Two years, huh? [And still, not exactly the answer he had been looking for. Another change of a detail: it had been the middle of the day when everything had gone south. When he had made a decision - the first and only lie he ever told in his two hundred years of living. The last curtain call. Greed takes the spiral stairs in a slow stride, the tip of his tail banging softly against the cast-iron rods. The structure is shaky at best; each step quaking with small clumps of dust that float up. Like disturbed moths at the cusp of dawn.]
[No, what Ed has to say points in a different direction. One he's had the misfortune of meeting before: something else, a story not quite right. It doesn't show on his face, not at first - that stead-fast smile gleaming with a sulfur expression. Yellows and reds hum against the backside of his teeth, giving his wicked set a sheen.]
[When he reaches the second floor, it's obvious they still aren't alone. Doors line the corridor and while most of them are shut from intrusion, some are open still. Spilling slivers of milky light out in jagged, sharp cuts. Some occupants flick a glance as they pass, an obvious ease taking their shoulders when they see the demon in question.] Not really much different than before - some things really don't change.
[It's the end of the hallway where Greed stops. The door there is singed, the framed blackened despite some obviously-new handy work. There's more locks bolted across the wood this time around, their fresh copper glowing against Greed's radiating heat. He flips a few with his knuckle rather casually, only pausing when he finally reaches the doorknob. The Sin's slick-black hand disappears into a pocket and something jingles heavily inside. A moment later produces a ring of keys and they hang loosely from a curve of a claw.] No, I'm sure you've got a lot on your mind. But first thing's first -
[One key slides into the lock and Greed twists his wrist. Angry flakes of skin peel away in the haphazard jerk, causing old scabs to open just a tad. The Sin ignores them, however. His attentions far more concerned with present company.]
[And how much he knows, how much is different.]
[The room in question doesn't leave much to the imagination and it's all too clear that he's had company recently. Who or what has been there, that's harder to tell. Fresh claw marks hover over the head of the bed, the wallpaper peeled back and flapping. The furnace lodged into a corner huffs upon is arrival; causing the fire inside to plume and spit against the barred-mouth grate. Greed slips in, leaving the door open for the Alchemist to follow.]
[A fresh tumbler of scotch rests open on a nightstand, its glass stopper resting horizontally beside. Half the contents are gone by now and Greed's fingers wrap around the neck of it. Making the tips of his talons shiver across the surface, tuning it to a hum. He's not about to waste time - he's never been the sort.]
What do you remember, exactly? [And it's straight to business.]
no subject
[No, what Ed has to say points in a different direction. One he's had the misfortune of meeting before: something else, a story not quite right. It doesn't show on his face, not at first - that stead-fast smile gleaming with a sulfur expression. Yellows and reds hum against the backside of his teeth, giving his wicked set a sheen.]
[When he reaches the second floor, it's obvious they still aren't alone. Doors line the corridor and while most of them are shut from intrusion, some are open still. Spilling slivers of milky light out in jagged, sharp cuts. Some occupants flick a glance as they pass, an obvious ease taking their shoulders when they see the demon in question.] Not really much different than before - some things really don't change.
[It's the end of the hallway where Greed stops. The door there is singed, the framed blackened despite some obviously-new handy work. There's more locks bolted across the wood this time around, their fresh copper glowing against Greed's radiating heat. He flips a few with his knuckle rather casually, only pausing when he finally reaches the doorknob. The Sin's slick-black hand disappears into a pocket and something jingles heavily inside. A moment later produces a ring of keys and they hang loosely from a curve of a claw.] No, I'm sure you've got a lot on your mind. But first thing's first -
[One key slides into the lock and Greed twists his wrist. Angry flakes of skin peel away in the haphazard jerk, causing old scabs to open just a tad. The Sin ignores them, however. His attentions far more concerned with present company.]
[And how much he knows, how much is different.]
[The room in question doesn't leave much to the imagination and it's all too clear that he's had company recently. Who or what has been there, that's harder to tell. Fresh claw marks hover over the head of the bed, the wallpaper peeled back and flapping. The furnace lodged into a corner huffs upon is arrival; causing the fire inside to plume and spit against the barred-mouth grate. Greed slips in, leaving the door open for the Alchemist to follow.]
[A fresh tumbler of scotch rests open on a nightstand, its glass stopper resting horizontally beside. Half the contents are gone by now and Greed's fingers wrap around the neck of it. Making the tips of his talons shiver across the surface, tuning it to a hum. He's not about to waste time - he's never been the sort.]
What do you remember, exactly? [And it's straight to business.]