nestingdevil | ➥ PSL | devil in the suburbs

➥ PSL | devil in the suburbs

It sat between two worlds; between the bustle of the city and the normalcy of an American suburb. A den basked in a devilish red glow - a beacon for everything and anything that crawled out of the proverbial 'Pit. A place washed out in wicked lights that seemed to draw them in like a moth to flame. Creatures from the dark, slipping from the winding road to enter those double doors.

The Devil's Nest.

Because the name said it all - there was no reason to hide there, no reason to put on airs, to tow that line between humanity and the opposite. No - all fangs were out, clicking against cheer-battered glasses and open with laughter. Stained with stale smoke and the after-dark criminals had their fill. All under the watchful eyes of a creature that shouldn't have been there.

That shouldn't have existed in the first place.

But there he was; smooth clad, tossing out drink after drink to the tune of dished out cash. To the tune of coin flipped onto the bar top and he thanked them with a wide grin. With teeth to set even the most-hardened of them back. Because he wasn't like the rest; didn't flinch at the sight of a stake, didn't hiss at the show of a cross. Instead, it was always that smile. That terrible set of jaws that made whispers: "He's not from here."

And they was right. The cruel hard truth, though the monster in question had no need to hide the fact. Merely laughed, spiraled his hand out and raked them in with a crude-cut hum. A sultry sort of noise that seemed to coil from his gut rather than his throat. That seemed to churn from within that horrible core of his.

Yet, they still came. If not just to see what the devil was offering.

Greed huffed through his nostrils, body bent over the battered top of a wood bar. Marks dotting the surface, a history written without words. Scratches that belonged to a more sinister lot and fingers traced the lines as he spoke. Shoulders and spine sinking forward as empty-socket shades swallowed his would-be customer. Reflected them back as a dare.

"Straight to the point, huh?" The homunculus spoke with a tongue at his teeth, a touch of flesh against those points and he made no hide of his nature. Desire and want poured into each click of his would-be daggers, every twitch of his eyebrow, and he rolled his hips against the back-face of his bar. Yet, the stranger in question watched right back; frightful yellow eyes matching that dare, but fangs bit against a lip. The edge of fear practically deafening.

"Not exactly human, friend," he started, even as the tip of his finger ran against the side of his company's drink. Touched the left-over dregs of liquor there, caught it against the skin. "-homunculus. Ever heard of it?"

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"I'm not one to dance around the subject." His finger goes up for another glass, even though he'd rather just take the entire bottle for himself so he wouldn't have to stop to ask for a damn drink every time he finished one. And for a Saiyan, it took a lot and it wasn't all too clear if a single bar could hold enough liquor to satisfy his needs. Living on Earth gave him some bad habits, starting with a cold one after a work out occasionally. But, he did put a lid on how much Jack slid down his throat from time to time.

Not a good person to make angry when intoxicated, you see. Things tended to break.

"The name might of been crossed by me before. Seems how you're the only one I know that fits the bill."

Edited (my english sucks?) 2013-07-16 21:08 (UTC)

"That would not be true, Vegeta." Keats made his entrance by slapping his hand on top of the surface just by the glass was before he took his seat next to the Saiyan. "A homunculus is known originally as 'little man.' The thought of being an incomplete human, that is missing something that makes them such. Usually in the forms of -- " He cleared his throat to give indication on what was meant to be missing.

"Which our esteemed host and employer does not have. He does not actually fit the bill since he is neither small nor malformed. I suppose the only thing that makes him such is that he is man-made, which homunculus are supposed to be." As he spoke, he reached to grab onto his tie to tug on it -- shaking the offending accessory before finally let it go. "What one should be aware of is that words change their meaning throughout time, however. So what I know the word to mean will not be what you or he does.

That is the beauty of us being here now. The words which we know mean what we do not expect." Upon this final statement, he reached to adjust his glasses. The lenses caught a light to bring a shimmer across both. He just couldn't resist having brought up what he knew about the subject, and interrupt the conversation that the two were having. "So, you may very well not need to apologize to him."

