[ Greed bleeds through the connection—sensations that feel unmistakably him, wrapping around her with a sense of comfort and security. Not parental, not quite, but something closer to a guardian—sharp claws, sharper teeth, and that familiar, instinctive sense of safety she leans into without hesitation. Like she's been starving for it without ever quite realizing. ]
Don't worry, Greed, I will, but... I don't think we have to worry about her right now. She'll only care once we actually succeed; until then, she'll see all these plans as something cute. [ There is a bitter edge to it. Sleep doesn't see them as a threat, not really. Just small, harmless things playing at something bigger. ]
He'd been the same way. Didn't end up too well for him, either. [He pins something under the toe of his boot (a shred of tumbling paper, the plate off a car that no longer had a use for it), and the Sin's teeth set together. The trap of them more similar to an old cage of rusted iron, snapping vehemently shut.] They're no different, really. The self-righteous sort. Lucky for us, they don't usually see it coming until it's too late.
[Meaning, he has experience in some sense. His Father had been almost an exact parallel. He also thought nothing could touch him, no one could scratch him, and in the end, well.]
[Greed slides his claws down his thighs (wanting, craving, hungry), and a heat burns back on his palms. The start of a fire, eager to ignite.]
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Don't worry, Greed, I will, but... I don't think we have to worry about her right now. She'll only care once we actually succeed; until then, she'll see all these plans as something cute. [ There is a bitter edge to it. Sleep doesn't see them as a threat, not really. Just small, harmless things playing at something bigger. ]
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[Meaning, he has experience in some sense. His Father had been almost an exact parallel. He also thought nothing could touch him, no one could scratch him, and in the end, well.]
[Greed slides his claws down his thighs (wanting, craving, hungry), and a heat burns back on his palms. The start of a fire, eager to ignite.]
Dwarves in their flasks, Shar. They never change.