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WHO: Greed [

nestingdevil ], Desmond Miles [

shutupandgetintheanimus ], Open to 'Nest Employees. Closed.
WHERE: The Devil's Nest, Maurtia Falls
WHEN: This afternoon
WHAT: Potential hiring.
WARNINGS: PG-13?

Fall's chill was already starting to creep in on Maurtia. The brisk mornings made for more unpredictable afternoons. A crap shoot tossed by mother nature's hand as to where the weather would go. Today the dice fell on the sides of "moderate" and "cool" with a chance of late-night drizzle accompaniment.

Nothing too out of the ordinary for a less-ordinary Porter town.

Mid-afternoon left the 'Nest quiet. A slumbering beast with its own aces hidden up roomy sleeves, it looked dormant. But inside, at least one was awake. Always, it seemed. Greed really didn't find the rest necessary. Not unless he had the company to pass the hours. Which meant at the moment, he was left to his own devices and a few hours of clean up had killed some time. Leaving the lazy hours of mid-afternoon to himself.

He pressed a thumb to the face of his phone, idly staring at it as smoke burned and coiled from a pile of butts in an ashtray front and center. He had his ankles loosely knotted together, his feet tipping in opposite directions like clockwork gone haywire. The light from the phone sent a white-blue haze over his face and shoulders. It touched his sunglasses and ignited dust like tiny embers. It'd be a quiet day - it just felt like the type. The shift in seasons often made that choice:

Better to stay in tonight. Tomorrow's another day.

But he was expecting company. At least one bite had come up on the network as of recently; someone still testing the waters of Heropa for money to line the pockets. However, even with the specifics, the guy hadn't denied his offer.

Which could go either way. It just depended just how reliable said prospect would make himself out to be.

Greed slouched his shoulders back and let the phone hang loosely over the edge of the sofa he had taken. He placed the half-smoke back into his jaw and his head lulled back. There were some still there - a few noises from down below, a grunt or two from the sparse-set of rooms upstairs. He bounced a heel and caught the beat of a tune coming in like watery-static from one of the other rooms.

He hoped that the day wouldn't be an entire waste.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Desmond entered the bar with the kind of noiselessness that came with being overly cautious. The guy on the network hadn't lied. The Devil's Nest was set in a distinctive building...an older brick place in the downtown area, more like a hole in the wall than a big swanky place of black ties and fancy dresses. The sight of it made Desmond feel more at home than he had for the last month. It might as well have been Bad Weather.

He lowered his hood and looked around, admiring the stock, getting a feel for the place. It was dark, dingy, and a bit of a shithole, but it was an attractive shithole at least. There was no barkeep at the moment, just a guy sitting at the counter huddled over his phone.

"Hey," he called out. "Is the owner around? I got an invitation to check the place out. On the offchance I might become the new bar guy."

"Guy from the network, right?" Greed's hand flew over the back of the couch as he snapped his fingers to draw attention. His legs fell soon after; heels sliding from their outstretched position, careful not to knock over the mounting ashtray in the process. "Glad to see you could make it."

He drew himself out of the sofa and leaned in to put the butt of the cigarette at rest. A slight "woosh" of smoke followed and tiny orange embers showed through the graveyard of leftovers. Before it, too, went dead to the rest of them. The Sin swiped his hand along his thigh, cleaning off any sort of residue that may have followed.

It was then he shot out his foot and swiveled in the direction of Desmond. He hardly heard the guy enter - a feat in itself. Greed swung his arm elbow, letting it jerk at the elbow and stop. "You found him," was his first reply as he moved between the empty tables to greet his would-be prospect.

"-I need something more than just a bar back. But first thing's first," the homunculus curled in his throat. The 'Nest was dark at this time. The curtains were drawn, letting in just a trickle of light from outside. It made those sunglasses of his hollow and the shadows that chased him sharpened his features. He saddled both hands on his hips and closed the gap between himself and Desmond.

"The name's Greed. Now what is it you can do for me?"

...Weird guy. Really weird guy. The way he moved, the way he spoke...everything about him set Desmond on edge out of instinct. But this guy was the owner. His meal ticket. He needed this guy to hire him. Desmond swallowed and straightened up, keeping his shoulders tense.