Another slap on top of the table. "But what must be said is that we should always strive to seek out what is fearful and make it less so, because fear hinders knowledge. And without knowledge, we are but fireflies in the night. Brief moments of brilliance before swallowed up by the darkness of ignorance and stupidity."

The familiar voice of the reporter caused him to turn and glare over his shoulder, the flash of Keats's circular glasses not mistaken for anyone else as he took a seat next to him. "If I wanted a vocabulary lesson I would have asked for it. And I'm certainly not going to apologize for categorizing him by his own species. If he wants to call himself a homunculus then that's his business. If you've got a better name for it then why don't you spit it out and quit it with the encyclopedic explanations."

His next drink arrives and he downs it in seconds. "I'm going to need something far stronger than this," he calls to the bartender. If he's got to deal with Keats he might want a few more than what he'd originally intended.

His arms opened up with his palms up toward the air in a dramatic shrug. He set his elbows on the counter to rest his chin on his hands. "There is no name for it, unfortunately. The supernatural is always named by others. It is rare that the supernatural actual has a name for themselves. Do you not find that interesting? I do."

His head tilted slightly on his knuckles to look to the one who was serving the drinks. "I'm all right with water." He just wasn't quite in the mood to drink, not yet. It was best to have this sort of discussion -- or that was what he called it -- as he was. "But that would be how it always is. We are named by others rather than we name ourselves. Our name is given to us by someone else, and what we are is told to us, as well. You are Saiyan. But it is only after that we become something unnamed by who we are versus what."

An eyeroll is earned from the Prince; he doesn't think Keats even knows what he's talking about, how could he, for all Vegeta knows Keats has never been dead before. How would he know anything about the supernatural or the Other World and what happens to those who have died. "I still don't understand how you think you know so much about the afterlife. Why don't we just have a seance right here and you can show us where all this information comes from, Keats." The shot glass is slid across to him, which he catches and slams down his throat in irritation. He shoots a glare to the bartender, indicating that he'll need more if he were to survive talking to his companion next to him.

"Quite frankly I don't care what anything is called or if it even has a name."

"Seance?" He sat a little back in his chair and gave Vegeta an incredulous look. "Those things don't work." Such things couldn't work -- not in a place that wasn't a land meant to conduct those sort of chats with the Dead. He leaned forward once more to rest his chin down once more as a dark thought crossed his mind. And, it isn't even the Dead that one is talking to. Just a memory. The actual soul, well... His shoulders lifted just a little before dropping, and it could have been just as much as a twitch than anything else.

"And we find out that Vegeta is a firefly."

Sweat clung to tossed out glasses; rolled with the languid delay of the weather, as if the humidity itself were effecting it. Long stretches against smooth surfaces of well-worn glassware and Greed slid the pad of an index against an offending bead. Caught it there and examined it even as the two chatted on.

And he couldn't help his grin; that push of his lips to spread it open wide and it was a terrible creature smiling back. Razor points linked together - cut sharp for a different purpose.

But he had no need to use them.

The Sin rolled his shoulders back, let the stiffness sag off into nothing as he wiped his wet hand on the side of his thigh. Over the low-simmer of the mid-evening bustle, he could hear the jukebox playing; could hear the low roll of a guitar as a soft cushion to his ~~possessions~~ employees' usual banter. The quick-edged cracks of Keats' words were smooth and calculated; every move seemingly planned in advance, a man with white and black held poised in his fingers.

Then there was his counterpart - hot headed, boiling even without the need for a match. Spit-fire and a right pissant to name. Greed's eyebrows dipped below his shades as he watched the exchanged.

And he couldn't help his almost-affectionate smile.

"Tsk," Greed flung out a finger, gesturing it back and forth. "There's no such thing as no such thing, remember?" To punctuate his statement, the Sin spiraled out his fingers one by one and motioned to knock two of them against the side of his temple. Shot them off to the side with a quick jerk of his wrist before canting his head to the motion of a lifting shoulder.

"And you'd be right - not exactly that definition, anyway." A lazy drop of the arm to make the bones crack and the Sin was saddling up one heel against the other ankle, body and stomach dropping to threaten the spine. "Artificial through and through, but that description's a little off."

