomach like depths weren't lost on him, it was clear this place had twisted into something dark and twisted from its origins, a great gut that never quite got around to digesting its prey. The insatiable hunger of greed, an ever starving maw.
Skittering sound catches his attention, Murmur's eyes snap up to the beams and he watches with head tilted like a curious bird, eyes sharp, unobstructed by the gloom of this dank cavern. Still, given the maze of mess it was hard to make out what it was that was following them, even if the dark weren't a hinderance. For perhaps the first time since they'd arrived Murmur dared actually look interested in whatever this mysterious creature skittering among the rafters was. A being so cherished that Greed approached it with caution and care, how novel! How terribly strange! The other acts were boring, expected displays of bravado and oil-slick charm, but this was something entirely different.
Murmur hangs back. He makes no move to lower himself to look smaller, still very aware he's a lone angel in the belly of the beast so to speak, but he also makes no effort to look intimidating. By nature he looks average, soft around the edges and unassuming and non-threatening, a trait he intends to lean on in this situation. When the creature finally does appear he only continues to watch silently, head remaining tilted in that oddly bird-like way, unable to disguise his fascination with this new revelation.
"Secrets upon secrets. Might I inquire as to which one this is?" Don't think he's not noticed the conversation, Greed, he's merely tucking the information away for later. Introductions first, interrogations later.
The Sin's hand slides off Bido's head slow, purposeful, and lingering; like a fortune teller caressing a crystal ball with an awareness of just how fragile the future could be. When the tips of his claws leave the creature's burlap hood, he seems to make a point to twist a fray string about his finger and with a single hiss, he burns it away.
"Bido, meet Mur. Mur, Bido," Greed slurs in, his voice once again a thick syrup in the back of his throat. "If you're looking for someone to get the job done quick, Bido's your guy. Isn't that right?" He playfully tilts his head to flash a sharkish grin and in the basement's crude dim of sunken reds and steam, his skin gives off a heated look. The shadows in his face carve deeper - the exit-sign halos tickle his cheeks. It's as if, no matter where he is, no matter where he wanders, that core of his eventually catches and spills out to places, things, people. In the end, he's a wildfire. One born to fume on and on despite anyone's attempts to put him out.
And as Bido weaves through his legs, his yellow-saucer eyes illuminating wide, it's clear the creature has been caught up in the blaze for some time.
"I, well. I'm pretty good at getting into spots most people can't," Bido stammers as one of his lizard(y) hands curls to anchor itself against Greed's thigh. "But I'm not as good as some of the others. I - " The creature blinks and his eyes throw off an otherworldly shimmer similar to a night-prowling cat caught in a flashlight. "-sorry, I didn't mean to go off like that, Mr. Murmur. What - what can I do to help?"
The Sin adjusts his stance to give Bido a little more room to move. "He needs your painting skills." He gestures downward with a crooked finger to point at the goat. "I'll get you the blood. I'm sorry to ask, and I know you don't like this kind of stuff, but you've got the steadiest hand in the joint." While Greed explains, Bido timidly examines the animal's corpse through the frame of the Sin's legs. He rubs his hands over each other - another nervous habit. "If you can get us a clean brush and a bucket, I'll get it ready. Sound fair?"
"S-Sure. Sure thing." Bido peels himself away from Greed to circle the goat. He watches it with an air of hesitation - his demeanor more similar to a child's first hunting experience. His entire body language is that of distaste. Distaste, but also resolution. The world they lived in was a cruel one, after all.
No doubt, he's seen worse.
After the thorough lookover, Bido briefly pads backwards onto his hands and feet to move up a half-leaning plank of wood. "Dolcetto and Roa dropped off something else earlier. Do you need me to bring that over too? It smelled like dirt." He addresses Murmur now, his wide eyes darting to avoid staring too long. "I - I can bring that over too while you work, Mr. Greed. I don't want to cause too much trouble."
The Sin's face falls at that and he clicks his tongue to correct it. "Oi, you're never a trouble, Bido. Don't sell yourself so short." He moves forward and bends; his whole body appearing to topple over itself and balance like a rock on small, jutting cliffside. "Besides, I wouldn't trust anyone else to get this job done." He gives the smaller man a soft wink and a show of teeth for good measure. "Just get back here when you can."
Visibly, Bido brightens and his thin, hooked-reptile claws tap excitedly atop the wood. "I will, Mr. Greed. Mr. Murmur! I'll be back." And with that, he's off. A single leap up has him part way into the ceiling. A scamper later, and Bido disappears back into the secondary set of systems making up the droptop of the basement.
The Sin watches him go before shrinking down into a crouch. "Thanks," he whispers. "-for being good with him." He flicks one of his nails out to run in backwards through the thick fur at the goat's throat. "Out of all of 'em, Bido's seen the worst of it. He used to be human once. But y'know how it goes: wrong place, wrong time, wrong people." Greed buries his voice in his chest, making it vibrate and twist into a deep, shuddering growl. "Things aren't fair, angel. I know that. But sometimes, I wish they were."
The tip of his claw severs something and a hunk of flabby, hide-slick skin peels away from the animal's neck. "As for that thing I mentioned earlier," he slicks the forks of his tongue over his lips. "That whole deal went south for a lot of reasons. But I also didn't expect Wrath to have a new host." He works as he talks - slicing there, peeling here, yet always careful not to nick or cut anything that could possibly make the carcass bleed out and thus leave them back at square one.
He rips off a heavy slab of skin and tosses it onto the floor with a juicy thwmp. "Might be easier if you don't know. Would rather you not have to deal with that mess." And there it is: his thank you, his admiration, his try. Because as much as Heaven and Hell like to play at war and turf, the abyss is constantly at odds. The bickering, the fighting, the clawing at the next, big power play. It's something his have always marched to. An obedient group of soldiers following blind to someone else's orders.
It's one of the reasons he left in the first place. And while that mess will always be there?
He's not interested in bringing in anyone else.
Greed shakes his wrist and another cigarette appears magically between his fingers. "Things really did get complicated today, didn't they? Ah, well."
Politely Murmur inclined his head to acknowledge Bido's introduction. The interaction between the two was fascinating, this was a side of Greed he hadn't seen in action before, and might not have completely believed existed until this moment. Greed's consistent displays of carelessness and bravado were enough to even smoke screen the Angel of Sight's vision in this area, it would seem.
Now, while a steady hand wasn't strictly necessary a swift one was, and if Bido could get where the others couldn't more effectively then he was not one to complain about the choice in artists. Certainly Greed knew the strengths of his crew, and this time Murmur would trust his decision in the matter. After all, if Bido failed, then it was all of their heads.
He was not going to bring that up in the present delicate company. As it was he didn't need to offer a word in edge wise, instead only nodding when Bido asked if it was the dirt he needed. The dirt, and enough room to spread his wings, a commodity he wasn't expecting to be in such short supply and yet here they were. "Do you have somewhere with some space?" He asked while Bido was scampering away, clicking claws fading as he vanished.
Eyes that had been watching the creature's retreat dart down to regard Greed with a newfound curiosity. This tenderness was strange. "I may be cold, but I am not needlessly cruel." He can tell when he should best keep his mouth shut and curb the bitter edge of his ice. This being, Bido, had been through the wringer and was not built of the same durability as those who do not understand death. A quiet, amused yet rueful sound escaped him. "Thus is the cost of all this grey. Black and white have faded, their meanings obscured in the fog. What is wickedness for one is salvation for another. Fair, unfortunately, is very difficult to weigh." He isn't without sympathy, there is a kind of long deep sadness in his tone. Strange, given how very rarely even the barest hint of emotion might leak from his icy dam. Life wasn't fair, that didn't mean they couldn't be furious at the injustice of it all.
"Ah, and that is how you found yourself in such an unfortunate predicament, I expect?" He really must learn to be more careful. Greed picking and prodding at their paint medium did have him grinding his teeth just a little, but the demon seemed smart enough not to drain too much of it out onto the floor. It wouldn't do them any good there. "Like as not I am already in the thick of it. You might as well divulge, that I can further fortify your defenses." It's easier to know what to do if he knows what he's up against. Yes, he knows well the endless warring of Hell's against themselves, it's part of what keeps them in check. If they're too organized, too focused, then they might just be able to do more damage than even the Holy Host could prevent.
All part of the precarious balance all things were held in. The eternal battle between stagnation and entropy. The push and pull that kept them alive, and in check.
"Mm, fortunately I rather enjoy a good puzzle. Now then, the sooner we get this underway the sooner we may have a moment to breathe. As it were." He doesn't breathe.
Absently, Greed cleans his claws, flicking away small pieces of flesh and fur onto the basement's concrete slab where they will (no doubt) stay forever more. "Like you said, life isn't fair. And I didn't really see that surprise coming. Though I suppose, I should have figured it'd come sooner or later. They don't really like that I'm not around," he singsongs his words as his clean hand, the one not covered in a mortician's mess, whirls out to conjure up a fresh new flame. For a second or two, he lets the fire dance between his fingers. Pinkie to ring finger, ring finger to his favorite in the middle, middle to the index. The heat sloppily changes color while he works it and when he finally brings the flame to the tip of his smoke, the lick is a soft, mercury blue. The shade of it, a neon lull that compliments him more than it should.
The Sin's lips split and his chest enlarges as he takes in a long, strong pull. "It's a long story. But if you really want to know and since you've obviously earned it - " He clicks, forcing the smoke out in spirals that seem to topple and trip themselves over and over. "- I left years ago. Couldn't tell you how long it's been exactly. It's been long enough though, and they're still not over it." Gingerly, he tests his knees by knocking them in opposite directions, making his hips spread and body lurch over the precarious balance of his heels. "You know how things are done there. No one can ever let anything go. And I'm not one to follow barking orders. So when the opportunity came, I didn't hesitate."
He plucks the cigarette from his mouth, drawing lines in the air with the smoke. "And now, here we are. The two of us avoiding people who would have us right back where they want us. Nothing ever really changes," Greed hums off as a series of lights snap on ahead of them like a silent signal. "Ah. Looks like that's our cue, handsome." The cigarette back in his gnarled-tooth jaw, Greed flattens his palms on the rounds of his thighs. A push later, and he's upright again; his body moving as rigid as a devil stiff from the sun.
The goat finds a home once again on his shoulder like a sack and the Sin leads on; his stance a casual sort of slick. "Normally, I'd ask for a story in return. But since you said I owed you, that's the first one you're getting. Nothing's free, after all." The careful moment with Bido now over, it doesn't take him long to slip right back into his usuals: the purr in his voice, the almost dance-like pace to his step. No, despite being shaken in more ways than one, it takes little to no time for the devil to find himself again. That shield of his all but coming up with a snide smile and a criminal's carefree demeanor.
Through missing-door arches and down widening halls, he goes. True to his word, Bido has lit a path for them, even if lit is a mild term at best. Barrels of liquor pile themselves high on either side of them as they pass; boxes and crates snuggle deep into the corners. Greed watches the bulbs above as they blink in and out of focus and takes a sharp left when another blearily pops off.
