[Age isn't something he's ever had to worry about. Even in Ryslig, where his usual tricks of the trade have been all but stripped down to the very bone, that much hasn't changed. But Greed's been around a long time; in Amestris, here. The tell-tale signs of burnout are easy enough to pick up on. Even as the tenseness rinses from Ed's shoulders, the former homunculus' eyebrows knit together - throwing lines to his forehead once more.]
[He shouldn't look like that if it all played out right. But he'll get to that later.] Been that long, huh? [Greed says, almost aloft. This close up, some of the fingerprints of his struggle a week before become more noticeable. There's angry rings around his wrist, thick and bulging in scabbed-over scales. Another set peers out from the cuff-neck of his collar, the obvious sign of something hard and metal rubbing against his exposed flesh. It gives the depiction of a choke vice; something to keep him pinned down and out of the way.]
[Greed doesn't mention anything, however.] I've been here a few months now. [September, October. He's never had a need to count the days and he certainly isn't about to start now. The Sin's spine slouches, sending him half-sagging over the pointed jut of his hips.] And that's a good question, but like I've always said -
[His voice simmers in his throat, a new coaxing fire shooting fingers of burnt-orange through the thick, black coating under his chin. They breath with life; with a too-hot heat radiating from deep, deep down. His own proverbial pit.] - there's no such thing as no such thing. Being here is proof of that.
[Still, he watches the Alchemist with a cool expression. Edward Elric has never been a subtle character. Bull-headed and running just as red as his signature color. But now, there's something new. Something different. Something wrong. Greed takes it as a sign and he waves to Stocke, cocking his wrist off with a two finger salute.] Gotta take care of this. Man the bar, hmn? [Whether or not Stocke acknowledges, the Sin has no doubts that the order will be taken care of. The Shade's been nothing short of a right-hand man, an asset worth any trouble.]
[He turns around in a shallow swoop, the angle of his wings following in tow. They open just a tick, shedding plumes of ash that frame in a dreary halo.] Gunna guess you want to do this privately - that right? [Though, the Sin doesn't wait for an answer. Instead, he slithers back into the dark recesses. Moving toward the very same iron-clad staircase from whence he came.]
[It's up to the Alchemist whether or not he cares to follow. But Greed doesn't have many doubts about that either.]
no subject
[He shouldn't look like that if it all played out right. But he'll get to that later.] Been that long, huh? [Greed says, almost aloft. This close up, some of the fingerprints of his struggle a week before become more noticeable. There's angry rings around his wrist, thick and bulging in scabbed-over scales. Another set peers out from the cuff-neck of his collar, the obvious sign of something hard and metal rubbing against his exposed flesh. It gives the depiction of a choke vice; something to keep him pinned down and out of the way.]
[Greed doesn't mention anything, however.] I've been here a few months now. [September, October. He's never had a need to count the days and he certainly isn't about to start now. The Sin's spine slouches, sending him half-sagging over the pointed jut of his hips.] And that's a good question, but like I've always said -
[His voice simmers in his throat, a new coaxing fire shooting fingers of burnt-orange through the thick, black coating under his chin. They breath with life; with a too-hot heat radiating from deep, deep down. His own proverbial pit.] - there's no such thing as no such thing. Being here is proof of that.
[Still, he watches the Alchemist with a cool expression. Edward Elric has never been a subtle character. Bull-headed and running just as red as his signature color. But now, there's something new. Something different. Something wrong. Greed takes it as a sign and he waves to Stocke, cocking his wrist off with a two finger salute.] Gotta take care of this. Man the bar, hmn? [Whether or not Stocke acknowledges, the Sin has no doubts that the order will be taken care of. The Shade's been nothing short of a right-hand man, an asset worth any trouble.]
[He turns around in a shallow swoop, the angle of his wings following in tow. They open just a tick, shedding plumes of ash that frame in a dreary halo.] Gunna guess you want to do this privately - that right? [Though, the Sin doesn't wait for an answer. Instead, he slithers back into the dark recesses. Moving toward the very same iron-clad staircase from whence he came.]
[It's up to the Alchemist whether or not he cares to follow. But Greed doesn't have many doubts about that either.]