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[ Maurice lets out a little noise of surprise when Greed appears from behind him. He hunches his shoulders and pins his ears back. However, when he sees who it is, he relaxes a little, not wanting to seem like some kind of paranoid weirdo in the presence of someone important.]
Oh, hey, Mr. Greed.
[ Even with the new spots, he can tell who it is. Maurice fidgets with his claws as Greed makes his way behind the bar. ]
Uhm...I hadn't thought that far, t'be honest. What's good?
Oh, hey, Mr. Greed.
[ Even with the new spots, he can tell who it is. Maurice fidgets with his claws as Greed makes his way behind the bar. ]
Uhm...I hadn't thought that far, t'be honest. What's good?
[With a name like the Devil's Nest, the bar's appearance shouldn't be all that surprising. There's gaggles of patrons everywhere - some the angelic sort, but most are living and breathing their brimstone afterlives over cards, drinks, elbow-to-arms company, and a cloud of smoke that hovers about the place like a city-swell smog.]
[Someone (a patron or an employee) eyes her before tossing a hand in the air, flipping their fingers over in a beckoning motion. It seems the people here know when to ask and when to not. And if someone is looking for the resident Sin in charge, there's a single, silent understanding:]
[Ask for sin, and oh, will it come a 'knockin'.]
[Greed peels himself out of a hallway (and away from the arms of a scantily clad hellhound) with a soft click, click of his boots. He lets the heels of them drum off the floor as he makes his way over; his pace, daunting and slow.] Ah - ?
[When he sees Tayrey though, a smile quickens on his face.] Well, you found him. [The former homunculus hums, and he eases two of his hands into his pockets while wrapping the other set around the thinnest part of his torso.] Glad to see you finally made it down here - Tayrey, right? Oda's friend?
[Someone (a patron or an employee) eyes her before tossing a hand in the air, flipping their fingers over in a beckoning motion. It seems the people here know when to ask and when to not. And if someone is looking for the resident Sin in charge, there's a single, silent understanding:]
[Ask for sin, and oh, will it come a 'knockin'.]
[Greed peels himself out of a hallway (and away from the arms of a scantily clad hellhound) with a soft click, click of his boots. He lets the heels of them drum off the floor as he makes his way over; his pace, daunting and slow.] Ah - ?
[When he sees Tayrey though, a smile quickens on his face.] Well, you found him. [The former homunculus hums, and he eases two of his hands into his pockets while wrapping the other set around the thinnest part of his torso.] Glad to see you finally made it down here - Tayrey, right? Oda's friend?
[She watches him approach, taking in the horns, the extra arms, the slow confidence. There's something almost hypnotic about it. Tayrey smiles softly.]
You got it. I promised I'd stop by.
[And she keeps her promises, word by contract. Tayrey stands straight-backed, a little awkwardly, as if she's overly conscious of her appearance, her presence here.]
Peace and prosperity.
[Her usual greeting. She extends a hand to shake his firmly, if he'll take it.]
Oda's a good friend to me. Not the sort I expected, but I didn't expect an afterlife at all, so anything is a bonus now. Do you know him well?
You got it. I promised I'd stop by.
[And she keeps her promises, word by contract. Tayrey stands straight-backed, a little awkwardly, as if she's overly conscious of her appearance, her presence here.]
Peace and prosperity.
[Her usual greeting. She extends a hand to shake his firmly, if he'll take it.]
Oda's a good friend to me. Not the sort I expected, but I didn't expect an afterlife at all, so anything is a bonus now. Do you know him well?
[The Sin waves away the idea with one of his hands while he grabs a towel with another to run it through his fingers.]
It's just Greed, hmn? [Popping open the shaker, the former homunculus takes a moment to hook one of his nails around the rim of his sunglasses. With a simple pull, he lowers them a tad, shooting Maurice a heavy, simmering look.]
Ah well, that depends. Why don't you tell me what you want, and I'll see what I can do. Doesn't have to be too complicated. [Greed shoves his shades back up again. He's already moving through his collection of liquor, plucking bottle after bottle up for a quick inspection.] But if you can't make up your mind -
[He pauses on a single handle of booze and the hum in his throat sends the fur along his neck all a'shivering.] - the Black Widow might be good for someone like you.
It's just Greed, hmn? [Popping open the shaker, the former homunculus takes a moment to hook one of his nails around the rim of his sunglasses. With a simple pull, he lowers them a tad, shooting Maurice a heavy, simmering look.]
Ah well, that depends. Why don't you tell me what you want, and I'll see what I can do. Doesn't have to be too complicated. [Greed shoves his shades back up again. He's already moving through his collection of liquor, plucking bottle after bottle up for a quick inspection.] But if you can't make up your mind -
[He pauses on a single handle of booze and the hum in his throat sends the fur along his neck all a'shivering.] - the Black Widow might be good for someone like you.
Someone like me...
[ Maurice echoes, unoffended. Lately, he isn't entirely sure who he is. And this god of indulgence clearly did know, and so he put his sobriety in Greed's talons. Maurice squirms a little under that roaring hearth of a gaze. He pretends to look at the decor.]
Then...I want the Black Widow.
[ It sounds pretty stout and that's fine with him. He didn't come in here to pray. ]
[ Maurice echoes, unoffended. Lately, he isn't entirely sure who he is. And this god of indulgence clearly did know, and so he put his sobriety in Greed's talons. Maurice squirms a little under that roaring hearth of a gaze. He pretends to look at the decor.]
Then...I want the Black Widow.
[ It sounds pretty stout and that's fine with him. He didn't come in here to pray. ]
[ he is in hell the moment his mind finally clears, and the weight of everything he has done this month hits him like a ton of bricks. so does the pain from his arm, with a injury that stubbornly refuses to heal. it’s as fresh as when he obtained it, staining the sleeve of his coat.
touching down on a familiar building, he sinks into a seat on the roof and goes about shrugging out of his jacket. the material is so stained by gold and red that it is a lost cause, so he goes about tearing at the sleeves to fashion himself a tourniquet. this is nothing in the grand scheme of things, he will heal eventually, but the pain in his chest grows.
after tying the remnants of the coat in place, he places his head in his hands and lets out a shaky sigh. when looking off to one side, he finds himself studying his gore-covered wings and broken feathers. he can’t recall a time when his wings were in a state as poor as this, but it seems silly to dwell on that now. maybe it keeps him from thinking about the fact that he killed someone.
a sinner with a single sin to his name, with eyes whose innocence rivaled Lucifer’s own. normally in control of his emotions, he grits his teeth and kicks something over before clumsily sinking to his knees. he feels moisture, looking to the ground where he can see a single droplet, but there is no rain.
Michael covers his eyes with a hand and draws his wings around himself, lip trembling. ]
Forgive me, I didn’t even know your name..
[ and there he will stay, half propped up against the lip of the building with only his thoughts for company for a while. he could go downstairs but the bar is still open. if anyone is there that he attacked, it would bring trouble to Greed — who he still needs to apologize to. instead, he closes his eyes and allows the exhaustion to lull him into a restless slumber. ]
touching down on a familiar building, he sinks into a seat on the roof and goes about shrugging out of his jacket. the material is so stained by gold and red that it is a lost cause, so he goes about tearing at the sleeves to fashion himself a tourniquet. this is nothing in the grand scheme of things, he will heal eventually, but the pain in his chest grows.
after tying the remnants of the coat in place, he places his head in his hands and lets out a shaky sigh. when looking off to one side, he finds himself studying his gore-covered wings and broken feathers. he can’t recall a time when his wings were in a state as poor as this, but it seems silly to dwell on that now. maybe it keeps him from thinking about the fact that he killed someone.
a sinner with a single sin to his name, with eyes whose innocence rivaled Lucifer’s own. normally in control of his emotions, he grits his teeth and kicks something over before clumsily sinking to his knees. he feels moisture, looking to the ground where he can see a single droplet, but there is no rain.
Michael covers his eyes with a hand and draws his wings around himself, lip trembling. ]
Forgive me, I didn’t even know your name..
[ and there he will stay, half propped up against the lip of the building with only his thoughts for company for a while. he could go downstairs but the bar is still open. if anyone is there that he attacked, it would bring trouble to Greed — who he still needs to apologize to. instead, he closes his eyes and allows the exhaustion to lull him into a restless slumber. ]
[Something should announce him: a hiss of laugher, a low hum, a rolling purr, a smile more audible than anything else in the world. But this time? This time nothing trumpets his arrival. Even his boots, as clipping and clicking as they are, grow soft in the consistent, early-morning dark. And just like a specter, he appears out of no where. With gentle arms, silence, and not a single thought to give.]
[Because he's the driver, isn't he. The driver, the shadow, refusing to become a hearse a second time.]
[Michael, like Lucifer, isn't hard for him to carry. Despite how powerful he is, the Archangel is light enough that two of his four hands make easy of the job. And oh, how he does it with care. With all the care of a monster, of a creature, made for a completely different purpose and refusing to live up to the title. Because he's said it, right? Time and time again like his own, twisted sense of scripture:]
["I always take care of what's mine, friend."]
[Greed descends the fire escape like a blind mind familiar with his territory. He knows every inch of this bar, every pitfall. So as he follows the path down, down, down, he's mindful: where the hooks of his boots slide into the iron rungs, how to pivot his shoulder to not disturb the man exhausted (beaten) in his clutches. The former homunculus makes only one sound while he works and as a soft hiss (like a sting, like a curse that just won't come) presses behind his teeth, he yanks a window open, guiding his leg over the sill.]
[One day, maybe today even, he'll ask himself how he got here. But he already knows the answer.]
[Inside, the bar passes him by. He'll have a lot more questions to deal with after all is said and done, but that's for later. For now? For now, he only has a single destination in mind.]
[The bathroom is a secret for a reason, or it had been when he first opened the place. Large, black, and expansive, it matches his namesake: with its standing shower, mirror-tiled floor, and a clawfoot tub poised like a poor man's throne. When the Sin slips in, he nudges a light switch with his elbow, making the soft-blue lights hum on with a buzz of a lulling current.]
[Greed quietly plugs the bathtub before turning the faucet on. With Michael (Michael smeared in blood, Michael doused in gold) against his chest, he tests a free hand under the water, waiting for it to warm up. The building, as a whole, isn't a new one. The pipes knock behind the walls, the heat takes its time to turn on. But eventually, the temperature gets hot enough that he pulls his fingers away, flicking them dry with a motion so unsatisfied, it could only be called bitter.]
[It never should have been like this. It never should have come to this. And yet, here they are. Here they are once again, and isn't it a bitch how history loves to repeat itself.]
[Hesitation's never been his strong suit, but for a second, the Sin pauses. His claws hover around the buttons of a jacket that's long gone; their tips stiff, yet twitching. Because he remembers: the feeling of blood on his hands, the desperation of a man begging for recognition, the loneliness of a vampire screaming at him to never let go, the fear of a young popstar ripping through him - ]
[ - the silence of a severed head on his couch, and the heaviness, the lifelessness, of six wings sprawled across his hotel-room floor.]
[Greed clicks his tongue at the top corner of his gums. Without warning, he slowly begins to thumb each button open, careful and mindful of just who they belong to. Michael is a private man, after all. It's the least he can do.]
[Because he's the driver, isn't he. The driver, the shadow, refusing to become a hearse a second time.]
[Michael, like Lucifer, isn't hard for him to carry. Despite how powerful he is, the Archangel is light enough that two of his four hands make easy of the job. And oh, how he does it with care. With all the care of a monster, of a creature, made for a completely different purpose and refusing to live up to the title. Because he's said it, right? Time and time again like his own, twisted sense of scripture:]
["I always take care of what's mine, friend."]