The room Bido has set up is probably the cleanest out of the bunch, and the largest. With the room mostly empty, save for a few more of Greed's odd-ball collection of crates, it seems to stretch out endlessly. The ceiling's higher, the floor's a little less smudged. Bido, himself, appears like a tiny lump in the mass of it all; his slouched body hovering about the light switch like a ghost playing a funny trick. When he sees the two of them enter, he quickly pulls himself away.
"I got everything ready, Mr. Murmur! A clean bucket just as you asked, a paint brush. I even have your dirt, right here." Giddily, the creature walks over to the requested items and points them out as if he's some sort of used car lot salesman trying to impress a rather high-rolling guest. In response, Greed gives a hearty laugh as he shrugs off the goat.
"Good job, Bido. Real good job. Knew I could count on you." The Sin stretches his back by moving his spine from side to side and a thick shell of ash shatters onto the floor. "Now, how do we get this started?"
Terrible housecleaning habits, leaving gore to rot into the concrete. The ants and roaches will be well fed at the very least. How thoughtful of him to feed the scavengers. They can have the rest after Murmur's done with the blood, or perhaps if there's a chef around they'll certainly know what to do with a fresh goat.
"The infernal are not exactly known for being particularly forgiving, no," There was a faint bit of wry humor in his tone at that. Slighting devils was never a particularly wise decision. No wonder Greed and his were skittish, though they should be far more worried about their own than Murmur. If he wanted to cause them trouble he would have simply left Greed to deal with the consequences of his carelessness. "Ah, don't be so cynical. You have thus far escaped their grasp, that is a change, subtle though it may be. Change is ever around us, one must simply learn how to observe it." Cheeky and sly as always, Murmur was happy to end the conversation there with their path forward illuminated by sickly light.
Appropriate, in a place like this. Where shadows and secrets dwelled far away from prying eyes. Little did Greed realize Murmur's were the most prying of them all. He just couldn't help himself, it was in his nature. "Nothing's free," He agrees, and in a way Greed was still racking up a bill. Rescued, babysat, his minions tolerated, and his headquarters hidden from sight? Murmur was doing a lot of work here he wouldn't do for just anyone. And now he was about to crack out the forbidden magic? Greed was going to owe him quite the debt indeed. He followed along those twists and turns, cramped corridors and low arches. This place really was sprawling, and with only one goat they'd have to be tactical with their work. Ideally Bido will understand the need once he explains the process further.
Ah, they did indeed pick him adequate space. Most excellent. "Exemplary work, Bido!" High praise from the angel, especially given some of that monotone of his actually shifted into something genuine. Now it was his time to shine. Murmur made his way toward the bucket, setting down the bowl of ash collected earlier nearby and standing again to begin rolling up his sleeves. This was perhaps the first hint that there was more to the angel than met the eye. While he went out of his way to appear as unimpressive in dress and visage as possible his arms were a different story.
Flowing intricate tattoos covered them, arcane symbols of all manner were woven in such dense intricacy it would take even the most seasoned scholar ages to begin to pick them apart. In the dim light the ink seemed to have an unearthly shimmer, sometimes silver, sometimes blood red when they caught the light just right. He motioned for Greed to approach. "Bleed the goat in there, every drop you possibly can. We'll need as much as we can get." The place really was far too large, after all. Once Greed moved to comply he'd begin his work, in equal parts he mixed in the dirt and ash, a pinch here and a handful there he worked the mixture with a paint stirrer he'd found along the way.
Working like this the icy countenance fell away, and a man possessed was revealed in his place. A mad scientist over his experiment, an expert alchemist and chemist both as he muttered incantations and wove his magic into the mixture. Nearing completion they required one final component, so rare as to be nigh impossible to extract... unless one happened to have the very source on hand. Gesturing for Greed to keep his distance Murmur straightened, great wings erupting from his back all at once and the reason for his insistence on space was clear - they were huge.
Easily twenty feet, if not more, from tip to tip with pale blue-gray feathers that glittered as if covered in a fine layer of frost. They were long and narrow like a gull, or more accurately like an albatross, a bird whose omens were all too fitting now in light of their present situation. The pristine feathers were unmarred save for a striking patch at each shoulder with mottled bloodstains marring the otherwise even coloration. The striking markings of a faction only known in whispers and conspiracies, Blood Angels. Greed wasn't the only one harboring secrets, after all.
Murmur was wholly consumed by his work, and unwilling to comment on anything about his wings. Delicately he searched through his feathers, one by one plucking out small ones to crumble into the mixture. As he did so it began to take on a shimmer not unlike the frosty sheen that adorned him. Either unaware or unwilling to acknowledge there might be questions from his witnesses, Murmur went on with his explanation. "Bido, when I am finished with this I will need you to paint a stripe of this above every window and door that opens to the outside of this building. You may have to be sparing, I know not how many exist. Are you able to complete this task?"
At a distance, Greed watches with an uncharacteristic kind of silence. Though his body may be burning (and burn it does - the ash has gotten visibly thicker since they settled in), he's as still as a sculpture. A creature frozen in the moment, watching, examining, picking it all apart as his eyes tick wide only to hush down again. It's that avarice of his, always calling him back. He makes out Murmur's tattoos first, then travels up, and up, and up - his pricking gaze shivering and expanding as if a force beyond both Heaven and Hell is ripping him apart.
The Sin's outline goes out of focus and in his silence, Bido frantically moves into position. "Y-Yes. Yes, Mr. Murmur! I - I can do that for you, don't .. don't even worry about it." The creature's small body, for a second, hesitates. Trapped between all the awe that is Murmur (his encompassing presence, how his wings fill up every inch of space they can take, the way his feathers are clean yet bitter and chill) and his boss who, by all other accounts, creeps on the outer ring like a coming eclipse, he's no match for the storm. This is beyond him, beyond any of them. It's old meeting of older friends, of enemies, of a word no mortal truly knows.
Bido's scampering hands grab the bucket and with a fresh paint brush at the ready, he shuffles briskly toward the door. As if any moment, this meeting of two, opposite currents could burst. Bringing them and the whole house down in a magnificent and beautiful explosion.
"Boss," Bido whispers at the doorframe leading out to the hallway. "Boss - ?"
The cloud where Greed had once been thunders red, orange. "I'm fine, Bido. Go on, do what our friend here says, would you?" The Sin's voice echoes somewhere far, yet oh so near. It drowns itself in the crackling cloud like lightning rumbling on the horizon; an electrified sound, hot and broiling. And maybe it's just because Murmur's being so honest, but something about it: the brooding is like an answer. A call to an echo long gone, hissing back:
"You rang?"
The hallway bulbs flutter, and Bido violently shocks himself back into the present, his saucer(ed) eyes blinking themselves out of a stupor. "R-Right! I'm on it! You can count on me, Mr. Murmur. Just," his nails tickle the handle of the bucket. "-please be careful." And with that, he's gone. Lost to the building's catacombs to begin his long, agonizing work.
"He's never seen something like you before. Gotta say, I'm impressed," Greed's voice creeps from behind Murmur despite their distance. "Sorry, didn't want either of you to see how ugly I could get. But whatever you're doing, well. Seemed only fair." Eyes open in the dark, pupils gone and blaring. They eat at the fumes of sulfur and smoke like flares - their heat burning through only to relight the smog yet again in a vicious cycle. The Sin exhales low through a mouth that sounds laborious. "Looks like both of us are just full of surprises tonight."
Snakes of soot clamber to the door where Bido had once been and strangle it. "I am sorry." His tone manages to be both snide and sincere. Another contradiction. "Once this is done, it's your choice. Whatever you want." Movement stirs inside his cocoon and the Sin finally moves, forcing part of the curtain to pull back and fray along his ankles.
His boots are gone now, replaced by crooked feet and talons best serving a lizard from millennia ago. A single, elongated toe raps softly against the concrete and as it centers itself, the claw at the tip gauges deep into the rock. Despite how stretching his swill seems to go, it appears to avoid Murmur and his work entirely. Instead, it lingers on the edges of all the goings-on; its presence, an audience of sorts. One hovering, keeping its distance, but itching on the edge of its seat.
Blood Angels. Princes of Hell. Oh, what a pair they make.
Greed's claw scratches something into the concrete; the symbol, a rough mess of sketches. "I'm a man of my word, handsome. You do us a favor, and I - " A chain rattles softly nearby and light swings in his shadow - its body swimming in a sea of black, blinding fog. "From mine. From me. Keep your secrets. I owe you that much."
Because he knows, at least he can guess, the cost. The cost of this, the cost of revealing. It's a hefty price to pay. And if he's blind to Murmur? If he can be jumped by him at any time?
He was glad that neither chose to make a particularly noisy fuss over what they'd just witnessed. While it was nowhere near Murmur's full glory, nowhere near at all it was still more than enough to paint a distinctly different picture of the frosty and elusive angel. Generally he kept his secrets so close to his heart even the fact he had secrets was a secret, yet here Greed and Bido alone had been witness to just a hint of it all. One of the Holy Host, covering his vessel in arcane knowledge stolen over millennia with wing feathers stained in blood, what an odd being indeed.
He didn't say anything about the exchange between Bido and Greed, only cocked his head to the side in faint curiosity at Bido's words of warning. Offering a polite nod, he flicked his wings once, even that gentle force kicking up dust and ash all around them as he tucked them neatly against his back. For being so large, they did fold nicely. Now, with Bido scampering off to perform his duty he turned his attention to Greed, letting out a faint rueful huff of amusement. "I was there during the first war between Heaven and Hell, I have born witness to horrors far beyond you, Greed." He's hardly so delicate that he'd be intimidated by Greed going as smoldering as he possibly can.
Again his head tilts to the side, birdlike in its puzzlement while somehow still carrying the weight of eons. "Why are you apologizing? What are you offering? Be clear." As for the secrets, he nods curtly. "I will accept that much, at the very least. They may not take the news as well. But you understand there is more in Heaven, Hell, and Earth than black and white, do you not? You are among those who have forsaken one duty to carry the mantle of another.
The stray thought, for that was what it was, earned something of a light chuckle from the angel. A tinkling sound like crackling ice in the early rising sun, musical and alien all at the same time. "If I wanted to bring harm to you, then I simply would have let it happen." He's cheating but that's also what his kind does, isn't it? Stare into the heart of sin and remain untarnished? Listening to all those deepest darkest thoughts? This one, however, does not recoil. Bathed in blood, they are not so easily flustered.
Ribbons of smoke fishtail in his thunderhead and the light on the outer skirts swings into the clear. The lantern, or at least what could count as one, sways on a rusty chain. Its metal frame has seen better times by the looks of it - the steel is corroded and chewed through in spots, the curved-tin lid capping it off is slightly misshapen. A whisper of a candle barely hangs on inside and as the lantern begins to creep back into the whirlwind from whence it came, the flame shrinks - the life of it a fragile thing. One so close to its end, yet too stubborn to snuff itself out.
