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[All the while, the Sin tilts into the touch. It isn't something intimate (least not the kind he's familiar with), but the jaguar part of him: it likes it. The feeling of Maurice's nails on his scalp, the sensation of his fingers burying themselves deep in his fur. Greed lets a deep, barrel-bottom chuff flare in his nose; the pitch of it echoing like a bass, thrumming in his chest.]
[When Maurice pulls away, the former homunculus rolls his head, causing one or two of his bones to crack.] Hmn? [He shakes himself out of his momentary stupor as he slowly straightens his back.]
Yeah, like a job. [He turns up the corner of his lip.] And it wouldn't be much. Mostly making sure we have enough stock when we open. That, and taking care of the occasional drop off. [Greed rubs the back of his neck. It may not have been his intent, but the way Maurice had stroked him: it leaves the bristles of his coat standing on end. The look of them more similar to the aftermath of a well-placed, statically charged balloon.]
[He flattens the fur under his palm, gliding it down smooth and slick.] Think about it. [The Sin taps the napkin twice with the tip of his nail. Tck, tck.] Doesn't have to be now. But consider it, would ya?
Got some things to do, but in the meantime, feel free to stick around. [The former homunculus gradually pulls away from the counter. Being as tall as he is now, he shuffles a bit on the balls of his feet, narrowly avoiding the prep station behind him the process. Eventually though (and with a little more effort than usual), he makes his way down the line of the bar. And with one hand raised high, the Sin flicks his wrist; his sendoff, quick and casual.]
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I LOST THIS ... feel free to ignore
[When Maurice pulls away, the former homunculus rolls his head, causing one or two of his bones to crack.] Hmn? [He shakes himself out of his momentary stupor as he slowly straightens his back.]
Yeah, like a job. [He turns up the corner of his lip.] And it wouldn't be much. Mostly making sure we have enough stock when we open. That, and taking care of the occasional drop off. [Greed rubs the back of his neck. It may not have been his intent, but the way Maurice had stroked him: it leaves the bristles of his coat standing on end. The look of them more similar to the aftermath of a well-placed, statically charged balloon.]
[He flattens the fur under his palm, gliding it down smooth and slick.] Think about it. [The Sin taps the napkin twice with the tip of his nail. Tck, tck.] Doesn't have to be now. But consider it, would ya?
Got some things to do, but in the meantime, feel free to stick around. [The former homunculus gradually pulls away from the counter. Being as tall as he is now, he shuffles a bit on the balls of his feet, narrowly avoiding the prep station behind him the process. Eventually though (and with a little more effort than usual), he makes his way down the line of the bar. And with one hand raised high, the Sin flicks his wrist; his sendoff, quick and casual.]
Enjoy the drink, 'Rice.