[Lips screw together with a smarmy sort of flavor and his eyebrows dip to match. Smug and confident, though there's something else: as if Sin incarnate can understand the play and Greed tosses his elbows back. Lays them on the flat surface of an elevated desk.]

Seems to me you've got a choice, then. What do you plan to do with it?

[He hooks his ankles outside of the feed, but they bounce with a resounding thud and the Sin's skull lulls back. Allowing a look at those eyes through the dips of his shades and he waits. A drum of one finger follows the other.]

Y'know, you could always just ask. But I think you're smart enough to know that I don't do anything for free.