[Greed descends the fire escape like a blind mind familiar with his territory. He knows every inch of this bar, every pitfall. So as he follows the path down, down, down, he's mindful: where the hooks of his boots slide into the iron rungs, how to pivot his shoulder to not disturb the man exhausted (beaten) in his clutches. The former homunculus makes only one sound while he works and as a soft hiss (like a sting, like a curse that just won't come) presses behind his teeth, he yanks a window open, guiding his leg over the sill.]
[One day, maybe today even, he'll ask himself how he got here. But he already knows the answer.]
[Inside, the bar passes him by. He'll have a lot more questions to deal with after all is said and done, but that's for later. For now? For now, he only has a single destination in mind.]
[The bathroom is a secret for a reason, or it had been when he first opened the place. Large, black, and expansive, it matches his namesake: with its standing shower, mirror-tiled floor, and a clawfoot tub poised like a poor man's throne. When the Sin slips in, he nudges a light switch with his elbow, making the soft-blue lights hum on with a buzz of a lulling current.]
[Greed quietly plugs the bathtub before turning the faucet on. With Michael (Michael smeared in blood, Michael doused in gold) against his chest, he tests a free hand under the water, waiting for it to warm up. The building, as a whole, isn't a new one. The pipes knock behind the walls, the heat takes its time to turn on. But eventually, the temperature gets hot enough that he pulls his fingers away, flicking them dry with a motion so unsatisfied, it could only be called bitter.]
[It never should have been like this. It never should have come to this. And yet, here they are. Here they are once again, and isn't it a bitch how history loves to repeat itself.]
[Hesitation's never been his strong suit, but for a second, the Sin pauses. His claws hover around the buttons of a jacket that's long gone; their tips stiff, yet twitching. Because he remembers: the feeling of blood on his hands, the desperation of a man begging for recognition, the loneliness of a vampire screaming at him to never let go, the fear of a young popstar ripping through him - ]
[ - the silence of a severed head on his couch, and the heaviness, the lifelessness, of six wings sprawled across his hotel-room floor.]
[Greed clicks his tongue at the top corner of his gums. Without warning, he slowly begins to thumb each button open, careful and mindful of just who they belong to. Michael is a private man, after all. It's the least he can do.]
[ he is vaguely aware that someone approaches, lifts him into the air, and begins walking away with unhurried steps. but he is so tired that he never fully stirs, so it could very well be anyone. a friend of one of his victims hell bent on revenge, a random demon taking advantage of an unconscious angel or even a friend.
Michael has always been a light sleeper but tonight? not even God himself could rouse him, not when he is so afraid to look at himself in the mirror and see what he has become. people told him this place was capable of evil things and, after last month, he should have believed them.
the hiss is vaguely familiar, so is the symphony of scents rolling off of the former homunculus. where he was tense against him before, his shoulders sag when his mind fills in the blanks for him. he was on the roof of the Devil’s Nest before this — it’s Greed. the relief is to such a degree that he lets himself drift off again, reassured by the fact that he wouldn’t ask questions.
it isn’t until the lights in the bathroom kick on and he hears the sound of water flowing that he shifts slightly in his grasp. his shoulder protests instantly, causing him to grit his teeth, but he reminds himself that the pain is nothing compared to what he put everyone else through.
using his other hand, he places it on top of the hand currently fussing with his clothing. not to stop or reprimand, but to ground and prove to himself that this interaction isn’t part of a dream. he can feel the warmth. with a shaky sigh, he uncharacteristically accepts the contact and lets his forehead settle against his chest.
he never raises his voice above a soft murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the water. ]
I’m sorry, Greed.
[ his voice nearly cracks at the end, so he doesn’t dare to lift his head just yet. it isn’t that he thinks showing emotion is a weakness, it’s that he is disappointed in himself. his wings sag, the tips skirting against the floor. he will put them away eventually, maybe when he pulls himself out of this stupor.
in the meantime, he clutches the front of his shirt much in the way a child would when stubbornly refusing to leave the side of their parent. that’s the breaking point. his fingers tremble and his shoulders shake but the broken sobs never come. he can hold them back, but the tears that follow are unstoppable.
it is the first time in a long time since he cried. it doesn’t help the situation, it won’t bring back Maurice or soothe Lucifer’s aching heart, but he mourns them all the same. for a man who usually comes equipped with an over abundance of words, he uses very few now. ]
I killed him. He begged me not to, but I still killed him.
[ he still has Maurice’s blood on his hands, it’s enough to churn his stomach and make him try to curl inward. murder is an unforgivable sin, he’s forever tainted his grace with it. ]
What have I done?
Michael has always been a light sleeper but tonight? not even God himself could rouse him, not when he is so afraid to look at himself in the mirror and see what he has become. people told him this place was capable of evil things and, after last month, he should have believed them.
the hiss is vaguely familiar, so is the symphony of scents rolling off of the former homunculus. where he was tense against him before, his shoulders sag when his mind fills in the blanks for him. he was on the roof of the Devil’s Nest before this — it’s Greed. the relief is to such a degree that he lets himself drift off again, reassured by the fact that he wouldn’t ask questions.
it isn’t until the lights in the bathroom kick on and he hears the sound of water flowing that he shifts slightly in his grasp. his shoulder protests instantly, causing him to grit his teeth, but he reminds himself that the pain is nothing compared to what he put everyone else through.
using his other hand, he places it on top of the hand currently fussing with his clothing. not to stop or reprimand, but to ground and prove to himself that this interaction isn’t part of a dream. he can feel the warmth. with a shaky sigh, he uncharacteristically accepts the contact and lets his forehead settle against his chest.
he never raises his voice above a soft murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the water. ]
I’m sorry, Greed.
[ his voice nearly cracks at the end, so he doesn’t dare to lift his head just yet. it isn’t that he thinks showing emotion is a weakness, it’s that he is disappointed in himself. his wings sag, the tips skirting against the floor. he will put them away eventually, maybe when he pulls himself out of this stupor.
in the meantime, he clutches the front of his shirt much in the way a child would when stubbornly refusing to leave the side of their parent. that’s the breaking point. his fingers tremble and his shoulders shake but the broken sobs never come. he can hold them back, but the tears that follow are unstoppable.
it is the first time in a long time since he cried. it doesn’t help the situation, it won’t bring back Maurice or soothe Lucifer’s aching heart, but he mourns them all the same. for a man who usually comes equipped with an over abundance of words, he uses very few now. ]
I killed him. He begged me not to, but I still killed him.
[ he still has Maurice’s blood on his hands, it’s enough to churn his stomach and make him try to curl inward. murder is an unforgivable sin, he’s forever tainted his grace with it. ]
What have I done?
"Um, someone called Nobunaga Oda told me to contact you to get parts. I'm going to be building a gift for someone named Klaus. I could use parts of other projects too."
oda ? ha! so the little pissant said to come to me huh ?
well that depends. what kind of parts are you lookin for exactly?
ah that partner of his. sure. let me know what you need and i can see what i can do
well that depends. what kind of parts are you lookin for exactly?
ah that partner of his. sure. let me know what you need and i can see what i can do
[The hand on his means that Michael is alive. Hurt, sure, but still breathing, still thinking, still here despite how distant and away he feels. And that's enough, isn't it? Least, for the moment. The rest of it (the misery of the month, the bloodshed, the guilt) can come later.]
[Greed doesn't push him away, but he continues unbuttoning his jacket. And as his claws tenderly pry the buttons loose, he lifts his upper lip with a snarl directed at nothing, nothing at all.] Shut up. Save your sorry for someone who needs it, huh?
[He's short, but it's not because of Michael. No, no matter what was said, no matter the blows they came to, that wasn't Michael. It wasn't the man he knows. The one he's shared bits and pieces with; the one he's talked to after all the patrons had gone, leaving the bar in its sleepy, smokey haze. The Sin's eyes briefly flick over Michael's shoulder when he hears his wings brush along the floor. While this place is a second chance for many, it isn't always fair. And this - this isn't fair. It isn't fair, it isn't right, and maybe, just maybe, his teeth are grinding together a little harder than usual.]
[What was the point? What was the whole, fucking point?]
[He's brought back, though. When that hand clutches the front of his shirt like a confession. Michael is always so put together. He's always one step ahead of the game, he's always prepared. And that's what the last few weeks have done to him: they've robbed him. Stolen from him and swindled his constant state of perfection, leaving him and him alone to pick up the pieces.]
[Greed wraps his fingers around Michael's wrist, light and daring.] Tsk. You weren't really given much of a choice there, Blue Eyes. Whatever you were doing - that wasn't you, was it. You thought you were doing the right thing, and no matter what anyone said, it wasn't going to stop you. [He tries, as kindly as possible, to pry the man off his shirt. It isn't his usual. High-collared, thick, and black, it covers him as good as the 'Shield would on a better day.] So, knock it off. You can still fix it, but you won't be able to do anything in that state.
[And he knows because he's been in the same position before. There's no coming back from that, not entirely. The former homunculus watches the top of Michael's head. Words mean shit here. They won't turn back the clock, nor will they take away the blood on Michael's hands. That'll be something he'll have to bear and hold onto when he finally is well enough to face it head on.]
[So, the Sin does as he always does: he moves. Wrapping his arms around Michael, he sheds what remains of his jacket onto the floor, letting it flop to the tune of soaked fabric and steely buttons. Lifting one of his legs over the edge of the tub, he sinks his boot under the water, then the other.]
Purification. [He says as he sinks into the suds, the soap, and the grime that will surely follow.] That's what it is for things like me. [Greed's voice whispers from his mouth; its touch like a chill creeping on the air.] It's how good ol'Pops could control us. See Michael, it takes a lot to kill a homunculus. It's a whole lot easier to wipe them clean.
So, what you did - it wasn't your fault. All right? [The former homunculus sinks further, dragging the Archangel down with him. It's so the opposite of just a few weeks ago. Then, he'd been ready to sink his claws in, leave his reminder, and send the man back where he came from, if only to keep him and his safe. Ironic now, that he's sharing both a bathtub and another one of his secrets with him.]
[Maybe, that's why he keeps coming back: to them, to all of them, no matter how many times he does this song and dance.]
[Greed slides a wet hand through Michael's hair, silently sending in soap to replace the blood.]
[Greed doesn't push him away, but he continues unbuttoning his jacket. And as his claws tenderly pry the buttons loose, he lifts his upper lip with a snarl directed at nothing, nothing at all.] Shut up. Save your sorry for someone who needs it, huh?
[He's short, but it's not because of Michael. No, no matter what was said, no matter the blows they came to, that wasn't Michael. It wasn't the man he knows. The one he's shared bits and pieces with; the one he's talked to after all the patrons had gone, leaving the bar in its sleepy, smokey haze. The Sin's eyes briefly flick over Michael's shoulder when he hears his wings brush along the floor. While this place is a second chance for many, it isn't always fair. And this - this isn't fair. It isn't fair, it isn't right, and maybe, just maybe, his teeth are grinding together a little harder than usual.]
[What was the point? What was the whole, fucking point?]
[He's brought back, though. When that hand clutches the front of his shirt like a confession. Michael is always so put together. He's always one step ahead of the game, he's always prepared. And that's what the last few weeks have done to him: they've robbed him. Stolen from him and swindled his constant state of perfection, leaving him and him alone to pick up the pieces.]
[Greed wraps his fingers around Michael's wrist, light and daring.] Tsk. You weren't really given much of a choice there, Blue Eyes. Whatever you were doing - that wasn't you, was it. You thought you were doing the right thing, and no matter what anyone said, it wasn't going to stop you. [He tries, as kindly as possible, to pry the man off his shirt. It isn't his usual. High-collared, thick, and black, it covers him as good as the 'Shield would on a better day.] So, knock it off. You can still fix it, but you won't be able to do anything in that state.