Greed's jaw cracks open. "A ward for a ward. Mine won't be able to find you, and neither will I. I'd say that's a fair deal." His hand appears out of the mess of soot, bringing with it trails and dust like fingers through a broken hourglass. With his claws splayed out and his hand gripping the air, he takes on the look of a shadow. Of a phantom appearing out of a fallout, offering an option.
The Sin violently snaps his wrist and the mark on the floor screams off the concrete in flecking embers and shrill noise. All the souls he's taken; all the souls he's marked. They answer to his call: in anguish, in need, in a desire to please. Greed rotates his hand to summon the symbol back up to his face. And as its red glow bleeds into his smoke screen, his eyes blare back. "This won't hurt you, but it might feel a bit weird. Hold still."
A flick of his arm later, and whatever he's conjured up ejects from his control. It slides across the room with screams, with laughter, with all the horror, all the bad, and all the good that he is. When it arrives to Murmur, it shrinks back down again. The electricity arching wildly about calms down to a static; the light dims down to small sparks and sputters.
Slowly, Greed pulls his arm back into his nest. "Once you grab it, it's done. Envy, Lust, Gluttony, Sloth, Pride, Wrath. They won't be able to track you, no matter how close they may get. And neither will I. Call it whatever you want, but you've now got the upper hand." The devil shifts, his low laughter forcing his self-made swill to expand and clap back against him like a rubberband. "Can't say I like it, but them's the breaks, isn't it? Ha - ! You are such a fucking pissant. Who'd have thought we'd be here, like this?"
He waves his hand to shoo away whatever it is that's on his mind. "I'm sure you've seen plenty. Still doesn't change anything I said." His raptor(ed) toe plucks itself from the concrete to retreat back again. "I'd rather you keep me as a handsome memory. Give me that, won't you?"
Footsteps far up above shake the ceiling a bit, making a few loose splinters tumble down, down, down. Greed slinks forward to inspect it. "Sounds like Bido's doing double time tonight. I'll make sure he gets your regards."
Because, as the angel said himself, they're on a time schedule. No doubt, Murmur will go on his own way once everything is said and done. Angels didn't belong in a place like this; least of all one who exposed himself, gave himself, and exhausted himself for a rotting palace of monsters and devils alike. Besides, Murmur is on the run and his consequences? They're a bit more dire than his, aren't they? And if the rumors are true -
Greed's quiet for a long while; too long. Until: "I've got enough left in me if you want a clean exit."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sdgkjbs SORRY FOR THE DELAY MAN ...
Though, even that seems to have a catch.
The Sin clicks his tongue behind his teeth. "Follow me." He doesn't wait or even bother to check to see if the angel is following him. Rather, he appears to be more focused; tuned in. Like a big cat with hunger in its belly and ah, ah, ah, is there prey to be had.
Greed slouches against the rain, his shoes and heels making the slosh and muck pluck themselves into deep, steaming pockets behind him. While he exactly doesn't have a vehicle at the ready, that doesn't mean he can't find one. And in a town as winding as this, in a place full of empty holes to stick him in, it wouldn't be hard to find something of use.
Another shudder of lightning splinters above them, turning the sky into a purpling bruise. "As for that other thing, just leave it to me, hmn? Sometimes I wonder if you actually trust me, handsome." A shivering streetlamp surges above the narrow street they're on in a gassy yellow and while the bulb struggles to keep alight, the Sin's body visibly stiffens. He's caught something in his eye. Something suitable, right, and perhaps, God's chosen aren't the only ones with a little bit of luck.
Greed's arm shoots out from his side in a sudden, violent snap and the flesh on his hand quickly disappears. From his fingertips upward, a second skin begins to crawl itself into place. It turns his nails into talons, his knuckles bulbous and boney. The look of it like an oil slick with the ability to defend itself. The Sin lets out a soft whistle. "Looks like your prayers have been answered," he hums before the block of his fist meets the driver's side window. With a splintering crack and a sprinkle of shattered glass, he's in. All hands, all want, clambering to take what's his.
He shoves a button on the inside of the door and the lock on the passenger's side clicks open with a soft plunk. "After you," he slurs. The angel may have his perks against mother nature, but him? His have always been with the material. The needs of mankind, the desires of them, all but molding under his fingertips. Greed rips opens the plastic console under the steering wheel with little more than a pop and squeal of plastic, leaving the insides as open and raw as freshly killed carcass. Half outside the car, sprawled and stretched, he gets to work. A dash of hellfire there, an impish tweak here - a devilish mechanic, engrossed in his work.
Finally, the Sin leans below the steering wheel. He extends his tongue between two particular wires and a small electric current buzzes over his teeth. Greed grips the upper curve of the wheel to pull himself into the driver's seat, and he yanks the door shut. "It'll take a while to get there. Just don't judge them too much, hmn? They are mine, but they won't bother you unless you give 'em a reason to. Ah - "
A pleased sort of smile graces his face. It lights him up from the inside out; a breath of sorts, filling him up with all that fire, all that wickedness, that he had been missing. Greed thumbs a built-in lighter into the dash and as he turns to check the rearview, he haphazardly throws the car in reverse. Mud and water screams murder under the wheels as he wildly jerks the vehicle out of its parking spot. A second later, and he punches into first gear, forcing the car to zigzag out of the muck; its swinging spin, like a fishtail darting under the tide.
It's all good!
"Trust? A tall order in times like these," He scoffs, but despite the monotone it's good natured coming from the frosty angel. He plays the distance and dismissiveness well, and yet here he is sloshing through the mud after the Sin whom he could have easily left to his own devices once the trap was sprung. Could have left him to his fate as well, though that would have proven to be a headache for all further down the line. The universe will always seek balance, a new Sin will rise, and that one might not be as accommodating as the one he's accustomed to.
Ah, their chariot awaits. Gleaming brilliant in the flash of lightning and sputtering of street lamps, just asking for the taking. Of course Murmur feigns a disappointed look at the act of theft and window breaking, but it bore no more venom than the rest of his haughty act did. It was merely the act of going through the motions, behaving as he should in the presence of Sin rather than with any real feeling behind it. Righteousness was reserved for very special occasions, and he did ask for a vehicle. Of course, he was grateful Greed broke the window on his own side, so he can spend the drive being wet and uncomfortable.
While Greed works away on getting the beast running Murmur makes himself comfortable in the passenger seat. He can't drive, so it's not like he'd try to anyway, he also doesn't bother with seatbelts because what are those anyway? So while Greed works, he's popped open the glove box and is taking the time to scribble arcane symbols inside with that chalk produced from within his coat once more. Might as well do a little work while the Sin's busy. He can ward it up more later, once they're out of the thick of it.
"Them?" He asks, ignoring the implication of him being judgmental. He already told Greed that's not his wheelhouse. "Come now, you should know by now I do not make a habit of instigation." He is very polite he'll have you know. As for the driving? He does cast Greed a sidelong glance as if to ask 'must you?' He won't protest, not out loud, but he will make faces of disapproval. "Try not to roll this over on the way, would you?" It wouldn't kill them, but it would be inconvenient.
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Greed plays footsie with the clutch and the gas as his free hand shoves the gears, effectively reversing his fate and throwing them forward in one fell swoop. At first, he seems to miss the angel's questions entirely - his attention drifting to the sensation of it all. He lets the cracked-tooth window spit rain in his face, he cranks the car a bit faster than is certainly legal. Everything. It's always boiled down to that simplicity: everything. It floods through him as entrapping as an addict to their substance of choice. And like a man chasing his poison, his thrill is just as deadly and just as plainly visible on his face.
The Sin's mouth warps into a lunatic's sneer and faint trails of black-rich smoke peel through his teeth. He starts in again with a small bark of laughter. "Ha - ! A tall order, huh? I suppose," his tongue lashes out and the tip languidly begins to split in a rake of hot, red coals. "Can't blame me for trying. Here - " He fishes a phone out from the pocket of his vest and haphazardly tosses it into Murmur's lap. "-dial 003-12-7. If someone picks up the line, just say Ouroboros. It'll connect you to our next stop."
Wildly, he lets the wheel spin through his fingertips and the car bounces onto a main road. "You do know how you to use one of those, right? Nevermind." He waves his wrist and the black screen statics. At first, it merely blues out in the dark; the sudden onslaught of fake light and bright colors all but washing the inside of the vehicle in a soft, foggy haze. The Sin makes a few, simple gestures with his fingers and as traffic lights blare their greens, their yellows, and reds, the phone begins keying in the numbers one at a time:
003-12-7
Greed takes another erratic turn onto the freeway. "As for the other thing - " He begins while the phone connects to the radio of the car. For a while, a dial tone is all he gets; its tolling noise a constant heartbeat waiting in anticipation. When it clicks to a receiving end, he wastes no time.
"Oi, oi, oi - coming in hot, sweetheart. And I've got company this time - "
"Where the FUCK have you been!?" A male's voice practically barks through the car's sound system, making it static as the Sin carelessly plunks into a rather large pothole.
"Oh - ? Sounds like the hound's a little mad with me. C'mon, don't be like that," Greed's voice curls out of his throat like a fire trying to flirt. The skin around his neck bristles in turn and flakes of pitched soot quiver off the dip of his collarbones. "Ran into a little bit of trouble and not the usual kind."
The man through the radio's silent for a second. "What kind of trouble? Are you ok? Where are you? And what do you mean company? Greed - Boss - "
The Sin's laughter hisses from his grinning mouth, wide and smoggy. "HA - ! Oh, don't stick that tail between your legs just yet. We'll just say I had a little divine intervention - " That earns a quick sputter of curses through the speakers and Greed jovially slaps the steering wheel a few times. "No, he's not that bad. Remember what I told you? There's - "
"-no such thing as no such thing, yeah. I know - ! But can we really trust this guy? I mean we're talking about - "
"Now, no need to be rude. He's right here," Greed gestures with his hand at nothing the man on the other side of the line could possible see and that shuts up the call real quick. The sound of a shattering bottle makes its way through the receiver. Whether the Sin hears it or is, as par for the night's course, ignoring it is tough to say. "Just close up early. Get everyone who doesn't need to be there out. And - " He pauses to shoot a look at Murmur.
"-if you've got things we need, now's the time to ask."
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It was fortunate that it didn't take Greed long to remember he was dealing with someone who probably rarely, if ever, touched anything even remotely technological. When he handed Murmur the phone the angel just looked at it in deep confusion. Brows furrowed, expression one of intense puzzlement as he rolled it over in his hands trying to figure out what exactly he meant by "dial" and how one was supposed to do such a thing anyway? To him it seemed nothing more than a shiny flat rectangle of plastic and glass, utterly alien as anything beyond something one might use to prop up an unbalanced table.
Whatever gestures and magic incantations Greed used to activate the device served in no way to clarify how it worked, and Murmur just held it up pinched delicately between his fingers like he expected it to explode or something. Eyes darting between the object and where he thought one of the speakers was, and Greed, as absolutely nothing manifested to answer the questions reeling in his mind. What was this, how did it work, what was this trickery? And who was this Greed was talking to anyway?
