[Out of the thick dark, Greed's tail wafts into view. It cuts a sharp line in its lofty sway and the metal arrangements clasped against the thick chord steal from the lighting. Washing the silver pieces in bright a sheen of neon reds and hell fire. His nail slips easily into the open mouth of the canter, skittering on the inside to draw a line or two. He moves with a sense of easy; like oil slowly circling the drain. One heel skates over the other in a practiced motion, sending hard-knocking thumps rattling through the floorboards. All the while, the furnace keeps a steady smolder between the beats - spraying sizzling snaps and crackles as old wood slowly roasts on a dying flame.]

[But as soon as the Alchemist begins his story, everything seems to slam on the brakes.]

[Greed suddenly stills, the claw inside catching in a high-pitched trill. His shoulders stiffen, his tail jerks to a stop. As if suddenly, all the cogs weren't working - all the gears had locked up tight. It lasts for a while and the foggy noise from the bar below meets the quiet's call; drifting muted conversation through the slit floorboards.]

[Then his head snaps back, his bones crunch. And an erupting laughter cracks through the lull.]

[It lasts for a while, that boom. Enough to rattle the canter in hand and fresh fire churns in his throat. Sending a cough of blackened smoke to meet the ceiling in a filthy, sooty overhang. When he finally tappers off, a few fresh-caught embers spark off his tongue.] Ha - ! No, you've got it all wrong. You never killed me. [The Sin finds his footing again, cutting an uneven line across the room. The canter finds a home on a table closer to the bed and he relieves himself of it with haphazard abandon.] And I don't know anyone named Dante.

[The tip of his tail slithers across the floor between their conversation, the barbed edge easing behind the handle. A jerk of his hip sends the door wide open and the fire inside is angry, yet warm. Far too hot, yet oddly inviting. Greed tilts his head to the side and his sunglasses boil with the afterglow. In an orange-pitch that's a little closer to gold than anything else.]

[But what Ed has to say leads to one thing for both parties: a suspicion confirmed. Their stories don't match, their histories are different. It isn't the first time he's experienced the discrepancies, but those had been mild. Small little details lost for whatever reason. This? Oh, this is just so much more.]

[And for avarice incarnate, well.] I'm going to guess the name Ling doesn't ring a bell either, does it? [With his back Ed, Greed traces the side of his drink. While it might not be seen, it's far easier to hear: that slick grin, poised tooth for tooth in a deadly set. He raps his knuckle once again the side of the glass, humming.] No, it's not. Good ol'Daddy sir - and you're not the first I've run across with a different story. Seems to me you and I have a lot to talk about, don't we?

[He doesn't even ask, nor does he imply that he'll have it any other way. A force to be reckoned with, though Greed doesn't have any ill intentions. Instead, two glasses appear from a drawer. Slipped up and clipped together by the brims. He sloshes a healthy serving in one, topping off the next with a little less. Then the canter's gone and he finally turns to face the other.] First thing's first -

[He holds out one glass for the other, his grin wide. Whether or not the gesture is sincere, it's hard to tell.]