[And he knows because he's been in the same position before. There's no coming back from that, not entirely. The former homunculus watches the top of Michael's head. Words mean shit here. They won't turn back the clock, nor will they take away the blood on Michael's hands. That'll be something he'll have to bear and hold onto when he finally is well enough to face it head on.]
[So, the Sin does as he always does: he moves. Wrapping his arms around Michael, he sheds what remains of his jacket onto the floor, letting it flop to the tune of soaked fabric and steely buttons. Lifting one of his legs over the edge of the tub, he sinks his boot under the water, then the other.]
Purification. [He says as he sinks into the suds, the soap, and the grime that will surely follow.] That's what it is for things like me. [Greed's voice whispers from his mouth; its touch like a chill creeping on the air.] It's how good ol'Pops could control us. See Michael, it takes a lot to kill a homunculus. It's a whole lot easier to wipe them clean.
So, what you did - it wasn't your fault. All right? [The former homunculus sinks further, dragging the Archangel down with him. It's so the opposite of just a few weeks ago. Then, he'd been ready to sink his claws in, leave his reminder, and send the man back where he came from, if only to keep him and his safe. Ironic now, that he's sharing both a bathtub and another one of his secrets with him.]
[Maybe, that's why he keeps coming back: to them, to all of them, no matter how many times he does this song and dance.]
[Greed slides a wet hand through Michael's hair, silently sending in soap to replace the blood.]
[She frowned at that kind of language, but steeled herself. This was for parts.]
"For the gift I need the parts to build a karaoke machine. So..."
[She then included a long list that had everything one needed to build a karaoke machine from scratch plus some others that... was it going to explode? And.. those articulated joints... was it going to walk...? What in the Goddess' name was she planning?]
"And then for my own project, to start..."
[And another long list, this one even more befuddling. Lots of things to make weapons and explosives but also... good luck charms? Servos? Computer chips and... ice cream. That was absolutely ice cream on the list.]
"For the gift I need the parts to build a karaoke machine. So..."
[She then included a long list that had everything one needed to build a karaoke machine from scratch plus some others that... was it going to explode? And.. those articulated joints... was it going to walk...? What in the Goddess' name was she planning?]
"And then for my own project, to start..."
[And another long list, this one even more befuddling. Lots of things to make weapons and explosives but also... good luck charms? Servos? Computer chips and... ice cream. That was absolutely ice cream on the list.]
Please, just accept it.
[ this is someone he can actually apologize to, others weren’t nearly as fortunate to flee their encounters with him with their lives. even if he doesn’t want it, he needs him to at least fake it. ]
Until I find him again, I need someone to tell me everything is all right. Even if it’s a lie.
[ the tone is duly noted and, while it might not be directed at him, he wishes it was. being hated is so much simpler than looking into the face of someone who actually forgives him, it reminds him of what he nearly lost. this is why he keeps people at arms length, he is so damn tired of disappointing people, especially himself.
the way his wings hang over the edges of the tub is comical, or would be on any other day. now they just bow like wilted flowers that withered away after being unable to drink up the sun. this is the second time he has been told that he didn’t have a choice by the former homunculus, and it’s the second time that he has doubted him.
it doesn’t take much effort to pry his hand away and, when he does, it falls back by his side. normally this is the point where he would start arguing his case, but he does little more than give a stiff nod as he lets out an unsteady exhale to calm himself down. the tears were never going to last long, but the bitterness is still lingering. ]
[ quietly: ] You’ll ruin your boots.
[ he wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t worry about stupid material things. plus, he pays enough attention to know he wears them often enough that they must be important. in his own mind, these injuries are nothing and will heal in due time, so the care he provides, while appreciated, isn’t something he’s entirely sure he needs.
still, the second the heat from the water hits him, he visibly relaxes. he hasn’t even started washing himself yet and the water is already taking on an orange tinge. he dips his hands into the water in an attempt to clean them off first but, even when they look clean, he can still feel the weight of the blood as if it still cakes his hands. ]
A fail safe, just in case he found himself incapable of controlling what he created. [ he begins to mouth the words I’m sorry when he recalls what he said earlier, so he stops himself short of giving the words life.
he won’t acknowledge that it wasn’t his fault, but he does put that part of his story to bed. ] I made a deal with Lucifer after I arrived here, saying I wouldn’t raise a hand to the Sinners.
[ and, despite not being in control of his actions, he broke the terms of that deal. maybe that’s why he is so exhausted. he has no right to fuss over how uncomfortable this makes him feel, not when he both attacked him and likely led him to relive a bad memory. but it’s only uncomfortable because no one has been there for him like this since Lucifer, the unfamiliarity of it all is a little overwhelming. ]
You don’t have to do this.
[ this is someone he can actually apologize to, others weren’t nearly as fortunate to flee their encounters with him with their lives. even if he doesn’t want it, he needs him to at least fake it. ]
Until I find him again, I need someone to tell me everything is all right. Even if it’s a lie.
[ the tone is duly noted and, while it might not be directed at him, he wishes it was. being hated is so much simpler than looking into the face of someone who actually forgives him, it reminds him of what he nearly lost. this is why he keeps people at arms length, he is so damn tired of disappointing people, especially himself.
the way his wings hang over the edges of the tub is comical, or would be on any other day. now they just bow like wilted flowers that withered away after being unable to drink up the sun. this is the second time he has been told that he didn’t have a choice by the former homunculus, and it’s the second time that he has doubted him.
it doesn’t take much effort to pry his hand away and, when he does, it falls back by his side. normally this is the point where he would start arguing his case, but he does little more than give a stiff nod as he lets out an unsteady exhale to calm himself down. the tears were never going to last long, but the bitterness is still lingering. ]
[ quietly: ] You’ll ruin your boots.
[ he wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t worry about stupid material things. plus, he pays enough attention to know he wears them often enough that they must be important. in his own mind, these injuries are nothing and will heal in due time, so the care he provides, while appreciated, isn’t something he’s entirely sure he needs.
still, the second the heat from the water hits him, he visibly relaxes. he hasn’t even started washing himself yet and the water is already taking on an orange tinge. he dips his hands into the water in an attempt to clean them off first but, even when they look clean, he can still feel the weight of the blood as if it still cakes his hands. ]
A fail safe, just in case he found himself incapable of controlling what he created. [ he begins to mouth the words I’m sorry when he recalls what he said earlier, so he stops himself short of giving the words life.
he won’t acknowledge that it wasn’t his fault, but he does put that part of his story to bed. ] I made a deal with Lucifer after I arrived here, saying I wouldn’t raise a hand to the Sinners.
[ and, despite not being in control of his actions, he broke the terms of that deal. maybe that’s why he is so exhausted. he has no right to fuss over how uncomfortable this makes him feel, not when he both attacked him and likely led him to relive a bad memory. but it’s only uncomfortable because no one has been there for him like this since Lucifer, the unfamiliarity of it all is a little overwhelming. ]
You don’t have to do this.
[The Sin pulls his claws out of Michael's hair, careful of how sharp he truly he is. He can hear the water still running (rushing, warm, hot), but it's so far off, he almost forgets about it. Least, until the level nearly meets his throat. So, he snaps back to the present and reaches forward, cutting the stream to let it drip out its final drops.]
You know me, Michael. I couldn't lie even if I wanted to. [But that's a lie in of itself, isn't it? Because he has lied. Once when there were no other options and secondly (continuously) to himself. The Sin tentatively frames out one of Michael's wings with his fingers, distant and hovering.] Isn't that a thing about you and yours? Forgiveness? [Shadows grow under his eyes like ink in the water. They spread, heavy and dense; as if all his unspoken words have finally caught up with him.]
[Greed cups one of his hands under the water, catching a spoonful. If he knew anything about the bible and its stories, part of this would be terribly poetic in the worst sort of way. Thankfully, he's none the wiser.] Everyone makes mistakes, Michael. It's what you do after that matters. What, do you think the people here are gunna hold it against you? Just - [He cuts himself off with a growl. One that bristles, festers, between his ribs like the kick-on of an old, basement-bottom furnace.] - it's gunna be fine, all right? So stop it. I already told you once. You weren't given a choice. And if there's anything you should know about me, I've always been a fan of choice.
[Silently, the former homunculus tips his hand, spilling a bit of water over those battered, war-torn wings. He takes his time with it: the way he slowly tilts his wrist to not drown them completely, how he's oddly mindful of any feathers that look out of place or broken. The Sin follows the curve of the tub and as he sinks deeper, he stretches his legs, making the heels of his boots skip across porcelain.]
Spread 'em for me, would ya? It'll make this a whole lot easier. [Any other time, he would be barking orders. But here, he goes with an ask instead; with an ask, demanding and soft.] Just let me know if I'm doing something wrong, huh? I don't really know what they mean, but something tells me they've got some sort of value. [The wings, he means. Michael had kept Lucifer's feather for a reason, after all. There had to be more to them than just appearance.]
[While he waits for an answer, he continues. Handful after handful, he quietly brings the water up, sliding it across Michael's skin with a scent of cleanliness, ash, and something else harder to place. Greed thumbs the wound on Michael's arm, maneuvering about it as if it's made of shards of glass. When he finds his voice again, it's miles and miles away:] A fail safe, huh. Guess you could say that. Suppose you could also say I know a thing or two about - [He traces the roof of his mouth with his tongue and for the first time since it happened, he thinks he can feel the weight of Lucifer's sign.] - don't worry about it, it doesn't matter. Just keep it in mind. Whatever you're thinking about yourself. Do you really think it's fair? Do you think Lucifer or anyone else would think any of this was fair?
No. [The Sin snaps his teeth, cutting the humidity hanging about them with a violent, skull-rattling clck.] None of this was fair. So you made a deal, so what. A deal's only good if it's even. Equivalent exchange, right? You had the cards stacked against you the moment this place decided it had other ideas in mind.
[It would be so easy to feel how stiff he gets. How stiff and rigid and tense his muscles are, despite how the heat begs him to relax. Greed ushers another lick of water over Michael's arms, his shoulders, his neck. And maybe, he should be more careful. Maybe he should be thinking about just how much bullshit he's getting to. But he never does. He never does because his core will always scream at him for it:]
["Keep them. Keep them, hold them, and never, ever let go.".]
[The former homunculus hooks a finger under Michael's chin as he tries to turn his head to the side.] Yeah, but maybe I want to, Blue Eyes. I'm Greed, remember? My avarice knows no limits.
You know me, Michael. I couldn't lie even if I wanted to. [But that's a lie in of itself, isn't it? Because he has lied. Once when there were no other options and secondly (continuously) to himself. The Sin tentatively frames out one of Michael's wings with his fingers, distant and hovering.] Isn't that a thing about you and yours? Forgiveness? [Shadows grow under his eyes like ink in the water. They spread, heavy and dense; as if all his unspoken words have finally caught up with him.]
[Greed cups one of his hands under the water, catching a spoonful. If he knew anything about the bible and its stories, part of this would be terribly poetic in the worst sort of way. Thankfully, he's none the wiser.] Everyone makes mistakes, Michael. It's what you do after that matters. What, do you think the people here are gunna hold it against you? Just - [He cuts himself off with a growl. One that bristles, festers, between his ribs like the kick-on of an old, basement-bottom furnace.] - it's gunna be fine, all right? So stop it. I already told you once. You weren't given a choice. And if there's anything you should know about me, I've always been a fan of choice.