But he shrugged. Sent the fur of his vest around his throat and his eyebrows sunk, twisting to follow his shades. "While I'm all for whatever the hell you want to do, we've got a bit of business, hmn?" Hooking a finger into an emptied glass and Greed let that second-skin shiver. Sharpened his nail into a crooked talon that etched and threatened the inside curve of the glass.

"Unless you two have something better in mind."

Vegeta shoots a hard glare at Keats, which also results in a backhand aimed right at the reporter's stomach. A light tap by Saiyan standards, but probably more than that to anyone else. "Perhaps you should stop while you're ahead." Shifting on the bar stool, the Saiyan shows no temperance when the next two glasses are slid down the wooden bar, sparkling liquid finding a quick end to his otherwise black hole of a stomach.

And he will probably be drinking like this until he can finally get a moment of sanity away from the never-ending flow of sass directed at him from the man sitting next to him.

A heavy elbow leans over onto the bar as Greed spoke, eyes hardened as they always were with an unwavering intensity. "So why did you decide to pack up and move everything here anyway? There was absolutely nothing wrong with the last city, unless you found some kind of new cesspool growing over here or something else that you're just not telling us about." Who knew with Greed. He always said he wanted it all. He wonders if there was some kind of artifact or something really of worth that made it worth the time to come here.

Keats let out a grunt before he hit hard on the counter. His arm shot out to catch himself on the other chair to keep from falling off of the stool whilst still leaning over it in pain. It wasn't like he was in the Netherworld. Those sort of hits actually took a bit out of him. He rubbed his side before he slowly drew himself back into his sitting position.

"Violence is the sign of a losing argument." He choked out as he continued to massage his side. The wind definitely had been knocked out of him and he lifted his other hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, as though that would help with the shooting pain. Quit while I'm ahead? Not likely, but thanks for the suggestion.

"I'm all for business." He kept his hand pressed on his side as his other once more went to support his chin. "It's not like I have much luck in carrying on a discussion at the moment." Funny how it was that even though he was coughing out those words that he still continued to speak at all. Like he would allow a little thing like that hit to actually end with his words stopping. That'd be like admitting defeat, which he rarely if ever did. Something that the three seemed to have in common.

"Well, you know what they say, variety is the spice of life."

There was a sudden stillness to that hooked finger; bones and muscle coming to a halt and it was as if all the gears had finally stopped turning. An eerie sort of stillness that only broke with the slow-pull of his gently-smiling jaws.

Because the two of them? Understood. Different faces with different names, but it harked on the same: an unspoken sort of loyalty. And while maybe it came with a quip or two, it was an ol'familiar tune to make the devil show off a spit-fire smile. He withdrew his finger slowly, dangerous-tip sketching at the inside of the glass as he rolled away from the bar top.

"Not exactly," he started, voice smooth. A low roll to send him sinking into himself and the homunculus moved on a heel. Kicked out to the cut air and he tapped it once, twice to the floor. "And while I had no issue at our previous residence, things were getting a little out of hand, hmn?"

Not that that was any issue for him, but his ~~possessions~~ employees in question? He had played the game before; rolled those dice and ended up with nothing. A repeat wasn't a favorable outcome.

Besides, there was a whole world out there just for the taking.

Still: "Eh-," he started, body moving with that heel to toe motion to sound off his heels like gunshots. "-it's a small job, but I think the two of you can handle it." A pause outside the frame of the bar and Greed tilted his head back. Showed off his throat and slowly ran those too-sharp talons down his skin.

"Unless, of course, you'd rather spend your time here being a pissant, friend."

Heavy shoulders shrug; a job was a job, and in a world where nothing was just handed to him, where even he couldn't go around taking what he wanted without frightening repercussions, he didn't exactly have a choice to sit back and tell Greed to go fuck himself. Not that he wanted to anymore, they'd been in some tight spots and the man had more than proven himself to the Saiyan. Working for him? It wasn't that bad, he's had worse- and he'd rather be working for a man who took care of his employees rather than a man who'd destroy them all at a glance. A much more favorable position.