"Desmond Miles," he introduced himself. "And aside from pouring drinks and blending margaritas, there's the courier thing I mentioned on the network. I guess I'm also kind of good at...other stuff."

Stuff that this Greed guy would have to convince him to divulge. Because Desmond knew damn well how stupid and unbelievable it sounded to outsiders.

It was good then that the unbelievable? The far fetched? It was no trouble to him. Instead, Greed found intrigue - in rumors, legends. Myths and stories. Because in the end, it always came down to the same old phrase:

There was no such thing as no such thing.

The homunculus skirted Desmond, practically knocking elbows when the guy stood tall. "Sounds like you've got a lot to offer," he hummed as he strode on the side of his boot in passing. He walked with a demeanor of ownership, with a nonchalance that practically oozed from the proverbial pours. Tracing the length of the bar and tapping his index periodically as he went.

"I usually take care of the bar, but I've got a gal that helps me out now and again. Doesn't mean I couldn't use an extra set of hands out back, but you should know: this place isn't really for someone looking for the normal sort of life." Greed lifted his head and watched the ceiling. The 'Nest was a bit older and it groaned with its age. A history he didn't even know, but there nonetheless. It held a sort of character that couldn't be found in the world of the rich and famous that was Heropa.

No - it was like a rich brandy, an aged scotch. Buried deep in the bowels of some basement until some lucky sucker took a crowbar to it and struck gold.

The homunculus paused at the edge of the bar where the side door swung loosely. "-hope that won't be a problem." His hand coiled around, slipping beneath one of the compartments to snatch and pry at the innards. Two shot glasses fell into the cup of his hand and they were snaked by his fingers. Running around and wrapping tight as he pulled them free.

"Good at other stuff, huh." It wasn't questioned. Instead, it was repeated with a rise of interest. The Sin flipped the glasses up onto the table, letting them spin face-forward in unison. A singular clack had them butt-down on the wood and he turned them vertical in position.

One for him and one for his would-be guest. "Why don't you tell me all about it - " Greed matched glances with Desmond and his smile was eerie, yet pleasant. "-and I'll do you the favor. Equivalent exchange," his voice trailed off again, curling with the roll of his tongue. He pried a bottle out as he spoke; a rich sort of scotch with a stamped seal lodged just at the base of the neck.

"Sound fair?"

"I think that 'normal' is a bit beyond me at this point." He'd lived the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, the American Revolution. And somehow managed to piece his broken brain back in place and save the world. His stay in Heropa was a vacation by comparison.

Desmond watched as Greed pulled out the scotch. Talk about a gracious host...that must be well over a hundred dollar bottle. He slipped onto the bar stool in front of Greed. "...That's fair." It was a failsafe. This guy would have dirt on him, but Desmond would have dirt on Greed, too. It was a bit unnerving, being in this position. But if Ezio could make alliances with people like Volpe, then what was stopping him?

"It's kind of a long story, though. And really specific to how things were back home."

A fail-safe or a deal. Either way, it yielded the same result. Greed stuck his knuckles to the top and eased his thumb nail around the lip. A few clicks and a snap later had the bottle open and the cap resting on the surface on the bar. "It's not like I don't have the time."

Which he would get to later. The bottle was pried from the bar and tipped into each glass; a healthy portion followed, but this time the rocks were forfeited. No need to water down the good stuff, not with this sort of business. If Desmond was going to take the offer, there wasn't any need.

After all, he did take care of his own. "Home, huh?" Greed charmed back. He snatched his own portion by the lip and his brows touched ever-so-slightly.

"Why don't you tell me all about it and in exchange - " His index rose from the glass and circled. Drawing in over and over before stopping. Sure, it was a wild gesture. But it seemed the man in question wasn't one to deny it. "-I'll tell you what you want to know."

Desmond sipped at the scotch. It really was expensive...he could tell just by the palate alone. The finish was a nice long one, making him roll his tongue appreciatively in his mouth. He savored it while he pondered where to begin.

"Well, where I'm from, humans weren't originally the top of the game on Earth. There were...others."