[Silently, the former homunculus tips his hand, spilling a bit of water over those battered, war-torn wings. He takes his time with it: the way he slowly tilts his wrist to not drown them completely, how he's oddly mindful of any feathers that look out of place or broken. The Sin follows the curve of the tub and as he sinks deeper, he stretches his legs, making the heels of his boots skip across porcelain.]
Spread 'em for me, would ya? It'll make this a whole lot easier. [Any other time, he would be barking orders. But here, he goes with an ask instead; with an ask, demanding and soft.] Just let me know if I'm doing something wrong, huh? I don't really know what they mean, but something tells me they've got some sort of value. [The wings, he means. Michael had kept Lucifer's feather for a reason, after all. There had to be more to them than just appearance.]
[While he waits for an answer, he continues. Handful after handful, he quietly brings the water up, sliding it across Michael's skin with a scent of cleanliness, ash, and something else harder to place. Greed thumbs the wound on Michael's arm, maneuvering about it as if it's made of shards of glass. When he finds his voice again, it's miles and miles away:] A fail safe, huh. Guess you could say that. Suppose you could also say I know a thing or two about - [He traces the roof of his mouth with his tongue and for the first time since it happened, he thinks he can feel the weight of Lucifer's sign.] - don't worry about it, it doesn't matter. Just keep it in mind. Whatever you're thinking about yourself. Do you really think it's fair? Do you think Lucifer or anyone else would think any of this was fair?
No. [The Sin snaps his teeth, cutting the humidity hanging about them with a violent, skull-rattling clck.] None of this was fair. So you made a deal, so what. A deal's only good if it's even. Equivalent exchange, right? You had the cards stacked against you the moment this place decided it had other ideas in mind.
[It would be so easy to feel how stiff he gets. How stiff and rigid and tense his muscles are, despite how the heat begs him to relax. Greed ushers another lick of water over Michael's arms, his shoulders, his neck. And maybe, he should be more careful. Maybe he should be thinking about just how much bullshit he's getting to. But he never does. He never does because his core will always scream at him for it:]
["Keep them. Keep them, hold them, and never, ever let go.".]
[The former homunculus hooks a finger under Michael's chin as he tries to turn his head to the side.] Yeah, but maybe I want to, Blue Eyes. I'm Greed, remember? My avarice knows no limits.
I know. [ then why did he ask? who knows. ]
Your mind is wandering, what are you thinking about?
[ talking helps, it keeps him grounded and focused on him rather than the thoughts he’s trying to escape. forgiveness can be granted but, while the sin of murder is grave, his faith is also wavering. he lets out a quiet sigh and shakes his head. ]
Murder is a mortal sin, Greed. He can and does forgive, and humans can still earn their salvation. I was created to love and guide them, to protect them if harm ever came their way. But when I’m the cause of that harm, I have failed them and Him. Were He here, the punishment would be severe. No one is immune to the Laws.
[ elaborating is unnecessary, as Greed knows another who was subjected to that judgment. Lucifer, who wanted nothing more than to encourage the humans and didn’t have an ounce of cruelty in his body, yet he was still given the worst punishment an angel can be sentenced to.
he considers the question for a moment then shakes his head. ] Murder isn’t simply a mistake, it leaves a blemish on the soul that one keeps with them forever. Even if he forgives me..
[ no, he doesn’t finish the sentence because it will send him down an endless spiral. having not expected the water so soon, his feathers promptly tremble and flick droplets of water into Greed’s face. it pulls an apologetic murmur out of Michael as he leans forward a fraction so he can comfortably stretch his wings out. he suffers from several false starts before getting the words out. ]
I wouldn’t know, Lucifer is the only other person I’ve allowed touch my wings. [ so he is putting a considerable amount of trust in him right now, encouraged by the late nights they’ve spent sharing stories. one tends to get to know someone fairly well through storytelling, more so when most of those stories aren’t happy tales. ] They’re likely as resilient as you are, you won’t hurt them — or me.
[ he hugs his knees to his chest and leans forward to make it easier for him to reach, as each wing is nearly as tall as he is when they are stretched out. he does help him out by folding whatever wing he is working on inward, so he can reach without stretching too far. there are already a few feathers sticking to the bathroom floor around them, but they were loose before he even hit the water. as usual, new ones will take their place in time. ]
Much like our Grace, it’s what differentiates us from humans. If I had to simplify it, I suppose I could call it our power. It can be stripped away and has been before. I imagine that’s why Lucifer took on demonic characteristics when he Fell.
[ one of his wings jerk under a stream of water, but he is quick to reassure him that he’s fine. it isn’t so much the water that got to him as much as the question. ] Unfair would be what was done to Lucifer all those years ago, I haven’t decided what this is. Only that it was cruel for everyone involved.
[ ready to drop as he may be, he does notice and begins to turn his face when he feels the finger under his chin. he gives him the best smile he can muster, eyes squinting a bit beneath the blonde strands that cling to his face. he lowers his voice, murmuring thoughtfully. ]
Then is this to be part of my penance? To be washed as if I’m a child without complaint? [ he tilts his face so he can look at him, once vibrant blue eyes now dull. try as he may to look jokingly petulant it may not come through, so he reaches out and hooks a finger around Greed’s — almost like a pinky promise. ]
Yes, I’m aware of how deep your avarice runs. You remind me on a daily basis.
Your mind is wandering, what are you thinking about?
[ talking helps, it keeps him grounded and focused on him rather than the thoughts he’s trying to escape. forgiveness can be granted but, while the sin of murder is grave, his faith is also wavering. he lets out a quiet sigh and shakes his head. ]
Murder is a mortal sin, Greed. He can and does forgive, and humans can still earn their salvation. I was created to love and guide them, to protect them if harm ever came their way. But when I’m the cause of that harm, I have failed them and Him. Were He here, the punishment would be severe. No one is immune to the Laws.
[ elaborating is unnecessary, as Greed knows another who was subjected to that judgment. Lucifer, who wanted nothing more than to encourage the humans and didn’t have an ounce of cruelty in his body, yet he was still given the worst punishment an angel can be sentenced to.
he considers the question for a moment then shakes his head. ] Murder isn’t simply a mistake, it leaves a blemish on the soul that one keeps with them forever. Even if he forgives me..
[ no, he doesn’t finish the sentence because it will send him down an endless spiral. having not expected the water so soon, his feathers promptly tremble and flick droplets of water into Greed’s face. it pulls an apologetic murmur out of Michael as he leans forward a fraction so he can comfortably stretch his wings out. he suffers from several false starts before getting the words out. ]
I wouldn’t know, Lucifer is the only other person I’ve allowed touch my wings. [ so he is putting a considerable amount of trust in him right now, encouraged by the late nights they’ve spent sharing stories. one tends to get to know someone fairly well through storytelling, more so when most of those stories aren’t happy tales. ] They’re likely as resilient as you are, you won’t hurt them — or me.
[ he hugs his knees to his chest and leans forward to make it easier for him to reach, as each wing is nearly as tall as he is when they are stretched out. he does help him out by folding whatever wing he is working on inward, so he can reach without stretching too far. there are already a few feathers sticking to the bathroom floor around them, but they were loose before he even hit the water. as usual, new ones will take their place in time. ]
Much like our Grace, it’s what differentiates us from humans. If I had to simplify it, I suppose I could call it our power. It can be stripped away and has been before. I imagine that’s why Lucifer took on demonic characteristics when he Fell.
[ one of his wings jerk under a stream of water, but he is quick to reassure him that he’s fine. it isn’t so much the water that got to him as much as the question. ] Unfair would be what was done to Lucifer all those years ago, I haven’t decided what this is. Only that it was cruel for everyone involved.
[ ready to drop as he may be, he does notice and begins to turn his face when he feels the finger under his chin. he gives him the best smile he can muster, eyes squinting a bit beneath the blonde strands that cling to his face. he lowers his voice, murmuring thoughtfully. ]
Then is this to be part of my penance? To be washed as if I’m a child without complaint? [ he tilts his face so he can look at him, once vibrant blue eyes now dull. try as he may to look jokingly petulant it may not come through, so he reaches out and hooks a finger around Greed’s — almost like a pinky promise. ]
Yes, I’m aware of how deep your avarice runs. You remind me on a daily basis.
[There's no denying the look behind his sunglasses: how his eyes fester, how they seem to burn despite a lack of obvious heat. Greed's lips stretch across his face.] You did, didn't you. Well, glad you could find the time.
[The tail behind him shakes (spindly, sharp, and blossoming with spines that rattle together smooth and light) and as the Sin sinks his heel into the floor, he turns on the point of it.] Peace and prosperity to you too, I guess. That's a saying where you come from, right?
[He pauses midway through his spin as soon as she extends her hand. And ah, how he does appreciate a woman taking charge of things, doesn't he? Greed dips, stretching out one of his arms to gingerly wrap his fingers around hers.] Mn. So I've heard. You keep some pretty interesting company, sweetheart.
[When he releases her, he does it with a mind of his claws. He's sharp. There's no need to cut her on the way out.] Ha - ! Well that makes two of us, then. There isn't supposed to be an afterlife for things like me. [When he shrugs his shoulders, the fur lining his collar comes up with them, fanning out along the back of his neck.] Ah, well. Doesn't matter. You came here for a drink. Let's make sure you get one. No point coming all the way down here just to talk, after all.
[He makes his way behind the bar then, taking his time and seemingly counting his steps. Oda. Now, that's a whole subject in itself, isn't it? The self-proclaimed demon king with a mouth for days, a habit for causing trouble, and now one more he can count as his. The Sin snorts a laugh from his nose.] You could say I know him as well as any. Little pissant's sometimes a lot more trouble than he's worth.
[Is he being fond? Snide? A little bit of both? Maybe, but he doesn't elaborate. No, keep it vague, that's the Greed guarantee. The Sin snags a shaker, ripping the top off with his pinkie.] So, what'll it be?
[The tail behind him shakes (spindly, sharp, and blossoming with spines that rattle together smooth and light) and as the Sin sinks his heel into the floor, he turns on the point of it.] Peace and prosperity to you too, I guess. That's a saying where you come from, right?
[He pauses midway through his spin as soon as she extends her hand. And ah, how he does appreciate a woman taking charge of things, doesn't he? Greed dips, stretching out one of his arms to gingerly wrap his fingers around hers.] Mn. So I've heard. You keep some pretty interesting company, sweetheart.
[When he releases her, he does it with a mind of his claws. He's sharp. There's no need to cut her on the way out.] Ha - ! Well that makes two of us, then. There isn't supposed to be an afterlife for things like me. [When he shrugs his shoulders, the fur lining his collar comes up with them, fanning out along the back of his neck.] Ah, well. Doesn't matter. You came here for a drink. Let's make sure you get one. No point coming all the way down here just to talk, after all.
[He makes his way behind the bar then, taking his time and seemingly counting his steps. Oda. Now, that's a whole subject in itself, isn't it? The self-proclaimed demon king with a mouth for days, a habit for causing trouble, and now one more he can count as his. The Sin snorts a laugh from his nose.] You could say I know him as well as any. Little pissant's sometimes a lot more trouble than he's worth.
[Is he being fond? Snide? A little bit of both? Maybe, but he doesn't elaborate. No, keep it vague, that's the Greed guarantee. The Sin snags a shaker, ripping the top off with his pinkie.] So, what'll it be?
[Funny, he never thought he'd be here. He'd never thought they'd be here. And given just who and what Michael is, they shouldn't be. But that's the thing about this afterlife, isn't it? It makes for odd bed fellows. Months ago, he would have laughed at the thought. An Archangel and a Sin (one artificial and not from any Hell at all), trying to recover in the aftermath.]