Murmur was going to protest them continuing to talk about him like he wasn't there, but Greed took care of that before his confusion slowed down long enough to get words out. Okay, so, whatever this strange rectangle was it facilitated ranged communication. That wasn't impossible to grasp, the how wasn't necessarily important at the immediate moment even if the question would chew him up all night until he got an answer.
It took him several more moments to realize he was being invited to speak. "Ah..." Hold on, the angel is rebooting. "Well. I suppose if you want to remain difficult to find I could arrange something. I will require goat's blood. A quantity sufficient for the size of your domicile." You're gonna need a lot, Greed, a whole lot. "Graveyard dirt, and soot I... think you can manage without additional preparation." Glancing at how much Greed soots all on his own, they'll manage that just fine.
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"Yeah, fuck, yeah I got it. I don't know where the fuck we're going to find some of this, but I'm on it. I'll send Martel up to the butcher on the other side of town. She gets along better with the woman there anyway - " The Sin inhales his smoke as the man rattles on and the tip fumes a toxic orange-blue. "As for the rest of it, it's gunna take us some time. Boss, can you at least tell me what the fuck is going on?"
Greed shoves the lighter back into the console with an audible plnk. "I thought I was pretty clear about that. Don't tell me you're going deaf - " Again, his comment gets him a string-sputter of swears through the receiver. "-oi, oi, oi. All right, all right, calm down. The deal went south." He breathes in and the black coating on his throat begins to stretch upward, threatening both his jawline and ear. "The last one - the investor. Turns out he has friends with good information. Caught me off guard."
"Bradley? How in the shitting hell did he get his hands on - ?"
"Doesn't matter," the devil chimes back in, clipping the questioning off at its head. "-we'll be there in another 30 minutes. Just make sure you get it all handled, huh?"
"We'll take care of it. Just .. " The man trails off as if he's trying to find his words and pick them carefully. "Just be careful, would you? I know you'll be fine and nothing's taken you out yet, but - "
The cigarette shrinks in the Sin's teeth; his grin and insatiable hunger making short work of the tobacco. "Easy pup or I'll start thinking you've missed me. See you soon." With that, he waves his wrist and the call severs. Greed tiredly slaps his turn signal. "Sorry about all that. Dol tends to get a little frantic when things aren't ideal, but he's not so bad. A worrier sure, but he'll get you what you need."
He guides the car onto an offramp. Away from the highway, the signs of visible settlement quickly thicken. Houses and wooded off-shoots give way to bigger buildings and shopping centers. Wherever the Sin's made his home in this world, it's where people are. And while most places have either closed for the night or are on their way out, it's clear that he's planted himself in the midst of it all: a forest, a hiding spot, of steel, concrete, and lights that never truly go out.
A demon in a proverbial haystack.
Greed takes the main drag with little care of speed. "Try not to be too much for them, will you? They don't tend to like your kind very much." Another corner, a third. The deeper they go, the tighter the streets become until they're nothing more than one-way roads splintering out as confusing as a ball of knotted string. When he finally slows, it's under a brilliant, red light that he creeps. The sign above is damp under the weather; the paint of it old and well-loved. The Sin jumps the car up onto the curb as one of the floodlights strobes intermittently.
He cuts the engine. "Welcome to The Devil's Nest, angel."
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After that he's content to shut up and let Greed deal with his yapping comrade. Once the call was over and the strange device no longer needed he just set it in a convenient enough looking compartment, casting a sidelong glance at the Sin.
"You are certain they're competent?" They didn't sound competent. "And if I may... what was that about someone getting their hands on something?" Murmur didn't miss any of that, though he did note it had been cut off before Dol could say too much. He expected he'd be brushed off, but it didn't hurt to try.
Thankfully Greed knew how to hide himself, well... as well as he could among a world like this with little knowledge of the arcane. That said it would only do so much good, their adversaries wouldn't be traveling by vehicle or foot, they'd be traveling by air and use senses far above those of mortal kind to hunt their quarry. They had to work quick, and Murmur would have to make it harder for them to be sniffed out by Heaven's own forces. Hell might have their hounds... Heaven didn't need them. Meticulously Murmur memorized their streets, their signs, and whatever landmarks he could on their trip. He'd need to know how to get back there, for once he was finished with is work it would also become difficult for him to perceive.
Greed's comments about him being "too much" for his crew only earned another one of those flat looks. He'll be exactly as much as he pleases, thank you very much. "I am doing you and yours a favor, if you'll recall." So they're just going to have to deal with it, whether or not they like him. Besides, he was there to do a job, not make friends.
Finally at a stop Murmur opened his door, pausing to sniff the air before stepping out, nose wrinkled in distaste. Crawling with demons it set his teeth on edge and prickled every alarm bell in his senses. He'd tolerate it, of course, but that didn't mean he was any more comfortable being there than they were going to be having him around. He gestured for Greed to lead the way. "Best you introduce me." So they knew better than to start anything. Murmur wasn't one for a fight, that didn't mean he wouldn't defend himself should the need arise.
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It's the scent of the living: their foods and drinks, their fumes and industries, their nights and their lives washing over in a wave of cohabitation.
Greed shakes his cigarette and a spiral of smoke meets the fog like the embrace of friends meeting after a long departure. "What? Oh, that," he starts in while his body lifts itself out of the car. Much like before, his movements are ghoulish; he's heavy and light, tense and yet oh-so at ease. The Sin tiredly shrugs his shoulder while he passes under the roof of the car. "That's a long story. And like you said, we don't exactly have a lot of time."
Exposed to the weather, his smoke threatens to go out. The tip of it shivers under the neon overhang - a heartbeat more, and it could die out forever. Yet, it never does. Forcibly, the heat hangs on despite it all, and Greed idly shoos the driver's door closed. "Ha - !" He barks, forcing another peel of ash to shed from his throat. "That's a little harsh, huh? You haven't even met them yet."
He waves at something around his face before pocketing his hands and strolling toward the entrance. The alleyway he's chosen as his spot is nothing to write home about. Old, rust-toothed garbage cans stare back at the two of them like husked-out jack-o'-lanterns; their packaged insides, black and bulbous with garbage. The Sin nudges an empty bottle of something out of the way and as it scratches into a corner somewhere, he pauses.
"There's really only a few you need to know about," his back to Murmur, Greed begins to list things off on his fingers. "Dol's a hellhound and a pretty good one too. He's just a bit excitable. Martel's got a little bit of snake in her, so try to keep on her good side. Bido's harmless, just keep an eye on your valuables. As for Roa - " He trails off, and the silence fills with every clip and clop of his heels as he makes his way downward. "- he's a bit bullheaded, if you get what I mean. Silent type. He won't bother you unless you make him bother you. Other than that, if you need something brewed, it's the 'Doc you wanna talk to."
Finally, he closes in on the entrance. Whether on purpose or simply because he happened to like it, the door itself is pretty nondescript. A series of bolts lock it into place on the other side and a small slat at the top harkens back to a completely different time. The only thing of note are the candles. An arrangement of them melts softly in the corner; their blacks and golds mixing together in a raw, metal-worker's sludge.
Greed flicks out one finger and the nail on his hand curves, cutting raw sketches into the steel. "When I say three, try not to inhale. I know yours don't breathe, but trust me on this one." His hand arcs and sulfur lines begin to follow his movements. Up, down, around, sideways. The Sin breaks to put his cigarette back in his mouth. "You ready? One - "
He moves upward with his sketch and his earlier lines begin to ignite.
"Two - "
Sparks crack into life. They chase every inch of his design like a gunpowder fuse or a sparkler years past its expiration date. Whatever the source of the heat is, it's warmer than before. Stifling. White billows bleed into the steel, eating away small, hissing flecks until the small passage they're in becomes glaringly bright.
"-three."
And what crashes in is delirious. Shrill, violent static consumes the space - its presence both silent and impossibly loud; like that of an atom bomb dropped at a range far too close for comfort. For a few, horrible seconds, that's all there is: an endless white, a chamber of noise, clawing, biting, and scratching at wherever it can.
Then, comes the smell.
Putrid, raw, sweaty, sweet: they're all there, tumbled together and shaken just for good measure. The Sin makes some sort of noise in the back of his throat that's pleased, excited, and menacing at the same time; its tone akin to that of a man being both choked and willing to pay for it. When he exhales, the fantastic lights and nauseating sound fall back to nothing. Nothing save a dingy bar that (most certainly) wouldn't pass any current mortal codes.
Greed tests his neck. "AH - it's been a while since I had to do that," he takes his sunglasses from his face and swipes them once. A ceiling fan up above them trundles on its cables and as the dust and ash settles, he's met with the clambering of people. There's movement out back, soft shouts from below. The Sin weakly raises to his feet and with one hand out, he presses a single finger inside his ear.
"Boss - Boss - !" A man howls from the other side of the bar. It's the one from earlier, now made flesh. Where Greed may have height and demeanor on side, Dolcetto seems to have speed and maneuverability. The hellhound dodges obstacles (tables, a thrown aside chair, glasses) without missing a beat - his focus, trained on the Sin in question.
Greed sags his wrist to wave the hound away. "It's nothing, Dol. Just needed some insurance," the Sin purses his lips; his expression similar to someone from a dentist's office after a couple of numbing shots. "Did you get most of what we need yet?"
The hellhound fidgets. "No, not all. Martel's still out - " Dolcetto's eyes wander to Murmur and it's there, just there, that his true nature gives him away. His eyes aren't brown, they're yellow. His teeth aren't smooth, they're gnarled. The hound's upper lip twitches as if it doesn't know what to do with itself. "Gree - boss," he whispers.
"Yeah, I know. But he wouldn't be here if I didn't owe him one or didn't trust him. Angel, meet Dolcetto. Dol, meet the reason we're going to have a long night."
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Having nothing further to say on the subject of Greed's minions or their location Murmur stays silent, eyes wandering about taking in the details. Old walls stained with ages past, faded and fresh graffiti layers deep, piles of rusted and rotting trash and debris forming twisted abominations in the dark. All the signs of human life in its stinking, twisted refuse that rolls downhill and piles upon the 'less desirable.' It was a matter of fact that the most interesting of their species could often be found in places like this. Even more a matter of fact one could gauge the quality of a society by just how deep these urban junkyards went. For how they treated their least fortunate directly weighed against the value of those sitting at the top.
This world was rotten. Fortunately they'd been sworn to never do another flood.
As much as he seems to no longer be paying attention Murmur was listening to Greed's instructions. Thankfully he in fact did not need to breathe, and was mindful not to inhale when the demon began forging the door to his domain. Were Murmur a fledgling to such things he'd likely have been startled by the sudden violence of it all. The light, the sound, the smell would have sent most angels reeling in a panic of holy light and lashing out. Greed's lucky he's not dealing with someone more skittish, or he might have had a few burns that would prove much harder to heal than the minor inconvenience of his capture.