And so he went on, how the First Civ faltered and fell, and how humanity was almost wiped out by the solar flare that scorched the earth. How humanity forgot about them and rebuilt. He spoke of himself, how he was raised on the Farm, his parents going on about a war that he could never see, and so he didn't believe them. He covered his escape and years in New York as vague as possible...they weren't that important, anyway.

It was when he was kidnapped by Abstergo that things got interesting.

Desmond was surprised how easily it all came. Sure, he'd told Ezio, but never a total stranger about what it was like to relive your ancestors' memories, and finding out that you're the closest thing to a Precursor yourself. It was only when he got to the Grand Temple and his own death that he faltered. Understandable. Desmond liked to forget that level of agony and heartache.

By the time he finished, his glass of scotch was empty, his throat tingling from its burn. "...That's...pretty much it. I still don't know the barrier actually worked or not. If it didn't...well, it sucks to die for nothing, you know?"

As Desmond told his story, Greed remained quiet. Still. The tale that came was similar to one from home: a secret world beneath the surface, one that far too many were quite easily oblivious to. The very foundations existence a farce. Hidden by government corruption and something much more. The dirtiest little secret Central had to offer, waiting just below. He only moved once to circle his hand around his scotch, but he didn't drink from it. Instead, the pads of his fingers stroked the rim; running round and round with a dragged-out motion.

Different worlds, but similar circumstances. It was almost endearing. "To die for nothing, huh." The last bit did strike a chord. Dying for nothing - from what he had gathered, his own death hadn't amounted to nothing. They had won. Struck the final blow with his best card to play. The sinister smile of his was replaced by an appreciative one this time. Despite outward appearances, it looked as if Desmond had far more to offer than he first realized.

It was a start. "Sounds to me like you and I have a lot in common," the Sin's voice was a charming hum. Whispered, yet thunderous with his prominent baritone. The glass in hand swirled, letting the scotch swipe up the sides before descending down again. He finally took a pull, swallowing and swallowing until it was near dregs at the bottom. He breathed a pleasant sigh and set the glass down again.

"Homunculus," he said casually. All the while, his hand slithered away from his portion. He had promised a fair deal and he wasn't planning on backing out. Despite some of the faltering mishaps at the end of it, Desmond had given him his story. Told him exactly what he wanted to hear and for some reason, the Sin knew - there was no lie weaved, no slight of hand. Just the honest truth.

A trait he could admire. "-artificially created." Greed lifted his head and eyed the door. No one would be coming in at this hour, which was good. There were just some things he'd rather keep between him and his.

Unless, of course, someone asked. "Don't suppose your ancestors taught you how to use one of these, hmn?" The Sin spoke even as he moved his hand under the bar. A sharp click followed and he had something new in hand. Old, probably not worth anything in Maurtia's market. But deadly nonetheless.

He snapped his wrist and the barrel of an old revolver flipped open. Two shots left. He had already used the others for similar demonstrations. Greed threw his wrist back and the gun clacked shut. He then set it on the bar and pushed it in Desmond's direction.

"Don't worry - it's not like you can really hurt me." Making his explanation quite clear, the homunculus went for his sunglasses. From an earpiece, he slid them off. Peeling them from closed eyes, he folded the pair and placed them next to the bottle of scotch. A second later and they were wide open. Giving a glimpse beneath.

Purple in color, but eerie in their design; the slit-pupils shivered thick, then shot back again. Similar to an elastic band that had been released.

"Go ahead. Let's see what you can do."

Desmond stared at the gun. It was obvious what Greed wanted him to do. Expected of him, even. He looked up into those violet cats'-eyes and swallowed. He'd just told the man what the Assassins did, and how they did it. Don't harm an innocent. Hide in plain sight. Don't bring harm to another Assassin, directly or indirectly. Something had to be up. Desmond suspected the guy wouldn't just blatantly ask him to violate a tenet of the Creed.

Would he?

"I know how to use a gun," he said. "I've just never used one before." He could just use Eagle Vision, instead of using the invitation to shoot Greed. ...Or not. His own eyes flickered toward gold as he activated the sight, but...there was nothing immediately different about Greed. Other than the fact that his aura registered as bright gold.

