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WHO: Greed (

nestingdevil) and Danger (

heartlessglitch)
WHERE: Residence #22; Heropa, Florida
WHEN: Back-dated to February 26th, Evening
WHAT: Two artificially created beings have a nice chat.
WARNINGS: PG-13? Probs?

Before she arrived, Greed had ventured back out onto the street. When the warm-wash of the mid-afternoon sun had sunk beyond the horizon, diving into crystal-clear waters at the line of a beach and changed the set for the moon's center stage. It's twilight when he comes back, ten minutes to spare at a store around the corner. He had swindled his way through, marveled at the sights and sounds, and when he approached the counter with not a coin to spare, Greed was surprised at the outcome.

"On the house," the teller had said beyond the rope-line of a counter. "-it's always great to see a new hero in town."

Greed had shot him an equally perplexed look, but quickly swiped it away. Bowed his head with a smile and nodded, "Thanks pal.". And that's how he came in possession of a cheap bottle of Gold Label: Scotch Whiskey and a pack of cigarettes. He didn't know the maker - how could he? - but, if he were being honest, he really only chose it for the name alone.

All that glittered was, after all.

He figures it's a good enough ice breaker, if any. And if they're going to have a lengthy conversation, he plans to indulge. It's been a bit too long and there's some reason to celebrate. Some meaning being alive and the other having the privilege of his own skin again.

Greed spins the aluminum top, letting it whirl when his thumb sends it going. Yeah, sure, there's plenty to celebrate, but there are things to be concerned about too. For one, that glowing half-printed mark in his skin, and around door number two? Part of his would-be family is lurking around town.

But he'll deal with that later. Right now, he's got other things on his mind.

The lights inside are dull, most turned off or cranked down low: just the way he prefers. There's a haze at the ceiling, the dull-left overs of a cigarette or two half-beaten into a tray. Where he got it, he's not telling.

A glass goes half-full with scotch before he lifts it into his palm. And to himself, Greed grins. Feverish, needy, and it's been far too long since it's just been him and his avarice alone.

Seems a right time as any to strike a deal or two.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Danger is a distrustful being by both nature and experience. Her sentience is still young enough-- and her corporeal form even more so. Despite whatever great intelligence she possesses as an advanced program, she is still somewhat naive to the ways of the world. That vulnerability has been used against her more than once. She's started to learn. Fool her once...

So, she approaches this meeting with suspicion. Maybe there's some kinship they share, by virtue of being created rather than born, but reason stands in the way of trusting a creature that calls itself Greed.

She arrives at his residence as it begins to get dark, wearing her human-like skin and light frown at her mouth. Raising a hand, she knocks and waits.

When there's a rap-rap-rapping at the door, Greed slithers away from the kitchen. A glass in hand, held by a circle of fingers 'round the rim, follows. He passes by a sill, snatching his sunglasses as he does so. There's certain company he's expecting and there's others he's wary about. Either way, it doesn't much matter the outcome.

Shades slip up the bridge of his nose as he drawls outside the thick-wooden frame. "Yeah, yeah."

The ice in his glass shifts under liquid-cool amber. Sloshing to lick up the sides; to smear it when he twists the knob and yanks the door wide open. He's happy to find there's not a set of needle-point nails to greet him.

Instead, it's a face he's only seen the briefest glimpse of. The Sin knocks the door wide open, pushing the bottom lip with the curved end of his boot. "Danger, right?" It sounds funny, when he says it. But he's far too used to people, creatures, things with odd names.

So he lets it slide.

"Eh-," Greed starts with an elongated sigh at the tip of his tongue. He pulls himself back in, using his shoulder as leverage. "-c'mon in." It's strange, really. To have a place that isn't thick with booze and liquor. That's so normal it's odd.

It isn't the most ideal place to do business, but things being as they are, he's not about to complain.

"Feel free, hmn?" His back to her, Greed heads inside. His unoccupied hand goes fingers-deep into a pocket and he whirls a thumb out to hook around a belt loop.

Her expression is expectant when the door finally opens to reveal her host behind it. For the first time, the being named Greed is fully visible to her. In her mind, she can put together all the glimpses of him the Network had given her into this complete picture, matching all the pieces. With their nearly equal heights, it's easy to take a moment to size him up properly. He is convincingly human-like at first glance-- much like herself-- though she suspects that the similarities are more superficial than they appear. That would be another thing they have in common.

At Greed's invitation, she enters. Her eyes trail around the interior, taking in her new surroundings. There's nothing particularly unusual that betrays the place, but she isn't certain exactly what she'd expected. Something more, maybe.

"You wanted to discuss an exchange of information." Straight to business then. Typical of a machine like Danger. She doesn't move to make herself comfortable. "I am interested in knowing precisely what that entails."