[But he's not laughing. No, because this really shouldn't have happened. And if he's adding this whole thing to his growing stack of dues someone is going to pay for, well. So be it.]
[Greed thumbs a couple of feathers, churning up bubbles.] Nothing that matters now. I made my choices already. [While his eyes may be narrowed (narrowed and twitching with that thing that's almost wrath, but not quite), the former homunculus forces a faint smile onto his face.] And I think we've already been there, haven't we? No regrets, Blue Eyes.
[He knows murder isn't a mistake. He knows it's more than that. But Michael's hand had been forced, and that doesn't sit well with him. It never sits well with him. And as the Sin washes more of the blood away, stirring the water to a sad, faint pink, he prods listlessly at his gums.] And if he knew you weren't in control? If he knew that it wasn't you? [He shows his teeth, if only briefly.] If he can't take that into consideration, then his laws are just as bullshit as the rest.
[He uses two hands this time to wash out Michael's hair while a third searches for a bottle of shampoo. When he finds it, his claws clip the plastic as light as a spider feeling its web.] There's no such thing as no such thing. Maybe keep that in mind when you get that stupid idea in your head that you should be punished for something that wasn't your fault. Now, close your eyes for a second. [Now, now, he's barking orders. Greed fills his hand with a glob of shampoo (messy and not giving a single shit about it) and ruffles it through Michael's hair.]
[Lucifer's story has only come to him in pieces, and he's had to fill in the blanks from there. Any part containing Michael and their particularly close bond has been vague at best. But part of him knows it: this is family. And if there's one thing the devil loves, truly loves, it would be them, wouldn't it?]
[So, he takes care and respect into consideration. Lucifer's been kind to his. It would only be fair to return the favor.] Yeah, well. I'm new to this, all right? Wouldn't want to offend or something - [He tries his best to break the ice with a cruel smile.] - besides, if someone suddenly comes in here, I don't think either of us want them getting the wrong idea, hmn?
[Feather after feather, he's meticulous while he works. And perhaps, that's thanks to his given sin. He's avarice. Avarice knows worth. Avarice knows value. Even the ones on the ground (sopped and shed), he'll collect later and hand on over. He can't own pieces of Michael, just as much as he can't own pieces of Lucifer. They're beyond him. And that is something he is very, very much aware of.]
[With a free hand, Greed squeezes the soap from Michael's hair, grabs more water, then continues the rinse and repeat process.] Like our Philosopher's stones, I suppose. We're built the same as humans for the most part. [Except they're artificial. Things made to last through the centuries, but completely against nature and its law in every sense of the word. The former homunculus wipes his face in the crook of one of his elbows. If he's offended about being splashed with water, he doesn't show it. More important things, right?]
Because he said no. It's something we have in common. [Sort of. He didn't go through a change like that, not really. No instead, he was offered into a different body. One that willingly took him. The Sin blows at the corner of his mouth, sending a fluff of soap away from his lip.] You're right, what happened to Luce wasn't fair. But that doesn't make what happened to you any less. That's not how it works.
[Ah, and here it comes: that rattling tail. Even under the water, the buzz of it is telling. It makes the surface ripple. Light at first, then full on shakes, like a pond in the midst of an earthquake's tremor. Greed dumps more water over Michael's head, a little less patient this time around.] It was bullshit, Michael. You never should have - [The wrinkles around his nose grow tenfold and he almost, almost, shows off his tusks.] - it never should have happened. That's it.
[And he's thankful, really, that Michael isn't going to fight him right now. Because as he tilts the man's chin, he inspects him for any additional damage as thoroughly as an accountant at an audit.] Ha, no. You're just dealing with me, hmn? And you already know, I can be a real pain in the ass.
[In that moment, his expression is almost kind. Kind and caring, as if he isn't really a monster. The softness reaches his eyes, making them close halfway in the bathroom's gentle light. And as Michael's finger hooks around his, the Sin mindlessly squeezes back. Like a deal, silently made.]
Mn. Don't know, Blues. Sometimes I think you forget who you're talking to. [The water underneath him is thick. Blood, dirt, the awfulness of yesterdays: eventually, they'll all go down the drain as they always do. And as he begins to push out the rest of the soap with warm water and steam, the former homunculus shrugs his shoulders, dropping that silent weight.]
You can make it up to me after. Call it my gift to you.
[But he's not laughing. No, because this really shouldn't have happened. And if he's adding this whole thing to his growing stack of dues someone is going to pay for, well. So be it.]
[Greed thumbs a couple of feathers, churning up bubbles.] Nothing that matters now. I made my choices already. [While his eyes may be narrowed (narrowed and twitching with that thing that's almost wrath, but not quite), the former homunculus forces a faint smile onto his face.] And I think we've already been there, haven't we? No regrets, Blue Eyes.
[He knows murder isn't a mistake. He knows it's more than that. But Michael's hand had been forced, and that doesn't sit well with him. It never sits well with him. And as the Sin washes more of the blood away, stirring the water to a sad, faint pink, he prods listlessly at his gums.] And if he knew you weren't in control? If he knew that it wasn't you? [He shows his teeth, if only briefly.] If he can't take that into consideration, then his laws are just as bullshit as the rest.
[He uses two hands this time to wash out Michael's hair while a third searches for a bottle of shampoo. When he finds it, his claws clip the plastic as light as a spider feeling its web.] There's no such thing as no such thing. Maybe keep that in mind when you get that stupid idea in your head that you should be punished for something that wasn't your fault. Now, close your eyes for a second. [Now, now, he's barking orders. Greed fills his hand with a glob of shampoo (messy and not giving a single shit about it) and ruffles it through Michael's hair.]
[Lucifer's story has only come to him in pieces, and he's had to fill in the blanks from there. Any part containing Michael and their particularly close bond has been vague at best. But part of him knows it: this is family. And if there's one thing the devil loves, truly loves, it would be them, wouldn't it?]
[So, he takes care and respect into consideration. Lucifer's been kind to his. It would only be fair to return the favor.] Yeah, well. I'm new to this, all right? Wouldn't want to offend or something - [He tries his best to break the ice with a cruel smile.] - besides, if someone suddenly comes in here, I don't think either of us want them getting the wrong idea, hmn?
[Feather after feather, he's meticulous while he works. And perhaps, that's thanks to his given sin. He's avarice. Avarice knows worth. Avarice knows value. Even the ones on the ground (sopped and shed), he'll collect later and hand on over. He can't own pieces of Michael, just as much as he can't own pieces of Lucifer. They're beyond him. And that is something he is very, very much aware of.]
[With a free hand, Greed squeezes the soap from Michael's hair, grabs more water, then continues the rinse and repeat process.] Like our Philosopher's stones, I suppose. We're built the same as humans for the most part. [Except they're artificial. Things made to last through the centuries, but completely against nature and its law in every sense of the word. The former homunculus wipes his face in the crook of one of his elbows. If he's offended about being splashed with water, he doesn't show it. More important things, right?]
Because he said no. It's something we have in common. [Sort of. He didn't go through a change like that, not really. No instead, he was offered into a different body. One that willingly took him. The Sin blows at the corner of his mouth, sending a fluff of soap away from his lip.] You're right, what happened to Luce wasn't fair. But that doesn't make what happened to you any less. That's not how it works.
[Ah, and here it comes: that rattling tail. Even under the water, the buzz of it is telling. It makes the surface ripple. Light at first, then full on shakes, like a pond in the midst of an earthquake's tremor. Greed dumps more water over Michael's head, a little less patient this time around.] It was bullshit, Michael. You never should have - [The wrinkles around his nose grow tenfold and he almost, almost, shows off his tusks.] - it never should have happened. That's it.
[And he's thankful, really, that Michael isn't going to fight him right now. Because as he tilts the man's chin, he inspects him for any additional damage as thoroughly as an accountant at an audit.] Ha, no. You're just dealing with me, hmn? And you already know, I can be a real pain in the ass.
[In that moment, his expression is almost kind. Kind and caring, as if he isn't really a monster. The softness reaches his eyes, making them close halfway in the bathroom's gentle light. And as Michael's finger hooks around his, the Sin mindlessly squeezes back. Like a deal, silently made.]
Mn. Don't know, Blues. Sometimes I think you forget who you're talking to. [The water underneath him is thick. Blood, dirt, the awfulness of yesterdays: eventually, they'll all go down the drain as they always do. And as he begins to push out the rest of the soap with warm water and steam, the former homunculus shrugs his shoulders, dropping that silent weight.]
You can make it up to me after. Call it my gift to you.
It matters to me. Perhaps now isn’t the time for another story, I suppose. I’m not sure I would make it until the end. A rain check, then.
[ he has made no secret of the fact that he enjoys their chats, after all. they are something to look forward to when something about this place threatens to put a dent in his composure. ]
I imagine He would be surprised, as I’m always in control. Anywhere else but here, I wouldn’t have had any trouble disregarding the voice that told me to act. It may lessen the blow, but there would be a punishment nonetheless, as it was still my hand.
The feathers are sensitive but, as I said, you won’t hurt me. The fact that I’m allowing you to touch them should clue you in that I’m not offended. It isn’t offensive, just strange and unfamiliar.
[ he obliges, closing his eyes. if someone had asked him before his arrival if he would be sitting in a bathtub with a literal sin, he would have thought they were mad — but here they are. Michael is far too cautious to let his guard down normally, but he trusts him, which is why he never tenses up and awaits what is to come quietly.
at the second half, he snorts. ]
If that happened, I would simply correct them. You found me in an unpleasant state and offered to help me, your intent is clear. I’m not foolish enough to turn away help when I’m in need of it. [ embarrassingly enough, he could fall asleep right here and now and think nothing of it later. this is the first time he’s felt any semblance of peace in weeks. ]
What a stubborn pair of creatures we are, neither one actually having a heart but we often care more than those who do have one. I suppose that’s both a blessing and a curse of an eternal existence. Oftentimes, I find myself wondering what it must feel like to have a finite lifespan. Do they care more deeply knowing it’s fleeting?
To pack all one can experience into sixty years seems cruel. There are those who squander their time but others seize it and make the most out of the days they have left. The fact that they treasure it, life, more is.. beautiful, I think. Beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.
[ envious is a harsh word, but it’s hard to recall the wonder he felt when he was first created and saw things for the very first time. he remembers brief snippets, like chasing Lucifer around, meeting the new animals and being there for the siblings that came after them. the thoughts are enough to pull a small, thoughtful smile out of him and he doesn’t open his eyes even when his hair is rinsed.
rather than argue with him, he lets go of his knees and twists his torso so he can look over his shoulder at him. the look on his face starts out surprised but quickly softens. ]
But it did, and I’ll replay the moment in my mind until the end of my days, wondering what I could have done differently. I don’t hate Him for what He did, I was a coward back then and unwilling to displease Him. The memory is painful but it taught me a valuable lesson, to always listen to that nagging sense of doubt when it comes calling.
[ oh, he sees that look, so he shakes his head to dismiss any lingering worry. ] To say the very least. Everything else is healing. My arm is the only casualty, I’m not accustomed to reaching my limit. After I sleep, it should start to heal again.
[ another first, seeing a demon of his caliber with such a peaceful look on his face. Michael finds himself staring, committing it to memory, before facing forward again with a quiet chuckle. ]
Are you going to tell me what you want, or am I supposed to guess?
[ he has made no secret of the fact that he enjoys their chats, after all. they are something to look forward to when something about this place threatens to put a dent in his composure. ]
I imagine He would be surprised, as I’m always in control. Anywhere else but here, I wouldn’t have had any trouble disregarding the voice that told me to act. It may lessen the blow, but there would be a punishment nonetheless, as it was still my hand.