His eyes returned to normal as his vision cleared. He picked up the revolver and cocked it, taking careful aim at Greed's shoulder. If the guy wanted him to shoot at him, Desmond was going to take every precaution to ensure he didn't kill him.

After a moment's hesitation, he pulled the trigger.

"It'd take a lot more than that to kill me," Greed purred back. He was watching Desmond with hooded eyes; with a terrible sort of look. Sinister in design, in fashion - his upper lip peeled back, showing off his teeth again. "-besides, I never said I was entirely good either."

But when Desmond's eyes fluttered gold, the Sin's eyebrow hitched upward. A look of wonder and captivation took him. That was new. A color that sang to him, that grabbed his core and sank fingers right in. He made a noise in his throat, a peculiarly sort of sound that spoke louder than words:

He was interested. Damn near enthralled.

But the look didn't last. Greed heard the gun go off, saw it cock back. A bottle behind him crashed open, spilling liquor and glass to the floor in a wide arc. A splintering effect followed, easing up the side of the back mirror with jagged precision. The Sin buckled back - one step, two step, three. Nothing.

It was then that it started.

Light crackled, taking on the mimicry of a downed electrical wire. But it was wrong - how it hissed and sprang out of the wound, the sheer color of it: red. Tinted with the kind of blinding white light most spoke about near the end of days. It shot and arched, threatening the bar with its unnatural hue.

"Ah-," Greed touched where the bullet had gone through. The hole in his skin was reforming already, the blood only trickles. Strings of muscle crawled out and laced together, forming around already-mended bone. The skin followed soon after. Piecing back inch by inch and the more it came, the dimmer that strange light became. Until it was all gone; licked away and righted without a hint that it had ever been there in the first place.

"-for someone who hasn't used one before, that was pretty impressive." The homunculus rolled his tender shoulder back and listened for the snap. It came, though it was a bit dull in his ears. "There's more to you than you let on, isn't there?

Greed lifted his head and boy, oh boy - was that a smile. Brimming, pleased. "Ha - ! I gotta say, I like you Desmond. Looks to me like you'd fit in here just fine."

It wasn't a signed deal. Not yet. But it was a damn good start.

Of course the recoil damn near jolted the gun right out of Desmond's hand. Jesus, had the guy given him a magnum? Desmond half-stood, watching the wound bleed out, trying to find his words. Should he call a doctor? All he could get out was a half-choked "Fuck..."

Then he has no more words, because the wound is healing up, bone under muscle under skin. Greed did say he was artificially created. Sure could have fooled him. It looked like human anatomy through and through. So an artificially created human with amazing healing powers...talk about a bonus.

Desmond put the gun down lest it go off again. "I meant...I hadn't used one myself. Two of the ancestors whose memories I saw used guns. One was more primitive than the other." He paused. "...So you're okay, then?"

More than met the eye, huh. Whatever that meant. ...Of course, it was hard to see your own eye color change unless you happened to be looking in a mirror.

"Like I said - it would take a bit more than that to kill me." Still, the notion was appreciated. If the deal hadn't been signed before, it certainly was now. Greed wrapped his hand around his shoulder and rocked his arm in a circle. "Don't worry about it. It won't be the first time you'll see something like that here."

Greed pursed his lip and gently eased back into the mutual space. He extended his fingers and wrapped them around the gun with a stretched out motion. It was still warm to the touch with the deed done. Not enough to burn; more like a body that had just left a bed minutes prior, it told a story all on its own. "I'm fine," he said while keeping a fixed eye on Desmond. "-that's something you won't need to worry about."

His thumb pressed into the barrel and forced it a few clicks. Again, it popped open and he checked it with one eye closed. Snapped it shut. "You'll be working as my bar back - get things from the basement when I need 'em, help Kanaya when she needs it. We also run a few other things around here." As Greed brought down the law of the land, he tossed the gun away and nudged the scotch. In one quick swoop, he had his sunglasses back and the neck of bottle was easing another portion into Desmond's near-emptied glass. "-whatever I need doing. You can start tomorrow."

The rich-amber flooded the glass, making the ice knock against the sides. When the edge was being threatened, he finally let the bottle back. "That is, if you're still interested. Working for me is a little different - hope that won't be a problem."

He doubted it would be.