As it was, Murmur appeared barely phased by it all. Once it was over he simply blinked down at the devil on his ass, reaching up to casually dust some rain off the shoulder of his coat while the one identified as "Dol" came crashing over exactly like an over excited pit bull terrier. To his credit, Murmur didn't move. Not to assist, nor to get out of the path of a rampaging hell hound. He, more than most, understood the song and dance of bluff and bluster. To flinch would be to show weakness, to puff up and display would be to show threat. To do nothing at all? Well, he's long found that to have a much more amusing effect. No threat, no bluster, no flinching or showing off. Only calm watching with his head canted ever so slightly to one side. Curious, but not too curious. Let the demons scrabble about finding their footing with an enemy in their midst, he can wait.
"What were you saying about competence again?" He asked lightly, flippantly even as he eyed Dol fidgeting and admitting his failure. Really, just how hard was it to go out with a shovel this time of night? He did offer something of a faint inclination of his head in greeting. Polite, if heavily reserved. One did not risk excessive deference to a hound they didn't know. "I suppose there is a point to be made, if not for me your night may have been cut tragically short." Do stop blaming him for your failures, Greed, he doesn't much appreciate it.
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But that's it. No comment, no exchange of words. The devil quickly corrects himself and sets his path back to the bar.
"I told you, they're mine. Stop worrying so much," Greed's back dips and his jacket falls like liquid off his shoulders. He takes the time to shrug it off on a nearby stool where it drops disheveled into a pinched-up pile of upturned leather and fur. "-at this point, it'll be almost impossible for them to track us down. We have some time, angel."
Blindly, he stretches out his arm and lets his fingers search the backside of the bar. "Besides, haven't you ever heard the phrase? When there's no gold left, turn right, go left - ah." Srct: his nails find something and dig in. A hungry connection, sharp and cutting. Greed lifts a hefty bottle of Hell-knows-what from a hidden compartment and as his teeth tear through the cork like a hyena to a bone, a sliver of a smile creases on his face. It's the same one as before, though haggard. A devil-may-care attitude flooding in as the liquor pours deep down his throat. Because demons, devils - they were like that, weren't they? Creatures with enough ego, enough of a complex, that they always kept crawling back.
One of the bar stools tips dangerously to the side and Greed settles in, his one leg kicked up and stretched out on the counter's beaten-in edge. "Pup, you already got the dead man's dirt, right? Then we're just waiting on Martel." He tosses the cork of the bottle onto the bar top, letting it spin like a dreidel. "That woman's someone you don't have to worry about."
"Martel hasn't been gone that long, anyway." Dolcetto chips in. He's pointedly avoiding looking at Murmur when he can, save for the few, chaste examinations and glares. It's all too obvious that the hellhound has some internal conflicts about the situation. On one hand, there's an enemy in their midst. An enemy, by all accounts, they shouldn't even be speaking to right now. On the other hand -
On the other hand.
Greed takes another healthy swig of his drink before slapping the bottle on the bar top, making the liquor skip a beat in the glass. "Our heavenly friend does have a point, though. Try to make him feel comfortable, huh?" The Sin lifts his head. In the muddied mirror of the bar, his reflection seems to warp. It's still him: that same face, that same pin-prick stare. Yet, his eyes: they're brighter than before. A red bleeds out of them like tail lights chasing in the dark.
Greed sways his wrist. "Get something ready in one of the spare rooms. Once Martel gets back, we'll get everything settled." Another flaking peel of ash tumbles off his knuckles and Dolcetto's mouth screws itself into a worried frown. Again, however, he says nothing and instead eyes Murmur one last time before disappearing back into the building's deep and numerous pits.
The Sin flattens his hand on the bar top. "Take a seat, angel. Could be another few minutes before Martel shows up." A noticeable change chokes in his throat. It clings there, holding on and debating. He can't let down his shield, he never could. Yet, pushing himself as he did -
Greed's teeth tighten together into a jeering grin and the black at his collar hitches up a little more over his jawline. "You've really got me in a pickle don't you, you little pissant? Tch." His nails dig into the wood of the bar. He doesn't bother hiding it anymore; that black skin (as dark as oil and just as slick), the way his nails have extended and bent like a vulture's ever-seeking talons. It's the monster underneath it all, finally coming to the surface. An ugly thing, rotten and consuming.
And now? Now he has a debt to pay.
The Sin's mouth opens and a cloud of smog exhausts from his lungs. "Guess I owe you. So, what is it you want? When all of this is said and done. I am fair, remember. Equivalent exchange." He waggles his claws. "Name it and we'll see what I can do. I'd really hate to have a debt hanging over me."
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The hound may be uncomfortable having such an intruder, but Murmur was in the thick of an enemy's nest and severely outnumbered. He was no more comfortable with the situation than they.
"I have not heard such a phrase, no." He confessed, only looking perplexed at the strange wording. So, while Greed dug around for whatever it was he was after Murmur helped himself behind the bar counter as well, but he was looking for something quite different. A bowl, simple stainless steel and exactly what he needed. He tossed it on the counter next to Greed. "Ash in that, if you would." He's going to need it for what he's brewing. Might as well collect everything they can while they wait for the main ingredient.
As for Dol, Murmur seemed content pretending he wasn't there. The hound could scowl and glower all he wanted, Murmur wasn't going to be bothered by it. Now it was just a waiting game, his least favorite. The offer of a seat was met with a flat stare for a few moments before he sighed and relented, moving back around to go perch on a stool, eventually settling with his back and elbows leaned up against the bar. "One would think you'd be at least moderately more grateful, all things considered," He quipped lightly, not acknowledging the 'pissant' accusation.
The offer, though, was met with something of a sly sideways smirk on the angel's part. "I'm afraid that is a debt you're going to have to carry for a time, demon. When it is time you will hear my request and not a moment before." Greed's just going to have to squirm on it. No one enjoys having a debt hanging over them, bad news for Greed is that Murmur rather enjoys collecting them.
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"It's all in God's plan," they say. Perhaps that isn't so far from the truth.
A healthy clump of ash wafts off his hand and goes topside into the bowl. "You're missing a lot up there. Sure, you're watching it, but you're still missing the most important things. I don't get it." Humming, he reaches up to his throat to give his neck a light scratch. While his nails should, by all accounts, tear his flesh to ribbons, they meet the charcoal coating like gears grinding in the dark, and sparks fissure off his fingertips. "That's the problem with you and it's why yours always seem to have to resort to extremes. Tell me, when's the last time you really sat down with them? Really gotten to know them? You could learn a few things from the mortal lot."
When he yanks his claws away, the shells of his nails are thick with soot. Greed taps them off into the bowl. "Miracles aren't worth shit anymore. It's what you do that matters. Isn't that what they teach you up there? Eh." The lines he scratched in blister to gold. They make a map of his throat; how it dips in places, how it thickens out into the bottom of his skull, how it expands whenever he sucks in at the backs of his teeth.
Greed wraps his free hand around the neck of the bottle and plugs it with a finger. "As for that," he snaps his tongue off the roof of his mouth. "No one said I wasn't grateful, pissant. I just don't like it when I can't settle my debts. And considering you, well." He noncommittedly shrugs one shoulder. "Not that I don't like you, but you tend to be a bit of a pain in the ass sometimes. It's too bad, really. If things were different, I think you and I could be good friends."
But they were batting for different teams and playing for different masters. Angels and demons didn't become friends.
The Sin shifts in his seat and slowly drags his foot off the counter to notch it into one of the rungs of the stool. A rumbling laugh shakes his throat. "Ha -! See, I told you - you are a pissant and a greedy one at that. This is why I like you. At least you aren't afraid to set your terms. But don't get the wrong idea," he slurs and the claw he has shoved in the liquor bottle hooks, drawing a faint line inside the glass. "I don't work for anyone else. You can call in your favor, but don't expect anything other than that."
A light blinks off in his jacket. Greed slaps his foot outward to tilt the seat and drop the phone into his waiting hand. "That's Martel. She's on her way back with the last thing you need - " The Sin's expression softens, amused. "Sounds like she had a bit of a time with it, too. I won't hear the end of it."
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"We cannot get involved, you know that. Our very presence is enough to nullify free-will, mortal kind cannot know of our involvement or existence. I am certain you see it still, the reverberations of our influence millennia after we stopped making contact remain." He gestures dismissively, letting out an impatient snort. "What's to miss? The destruction of this world, their greatest gift? The degradation of their souls? The efficiency by which they slaughter themselves? There may be no shortage of spare vessels to inhabit, but that is far from a ringing endorsement." That is to say it's been thousands of years for him since he'd last bothered to walk among mortal kind in any meaningful capacity.
Again a flippant and dismissive gesture, punctuated by Murmur lifting himself to perch on his stool more like a bird, rather than sitting in it like a normal person. It lets him keep his hands folded together in a triangular shape so that he resists the urge to fidget. It's unbecoming. "They teach us not to get involved. As I said, it is not our place. Only despair follows such acts, or has no one told you the truth behind the Flood?" He cants his head to the side curiously, now fixing Greed with that unnervingly heavy stare of his. A weight which feels as though it's peeling away at one's very essence layer by layer to lay beneath a microscope.
There's a disdainful huff at Greed's complaints. "You would hardly be useful to me on someone else's leash." Not that Murmur had any intention of putting him on one either, but it's amusing to hold the implied threat there all the same. Keep Greed guessing what might be coming down the line. "And you think we cannot now? Why?" It's not like he actually has any friends to speak of, so this is hardly different. Still, he did have to wonder what made it so impossible.
Then there was an interruption from their conversation, Murmur finally released Greed from his dreadful stare to stare blankly at a wall thousands of miles away. "Good. Finally." Once he was done perhaps he could just be on his way. Surely Greed could look after himself from this point, no? "Do they no longer keep a healthy supply of goats around?"
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A shame. He always found that gray so much more inviting.
Greed cocks one of his eyes open to watch Murmur. "There it is. You're always thinking in absolutes. Sure, they aren't perfect, but it wasn't so long ago that yours weren't either," he tests his mouth again and a feather of ash lifts off his lip to join the rest of his growing collection. "I can't blame you, it's in your nature to see the worst of what they are. But tell me this: if you really think there's no point, why bother? Everything you do - " Trailing off, he eyes the bar's back mirror again. The points of him (the ones that pass as human anyway) are starting to fade more and more. His pupils trill in their sockets, threatening to pull apart and multiply like cells in a furnace, his skin is a pale, his teeth have elongated ever-so-slightly. Greed draws his shoulders up to his ears and as he pulls himself from his stool, the cloud he leaves behind is murky and thick. A devil's fog, whispering his movements.
"Why? Because you'll always be like that." He lifts his clawed hand and taps at the air. "You'll always be running to the morals that define you and I'll always ignore them. You can't help what you are, handsome and neither can I." The Sin tips his head to offer a cagey, toothy grin. "Doesn't mean I don't like you, far from it. If things were different, I'd have you in a heartbeat. Everything that you are, everything that you can do. But I told you: everyone wants something they can't have. I'm no different. Mmn."
Jerking, the Sin meets the sound of an opening door with an admiring look. "I'm not one to be on anyone's leash. And I think, at the end of the day, neither are you if you gave it a chance." Loud thumps rumble from the stairwell as he talks. Someone (something) has arrived with a hefty cache. "Save that thought, though. Seems beautiful has come back with everything you need."
