[His destination is the Inn. In the very beginning, it's where all of 'em stashed away. Strangers in a strange land and they had all taken under one roof - a courtesy allotted from their would-be hosts. The booze there wasn't all that great, but in a world where choice wasn't a big commodity, he'd take it.]
[The Sin finds his destination easily enough and with that smooth demeanor of his, he acts as if he owns the joint. A hand goes to the door and eases it open slowly. The wood shivers his arrival, the hinges groan. He doesn't say it, but the feeling of false light on his skin is a nice change. A warming yellow touches him, forms across his body and face like a cleansing wash. Though it's sickly in color and under its scrutiny, more of the changes can be observed. Near his temples, protrusions of black rock are starting to crack on the surface. Another set starts their coil further up his hairline.]
[Even to the untrained eye, they look like the first beginnings of horns. Four in total just waiting to break free.]
[Greed shoots his heel out with a kick, shoving it to the bottom of the door to hold it ajar. It's the least he can do with present company. This alchemist may be playing him a fool, but it wouldn't be the first time. And given the circumstances, the former homunculus knows he's got the upper hand. Even without his gifts, even with the black holes in Kimbley's story - ]
[- if it all went sour, he could at least defend himself. If not leave a scratch or two as a reminder: no one steals from him. Not now, not ever. And leaving out the truth? That's just the same.]
[When they're inside, Greed lets the door bang behind him and his hands find pockets as well. He clicks his tongue, exposing his throat as his head rolls back again. He's examining the goods, deciding what's worth it and what's just shit for the next poor sucker coming in.] Two - [He starts in airy. His inked-red hand flutters from his pocket and he raises two claws in signal.] - scotch, light on the rocks.
[With his order concluded and god-willing he gets it, Greed traces the line of the bar. He gets a glance here and there, but everyone already knows: some show signs of their changing, others are just better at hiding them. The Sin's neither - showing it off as if he doesn't have a care in the world.]
[And really, in the end? He just doesn't.]
[A booth to the back is his target in question. As he strolls, his boots thud, his leather bands jingle. He's like a snake in that way - rattling to give a warning:]
no subject
[The Sin finds his destination easily enough and with that smooth demeanor of his, he acts as if he owns the joint. A hand goes to the door and eases it open slowly. The wood shivers his arrival, the hinges groan. He doesn't say it, but the feeling of false light on his skin is a nice change. A warming yellow touches him, forms across his body and face like a cleansing wash. Though it's sickly in color and under its scrutiny, more of the changes can be observed. Near his temples, protrusions of black rock are starting to crack on the surface. Another set starts their coil further up his hairline.]
[Even to the untrained eye, they look like the first beginnings of horns. Four in total just waiting to break free.]
[Greed shoots his heel out with a kick, shoving it to the bottom of the door to hold it ajar. It's the least he can do with present company. This alchemist may be playing him a fool, but it wouldn't be the first time. And given the circumstances, the former homunculus knows he's got the upper hand. Even without his gifts, even with the black holes in Kimbley's story - ]
[- if it all went sour, he could at least defend himself. If not leave a scratch or two as a reminder: no one steals from him. Not now, not ever. And leaving out the truth? That's just the same.]
[When they're inside, Greed lets the door bang behind him and his hands find pockets as well. He clicks his tongue, exposing his throat as his head rolls back again. He's examining the goods, deciding what's worth it and what's just shit for the next poor sucker coming in.] Two - [He starts in airy. His inked-red hand flutters from his pocket and he raises two claws in signal.] - scotch, light on the rocks.
[With his order concluded and god-willing he gets it, Greed traces the line of the bar. He gets a glance here and there, but everyone already knows: some show signs of their changing, others are just better at hiding them. The Sin's neither - showing it off as if he doesn't have a care in the world.]
[And really, in the end? He just doesn't.]
[A booth to the back is his target in question. As he strolls, his boots thud, his leather bands jingle. He's like a snake in that way - rattling to give a warning:]
[He's here on business.]