Desmond carefully took another sip of the scotch. "So I'm going to be a glorified errand-boy. Got it." He still failed to see how shooting Greed was part of the interview, but it was simply that--a demonstration. And kind of a warning. This guy wasn't entirely human, that was obvious. And trying to stick a blade in his back would do little more than piss him off.

"But yeah, I'm still interested. But I have to ask--how different is 'different'?"

As Greed continued the conversation, he plugged the bottle again. A old cork was shoved into the neck, squeaking and groaning until satisfied. "A little more than that, but we'll get to it later."

The Sin turned away to stash his would-be poison. He skipped where the mirror had been cracked, moving down the line until he found a suitable place. It went behind another collection - cheaper brands that would suit the customer base just fine. In the foggy mirror, Greed's smile peeled wide. Coiled and curved along his hard-set jaw while he tapped the bottle into place.

"Those that work for me are just that - they're mine. But don't get any stupid ideas," he rolled out his foot, giving the floor a solid tap. A knock came hollowly back, as if the 'Nest had far more below than met the eye. "-I take care of my own. I just expect a little loyalty."

Greed tossed out his hand, flipping his wrist. His leather bands rattled and shook, flinging from the thin of his bones to the thicker part of his forearm. "If that's something you can live with, room and board is usually covered. And of course, I don't expect you to do anything for free."

Finally, he turned back to Desmond. His hand went to his hip and the other sunk loosely in an opposing pocket. "You start at three hundred a week, more if I've got jobs to do. First thing I need is a pick up - there's a guy in Heropa that sells liquor off the docks. Don't ask much and it won't be a problem."

A slight lick of the lip and a slouch later had him matching glances again. "Sounds fair, no?"

"Believe me, I know loyalty." Desmond finished off the last of the scotch. He could feel it now, loosening him up, a pleasant buzz that made his head feel a little floaty. Not eating anything for a while and then drinking had probably been a bad idea. But that's all it was--a buzz. It would take more than that to get him drunk.

He nudged the glass forward and folded his arms on the counter. "I'm going to tell you straight up though, my first loyalty is to the Assassins. If something comes up that has to do with what we're about, that takes priority. And I'm not going to do anything stupid like rob a bank, or anything petty and dickheaded like that. Picking up booze to avoid a tax isn't any of my business. But I won't do anything that puts innocent people in harm's way."

Desmond leaned in closer. "Put simply, we take care of each other. I'll do work for you so long as you're not asking me to off someone just because they rub you wrong or anything like that. Errands, deliveries, stuff that isn't exactly legal but doesn't actively hurt anyone. I have standards. Think you can work with that?"

"Suit yourself - I'm not about to force you to do something you don't want, friend. Besides," Greed's elbow planted into the bar top, allowing it a full-access swing. Up his hand went, twisting back until his whole forearm righted with a vertical stop. "-even I have a few standards. As long as you can get things done, I don't really care what else you do."

Assassins, killing: those were part of his old life. A life a hundred years gone and the Sin had no interest. Legal or otherwise were more flexible definitions and it seemed all-too-clear that Desmond knew where to draw the line. Greed took a step backward and tapped his fingers underneath the bar. For anyone paying attention, it sounded like a particular rhythm - a'clack, clack, clack.

Until a small drawer popped open. He grabbed a tight roll of cash, mindlessly playing with the rubber band as he did so. "I think we can work with that just fine. Just remember - you are one of mine. And I do take care of my own, Desmond." Greed placed the roll on the bar counter so that it stood like a small tower. It wasn't a lot of cash - a few hundreds or so. But enough to finish off a transaction.

"I'm not interested in hurting anyone. Wouldn't really be me if I did - the name is Greed, after all." He turned away, throwing his back to Desmond again. And in an instant, the homunculus disappeared. As both of his legs sprung ten and two to allow him to sink down past the lip of the bar. "Consider yourself hired."

He paused. One hand went over his head, giving a curt kind of wave. "And welcome to the Devil's Nest."

Desmond nodded. They were clear, it seemed. So long as Greed let him do his own thing, Desmond would go along with his tasks. "Thanks. Looking forward to it."

He peered over the edge of the bar. "You said something about some booze down at the docks, right?"

