"Welcome to HT&T answering service. Unfortunately, the asshole you're trying to reach hasn't set up shit. Leave your name (or don't), your number, and whatever the Hell (ha ha!) message you want. We don't get paid enough for this."
Beep.
➥ Text | ➥ Message | ➥ Video | ➥ Action | ➥ Redial
[ He doesn’t reply back but, true to his word, he is walking into the basement less than ten minutes later, carefully descending to search for him. ]
It was far from a stupid question, by the way. It was my attempt to figure out what I could get you to thank you for helping me. Now you’ll simply have to settle for what is in this bag.
[ Which he waggles noisily to lure him out of whatever corner he is hiding in. Inside of it? An assortment of bath bombs which, after last month, he knows he enjoys. As if he was going to find himself in a strange bathroom and not survey it.
When Greed does emerge, he’ll find that Michael did opt to forego the suit in favor of something a bit more comfortable and casual, with his sleeves hiked up. Greed is right, best not to bloody up one of his suits. ]
[While he doesn't answer, by the way the door to the basement waits open and wide, it's all too clear where he is. Without a crowd to drown them out, a few of the bulbs down below hum in the quiet; their sound a white noise, electrified and dim. The basement itself isn't exactly bright. Between the grit-speckled lights and sprawling halls, it stands like a maze of sorts. A maze of dark corners, darker shadows, and endless turns that seem to go on forever in a maddening loop.]
[And of course, there's stuff: barrels of liquor, crates with only God-knows-what inside, cash, junk, what may have once been a grandfather clock, now stripped bare. A single rat scampers when Michael makes his way down, its whiskers twitching worriedly.]
[Finally though, the Sin chimes in and when he speaks, his voice shudders. A low, raspy note:] Where else would I be? [He asks, dragging himself out from one of the backrooms. With his claws wrapped around the doorframe, he slips from the gloom and the red of his eyes shrinks away.] And it's still a stupid question. I want everything, Michael. Haven't we gone through this already?
[He lightly touches his lips together, smarmy and cool. From the look of things, he's been busy doing something. His vest is missing, a thin smear of oil touches along his cheek. Greed tilts his head and as he turns his attention on Michael, he thumbs his chin.] Thanking me? For what? Don't think what I'm about to do to you is something you typically thank someone for.
[Still, he plucks up the bag by the handle and the tips of his claws sink through the paper.] After. [He slurs, showing off a sliver of teeth.] You can decide on whether or not to thank me then. Just don't take it personally. It was you who asked for it, after all. [The length of his tail swipes behind him, throwing up a cloud of rich, char-thick soot. Greed leads on ahead and as he moves down the hall, he elbows a switch, causing the lights up above to shiver; their brightness masked in a milky, hazy film.]
[Without an event to be had, the room for Fight Night is a little less cluttered than usual. The chairs that would normally circle around the cage have been stacked against a far wall, leaving most of the floor empty. Greed sets the bag down near a corner. He settles the side of his boot against it, urging it up along the concrete wall with a gentle shove.] So, one punch? That's it, and you get that sword of yours back? [The question comes with a roll of his neck and as his bones pop, the former homunculus languidly runs the butt of his palm against the back of his head.]
Suppose it's not a bad deal, but it still seems like a whole lotta trouble. [While his arm drops back to his side, his 'Shield rises. Up, up, up his arms, it goes; its shine of carbon glinting like black ice. Greed turns on his heel and as two of his hands find his hips, he pats his foot against the ground.]
So, should we do it here, or would you rather we make this official?
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no subject
ha ! this place is really making you work for it huh? fine then. but skip the suit this time. think you can manage that?
i;ll be in the basement. just let yourself in
action—
[ He doesn’t reply back but, true to his word, he is walking into the basement less than ten minutes later, carefully descending to search for him. ]
It was far from a stupid question, by the way. It was my attempt to figure out what I could get you to thank you for helping me. Now you’ll simply have to settle for what is in this bag.
[ Which he waggles noisily to lure him out of whatever corner he is hiding in. Inside of it? An assortment of bath bombs which, after last month, he knows he enjoys. As if he was going to find himself in a strange bathroom and not survey it.
When Greed does emerge, he’ll find that Michael did opt to forego the suit in favor of something a bit more comfortable and casual, with his sleeves hiked up. Greed is right, best not to bloody up one of his suits. ]
Thank you for humoring me.
no subject
[And of course, there's stuff: barrels of liquor, crates with only God-knows-what inside, cash, junk, what may have once been a grandfather clock, now stripped bare. A single rat scampers when Michael makes his way down, its whiskers twitching worriedly.]
[Finally though, the Sin chimes in and when he speaks, his voice shudders. A low, raspy note:] Where else would I be? [He asks, dragging himself out from one of the backrooms. With his claws wrapped around the doorframe, he slips from the gloom and the red of his eyes shrinks away.] And it's still a stupid question. I want everything, Michael. Haven't we gone through this already?
[He lightly touches his lips together, smarmy and cool. From the look of things, he's been busy doing something. His vest is missing, a thin smear of oil touches along his cheek. Greed tilts his head and as he turns his attention on Michael, he thumbs his chin.] Thanking me? For what? Don't think what I'm about to do to you is something you typically thank someone for.
[Still, he plucks up the bag by the handle and the tips of his claws sink through the paper.] After. [He slurs, showing off a sliver of teeth.] You can decide on whether or not to thank me then. Just don't take it personally. It was you who asked for it, after all. [The length of his tail swipes behind him, throwing up a cloud of rich, char-thick soot. Greed leads on ahead and as he moves down the hall, he elbows a switch, causing the lights up above to shiver; their brightness masked in a milky, hazy film.]
[Without an event to be had, the room for Fight Night is a little less cluttered than usual. The chairs that would normally circle around the cage have been stacked against a far wall, leaving most of the floor empty. Greed sets the bag down near a corner. He settles the side of his boot against it, urging it up along the concrete wall with a gentle shove.] So, one punch? That's it, and you get that sword of yours back? [The question comes with a roll of his neck and as his bones pop, the former homunculus languidly runs the butt of his palm against the back of his head.]
Suppose it's not a bad deal, but it still seems like a whole lotta trouble. [While his arm drops back to his side, his 'Shield rises. Up, up, up his arms, it goes; its shine of carbon glinting like black ice. Greed turns on his heel and as two of his hands find his hips, he pats his foot against the ground.]
So, should we do it here, or would you rather we make this official?