Keats's remarks are only met with a sly smile- had he not been coughing from having the wind knocked out of him, he might of been a little more perturbed, but he'll revel in the pain his companion was feeling. "Try to talk all you want Keats, but without air in those lungs of yours you aren't going to be winning any arguments," he says as he chuckles to himself.

Eyes are laid back on Greed, questioning and subtly holding an excitement that hid behind the eyes of everyone of his race. "Why don't you go ahead and tell us what the job is then. I'm interested to know." The prospect of getting into another battle clawed at him, he'd been yearning to get a little frustration out and this might just be the way to do it. He could only hope it involved getting his hands a little dirty.

Holding onto his glasses with his middle finger and thumb, he carefully slid them off of his face. Keats continued to feel a harsh pain in his chest, but it was already fading. The joys of being a Half-Life, even though his form was more or less human. He tugged his tails up to wipe the lenses as he nodded absent-mindedly at what was being said, before lifting the glasses up once more to check to see just how dirty they were. Turning them over in his hand, he was content that they should now allow him to see fine and slid them once more up onto his face.

His free hand came to rest over his chest as he took a few experimental breaths. Yes, it seemed like it was over and finally started to speak once more, "That is one way of putting it. Things were going to get worse before they were going to get better." But by the tone that he had, it seemed like Keats would have liked to find out exactly how bad things would get and if he could indeed do anything to stop it from getting worse. He scratched the side of his neck after these words, like he was not worried.

"Anyway, I'm excited to know where it is that we're going. I hope that it will be one where we can have a picnic together. That should help us to get along all well and good, like real coworkers." He leaned a little toward Vegeta to smile wide at him, before returning to his original position -- shoulders slumped and leaning over the bar counter.

Palms rolled on the edge of his hips to make fingers fan out. Snap out with a the delayed reaction before they found their usual resting spots; thumbs through the loops of his slacks, finger sunk deep into pockets and the creature let a sharped-tooth grin spread across his face. Teeth locked into a row, eyes sunk shut behind his shades.

Because if there was something he admired most of all, it was attentive employees.

Greed tossed his head back. Let it lull and roll across that expansion of fur at the base-line of his neck. "Oi, oi, oi," he spoke, his tone low. A gyrating sort of noise that sloshed like that of a heavy tide. "-mind taking over for a while, lovely? We have a little work on the other side of town."

A nameless woman in question gently pushed a chair out from its nestled-in corner of a table. Shoulders thin and bare, she merely shrugged them. "Do I have any other choice?" Pale-blond hair cut into a descending ankle and she puckered ice-smeared lips. But she placed hands to her knees despite the mild protest, lifting away from her poker game gone stale. "You really are a selfish sort of bastard."

Which caused the Sin in question to bark. A snap over his spine, shoulder rising to shrug off the insult. "Never said I wasn't."

And that was just it - he never offered an accuse. Never lied or cheated the ones he considered his. And as he motioned his way out from behind his would-be perch, Greed offered a side-glance to the two in question. "Where we're going, huh?" A peer out to the door frame, to the shallow lights that barely coated the parking lot in the mid-evening dark.

He took one step forward and tapped his foot against the floor.

"Los Angeles - or something like that," he started, hand tossing out as he casually waved at the coming dark. "-there's something there I'm a little interested in."

A glare is shot back over at Keats, really, a picnic, honestly. He knows perfectly well that the reporter was trying to get his goat, making him groan quietly at the prospect of having to put up with him any longer than he had to. Keats was Keats; the sass never changed and the banter never ended. He didn't choose his coworker but he was stuck with him and that was that.

He slides off the barstool, hands finding his jacket pockets once more, mentally preparing himself for the task at hand. They were going to travel and that meant more close contact with a certain unwanted reporter. "Los Angeles, huh. Never heard of it. Either way, it doesn't matter; we'll be in and out of there if I've got any say about it. When do we leave." He hopes it would be exciting. Maybe he could leave Keats in a ditch while they were there, and get rid of one more problem on his hands. Though, he's sure Greed would never let that fly; but a Saiyan can dream.