The feathers are sensitive but, as I said, you won’t hurt me. The fact that I’m allowing you to touch them should clue you in that I’m not offended. It isn’t offensive, just strange and unfamiliar.
[ he obliges, closing his eyes. if someone had asked him before his arrival if he would be sitting in a bathtub with a literal sin, he would have thought they were mad — but here they are. Michael is far too cautious to let his guard down normally, but he trusts him, which is why he never tenses up and awaits what is to come quietly.
at the second half, he snorts. ]
If that happened, I would simply correct them. You found me in an unpleasant state and offered to help me, your intent is clear. I’m not foolish enough to turn away help when I’m in need of it. [ embarrassingly enough, he could fall asleep right here and now and think nothing of it later. this is the first time he’s felt any semblance of peace in weeks. ]
What a stubborn pair of creatures we are, neither one actually having a heart but we often care more than those who do have one. I suppose that’s both a blessing and a curse of an eternal existence. Oftentimes, I find myself wondering what it must feel like to have a finite lifespan. Do they care more deeply knowing it’s fleeting?
To pack all one can experience into sixty years seems cruel. There are those who squander their time but others seize it and make the most out of the days they have left. The fact that they treasure it, life, more is.. beautiful, I think. Beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.
[ envious is a harsh word, but it’s hard to recall the wonder he felt when he was first created and saw things for the very first time. he remembers brief snippets, like chasing Lucifer around, meeting the new animals and being there for the siblings that came after them. the thoughts are enough to pull a small, thoughtful smile out of him and he doesn’t open his eyes even when his hair is rinsed.
rather than argue with him, he lets go of his knees and twists his torso so he can look over his shoulder at him. the look on his face starts out surprised but quickly softens. ]
But it did, and I’ll replay the moment in my mind until the end of my days, wondering what I could have done differently. I don’t hate Him for what He did, I was a coward back then and unwilling to displease Him. The memory is painful but it taught me a valuable lesson, to always listen to that nagging sense of doubt when it comes calling.
[ oh, he sees that look, so he shakes his head to dismiss any lingering worry. ] To say the very least. Everything else is healing. My arm is the only casualty, I’m not accustomed to reaching my limit. After I sleep, it should start to heal again.
[ another first, seeing a demon of his caliber with such a peaceful look on his face. Michael finds himself staring, committing it to memory, before facing forward again with a quiet chuckle. ]
Are you going to tell me what you want, or am I supposed to guess?
[Greed looks beyond Michael, then. His eyes skate the bathroom tiles, black as they are, and the smile that creeps up his face is an old one. He doesn't know 10,000 years or more, but he does know 200. Knows 200 and when the number finally stopped.]
["You don't need me anymore, kid."]
[The Sin spreads his fingers, running them through Michael's hair to tease out any knots.] Yeah, thing is - [His eyes shift, turning back to the angel before him with the tenderness of a viper that means no harm.] - it won't do much good. What's happened happened. Can't really change it, hmn? [He coils his knuckles around a stubborn tangle to slowly unwind it.] Some things are better left unsaid. Secrets, Blue Eyes. Sometimes, they're worth it. But this one? [He puckers his lip with a light hum.] Let's just say it's a whole lot more trouble than ya need, and we'll leave it at that.
Mn. [The former homunculus lets his hand drop out of Michael's hair, wet and slippery.] But this place isn't yours, is it? So, why should you be held to something that never belonged to you in the first place? That's the thing. Nothing's impossible. You might always be in control back where you come from, but here? Well. [His upper lip twitches, leveling between anger and acceptance. And he's already said it, hasn't he? What's happened happened. Three days from now, whoever Michael's killed will be back again. Whether they're angry, bitter, or forgiving is the bigger question.]
[But that's not today. That's not tomorrow. And so, the former homunculus settles on the present.]
[Greed huffs a sound through his nose. Sometimes, he wonders if he got the better part of the bargain. Lucifer and Michael may outlast and outstand him by years, but he managed to get his freedom, didn't he? He was able to leave. Leave, experience, and take as time went on. No duty shackled him and no rules applied. Only the ones he made. The ones he made and continues to do so even here.]
You really are that, aren't you? Pure or whatever. But don't get the wrong idea. [He sinks his hand, wets it, then runs it across another one of Michael's wings, letting the water slip like silk off the cool-black of his skin.] You talk about me caring like it's the same. And I'm here to tell you again that it isn't. It isn't a blessing or a curse, Michael. Sometimes it just is, just as I'm me. Hierarchy, right? Everyone's got this whole idea that greed is just for money and power -
[Dreamily, the Sin traces one of Michael's feathers with his thumb; his touch as delicate as someone admiring a piece, a trinket, unique in design.] - for sex, status, glory. But then, what about wanting to bring someone back from the dead? What about saving someone you love? About getting out of a bad situation? Deny it all you want, but all of that is still greed.
Humans, even your kind, think there's a right and wrong to wanting. There isn't. Not to me. [There are rules, sure. Certain rules only him and him alone will ever know. But desire? Desire doesn't come in black and white, nor does it balance on a scale. No instead, it lives in the comfortable gray; where choice, decision, and the ability for both are all that matter.]
[Greed shimmies his claw through the mangled tufts of a feather, smoothing it straight again.] I can't really say you're wrong about that. Because you're right, it isn't fair. They weren't given the option. So, why should you or any of us hold them to the same standards? [He shifts his weight and the water beneath them sloshes lonely along the edges of the tub.] Everyone wants something, Michael. Things, people, experiences. Maybe, that's the beauty you're looking for. Think about it. Might find out it's not so complicated.
[Once the last of the soap is gone and the water comes back clear, the former homunculus wraps himself around Michael again. It takes some effort (what with the tub as slick as it is and Michael's wingspan practically eating up half the room), but eventually he gets to a stand. And as a flood spews out of them, the Sin guides one of his legs over the side of the tub, forcing it to the floor with a soggy, wet-leather squshh.] Knock that off, that coward talk. You didn't know what you were up against. You had no idea what would happen. Take the lesson instead, Blues. The rest of it doesn't suit ya.
[Oh yeah, he does not give a shit he's addressing Michael that way. He's never given a shit. Authority, high-powers: he'll bite and snap at them all the same.]
[Greed reaches out with a spare hand, grabbing two black towels off a hanger.] Then I guess you're staying here for the night, aren't you? [He asks fully aware and already knowing the answer. Michael can protest all he wants: he's all but made the decision for him.]
[So, with an expression overly exasperated, dramatic, and a bit sarcastic, the Sin tries to drop a towel over Michael's head as he makes his way from the bathtub.] Oh, ho. Getting cheeky with me now? You should know better.
[He walks through the bathroom, heels squishing, boots squeaking, with a trail of water growing behind him so bloated and drenched, it would make most men wince.] I want everything, hmn? But for now - [The length of his tail is the last thing that slips out of the tub and as it goes, the barbs of it quietly (secretly) catch the stopper by its chain. One pull, and the woes of hours ago slowly begin disappear. Where? Only Truth knows. And maybe, it's better that way.]
[Greed flicks his tail, expanding the spines at the tip with a metallic twng of steel.] - try living for once. You and that brother of yours have this habit, this stupid fucking idea, that you don't deserve it. So, we're gunna do things my way. [He snidely sucks on a tooth.] See, I can't stand when people deny themselves, Michael. Doesn't sit well with me. There's no point. From now on, you're gunna start living. Really living. That's the deal.
[A heat, like a warm furnace, like an unknown something, reaches up to his throat. It isn't burning like before. No, there's no viciousness to speak of. Quite the opposite, in fact. It's welcoming. Welcoming in that way a fireplace is when the whole world's gone cold, cold, cold. Greed tilts his head and as all the jewels around his neck shift wet against his chest, he shows his teeth to Michael; sharp, slivering, and beckoning all the same.]
But first thing's first - let's get you dried off.
["You don't need me anymore, kid."]
[The Sin spreads his fingers, running them through Michael's hair to tease out any knots.] Yeah, thing is - [His eyes shift, turning back to the angel before him with the tenderness of a viper that means no harm.] - it won't do much good. What's happened happened. Can't really change it, hmn? [He coils his knuckles around a stubborn tangle to slowly unwind it.] Some things are better left unsaid. Secrets, Blue Eyes. Sometimes, they're worth it. But this one? [He puckers his lip with a light hum.] Let's just say it's a whole lot more trouble than ya need, and we'll leave it at that.
Mn. [The former homunculus lets his hand drop out of Michael's hair, wet and slippery.] But this place isn't yours, is it? So, why should you be held to something that never belonged to you in the first place? That's the thing. Nothing's impossible. You might always be in control back where you come from, but here? Well. [His upper lip twitches, leveling between anger and acceptance. And he's already said it, hasn't he? What's happened happened. Three days from now, whoever Michael's killed will be back again. Whether they're angry, bitter, or forgiving is the bigger question.]
[But that's not today. That's not tomorrow. And so, the former homunculus settles on the present.]
[Greed huffs a sound through his nose. Sometimes, he wonders if he got the better part of the bargain. Lucifer and Michael may outlast and outstand him by years, but he managed to get his freedom, didn't he? He was able to leave. Leave, experience, and take as time went on. No duty shackled him and no rules applied. Only the ones he made. The ones he made and continues to do so even here.]
You really are that, aren't you? Pure or whatever. But don't get the wrong idea. [He sinks his hand, wets it, then runs it across another one of Michael's wings, letting the water slip like silk off the cool-black of his skin.] You talk about me caring like it's the same. And I'm here to tell you again that it isn't. It isn't a blessing or a curse, Michael. Sometimes it just is, just as I'm me. Hierarchy, right? Everyone's got this whole idea that greed is just for money and power -
[Dreamily, the Sin traces one of Michael's feathers with his thumb; his touch as delicate as someone admiring a piece, a trinket, unique in design.] - for sex, status, glory. But then, what about wanting to bring someone back from the dead? What about saving someone you love? About getting out of a bad situation? Deny it all you want, but all of that is still greed.
Humans, even your kind, think there's a right and wrong to wanting. There isn't. Not to me. [There are rules, sure. Certain rules only him and him alone will ever know. But desire? Desire doesn't come in black and white, nor does it balance on a scale. No instead, it lives in the comfortable gray; where choice, decision, and the ability for both are all that matter.]
[Greed shimmies his claw through the mangled tufts of a feather, smoothing it straight again.] I can't really say you're wrong about that. Because you're right, it isn't fair. They weren't given the option. So, why should you or any of us hold them to the same standards? [He shifts his weight and the water beneath them sloshes lonely along the edges of the tub.] Everyone wants something, Michael. Things, people, experiences. Maybe, that's the beauty you're looking for. Think about it. Might find out it's not so complicated.
[Once the last of the soap is gone and the water comes back clear, the former homunculus wraps himself around Michael again. It takes some effort (what with the tub as slick as it is and Michael's wingspan practically eating up half the room), but eventually he gets to a stand. And as a flood spews out of them, the Sin guides one of his legs over the side of the tub, forcing it to the floor with a soggy, wet-leather squshh.] Knock that off, that coward talk. You didn't know what you were up against. You had no idea what would happen. Take the lesson instead, Blues. The rest of it doesn't suit ya.
[Oh yeah, he does not give a shit he's addressing Michael that way. He's never given a shit. Authority, high-powers: he'll bite and snap at them all the same.]
[Greed reaches out with a spare hand, grabbing two black towels off a hanger.] Then I guess you're staying here for the night, aren't you? [He asks fully aware and already knowing the answer. Michael can protest all he wants: he's all but made the decision for him.]