Sure enough, a younger woman slinks into view from the bowed-out overhang making up the bar's entrance. At first glance, she could easily pass as human. Her nearly shaved head and face tattoo give her the look of a military brat gone rogue. Yet unlike Dolcetto, there's a cold demeanor about her that screams; that shouts, hisses, and silently rattles to keep far, far away.
Greed's smile brims when he sees her and he can't help the short, curt whistle as he watches her shoulder a rather burly, freshly slaughtered goat. "Well, well. That certainly is impressive, lovely."
Martel gives him a single, cool stare before shoving the goat off her shoulders and onto the floor with juicy thud. "Nothing impressive about it - what kind of shit did you get into anyway, boss?" She catches Murmur and her eyes narrow, if only by a hair. "I actually don't want to know all the details. Can Roa carry this to where ever you need it to go?" The knife strapped to her shoulder pops out after a quick play of her fingers and Martel casually wipes it on her pants.
"I'm sure he can. Good job, Martel," the Sin pockets his hands and shuffles his feet closer to the carcass. "No one bothered you while you were out, did they?"
Martel pauses, her knife held stiff and at the ready. After a moment, she shoves it back into its sheath with a leathery shhhss. "No, no issues. But - " Now that she's gotten a better look at him, her expression subtly shifts. She makes out Murmur again, chases Greed's ash. It isn't worry on her face, least not the normal kind. It's a hesitation. A concern buried under layers of defense and a need to coil up and constrict any feeling, any at all, until it chokes itself out.
She rubs her thumb against her index finger. A nervous fidget. "-you are ok, right?" She asks, softly.
Greed dips his spine to flash his extended teeth. "I'm fine, I promise. Just ran into some trouble. Our friend here is gunna fix it. Then, we'll all be on our merry fucking way." His lips shrink back together. "Don't worry about it. You've done everything you need to tonight. Go take a break. We'll let you know when it's all done."
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"I never said there was no point, do not put words in my mouth. You also continue to make sweeping assumptions about me. You are not much different than that which you condemn." Maybe Greed touched a nerve, maybe Murmur is just getting tired of circular conversation and stress. It was hard to say, but there seemed to have been the very slightest cold edge that creeped into his usual monotone at that. Thankfully he was spared having to elaborate or continue with the tired argument not terribly long after. He does have enough time to cast Greed something of a puzzled look at the claims of being willing to 'have him.'
Not knowing how to respond to that, Murmur's happy for the distraction of Martel arriving with their package. Hopefully the slaughtering didn't involve cutting too many holes in it, they need all the blood they can get. At the very least this one looked more competent than Dolcetto did.
While they spoke Murmur hadn't moved, simply remained perched where he was like a weird bird, silently regarding the conversation. When he said he needed the blood he assumed that would come alongside a bucket... perhaps he should have been more clear? Well, nothing for it now. They'll make do with whatever they can find.
"You were setting up a room for this, yes?" Back to business as usual, all sign of emotion gone again. It's easier to be the impartial mask, he's been playing that game so long it just comes naturally.
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Shallowly, the Sin hangs his head. "Hey, hey - calm down, would you? You know I didn't mean anything by it." His spine writhes when he responds; as if a bundle of snakes were squirming just beneath his skin, ready and waiting to strike at whatever got too close. "I like you, angel. Haven't I said that enough?" His clawed hand stretches out and strangles the goat's bloated-belly carcass by one of its remaining horns. "I'm merely sayin' - it would be a lot easier if you weren't on anyone's side."
He pulls and the dead animal slowly slips off the floor, leaving behind a dreadful trail of loose hair and slop. Greed adjusts his arm to bring the goat's milky-eyed stare close for an inspection. "It's not like I'm taking orders from below. Haven't been for a while, actually." His pupils tense and shiver to brittle points as he examines the butcher's empty kill. There's no life left in those vacant eyes, just death. A nothingness, a void, where they should be something. Whether it bothers him or not though, it's hard to say. The way he turns his wrist to get a better look at the killing-cut, how he flippantly adjusts his hold to follow the puncture wound to the obvious cause of death: there's something disturbingly vacant about it. As if the concept of mortality is somehow foreign, impossible, for him to understand.
The Sin breaks the staredown with another even smile. "'Suppose it's just not who I am." Meaning he reports to no one. Not his wretched kin, nor any other masters of the dominion below that may try otherwise. No, he's a rogue prince and an aloof king a long way from home with no intention of ever going back.
Though many sure have tried.
Greed rolls the goat onto one shoulder and jumps to settle the body into the crook of his neck. "Besides, my greed's just too much. If I stayed with them, it would never be satisfied. And that's enough of a reason for me. I just hoped that maybe, someday, you could be the same." He jerks his head to the side and the swarm of soot trapped about his skull finally thins, revealing the splintered, veiny cracks donning the crown of his forehead. "Nevermind that, though. You needed a room, right? C'mon," the Sin's voice slicks hot at the back of his teeth. Already, his tongue has visibly split somewhere along the line and the forks of it run like liquid fire over his lower lip. "-should it just be us, then? Or do you need the rest of 'em around to seal the deal?"
Deeper, deeper, deeper into the building he goes, moving passed unmarked doors, unlit corners, and skittering eyes that are there one moment and gone the next. If his prison were the epitome of holy grounds, his sanctuary is the total opposite. Things and creatures dart and move through every piece of the building like permanent haunts. Even the structure itself seems off in a way: the pipes groan through the floorboards, the lights blink sporadic nonsense. To the mortal lot, the proper description might be a hell hole. And ironically? Well.
It isn't that far from the truth.
Greed pauses at one of the many vague doors down a hallway and with a soft kick, he forces it open, bringing with it musty cobwebs and the scent of wet-slick concrete and brick. "Been a bit since I've been down here, so watch your step." An unearthly glow throbs from down below as the Sin elbows a questionable light switch. Silt, dust, forgotten times: they plume out as he descends. Each step, every groan of a stair, only releasing more, more, more.
The Sin balances the goat as he shuffles and skips over a step or two to avoid a large hole. "I'll have to get that fixed eventually. Keep to the left. Don't need you falling today, hmn?"
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After another long flat stare Murmur just moved on, hopping down from his stool to start making his way toward the halls. The sensation of the conversation being brushed aside nigh palpable in that simple gesture. He wasn't interested in playing these games, he had a job to do and he'd get it done. The whole sordid affair was starting to leave a bad taste in his mouth.
Death was no more poignant to the Celestial. While he had tasted its bitter sting, the distinction between the life of an angel being snuffed out and that of a mortal creature was as distinctly different as the death of a star and the impact of an asteroid. Death was in their nature, some things required sacrifice, and this night was no exception.
"Oh, don't act wounded now. Do not preach at me then play the victim when your carelessness comes back to bite you." This time his words lacked the icy sting they had earlier, he was back to feigning boredom with the conversation. It wasn't like the angel was good at being conversational, not when he found the subject tiresome. Greed didn't know his stance on mortals nor was he inclined to spend the whole night defending himself. It was tiresome and pointless. No, words were deceptive, it was only in action one could best perceive another's intent.
"At least one pair of hands that can run a paint brush, otherwise whatever you need. Their presence is not required." He just needs them to do the heavy lifting because that's monkey work and Murmur isn't doing monkey work, even if he does like them just fine. He follows along silently, little more than a frosty shadow at their backs down the twisting hallways. The angel does not seem particularly bothered by the presence of spying eyes and skittering darkness. It is as much home to him as the blinding light of Heaven, but again... Greed wouldn't know that would he? Again Murmur only leveled a flat, unamused gaze at the demon telling him to watch his step. He could see just as well in the dark as he could in the light and scarce needed to concern himself with balance. Still, he makes no further comment, merely following along on the despicable path toward damnation's gut.
"I am hardly inclined to break a bone, you realize." He chides, still sounding bored as he skips over it with that obnoxious grace of the holy ones. Still unbothered, still barely even acknowledging the depths to which they were crawling. One would expect one of the holy ones to be complaining and squirming by now, fussing about the filth and degeneration. Not this one, he took it in stride and moreover managed to look wholly unimpressed with the whole thing.
He's very sure this building isn't up to code.
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Besides, Pride was and is belongs to someone else entirely.
Greed shrugs and the goat's dead-fish head flops against his back, bloated and heavy. "Got the perfect one in mind. I think you'll like him," he starts in as more and more, the steps fall away. The angel is certainly right about one thing: the building isn't up to code. Least, nothing that would pass mortal laws and regulations. Fumes of unknowns sigh out of exposed pipes like the mouths of statues frozen in perpetual yawns; slick streaks of unholy bile trickle through the cracking foundation. If the Sin cares, he doesn't show it, even as he steps into a rather hefty puddle at the bottom, causing his heels to sizzle and pop like a blacksmith's hot irons to a cooling vat.
"No, you're not. But I forget what's down here. Figured I'd give you the courtesy," he hums, his body bowing into the single, solitary light furiously blinking away at the bottom of the stairs. This far down, there isn't much to see. A few emergency signs blur red from the twisted corners and time-worn holes, but other than, the basement is simply a wild, cave-like system. Whatever this part of the building once served for, it's been reduced to a belly. A place for his avarice to collect, store, and hide things away through the years.
Greed wipes his boot onto a dry spot, smearing a crescent shape into the concrete. "Besides, I think if I let you slip into something, our friend here would be pretty concerned." The Sin slinks out of the light's harsh, milk-yellow glow to sink into the dark again. "You still up there with us, Bido? You can come out, y'know. Mur here won't hurt you."
As if answering, something skitters above them, moving fast and balanced between the exposed beams and rotten wood. Whatever it is, it's small enough to travel seamlessly through all of the building's obvious hazards. Soft scritches chitter in the ceiling's nesting mess and as Greed moves, so do the sounds; their patterns like that of a cat cautiously following to see if maybe, just maybe, it'll get a meal for all its trouble.
The Sin pauses and the noises drop silent again. "Oi, oi, oi - come on down. It's safe, I promise." There's a clear shift in his tone in comparison to the rest of his crew. Where Martel had been given the usual slick and sweet and Dolcetto experienced his crude, oddly loving jeers, Greed handles this new comer with a sense of delicateness. As if Bido, whatever he is, could break by words and words alone. It's an intentional gesture and as Greed slowly lowers the goat's body to the ground, he opens himself up. His arms go wide, his chest beckons. It's a silent motion; a quiet answer:
"No one, nothing, will hurt you while I'm here."
And it does do the trick. One of the boards a few feet up bends as a distorted looking sack carefully lowers itself to the ground. The creature is both short and shy - his stance more similar to a beggar that's been beaten too many times to count. The burlap pile immediately runs to Greed to hide between his legs and examine the goat. "I - sorry, Mr. Greed. I wasn't sure - I was worried. I was - "
Greed curls his warm hand atop the man's head, patting it twice. "I know, but I'm fine. Remember? It takes - "
"- a lot more to hurt you, I know. But I heard about Bradley and the rumors about him being Wrath and I - "
The Sin's face darkens. "Yeah, surprised me too. Guess they needed a better host. But this one's nothing to worry about. He's here to make sure they don't follow. Think you can handle his demands?"
