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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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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