[The fallout from the Rota incident is still fresh on most minds. As towns start to rebuild and settle back into some sort of normality. Vandare isn't an exception and on the south side, the grim reminders still scorch and scar. In claw marks dragged deep into brick, in soot that cakes in an oily pitch. The 'Nest itself isn't without its own battle bruises - the entrance is completely refitted, one or two windows still need some replacing. One remains broken still, its jagged glass giving a look like gnarled, splintered teeth.]
[Inside, it's still quiet. But it's also business as usual. A few lingering cast a look up at Stocke when the door slides open, the glance quick at first. As if they're waiting for something else, as if history has taught them that an open door is something more to fear. However, that fear subsides - a relief washes in. Stocke's a familiar face around here and that's more than enough to put some an ease.]
[For a moment or two, there's no answer. Only the soft tolling of glasses, the lazy rush of a tap. A smokey film drifts dreamily at the ceiling; as old tobacco and new find themselves interlaced in an intricate pattern of silvery-blue.]
[Then the boiler belches, a fire ignites, and a rolling baritone hisses from above. The staircase out back protests and shakes. Each step hitting sounding off like a gunshot.] Oh-? [Greed's voice hums through, his words tuning in a trill. As he coils and clips down the spiral staircase, the signature swoop of his boots showing before he has a chance to.]
[There are a few that know him - from Dublith, from after. He takes his time, waiting out the seconds in a slow-moving trawl that's entirely him. An easy kind of demeanor that's slippery at best. Both hands are shoved into his pockets once he hits the bottom floor and a wash of wicked color follows him; like a candle burning in the dark, the light spews out across the floor in a sooty haze. Greed lifts his head, showing off his wide-toothed grin.] Word has it there's a few new ones in town - it's not impossible.
[The two sets of horns protruding from his skull have somewhat healed in the aftermath following Rota. The one set on the left side of his forehead is a little smaller than the rest, the new links and chunks fresh - it isn't as blackened as the other three. Greed doesn't pay it much mind, though. Everything aside, they lucked out a bit better than most.]
[He pauses near the side entrance to the bar, his heel snapping back against the wood. In his movement, those shades of his glimmer. The muted-red glow from beneath peels at the frames - causing the color to race across silver and chrome.] So - what do you have for me, hmn?
and the incoming disaster
[Inside, it's still quiet. But it's also business as usual. A few lingering cast a look up at Stocke when the door slides open, the glance quick at first. As if they're waiting for something else, as if history has taught them that an open door is something more to fear. However, that fear subsides - a relief washes in. Stocke's a familiar face around here and that's more than enough to put some an ease.]
[For a moment or two, there's no answer. Only the soft tolling of glasses, the lazy rush of a tap. A smokey film drifts dreamily at the ceiling; as old tobacco and new find themselves interlaced in an intricate pattern of silvery-blue.]
[Then the boiler belches, a fire ignites, and a rolling baritone hisses from above. The staircase out back protests and shakes. Each step hitting sounding off like a gunshot.] Oh-? [Greed's voice hums through, his words tuning in a trill. As he coils and clips down the spiral staircase, the signature swoop of his boots showing before he has a chance to.]
[There are a few that know him - from Dublith, from after. He takes his time, waiting out the seconds in a slow-moving trawl that's entirely him. An easy kind of demeanor that's slippery at best. Both hands are shoved into his pockets once he hits the bottom floor and a wash of wicked color follows him; like a candle burning in the dark, the light spews out across the floor in a sooty haze. Greed lifts his head, showing off his wide-toothed grin.] Word has it there's a few new ones in town - it's not impossible.
[The two sets of horns protruding from his skull have somewhat healed in the aftermath following Rota. The one set on the left side of his forehead is a little smaller than the rest, the new links and chunks fresh - it isn't as blackened as the other three. Greed doesn't pay it much mind, though. Everything aside, they lucked out a bit better than most.]
[He pauses near the side entrance to the bar, his heel snapping back against the wood. In his movement, those shades of his glimmer. The muted-red glow from beneath peels at the frames - causing the color to race across silver and chrome.] So - what do you have for me, hmn?