"Los Angeles. City of Angels. Not literally, of course." Keats began as he, too, slid off of his stool. His shoulders remained slumped as he hunched himself over rather than straighten out his posture as he walked after. "It's in the States. I have been there once or twice.

"Dealing with hauntings and other supernatural sightings. They do seem to have a fondness for Big Foot, but it seems like this craze has died down over the years. I suppose with the expansion of cities and the like ... people realize just how impossible it is for such impossible creatures to remain hidden." He lifted his hand, fingers together and pointed toward the sky, as he waved it side to side as though he were trying to bat away a few pesky flies.

The Half-Life had to admit that his dealings may very well have been in the real world and he made his way back to his own Netherworld without realizing, or it may have been that these memories were fabricated. Still, the tone which he spoke about the idea that humanity was starting to no longer believe in the unknowable was surprisingly sad. It meant that the Netherworlds and consequentially his own existence may very well end up fading away -- swallowed up by Nothing, Guardian or no. Really wish that I hadn't learned what I was. Not sure if it would have saved me or not, but still.

"Still, sounds like great fun. Do we get to bring carry-on luggage, or is Vegeta going to have to sit in the back of the plane with all the animals?"

"Bingo."

Because there was unfinished business; dregs left behind with Rapture's untimely demise and it had left him with the same old tune. The desire for more was like a thirst unquenched.

And for avarice-incarnate, he had his eyes set on a right prize.

Still, he smiled. Sickeningly sweet and appreciative all the same. They were his; time and the walls that hid them made no exception to the fact. Loyalty still held bare and the Sin arched his shoulders. "I never did get what I wanted out of that little pissant from before."

It was a subconscious action. The writhing core in him striking to the tune of his nature and it made fingers dig into the wood frame of the exit. Etched nails there to make shoulders sag. To display a demeanor of laziness that was an entire farce and Greed tongued his teeth. Slid flesh against sharp points at the mere thought of it.

Because Rapture had given him a thousand promises; a thousand crowns to kingdoms wide open and it only made him hunger for it.

For everything this world and the next had to offer.

But he shrugged off the coming fever. Slowly peeled open his jaws as eyebrows coiled up above his shades.

"No - not interested in that. Found something a little easier to deal with, considering that our pissant of a friend has a good knack of causing a bit of a scene," a little jab at Vegeta's good graces and Greed pulled himself away from the frame. Yanked himself heel-over-heel up the rickety set of stairs.

"That is, assuming one of you doesn't mind driving."

"Shut up Keats. Keep that up and you'll be the one feebly hanging onto the wing of the plane after I've thrown you out the nearest window." A threat that isn't so far-fetched with a man of his demeanor and temper. Either way, it didn't matter; they'd have plenty of time for quips and death threats along the way. As it always was.

Shrugging, he lets Greed's remark slide off his back as he holds up his hand, two fingers raised to indicate a willing volunteer. If they were going to be driving anywhere, he'd prefer to be the one to do it. Not trusting anyone else to keep them from getting in an accident. "You're in luck. I just so happen to be versed with vehicles. But it figures the two of you would slow me up; I'm certainly not going to carry the lot of you there. The reporter here might just be enough to break my back. An impressive feat to injure a Saiyan with their mere weight alone."

"That might actually kill me." His hand settled over his chest, fingers spread, as a pose of how much he was wounded that Vegeta would actually think of doing such a thing. He dropped his hand after to tuck it into his pocket as he followed after. "'Course, that'd just cause the pressure to be lost in the rest of the plane. Not sure how I feel about that."

Keats took the time to tip his head up to stare at the sky, squinting at some far off object. He wasn't really sure that he could drive -- while he had memories of driving, he can't say that they actually happened given what he was, and so he was a little relieved that Vegeta decided to take the lead in this one. Though, his head snapped around (and then, downward) to look at the man.

"Are you call me fat?"

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➥ PSL | devil in the suburbs

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TONY I GUESS JUMP IN WHEN YOU HAVE THE CHANCE LOL

/holds tony

we love you tony come to us omg

we really do love you

love you more SORRY ABOUT THE DELAY

LOVE YOU MOST, and imma make shit up so here i go making shit up hope it's ok

THE MOSTEST LOVE.

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