"That's right," Greed started as his elbows planted on his thighs, allowing his hands to sink between them. He pursed his lower lip, making it stick out almost comically so. A roll of the wrist later and his index was swinging away. Shooting off to a wall absently. "I don't know his name, but he gets things that we'd otherwise have to pay a fortune for. Don't think I really have to tell you why."

Customs clearance? Forget it. It was the kind of booze he remembered: some made in a basement elsewhere, others coming from across borders. And it came without the tax, which was always a bonus. Just a slight fee of course, but he had always considered himself fair.

And what was a fair deal, well. It wasn't like he was about to say no.

"He's usually there at eleven. Just hand him that and he should give you two crates. If he doesn't, then tell him the deal's off." The homunculus pried open a cabinet underneath the sink and flipped on a switch. For a second, the light only buzzed. Sparking in and out until it settled with a dull glow. "And I expect you to start tomorrow. If that's it, I've got some things to take care of."

Mainly, his own things. But Desmond would learn about that sooner or later. The name not just being a name, but something more. Greed snatched another bottle from beneath before jolting upright again. The cabinet was promptly closed after him with the kick of a boot. "For the rest," the Sin turned and sat a smaller portion of liquor down. The bottle was significantly shorter than its predecessor, but it still harbored the same. Stamped, sealed, and ready for approval. "Call it a one time deal."

Desmond took the money that Greed had taken out, slipping the envelope into the red and black courier bag slung over his shoulder. "I'll be back with your stuff." He pulled his hood up and watched Greed for a moment. Strange guy--and that was the understatement of the century. But call it instinct, or maybe just blind trust, Desmond trusted him.

He smirked a little. "You know...I've told you so much about me. But you haven't said a single word about yourself. When I get back you can reward me with a biography, how about it?"

Greed watched Desmond fasten his hood up. Just like a professional, just like a few he had worked with before. Most hadn't been as clean cut as Desmond appeared, but that was merely circumstantial. Some still passed for the normal sort, but they were anything but. Criminals and thieves, human and the not-so-much. The Sin flashed a more appreciative look before being drawn back to the conversation.

"Eh-?" His expression cocked, his spine straightened. And Greed's laughter was both short and sweet. He clicked his tongue and followed the length of the bar as Desmond made for the exit. Taking on the look of a shark just at the shallows, moving swiftly down the water's edge. "It's a bit of a boring story, but if that's what you want - " His words simmered off again and the homunculus paused at the mouth of the bar. Stopping just short of the back-swinging entrance.

"-then who am I to deny you, right? Sure - " He shrugged at the idea, his expression quirking with slight sarcasm. "-I'll try to make it short. Two-hundred years is a bit longer to cover. But after." He dismissed his new employee with a lazy toss of the hand. "We'll need that supply for the next week or so. When you're done, come back here and I'll tell you all about it."

Greed slipped from the bar then. Hanging just at the lip of it as he turned an off-shoulder glance back to Desmond. It hadn't been a waste, that was for sure. And while the guy had rules, they weren't too much of a problem to say no. The Sin flicked a cigarette from his pocket; it was worn out and bent as if it had been sitting there for a while now. He paused, pinching it at the butt before his shades fell just a tad.

"If you're still interested. Like I said, it's a bit of a boring story."

Edited 2014-10-14 22:53 (UTC)

"Two hundred years?" Desmond peeked back at Greed over his shoulders, the shadow of his hood obscuring his eyes. "Okay, now you have to tell me. Not every day you get to meet someone who's lived that long." He opened the door and stood in the frame a moment more. "I'm going to hold you to that. Don't nod off or something."

He turned and left, slipping out into the late afternoon. He made short time of getting to the docks. When you could easily climb to the rooftops and circumvent Heropa's shitty road system, chores like this were a breeze. Then it was the waiting game. He had the Network, at least, and this world's variation of Youtube that he could watch with earbuds in while he waited for the time to roll by.

Eleven p.m. sharp. The exchange done. It took Desmond a longer time coming back to the nest with Greed's shipment, bottles in a crate with cotton cradling them so they didn't break. He ignored any patrons that gave him a look, coming up behind the bar like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Where should I set this down?"

