[A tease of a laugh shies through the sharps of his teeth. Greed adjusts the cube of ice. He presses it between the pins of Michael's feathers and a trickle of cold-tap sweat dribbles down his wrist.] Looks like you did a little more than take them under your wing, Blues. But that's just how you are, huh? That nature of yours - you couldn't let them be even if you wanted to. It's not a bad thing, y'know.
No, but it's not like they had much of a choice. [He trails the sliver of ice up one of the feathers that isn't so worse for wear, flattening the edges of it to a damp, smeared point.] You already know the answer to that. Whether you like it or not, you've got a habit of finding trouble. Starting to wonder if you're doing it on purpose, or if you just have rotten luck. [With a slurred purr trapped at the roof of his mouth, the Sin calmly jerks his wrist. He catches two more feathers on the mercy of his claws; the slice of them clean and careful.]
[This isn't the first time he's had to patch up someone in his bar, after all.]
[The former homunculus drops both feathers on top of the stool. A pile to collect on later.] Ha - ! Just because I'm greedy, doesn't mean I can't wait. Think I've already shown you I can be patient when I have to be, hmn? [The nudge from him, though - it immediately changes his expression. His smile softens, the points of his teeth disappear. However, when the Archangel calls him out and reads him for every inch of his filth, the Sin's upper lip creases. It pulls at the corner of his mouth, exposing a glimpse of his gums; his belligerence nothing more than huff of air. He needles one of his nails at the end of a coiled-charred feather and as the tip of it digs, he plucks it. The motion more similar to a man, yanking out a stubborn, stuck-in hair.]
Oi, oi, oi. Kindness has nothing to do with it. C'mon, you know me better than that. Don't start taking me for something I'm not again. [He pinches three more feathers and with a ginger swipe of his pinkie, he cuts them loose.] A couple of imps have been making a point of causing problems for those upstairs lately. [He dives one of his hands back into the bucket, and the ice shakes back. Chh, chh, chh.] Had to remind them how things work.
[It would be easy to read between the lines: he had a chat. A little conversation to set the record straight. And if more than a couple of egos got bruised in the process? Well.]
[It's not like he didn't warn them, did he?]
[The tip of his tail curls curiously off the floor, and the Sin knuckles a couple of cubes from the chiller.] Oh ho - ! A dragon, huh? Now, that is something - [Against his heat, the ice doesn't stand a chance. Greed gathers a handful in his fingers. He guides his fist up Michael's unfurled wing, drawing a lick of cool water against a cluster of soot.] - and she can just turn into one whenever she wants?
[But the excitement is short lived. Because he knows a thing or two about that doesn't he? About people, about people who aren't, and the defensiveness that comes with being in a cage, physical or otherwise. And maybe it's not the same. Maybe it's different. Still - ]
[Greed sucks at the back of his teeth and his eyes narrow, distant. He numbly flattens his palm over the edge of Michael's wing and as the hooks of his claws hover over each and every feather, he mindlessly rolls his shoulder.] Couldn't say, but it wouldn't be the first time. The ones I knew - ehh, doesn't matter. [He folds over another feather to examine it.]
Kisara. [He repeats as he maps out the tufts with the side of his thumb. They flutter past his nail as slowly as fanning cash; their flit, light and fluttering. The former homunculus pats two of his finger together, teasing at the feather's stiff vein.] You've always been sentimental, Blues. Don't think being here has changed that.
[When he finally gets to the tip, he brushes the underside of his claw against it to comb the down straight. Greed flicks his eyes upward. The tenseness may be gone, but that smolder: it says something else, doesn't it? And sure, he never has to worry about Michael, not really. But that avarice of his, well.]
[It makes the choice for him, doesn't it?]
[The Sin wipes his hand on his thigh, brushing away what little is left of the ice.] Endearment, huh? Dunno, handsome. Guess you've grown on me a bit. [With that, he raises his arm and flicks his fingers to try to sprinkle the Archangel broadside in the face.]
no subject
No, but it's not like they had much of a choice. [He trails the sliver of ice up one of the feathers that isn't so worse for wear, flattening the edges of it to a damp, smeared point.] You already know the answer to that. Whether you like it or not, you've got a habit of finding trouble. Starting to wonder if you're doing it on purpose, or if you just have rotten luck. [With a slurred purr trapped at the roof of his mouth, the Sin calmly jerks his wrist. He catches two more feathers on the mercy of his claws; the slice of them clean and careful.]
[This isn't the first time he's had to patch up someone in his bar, after all.]
[The former homunculus drops both feathers on top of the stool. A pile to collect on later.] Ha - ! Just because I'm greedy, doesn't mean I can't wait. Think I've already shown you I can be patient when I have to be, hmn? [The nudge from him, though - it immediately changes his expression. His smile softens, the points of his teeth disappear. However, when the Archangel calls him out and reads him for every inch of his filth, the Sin's upper lip creases. It pulls at the corner of his mouth, exposing a glimpse of his gums; his belligerence nothing more than huff of air. He needles one of his nails at the end of a coiled-charred feather and as the tip of it digs, he plucks it. The motion more similar to a man, yanking out a stubborn, stuck-in hair.]
Oi, oi, oi. Kindness has nothing to do with it. C'mon, you know me better than that. Don't start taking me for something I'm not again. [He pinches three more feathers and with a ginger swipe of his pinkie, he cuts them loose.] A couple of imps have been making a point of causing problems for those upstairs lately. [He dives one of his hands back into the bucket, and the ice shakes back. Chh, chh, chh.] Had to remind them how things work.
[It would be easy to read between the lines: he had a chat. A little conversation to set the record straight. And if more than a couple of egos got bruised in the process? Well.]
[It's not like he didn't warn them, did he?]
[The tip of his tail curls curiously off the floor, and the Sin knuckles a couple of cubes from the chiller.] Oh ho - ! A dragon, huh? Now, that is something - [Against his heat, the ice doesn't stand a chance. Greed gathers a handful in his fingers. He guides his fist up Michael's unfurled wing, drawing a lick of cool water against a cluster of soot.] - and she can just turn into one whenever she wants?
[But the excitement is short lived. Because he knows a thing or two about that doesn't he? About people, about people who aren't, and the defensiveness that comes with being in a cage, physical or otherwise. And maybe it's not the same. Maybe it's different. Still - ]
[Greed sucks at the back of his teeth and his eyes narrow, distant. He numbly flattens his palm over the edge of Michael's wing and as the hooks of his claws hover over each and every feather, he mindlessly rolls his shoulder.] Couldn't say, but it wouldn't be the first time. The ones I knew - ehh, doesn't matter. [He folds over another feather to examine it.]
Kisara. [He repeats as he maps out the tufts with the side of his thumb. They flutter past his nail as slowly as fanning cash; their flit, light and fluttering. The former homunculus pats two of his finger together, teasing at the feather's stiff vein.] You've always been sentimental, Blues. Don't think being here has changed that.
[When he finally gets to the tip, he brushes the underside of his claw against it to comb the down straight. Greed flicks his eyes upward. The tenseness may be gone, but that smolder: it says something else, doesn't it? And sure, he never has to worry about Michael, not really. But that avarice of his, well.]
[It makes the choice for him, doesn't it?]
[The Sin wipes his hand on his thigh, brushing away what little is left of the ice.] Endearment, huh? Dunno, handsome. Guess you've grown on me a bit. [With that, he raises his arm and flicks his fingers to try to sprinkle the Archangel broadside in the face.]