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"Oh?" Now he was intrigued, the others he'd been given warnings about to not bother or be too harsh, he'd yet to have the Sin suggest he might like one. As they travel it occurs to him that it's very fortunate he doesn't need to breathe, and that while his sense of smell was strong in specific ways things didn't tend to register as putrid as easily as they would for mortals. The fumes of this place would be dreadful for the mortal kind.
The strangeness of the stomach like depths weren't lost on him, it was clear this place had twisted into something dark and twisted from its origins, a great gut that never quite got around to digesting its prey. The insatiable hunger of greed, an ever starving maw.
Skittering sound catches his attention, Murmur's eyes snap up to the beams and he watches with head tilted like a curious bird, eyes sharp, unobstructed by the gloom of this dank cavern. Still, given the maze of mess it was hard to make out what it was that was following them, even if the dark weren't a hinderance. For perhaps the first time since they'd arrived Murmur dared actually look interested in whatever this mysterious creature skittering among the rafters was. A being so cherished that Greed approached it with caution and care, how novel! How terribly strange! The other acts were boring, expected displays of bravado and oil-slick charm, but this was something entirely different.
Murmur hangs back. He makes no move to lower himself to look smaller, still very aware he's a lone angel in the belly of the beast so to speak, but he also makes no effort to look intimidating. By nature he looks average, soft around the edges and unassuming and non-threatening, a trait he intends to lean on in this situation. When the creature finally does appear he only continues to watch silently, head remaining tilted in that oddly bird-like way, unable to disguise his fascination with this new revelation.
"Secrets upon secrets. Might I inquire as to which one this is?" Don't think he's not noticed the conversation, Greed, he's merely tucking the information away for later. Introductions first, interrogations later.
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"Bido, meet Mur. Mur, Bido," Greed slurs in, his voice once again a thick syrup in the back of his throat. "If you're looking for someone to get the job done quick, Bido's your guy. Isn't that right?" He playfully tilts his head to flash a sharkish grin and in the basement's crude dim of sunken reds and steam, his skin gives off a heated look. The shadows in his face carve deeper - the exit-sign halos tickle his cheeks. It's as if, no matter where he is, no matter where he wanders, that core of his eventually catches and spills out to places, things, people. In the end, he's a wildfire. One born to fume on and on despite anyone's attempts to put him out.
And as Bido weaves through his legs, his yellow-saucer eyes illuminating wide, it's clear the creature has been caught up in the blaze for some time.
"I, well. I'm pretty good at getting into spots most people can't," Bido stammers as one of his lizard(y) hands curls to anchor itself against Greed's thigh. "But I'm not as good as some of the others. I - " The creature blinks and his eyes throw off an otherworldly shimmer similar to a night-prowling cat caught in a flashlight. "-sorry, I didn't mean to go off like that, Mr. Murmur. What - what can I do to help?"
The Sin adjusts his stance to give Bido a little more room to move. "He needs your painting skills." He gestures downward with a crooked finger to point at the goat. "I'll get you the blood. I'm sorry to ask, and I know you don't like this kind of stuff, but you've got the steadiest hand in the joint." While Greed explains, Bido timidly examines the animal's corpse through the frame of the Sin's legs. He rubs his hands over each other - another nervous habit. "If you can get us a clean brush and a bucket, I'll get it ready. Sound fair?"
"S-Sure. Sure thing." Bido peels himself away from Greed to circle the goat. He watches it with an air of hesitation - his demeanor more similar to a child's first hunting experience. His entire body language is that of distaste. Distaste, but also resolution. The world they lived in was a cruel one, after all.
No doubt, he's seen worse.
After the thorough lookover, Bido briefly pads backwards onto his hands and feet to move up a half-leaning plank of wood. "Dolcetto and Roa dropped off something else earlier. Do you need me to bring that over too? It smelled like dirt." He addresses Murmur now, his wide eyes darting to avoid staring too long. "I - I can bring that over too while you work, Mr. Greed. I don't want to cause too much trouble."
The Sin's face falls at that and he clicks his tongue to correct it. "Oi, you're never a trouble, Bido. Don't sell yourself so short." He moves forward and bends; his whole body appearing to topple over itself and balance like a rock on small, jutting cliffside. "Besides, I wouldn't trust anyone else to get this job done." He gives the smaller man a soft wink and a show of teeth for good measure. "Just get back here when you can."
Visibly, Bido brightens and his thin, hooked-reptile claws tap excitedly atop the wood. "I will, Mr. Greed. Mr. Murmur! I'll be back." And with that, he's off. A single leap up has him part way into the ceiling. A scamper later, and Bido disappears back into the secondary set of systems making up the droptop of the basement.
The Sin watches him go before shrinking down into a crouch. "Thanks," he whispers. "-for being good with him." He flicks one of his nails out to run in backwards through the thick fur at the goat's throat. "Out of all of 'em, Bido's seen the worst of it. He used to be human once. But y'know how it goes: wrong place, wrong time, wrong people." Greed buries his voice in his chest, making it vibrate and twist into a deep, shuddering growl. "Things aren't fair, angel. I know that. But sometimes, I wish they were."
The tip of his claw severs something and a hunk of flabby, hide-slick skin peels away from the animal's neck. "As for that thing I mentioned earlier," he slicks the forks of his tongue over his lips. "That whole deal went south for a lot of reasons. But I also didn't expect Wrath to have a new host." He works as he talks - slicing there, peeling here, yet always careful not to nick or cut anything that could possibly make the carcass bleed out and thus leave them back at square one.
He rips off a heavy slab of skin and tosses it onto the floor with a juicy thwmp. "Might be easier if you don't know. Would rather you not have to deal with that mess." And there it is: his thank you, his admiration, his try. Because as much as Heaven and Hell like to play at war and turf, the abyss is constantly at odds. The bickering, the fighting, the clawing at the next, big power play. It's something his have always marched to. An obedient group of soldiers following blind to someone else's orders.
It's one of the reasons he left in the first place. And while that mess will always be there?
He's not interested in bringing in anyone else.
Greed shakes his wrist and another cigarette appears magically between his fingers. "Things really did get complicated today, didn't they? Ah, well."
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Now, while a steady hand wasn't strictly necessary a swift one was, and if Bido could get where the others couldn't more effectively then he was not one to complain about the choice in artists. Certainly Greed knew the strengths of his crew, and this time Murmur would trust his decision in the matter. After all, if Bido failed, then it was all of their heads.
He was not going to bring that up in the present delicate company. As it was he didn't need to offer a word in edge wise, instead only nodding when Bido asked if it was the dirt he needed. The dirt, and enough room to spread his wings, a commodity he wasn't expecting to be in such short supply and yet here they were. "Do you have somewhere with some space?" He asked while Bido was scampering away, clicking claws fading as he vanished.
Eyes that had been watching the creature's retreat dart down to regard Greed with a newfound curiosity. This tenderness was strange. "I may be cold, but I am not needlessly cruel." He can tell when he should best keep his mouth shut and curb the bitter edge of his ice. This being, Bido, had been through the wringer and was not built of the same durability as those who do not understand death. A quiet, amused yet rueful sound escaped him. "Thus is the cost of all this grey. Black and white have faded, their meanings obscured in the fog. What is wickedness for one is salvation for another. Fair, unfortunately, is very difficult to weigh." He isn't without sympathy, there is a kind of long deep sadness in his tone. Strange, given how very rarely even the barest hint of emotion might leak from his icy dam. Life wasn't fair, that didn't mean they couldn't be furious at the injustice of it all.
"Ah, and that is how you found yourself in such an unfortunate predicament, I expect?" He really must learn to be more careful. Greed picking and prodding at their paint medium did have him grinding his teeth just a little, but the demon seemed smart enough not to drain too much of it out onto the floor. It wouldn't do them any good there. "Like as not I am already in the thick of it. You might as well divulge, that I can further fortify your defenses." It's easier to know what to do if he knows what he's up against. Yes, he knows well the endless warring of Hell's against themselves, it's part of what keeps them in check. If they're too organized, too focused, then they might just be able to do more damage than even the Holy Host could prevent.
All part of the precarious balance all things were held in. The eternal battle between stagnation and entropy. The push and pull that kept them alive, and in check.
"Mm, fortunately I rather enjoy a good puzzle. Now then, the sooner we get this underway the sooner we may have a moment to breathe. As it were." He doesn't breathe.
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The Sin's lips split and his chest enlarges as he takes in a long, strong pull. "It's a long story. But if you really want to know and since you've obviously earned it - " He clicks, forcing the smoke out in spirals that seem to topple and trip themselves over and over. "- I left years ago. Couldn't tell you how long it's been exactly. It's been long enough though, and they're still not over it." Gingerly, he tests his knees by knocking them in opposite directions, making his hips spread and body lurch over the precarious balance of his heels. "You know how things are done there. No one can ever let anything go. And I'm not one to follow barking orders. So when the opportunity came, I didn't hesitate."
He plucks the cigarette from his mouth, drawing lines in the air with the smoke. "And now, here we are. The two of us avoiding people who would have us right back where they want us. Nothing ever really changes," Greed hums off as a series of lights snap on ahead of them like a silent signal. "Ah. Looks like that's our cue, handsome." The cigarette back in his gnarled-tooth jaw, Greed flattens his palms on the rounds of his thighs. A push later, and he's upright again; his body moving as rigid as a devil stiff from the sun.
The goat finds a home once again on his shoulder like a sack and the Sin leads on; his stance a casual sort of slick. "Normally, I'd ask for a story in return. But since you said I owed you, that's the first one you're getting. Nothing's free, after all." The careful moment with Bido now over, it doesn't take him long to slip right back into his usuals: the purr in his voice, the almost dance-like pace to his step. No, despite being shaken in more ways than one, it takes little to no time for the devil to find himself again. That shield of his all but coming up with a snide smile and a criminal's carefree demeanor.
Through missing-door arches and down widening halls, he goes. True to his word, Bido has lit a path for them, even if lit is a mild term at best. Barrels of liquor pile themselves high on either side of them as they pass; boxes and crates snuggle deep into the corners. Greed watches the bulbs above as they blink in and out of focus and takes a sharp left when another blearily pops off.
The room Bido has set up is probably the cleanest out of the bunch, and the largest. With the room mostly empty, save for a few more of Greed's odd-ball collection of crates, it seems to stretch out endlessly. The ceiling's higher, the floor's a little less smudged. Bido, himself, appears like a tiny lump in the mass of it all; his slouched body hovering about the light switch like a ghost playing a funny trick. When he sees the two of them enter, he quickly pulls himself away.
"I got everything ready, Mr. Murmur! A clean bucket just as you asked, a paint brush. I even have your dirt, right here." Giddily, the creature walks over to the requested items and points them out as if he's some sort of used car lot salesman trying to impress a rather high-rolling guest. In response, Greed gives a hearty laugh as he shrugs off the goat.