[So, with an expression overly exasperated, dramatic, and a bit sarcastic, the Sin tries to drop a towel over Michael's head as he makes his way from the bathtub.] Oh, ho. Getting cheeky with me now? You should know better.
[He walks through the bathroom, heels squishing, boots squeaking, with a trail of water growing behind him so bloated and drenched, it would make most men wince.] I want everything, hmn? But for now - [The length of his tail is the last thing that slips out of the tub and as it goes, the barbs of it quietly (secretly) catch the stopper by its chain. One pull, and the woes of hours ago slowly begin disappear. Where? Only Truth knows. And maybe, it's better that way.]
[Greed flicks his tail, expanding the spines at the tip with a metallic twng of steel.] - try living for once. You and that brother of yours have this habit, this stupid fucking idea, that you don't deserve it. So, we're gunna do things my way. [He snidely sucks on a tooth.] See, I can't stand when people deny themselves, Michael. Doesn't sit well with me. There's no point. From now on, you're gunna start living. Really living. That's the deal.
[A heat, like a warm furnace, like an unknown something, reaches up to his throat. It isn't burning like before. No, there's no viciousness to speak of. Quite the opposite, in fact. It's welcoming. Welcoming in that way a fireplace is when the whole world's gone cold, cold, cold. Greed tilts his head and as all the jewels around his neck shift wet against his chest, he shows his teeth to Michael; sharp, slivering, and beckoning all the same.]
But first thing's first - let's get you dried off.
[Greed's eyebrows hitch up a tick. If he's about to say anything about well, anything, he doesn't. Instead, he looks on, smarmy all the same, as he begins to put together the drink.]
It's not a bad one, if that's what you're worried about. Little less harsh than some of the other stuff I stock. [He flicks cube after cube into the shaker. Dnk, dnk, dnk. He's already noticed the collar, so with a single finger, he touches his own, yanking the metal loop at the front taut with his nail.]
You too, huh? Gotta admit, this place does keep things interesting. [When he drops the metal, it claps back against all the spikes like a church bell reversed.] There's a rumor going around that it makes you follow orders. Heard anything about that yet?
[Because oh, oh, oh, if that's what it really takes? He'll gladly bite the person that feeds him.]
It's not a bad one, if that's what you're worried about. Little less harsh than some of the other stuff I stock. [He flicks cube after cube into the shaker. Dnk, dnk, dnk. He's already noticed the collar, so with a single finger, he touches his own, yanking the metal loop at the front taut with his nail.]
You too, huh? Gotta admit, this place does keep things interesting. [When he drops the metal, it claps back against all the spikes like a church bell reversed.] There's a rumor going around that it makes you follow orders. Heard anything about that yet?
[Because oh, oh, oh, if that's what it really takes? He'll gladly bite the person that feeds him.]
[ Maurice watches Greed work his magic. The bars he went to when he was alive just handed you a beer and that was about it. This is art. It's nice. When Greed calls attention to the collar, Maurice tugs at his own. ]
Oh, no, I hadn't heard about that. T'be honest, you're the only person I've talked to today.
[ Maurice can be a late sleeper at times. ]
I'm glad I came here first.
Oh, no, I hadn't heard about that. T'be honest, you're the only person I've talked to today.
[ Maurice can be a late sleeper at times. ]
I'm glad I came here first.
[ thankfully he is facing forward again, because he makes a face when Greed starts trying to detangle his hair. still, it brings back memories of him doing the same thing for Lucifer, earning a laugh that he cuts short. ]
Yes, you’re entitled to your secrets, forget that I attempted to pry. I just.. I’m not accustomed to this, any of this. I suppose that’s the reason I ask you as many questions I do, because I want to understand.
[ he closes his eyes, unknowingly leaning against those claws like a feline would not a good scratch. once he catches himself, he straightens up and hums to himself, taking the time to gather his thoughts before continuing. ]
Because something Lucifer said has been bothering me, I don’t think there will ever be a time I don’t think about it. God is omniscient, meaning He created and nurtured our gifts only to turn me against my brother because he knew I would obey His Word. If that’s the case, then I have never been in control. If I was a pawn this entire time, then what is my purpose?
It should be reassuring, making my own decisions, but the magnitude of that truth is.. something else. [ ah, he mentally latches onto the question of his purity, though he sounds mildly perplexed. ] I would not be an angel without it, did you think I was otherwise? My views have started to become various shades of gray, but my virtue is intact.
Can you blame me, when the only other representation of Greed I have known is Mammon? I know that it’s unfair to compare the two of you, there is no contest there. But my views have been black and white for so long that I’m having a difficult time adjusting. In time, I know my doubt will fade.
[ Michael’s chin finds the top of his knees again and the wing Greed is fussing with twitches. shortly after, his shoulders sag, the only visible cue that the ministrations are welcome. ] No, I won’t deny it, a want is a want. But when you find you have to remind me often, remember that we — Lucifer and I — were taught that Sins were evil deeds, like telling a child a cautionary bedtime story to keep them from acting recklessly.
You’ve shown me that there is more to it than that, and I am willing to learn. No one can say whether what we learn here returns home with us, but I hope this part does. If I encompass the gray areas into my Judgment, maybe it will not be so devastating to families. Some people sin because it’s unavoidable, it should be taken into consideration.
[ he doesn’t look back at him because he expects to see his usual lazy, shit-eating grin on his face and he is too tired to deal with it. when he speaks up again, his voice is too soft. ] I thought I knew what I wanted in this eternal life, but I’ve found myself with more questions than answers. How do you befriend them, Greed? Knowing that their lifespans are stunted, that they may go to a place that you will never see them again. I suppose what I’m asking is: is the pain of losing them worth the pain of only having them in your life for a short time?
[ he isn’t even speaking solely of their respective homes now. someone he has grown to respect could disappear tomorrow and he would never know their fate. in his own world, he would at least able to say farewell — or they would meet again in Heaven. the variables here are ever-changing, there are no guarantees.
he is learning though, as he doesn’t try to argue with him about his perceived cowardice. ]
If I protest, would you even listen? [ he tests his fingers and toes, finding his limbs are less sore than they were before the bath, something he is more than thankful for. it means he could probably leave and make it back to heaven in one piece, but he only nods lamely when Greed inquires about it.
he goes about patting himself dry with the towel, saving his hair for last. he avoids the injured arm as best he can, thankful to find he hasn’t lost any function in it. without the rest of the grime, a distinct set of bite marks can be found near his shoulder and ending closer to his elbow. the wound is jagged, he likely would have lost the arm had he not been a capable fighter. ]
I haven’t begun to get cheeky, you are simply a difficult man to read. Even with my power, giving you everything isn’t achievable right now. [ look at this little angel doing his homework, he doesn’t say it’s impossible this time. ] But I can, and will, attempt to honor that. Living, I mean.
[ he draws the towel up and starts on his hair, whipping it up into a fashion that screams less heaven’s bulldog and more the family cockatiel. when he looks up at him again, his bangs have flooded his eyes. ]
While you’re drying off, I will clean up the feathers. It’s the least I can do for you helping me.
Yes, you’re entitled to your secrets, forget that I attempted to pry. I just.. I’m not accustomed to this, any of this. I suppose that’s the reason I ask you as many questions I do, because I want to understand.
[ he closes his eyes, unknowingly leaning against those claws like a feline would not a good scratch. once he catches himself, he straightens up and hums to himself, taking the time to gather his thoughts before continuing. ]
Because something Lucifer said has been bothering me, I don’t think there will ever be a time I don’t think about it. God is omniscient, meaning He created and nurtured our gifts only to turn me against my brother because he knew I would obey His Word. If that’s the case, then I have never been in control. If I was a pawn this entire time, then what is my purpose?
It should be reassuring, making my own decisions, but the magnitude of that truth is.. something else. [ ah, he mentally latches onto the question of his purity, though he sounds mildly perplexed. ] I would not be an angel without it, did you think I was otherwise? My views have started to become various shades of gray, but my virtue is intact.
Can you blame me, when the only other representation of Greed I have known is Mammon? I know that it’s unfair to compare the two of you, there is no contest there. But my views have been black and white for so long that I’m having a difficult time adjusting. In time, I know my doubt will fade.
[ Michael’s chin finds the top of his knees again and the wing Greed is fussing with twitches. shortly after, his shoulders sag, the only visible cue that the ministrations are welcome. ] No, I won’t deny it, a want is a want. But when you find you have to remind me often, remember that we — Lucifer and I — were taught that Sins were evil deeds, like telling a child a cautionary bedtime story to keep them from acting recklessly.
You’ve shown me that there is more to it than that, and I am willing to learn. No one can say whether what we learn here returns home with us, but I hope this part does. If I encompass the gray areas into my Judgment, maybe it will not be so devastating to families. Some people sin because it’s unavoidable, it should be taken into consideration.
[ he doesn’t look back at him because he expects to see his usual lazy, shit-eating grin on his face and he is too tired to deal with it. when he speaks up again, his voice is too soft. ] I thought I knew what I wanted in this eternal life, but I’ve found myself with more questions than answers. How do you befriend them, Greed? Knowing that their lifespans are stunted, that they may go to a place that you will never see them again. I suppose what I’m asking is: is the pain of losing them worth the pain of only having them in your life for a short time?
[ he isn’t even speaking solely of their respective homes now. someone he has grown to respect could disappear tomorrow and he would never know their fate. in his own world, he would at least able to say farewell — or they would meet again in Heaven. the variables here are ever-changing, there are no guarantees.
he is learning though, as he doesn’t try to argue with him about his perceived cowardice. ]
If I protest, would you even listen? [ he tests his fingers and toes, finding his limbs are less sore than they were before the bath, something he is more than thankful for. it means he could probably leave and make it back to heaven in one piece, but he only nods lamely when Greed inquires about it.
he goes about patting himself dry with the towel, saving his hair for last. he avoids the injured arm as best he can, thankful to find he hasn’t lost any function in it. without the rest of the grime, a distinct set of bite marks can be found near his shoulder and ending closer to his elbow. the wound is jagged, he likely would have lost the arm had he not been a capable fighter. ]
I haven’t begun to get cheeky, you are simply a difficult man to read. Even with my power, giving you everything isn’t achievable right now. [ look at this little angel doing his homework, he doesn’t say it’s impossible this time. ] But I can, and will, attempt to honor that. Living, I mean.
[ he draws the towel up and starts on his hair, whipping it up into a fashion that screams less heaven’s bulldog and more the family cockatiel. when he looks up at him again, his bangs have flooded his eyes. ]
While you’re drying off, I will clean up the feathers. It’s the least I can do for you helping me.
Edited 2024-10-17 04:31 (UTC)
oi oi slow down there huh ? what did our little king tell hyou exctly?
i can get some of it but the rest is gunna be a bit tricky. i run a bar friend not a pawn shop. just what are you tryin g to make here?
[This is all coming up Automail mechanic for him. And the technology part? Oh, is that beyond him in every sense of the word. Still - ]
all right. i;ll see what i can do. but what are you planning on giving inn exhcnge? oda did tell you right? the name's not just a name friend
i can get some of it but the rest is gunna be a bit tricky. i run a bar friend not a pawn shop. just what are you tryin g to make here?
[This is all coming up Automail mechanic for him. And the technology part? Oh, is that beyond him in every sense of the word. Still - ]
all right. i;ll see what i can do. but what are you planning on giving inn exhcnge? oda did tell you right? the name's not just a name friend
"Little... king?" [She was so confused.]
"I'm trying to make a karaoke machine as a gift for someone, and some robots for me. And I can pay with my hands."