"Don't plan to," Greed started with a flip of the hand. His smile was a bit more jagged the second time around, but still oddly pleasant. He dipped his head, ushering Desmond out as all of his fingers spread to the still air. "-it's not like I really need it anyway."

But off he was and during the hours that slipped by, Greed tended to his usual business. The crowd was a slow trickle tonight, mainly just the usual(s) coming back for the same old same old. Which meant he could wander away and leave the head of the bar to someone else. By the time Desmond returned, Greed had fastened himself into one of the sofas out front. Feet propped up, ashtray and bottle dead center. He was accompanied by two women - contrasting each other in matter of hairstyle and dress, but still working the same business. The Sin lifted his arm up from a prop at one's shoulder, slowly whisking his fingers back and forth. "Over out back," he started. Dim smoke trailed in heavy blue-lines from his pile at the tray and the homunculus slowly unfurled from his company. "I'll be back - gotta take care of this. Why don't you head upstairs?"

They seemed to get the gist of his offer and both stayed behind. If not to grab the quickly-diminishing bottle with glasses in tow. Greed shoved his hands into his pockets, tilting his head to the side to give a glimpse at his throat. As promised, Desmond had the cargo in hand. And quicker than expected.

The Sin couldn't help a whistle. "Ha - ! You really are more talented than you look." He easily matched Desmond's walk, guiding him towards the basement as he did so. From his back pocket, Greed removed another bundle of cash. About a hundred and fifty done up in twenties and tens. "Guess you're owed, right?"

As he held out the payment, the Sin began unlatching the door. One bolt, two bolt, three bolt, four. Into the basement he went, his knuckle throwing the switch to illuminate a stretch of stairs. "A deal's a deal."

Greed led the way and his heels thudded against the boards, causing them to knock and shiver as he did. The basement was expansive - shooting off in so many different directions that one could easily get lost down there. Which was sort of a point. He found the basement floor, slipping easily into a brick-stone hall as he did so.

"So - where do you want me to start?" He said. As he threw a brief glance over his shoulder, letting his sunglasses slip just so.

"Gee, thanks?" Desmond caught the money on the lid of the crate--he couldn't exactly shift the weight to one arm, or he'd drop it. The last thing Greed probably wanted to see was his three hundred dollar shipment being smashed on the floor. "But yeah, it's appreciated, believe me."

He followed Greed into the roomy basement. It looked more like an old smuggler's den, or maybe a leftover hideout from the Revolutionary War. He could imagine Connor having to come down into a place like this, for information.

At Greed's question, he hiked the crate up higher against his chest. "Well, you mentioned you were artificially created. Are we talking cloning, or what?"

Greed's head rolled to the side as he let out a hearty laugh. His hands went blearily over his head, giving the look of someone sounding off the surrender. But it was anything but sincere. "Oi, oi, oi - didn't mean to offend." Thankfully, it looked as though Desmond wasn't going to take it to heart. Not too much anyway and Greed let his hands fall back to his sides.

He toed open a gated alley. A make-shift fence door had been placed there and on either side of them, large shelves mapped it out. Made of solid wood and going sky high, there was plenty to choose from. Booze marked and labeled, cups and glassware that had probably been pilfered by more lowly means. Greed ran his index over a gap in the collection and tapped it once. "Right here. We'll open it later."

As he pulled his hand away, a line was left behind in the dust that collected. Greed swiped it on his thigh and in one motion, he removed a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He shook them once, dipping his body down to snatch a length by the butt. "Cloning? Ha - ! No, friend." His grin illuminated in the dark. Not unlike the Cheshire giving his best. "Alchemy - I'm a homunculus."

With that, he flicked on a lighter and brilliant oranges flooded his face. The flame toiled in his sunglasses, like brimstone locked away at a far distance. And the Sin inhaled a couple of times until smoke broke. The lighter was closed off then and neatly slipped into his back pocket. "Artificial - I wasn't born like you and yours."

As he spoke, he showed off his hand, The left palm inked in red. The serpent on it was collapsing on itself, going on and on to consume its own tail. "But I'm not much different - save for a couple of things."