"Good job, Bido. Real good job. Knew I could count on you." The Sin stretches his back by moving his spine from side to side and a thick shell of ash shatters onto the floor. "Now, how do we get this started?"
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"The infernal are not exactly known for being particularly forgiving, no," There was a faint bit of wry humor in his tone at that. Slighting devils was never a particularly wise decision. No wonder Greed and his were skittish, though they should be far more worried about their own than Murmur. If he wanted to cause them trouble he would have simply left Greed to deal with the consequences of his carelessness. "Ah, don't be so cynical. You have thus far escaped their grasp, that is a change, subtle though it may be. Change is ever around us, one must simply learn how to observe it." Cheeky and sly as always, Murmur was happy to end the conversation there with their path forward illuminated by sickly light.
Appropriate, in a place like this. Where shadows and secrets dwelled far away from prying eyes. Little did Greed realize Murmur's were the most prying of them all. He just couldn't help himself, it was in his nature. "Nothing's free," He agrees, and in a way Greed was still racking up a bill. Rescued, babysat, his minions tolerated, and his headquarters hidden from sight? Murmur was doing a lot of work here he wouldn't do for just anyone. And now he was about to crack out the forbidden magic? Greed was going to owe him quite the debt indeed. He followed along those twists and turns, cramped corridors and low arches. This place really was sprawling, and with only one goat they'd have to be tactical with their work. Ideally Bido will understand the need once he explains the process further.
Ah, they did indeed pick him adequate space. Most excellent. "Exemplary work, Bido!" High praise from the angel, especially given some of that monotone of his actually shifted into something genuine. Now it was his time to shine. Murmur made his way toward the bucket, setting down the bowl of ash collected earlier nearby and standing again to begin rolling up his sleeves. This was perhaps the first hint that there was more to the angel than met the eye. While he went out of his way to appear as unimpressive in dress and visage as possible his arms were a different story.
Flowing intricate tattoos covered them, arcane symbols of all manner were woven in such dense intricacy it would take even the most seasoned scholar ages to begin to pick them apart. In the dim light the ink seemed to have an unearthly shimmer, sometimes silver, sometimes blood red when they caught the light just right. He motioned for Greed to approach. "Bleed the goat in there, every drop you possibly can. We'll need as much as we can get." The place really was far too large, after all. Once Greed moved to comply he'd begin his work, in equal parts he mixed in the dirt and ash, a pinch here and a handful there he worked the mixture with a paint stirrer he'd found along the way.
Working like this the icy countenance fell away, and a man possessed was revealed in his place. A mad scientist over his experiment, an expert alchemist and chemist both as he muttered incantations and wove his magic into the mixture. Nearing completion they required one final component, so rare as to be nigh impossible to extract... unless one happened to have the very source on hand. Gesturing for Greed to keep his distance Murmur straightened, great wings erupting from his back all at once and the reason for his insistence on space was clear - they were huge.
Easily twenty feet, if not more, from tip to tip with pale blue-gray feathers that glittered as if covered in a fine layer of frost. They were long and narrow like a gull, or more accurately like an albatross, a bird whose omens were all too fitting now in light of their present situation. The pristine feathers were unmarred save for a striking patch at each shoulder with mottled bloodstains marring the otherwise even coloration. The striking markings of a faction only known in whispers and conspiracies, Blood Angels. Greed wasn't the only one harboring secrets, after all.
Murmur was wholly consumed by his work, and unwilling to comment on anything about his wings. Delicately he searched through his feathers, one by one plucking out small ones to crumble into the mixture. As he did so it began to take on a shimmer not unlike the frosty sheen that adorned him. Either unaware or unwilling to acknowledge there might be questions from his witnesses, Murmur went on with his explanation. "Bido, when I am finished with this I will need you to paint a stripe of this above every window and door that opens to the outside of this building. You may have to be sparing, I know not how many exist. Are you able to complete this task?"
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The Sin's outline goes out of focus and in his silence, Bido frantically moves into position. "Y-Yes. Yes, Mr. Murmur! I - I can do that for you, don't .. don't even worry about it." The creature's small body, for a second, hesitates. Trapped between all the awe that is Murmur (his encompassing presence, how his wings fill up every inch of space they can take, the way his feathers are clean yet bitter and chill) and his boss who, by all other accounts, creeps on the outer ring like a coming eclipse, he's no match for the storm. This is beyond him, beyond any of them. It's old meeting of older friends, of enemies, of a word no mortal truly knows.
Bido's scampering hands grab the bucket and with a fresh paint brush at the ready, he shuffles briskly toward the door. As if any moment, this meeting of two, opposite currents could burst. Bringing them and the whole house down in a magnificent and beautiful explosion.
"Boss," Bido whispers at the doorframe leading out to the hallway. "Boss - ?"
The cloud where Greed had once been thunders red, orange. "I'm fine, Bido. Go on, do what our friend here says, would you?" The Sin's voice echoes somewhere far, yet oh so near. It drowns itself in the crackling cloud like lightning rumbling on the horizon; an electrified sound, hot and broiling. And maybe it's just because Murmur's being so honest, but something about it: the brooding is like an answer. A call to an echo long gone, hissing back:
"You rang?"
The hallway bulbs flutter, and Bido violently shocks himself back into the present, his saucer(ed) eyes blinking themselves out of a stupor. "R-Right! I'm on it! You can count on me, Mr. Murmur. Just," his nails tickle the handle of the bucket. "-please be careful." And with that, he's gone. Lost to the building's catacombs to begin his long, agonizing work.
"He's never seen something like you before. Gotta say, I'm impressed," Greed's voice creeps from behind Murmur despite their distance. "Sorry, didn't want either of you to see how ugly I could get. But whatever you're doing, well. Seemed only fair." Eyes open in the dark, pupils gone and blaring. They eat at the fumes of sulfur and smoke like flares - their heat burning through only to relight the smog yet again in a vicious cycle. The Sin exhales low through a mouth that sounds laborious. "Looks like both of us are just full of surprises tonight."
Snakes of soot clamber to the door where Bido had once been and strangle it. "I am sorry." His tone manages to be both snide and sincere. Another contradiction. "Once this is done, it's your choice. Whatever you want." Movement stirs inside his cocoon and the Sin finally moves, forcing part of the curtain to pull back and fray along his ankles.
His boots are gone now, replaced by crooked feet and talons best serving a lizard from millennia ago. A single, elongated toe raps softly against the concrete and as it centers itself, the claw at the tip gauges deep into the rock. Despite how stretching his swill seems to go, it appears to avoid Murmur and his work entirely. Instead, it lingers on the edges of all the goings-on; its presence, an audience of sorts. One hovering, keeping its distance, but itching on the edge of its seat.
Blood Angels. Princes of Hell. Oh, what a pair they make.
Greed's claw scratches something into the concrete; the symbol, a rough mess of sketches. "I'm a man of my word, handsome. You do us a favor, and I - " A chain rattles softly nearby and light swings in his shadow - its body swimming in a sea of black, blinding fog. "From mine. From me. Keep your secrets. I owe you that much."
Because he knows, at least he can guess, the cost. The cost of this, the cost of revealing. It's a hefty price to pay. And if he's blind to Murmur? If he can be jumped by him at any time?
So be it. Fair is fair, after all.
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He didn't say anything about the exchange between Bido and Greed, only cocked his head to the side in faint curiosity at Bido's words of warning. Offering a polite nod, he flicked his wings once, even that gentle force kicking up dust and ash all around them as he tucked them neatly against his back. For being so large, they did fold nicely. Now, with Bido scampering off to perform his duty he turned his attention to Greed, letting out a faint rueful huff of amusement. "I was there during the first war between Heaven and Hell, I have born witness to horrors far beyond you, Greed." He's hardly so delicate that he'd be intimidated by Greed going as smoldering as he possibly can.
Again his head tilts to the side, birdlike in its puzzlement while somehow still carrying the weight of eons. "Why are you apologizing? What are you offering? Be clear." As for the secrets, he nods curtly. "I will accept that much, at the very least. They may not take the news as well. But you understand there is more in Heaven, Hell, and Earth than black and white, do you not? You are among those who have forsaken one duty to carry the mantle of another.
The stray thought, for that was what it was, earned something of a light chuckle from the angel. A tinkling sound like crackling ice in the early rising sun, musical and alien all at the same time. "If I wanted to bring harm to you, then I simply would have let it happen." He's cheating but that's also what his kind does, isn't it? Stare into the heart of sin and remain untarnished? Listening to all those deepest darkest thoughts? This one, however, does not recoil. Bathed in blood, they are not so easily flustered.
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Greed's jaw cracks open. "A ward for a ward. Mine won't be able to find you, and neither will I. I'd say that's a fair deal." His hand appears out of the mess of soot, bringing with it trails and dust like fingers through a broken hourglass. With his claws splayed out and his hand gripping the air, he takes on the look of a shadow. Of a phantom appearing out of a fallout, offering an option.
The Sin violently snaps his wrist and the mark on the floor screams off the concrete in flecking embers and shrill noise. All the souls he's taken; all the souls he's marked. They answer to his call: in anguish, in need, in a desire to please. Greed rotates his hand to summon the symbol back up to his face. And as its red glow bleeds into his smoke screen, his eyes blare back. "This won't hurt you, but it might feel a bit weird. Hold still."
A flick of his arm later, and whatever he's conjured up ejects from his control. It slides across the room with screams, with laughter, with all the horror, all the bad, and all the good that he is. When it arrives to Murmur, it shrinks back down again. The electricity arching wildly about calms down to a static; the light dims down to small sparks and sputters.
Slowly, Greed pulls his arm back into his nest. "Once you grab it, it's done. Envy, Lust, Gluttony, Sloth, Pride, Wrath. They won't be able to track you, no matter how close they may get. And neither will I. Call it whatever you want, but you've now got the upper hand." The devil shifts, his low laughter forcing his self-made swill to expand and clap back against him like a rubberband. "Can't say I like it, but them's the breaks, isn't it? Ha - ! You are such a fucking pissant. Who'd have thought we'd be here, like this?"
He waves his hand to shoo away whatever it is that's on his mind. "I'm sure you've seen plenty. Still doesn't change anything I said." His raptor(ed) toe plucks itself from the concrete to retreat back again. "I'd rather you keep me as a handsome memory. Give me that, won't you?"
Footsteps far up above shake the ceiling a bit, making a few loose splinters tumble down, down, down. Greed slinks forward to inspect it. "Sounds like Bido's doing double time tonight. I'll make sure he gets your regards."
Because, as the angel said himself, they're on a time schedule. No doubt, Murmur will go on his own way once everything is said and done. Angels didn't belong in a place like this; least of all one who exposed himself, gave himself, and exhausted himself for a rotting palace of monsters and devils alike. Besides, Murmur is on the run and his consequences? They're a bit more dire than his, aren't they? And if the rumors are true -
Greed's quiet for a long while; too long. Until: "I've got enough left in me if you want a clean exit."
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