[Wait, what had Belldandy told her to say instead? Oh. Right.]
"I mean I can work for it. Want me to build something for you too? Like an anti-demon machine?"
"I'm trying to make a karaoke machine as a gift for someone, and some robots for me. And I can pay with my hands."
[Wait, what had Belldandy told her to say instead? Oh. Right.]
"I mean I can work for it. Want me to build something for you too? Like an anti-demon machine?"
[He hasn't forgotten who he's talking to. And while he knows Michael can handle it, that it wouldn't break him, there's still that hesitation. That hesitation to guard, to shield away things better left unsaid. So, he goes with the vague. Because he's comfortable with the vague. And as he watches Michael find his footing against the wet tile, the Sin mindlessly toes off his boots.]
Eh, don't worry about it so much, all right? Wouldn't expect ya not to ask. Information's worth a lot, Blue Eyes. Can't really blame you for wanting to know, otherwise I'd be a bit of a hypocrite. [He sheds his boots, making them flop like dead fish on the floor. Greed stretches his long, raptor(ed) toes.] It's not exactly what you went through, but close enough. Purification, I mean. Easier to put a pawn back into the rotation if they never remembered they rebelled in the first place, hmn? Clean slate.
[Michael starts drying his hair, and the Sin reaches up, smothering one of his hands across the top of his head. He shakes his wrist lightly, briskly, to try to shoo away the wet.] That's the thing. Good ol'Pops had a similar idea. But he couldn't plan for everything, hmn? See, he had a purpose for me, Blue Eyes. Just like he did the rest of 'em. We were supposed to help him bring about the Promised Day. But after 100 years, I couldn't live under him, I couldn't take his orders. My greed just wouldn't let me. And you'd think he'd know that, given that he made me. Ha - !
[Greed humorlessly barks out a laugh.] Suppose that's why he wasn't too happy when I told him no. [He lifts his hand away to slide his fingers through his own hair and the smile on his face grows. Grows with all that same, challenging demeanor he's known for. The former homunculus lifts his shoulders and as he grips his shirt, he lazily peels it over his head.] Ah, you're getting there, but you're still asking the wrong question, Blue Eyes.
[The shirt is absolutely drenched and when he tosses it into a corner, it hits the floor like a slap to the face. Another problem for later, apparently. The Sin grabs a new towel, swinging it over his shoulders. He squeezes it by both ends and with a back-and-forth motion, he begins to dry himself off.] I can't say whether or not you were a pawn before, but what I can tell you is that it doesn't matter now. Purpose's got nothing to do with it. So, let's try again.
What do you really want, Michael? [He passes the towel over his head, smearing the spikes of his hair forward. And it's one of those fleeting moments when he doesn't look so poisonous. When his desire isn't so directed, so vile, or so wicked. Any other time, it'd be a stinging sort of thing - like turpentine, burning at the throat. However, here? Here, that need is lighter, softer. Like the very same steam fogging up the glass all around them, it's gentle in an odd sort of way. Still weighty, still demanding, but mindful of its audience.]
[Greed squints his eyes.] And I don't mean things or possessions. I mean, if you could do anything with this afterlife, what would it be? And keep in mind, those rules of yours don't apply. [Is he going to flick an Archangel's ear? Oh, you bet he is. The Sin snaps his finger as he peels away from Michael; his speed, sluggish and comfortable.] Don't have to answer me now. Hell, you don't even have to tell me. But you're gunna have to figure it out one way or another. Otherwise, what's the point, right?
[The former homunculus steps over to the sink and swipes his hand along the mirror. When he sees his reflection, it's muddy at best. Condensation clings along the glass like dew, turning the image of him, of the two of them, to a blur. He lowers his chin, forcing his eyes shut under the pressure of his grin.] Yeah well, Mammon's a piece of shit. And if I'm ever given the opportunity, I'll make sure to show him what real avarice looks like.
[He chances a look in the mirror again to focus on Michael.] Nothing wrong with too much hope there, Feathers. If they do, do me a favor, would ya? Tell your old man he can shove it. [He opens the mirror with a soft, bouncy click. The collection inside is an odd assortment: colognes and perfumes, toothpaste with an accompanying brush that's met a horrible fate, lotions, a bottle of cleaning alcohol. He grabs a couple of odds and ends, wedging them between his fingers.]
We were built to last. Humans weren't. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking for a way to change that. [A flicker of solemness touches his face, only to leave again. Deflection: another Greed the Avaricious specialty.] But maybe we've both got it wrong, huh? Maybe that's just - [He pauses, nails twitching, and his expression fights itself. Because he knows loss, and he knows what happens when a life gets cut too short.]
[The Sin touches his lip with his tongue and shrugs.] - maybe it's just the price of it, Blues. Nothing in this life or the next is free, hmn? Now, this isn't gunna feel great. [Turning, he shows off his collection of bottles, including the alcohol.] And you could do that, but I think we've already made it pretty clear I'm bad at taking orders.
[Greed makes his way back across the bathroom. Had this been under different circumstances, he would find it funny that he has some height on the other man. He keeps his mouth shut this time, though. Well, until Michael chimes in about him being difficult to read. And how could he not?] Am I? [He asks, tilting his head just enough to make the gem in his ear sway.] And here I thought I've been pretty simple.
Even with that power of yours, I don't think you could. I always want more, Michael. Sure, money, power, sex, glory - I get it, but it's - [It's never enough, he fails to say. And that's another skirting of the truth. Because none of that really matters. None of that is worth what he actually has, what he truly wants. And as the former homunculus soaks his claws in alcohol, as he smells the pungent sting of it tickle in his nose, he knows. Knows and realizes this isn't the last time he'll be here.]
[So, he skips over it all. For he will and forever be the creature chasing its own tail.]
[Greed spins the cap back onto the bottle with a free hand, closing it shut.] Good. Because if you don't, I know where you live. I know where both of you live. [He flicks a glance down at Michael. While his mouth still smiles, those eyes of his tell a different story. They're cold. Cold, still, and waiting. Then, the second passes, and whatever's on his mind dies with it.] Might not be thanking me in a second. Feel free to grip on if it hurts too much.
[And with that, he plants his hand against the angry mark along Michael's skin, smearing it with the sterile bite of alcohol.]
Eh, don't worry about it so much, all right? Wouldn't expect ya not to ask. Information's worth a lot, Blue Eyes. Can't really blame you for wanting to know, otherwise I'd be a bit of a hypocrite. [He sheds his boots, making them flop like dead fish on the floor. Greed stretches his long, raptor(ed) toes.] It's not exactly what you went through, but close enough. Purification, I mean. Easier to put a pawn back into the rotation if they never remembered they rebelled in the first place, hmn? Clean slate.
[Michael starts drying his hair, and the Sin reaches up, smothering one of his hands across the top of his head. He shakes his wrist lightly, briskly, to try to shoo away the wet.] That's the thing. Good ol'Pops had a similar idea. But he couldn't plan for everything, hmn? See, he had a purpose for me, Blue Eyes. Just like he did the rest of 'em. We were supposed to help him bring about the Promised Day. But after 100 years, I couldn't live under him, I couldn't take his orders. My greed just wouldn't let me. And you'd think he'd know that, given that he made me. Ha - !
[Greed humorlessly barks out a laugh.] Suppose that's why he wasn't too happy when I told him no. [He lifts his hand away to slide his fingers through his own hair and the smile on his face grows. Grows with all that same, challenging demeanor he's known for. The former homunculus lifts his shoulders and as he grips his shirt, he lazily peels it over his head.] Ah, you're getting there, but you're still asking the wrong question, Blue Eyes.
[The shirt is absolutely drenched and when he tosses it into a corner, it hits the floor like a slap to the face. Another problem for later, apparently. The Sin grabs a new towel, swinging it over his shoulders. He squeezes it by both ends and with a back-and-forth motion, he begins to dry himself off.] I can't say whether or not you were a pawn before, but what I can tell you is that it doesn't matter now. Purpose's got nothing to do with it. So, let's try again.
What do you really want, Michael? [He passes the towel over his head, smearing the spikes of his hair forward. And it's one of those fleeting moments when he doesn't look so poisonous. When his desire isn't so directed, so vile, or so wicked. Any other time, it'd be a stinging sort of thing - like turpentine, burning at the throat. However, here? Here, that need is lighter, softer. Like the very same steam fogging up the glass all around them, it's gentle in an odd sort of way. Still weighty, still demanding, but mindful of its audience.]
[Greed squints his eyes.] And I don't mean things or possessions. I mean, if you could do anything with this afterlife, what would it be? And keep in mind, those rules of yours don't apply. [Is he going to flick an Archangel's ear? Oh, you bet he is. The Sin snaps his finger as he peels away from Michael; his speed, sluggish and comfortable.] Don't have to answer me now. Hell, you don't even have to tell me. But you're gunna have to figure it out one way or another. Otherwise, what's the point, right?
[The former homunculus steps over to the sink and swipes his hand along the mirror. When he sees his reflection, it's muddy at best. Condensation clings along the glass like dew, turning the image of him, of the two of them, to a blur. He lowers his chin, forcing his eyes shut under the pressure of his grin.] Yeah well, Mammon's a piece of shit. And if I'm ever given the opportunity, I'll make sure to show him what real avarice looks like.
[He chances a look in the mirror again to focus on Michael.] Nothing wrong with too much hope there, Feathers. If they do, do me a favor, would ya? Tell your old man he can shove it. [He opens the mirror with a soft, bouncy click. The collection inside is an odd assortment: colognes and perfumes, toothpaste with an accompanying brush that's met a horrible fate, lotions, a bottle of cleaning alcohol. He grabs a couple of odds and ends, wedging them between his fingers.]
We were built to last. Humans weren't. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking for a way to change that. [A flicker of solemness touches his face, only to leave again. Deflection: another Greed the Avaricious specialty.] But maybe we've both got it wrong, huh? Maybe that's just - [He pauses, nails twitching, and his expression fights itself. Because he knows loss, and he knows what happens when a life gets cut too short.]
[The Sin touches his lip with his tongue and shrugs.] - maybe it's just the price of it, Blues. Nothing in this life or the next is free, hmn? Now, this isn't gunna feel great. [Turning, he shows off his collection of bottles, including the alcohol.] And you could do that, but I think we've already made it pretty clear I'm bad at taking orders.
[Greed makes his way back across the bathroom. Had this been under different circumstances, he would find it funny that he has some height on the other man. He keeps his mouth shut this time, though. Well, until Michael chimes in about him being difficult to read. And how could he not?] Am I? [He asks, tilting his head just enough to make the gem in his ear sway.] And here I thought I've been pretty simple.
Even with that power of yours, I don't think you could. I always want more, Michael. Sure, money, power, sex, glory - I get it, but it's - [It's never enough, he fails to say. And that's another skirting of the truth. Because none of that really matters. None of that is worth what he actually has, what he truly wants. And as the former homunculus soaks his claws in alcohol, as he smells the pungent sting of it tickle in his nose, he knows. Knows and realizes this isn't the last time he'll be here.]
[So, he skips over it all. For he will and forever be the creature chasing its own tail.]
[Greed spins the cap back onto the bottle with a free hand, closing it shut.] Good. Because if you don't, I know where you live. I know where both of you live. [He flicks a glance down at Michael. While his mouth still smiles, those eyes of his tell a different story. They're cold. Cold, still, and waiting. Then, the second passes, and whatever's on his mind dies with it.] Might not be thanking me in a second. Feel free to grip on if it hurts too much.
[And with that, he plants his hand against the angry mark along Michael's skin, smearing it with the sterile bite of alcohol.]
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