Desmond set down the crate, rotating his shoulders back before picking up his payment and stuffing it in his pocket. At those words--alchemy, homunculus--he looked back at Greed and lifted an eyebrow.

"You mean...actual alchemy. Like a bunch of old bearded guys back in the middle ages trying to turn lead into gold? They could create a human being? Or...something like it?" He stared at the red tattoo on Greed's hand. "I thought the Pieces of Eden were weird..."

Greed threw back his head again, letting another bark of laughter recoil in his throat. His hands went to his hips; fingers knuckle-barring down just over the jut of them. "Ha - ! No, not exactly. But you're getting the idea - " He bent at the torso, moving with the rhythm as he hovered over himself. "-though turning things into gold was illegal last time I checked. Not that I really care."

His fingers tossed and waved at the air briefly. Both dismissing the idea and moving onto the next. "You've got it, but I'm not human. Never was." Greed straightened and reached for his cigarette. A few flicks sent a good-sized wad of ash tumbling to the floor. "And not a lot of people can make something like me - you could say it was almost impossible."

Almost, but there it was again: his catch phrase. Greed placed his cigarette back to his jaw and continued the conversation. While also taking stock of inventory, his nails clicking and clacking across the various bottles that lined the shelves. "Good ol'Daddy sir. He made all of us," the Sin's teeth snapped into the butt-end of the cigarette, slightly puncturing it as he spoke. "-but don't get me wrong. I've never really gotten along with the rest. Ah - "

He snared two bottles in his knuckles. One marked "STRAY DOG" across the label with an elaborate skull and cross bone design. The other merely read "Old Medley - 90 Proof, Straight Kentucky Whiskey." They were both unopened; the seal staying just where the bottles ended and the caps began. "I never was very good at taking orders - you could say I've always had a bit of a rebellious streak."

"So there's more than one of you." Desmond suspected there was a lot that Greed wasn't telling him, but it was a start. "So this guy just randomly decided to start creating you guys? For what? Was he that lonely?"

He could understand a rebellious streak. Desmond had one himself, starting when he first decided to run away. To live. To see the world in all its beauty and ugliness, and not filtered through someone else's perceptions of it. Greed was weird--it probably amounted to him not being entirely human, but strange as that was, Desmond found himself liking the guy. They really weren't so different.

Sounds like Greed had issues with his "dad" too.

Edited 2014-10-20 08:51 (UTC)

The bottles of liquor tolled against Greed's thigh. Banging and sloshing when he moved, and clinking when he fell still again. His upper lip pulled up into a kind of a sneer at Desmond's remark: "Was he that lonely?" It was a laughable idea and the homunculus had a hiss in his throat. Illustrated by the elongating lengths of silvery-blue that came tumbling from of his teeth.

Despite that, Greed really couldn't blame Desmond for the conclusion. "Ha -! No, friend. He just wanted to be better than the rest; he wasn't really human either. A homunculus like us, but I never really cared about the rest of the story." Finally, the Sin plucked the cigarette from his mouth and it fell to the floor. A quick boot-swipe extinguished it.

"No - they worked for him. That's what he wanted out of us. Just never suited me," Greed swiped a look back at Desmond again. "-I think the last time, he got the message." But family talk wasn't something he was too keen on. It left a sour taste in his mouth and Greed shrugged the idea off. "Eh- doesn't matter here, right?"

Both the bottles were lifted and handed off to Desmond with a more sincere smile. An appreciative gesture. "Before you get any wild ideas - we're built pretty tough, that's true. But I'm not entirely immortal." Which should put some ease on the situation. Greed released the bottles as he passed, his lips pursed together in a stretching kind of smile. "I've only got the regeneration and - "

He was close, so the reaction was easier to see. Greed flipped his hand out and his fingers spread. Like a man trying to grasp the world in his hand, his palm snapped open and bent inward. What happened next started in a chain; the tips of his nails shivered to points, turning a too-dark black and hooking like a set of talons. The wash of that second-skin followed suit. Rising from his fingers, it raced in elongated-rectangles across the surface of his skin. It made the bands at his wrist expand and snap, not unlike a series of rubber-bands being pulled and released.

But whatever it was? It did stop at the elbow. Hovering like a reading on an amplifier. "-is that all you wanted to know?"

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