The scotch glass lifts and Greed tosses out of his fingers. Shoots them off like a gun-cocked to the side wall. "Equivalent exchange," is how he starts, speaking with his back exposed to her. As if he isn't worried in the slightest what she may do. "-figured that's pretty fair. It's something the good ol'boys in blue used back home."

Though for him, it's not as much equivalent as it is selfish. But he hopes she gets the idea.

"Not exactly how I like to do things, but - " The Sin trails off, his voice practically alight on his tongue. Curling and vibrating in his throat, as if he's somehow pleased at the outcome, despite pulling the short straw. "-it's not like this'll last very long."

He doesn't intend to stay put. Not here. But it's a momentary lapse and not one he can't spring back from easily. It'll take some time, some exploring, and some digging to get what he really wants. For now, though, it suffices.

But only for now. "Information for information - you want to know about homunculi, right?" Greed shines his head over his shoulder, lops it so that the fur-cuff of his collar brushes fingers against his jaw. "Seems only fair that I learn about you. So, what do you say? Do we have a deal?"

Her attention follows his gestures as he lifts that glass to his mouth, swallowing the liquid inside. Perhaps Greed has a better grasp of going through human motions than she does-- if the behavior is learned, it's convincing enough when he does it, effortless in a way. Despite the soft exterior of her human-like form, Danger still seems mechanical in a way, still a machine at her core. There's a stiffness that lingers in her posture, a slight sharp edge to the pronunciation of her words when she answers him.

"Acknowledged. I agree to your deal," is her reply. Information is something she would readily give. Truthfully, she wants to know exactly how alike they are-- and what it is that makes them different. "We may proceed however you wish. I will be receptive to your questions as long as you are receptive to mine. I do not intend to be particular while I am your guest."

She is polite, at least, in a frosty kind of way. It's hard to tell how much of her is sincere, with that unreadable face.

"Perhaps I might suggest that you begin by explaining to me what the term 'homunculus' means in your world."

She moves like tin. As if each tick is thought about, processed, and executed. Her voice is very much the same - melody similar to the receiving end of a phone that's slow and surely clearing up. Greed only arches an eyebrow privately, but keeps it to himself.

He's more intrigued than anything else.

The glass hits a table with a thunk when it drops from his fingers. Palm spread open, he slides them up his thigh and pivots around. Spinning with a bit of help of his torso and hip. "You really are a bit different, aren't you."

It's hard to tell. He can't smell anything different, though there seems to be a severe-lack of the usual coppery-tinge that comes off of something actually living. It's odd, here - they couldn't be more different. Opposites staring back, mirroring out their own inhumanities with every slight imperfection. Her, with her speech, her computerized mannerisms. And him, with his sharp edges, with his angler-set jaw, and boneless movement.

He likes her so far.

"Good - glad we could do this peacefully. You're the first I've met face to face, but most seem to be pretty unwilling. Nice to know we can see eye to eye, at least." In a sense. He licks his lips a bit gingerly; thinking on it, it's a lot like before. Down in the depths and out of the light, with only a boy and his armor.

Well, a boy as his armor.

"Oh-?" Greed dips towards a seat and his fingers snare up the frame. A yank back has it groaning, making the wooden legs bounce and skip against the floor. "Fine then, have it your way. First thing's first though-"

He's slippery-cool when he dips back behind the window of the kitchen. It's not a bar and he's hardly got enough to even satisfy a bit of his need. But it's fuel for a conversation and for a second, Greed disappears where the lip of a sink juts out, one hand raised high. "It's not much, but it seems to me we'll be here for a while."

The bottle scraps against the cabinet he's got it in. Thumping along as he drags it out and into the brace of his knuckles. It's then that he pops back up and he unscrews the cap, keeping to the beat of the conversation as if he's done this a million times before.

"Artificially - through and through," the Sin starts the screw-cap unwinds. "-made using alchemy. But it's a little more than they teach back in Central. Eh - " He looks behind him absently, his frown exaggerated. Like he's half amused, half disappointed in what he sees.

"Normally, I'd show you. But it doesn't look like I've got much to offer. Besides - " The way he moves is slow, poised. Practiced and saturated with that ever-present need. It's like molasses on a elongated-crawl, a bad tide washing out to shore. Leave it unnoticed, and it's bound to bite back. "-tends to get a little messy. I'm not interested in showing a gal like you any of that."

The cap hits the counter with a clack and Greed shoves his fingers inside the neck of the bottle. "We're something that shouldn't exist - that that those in the light of things were told don't exist. But there's a whole other world out there. Rumors, secrets and eventually, everything comes back to me one way or another."

A rounding of the corner has him coiling a base-frame like a serpent out of its hole. He places the small-ounce bottle to the table and when he removes his finger, it sounds off with a small pop. "So - is that what you wanted to know?" Greed pushes the bottle forward, letting it ride out its own sweat.

The truth is, part of her willingness to meet with a stranger is her confidence in her own ability to defend herself. There are soft spots and vulnerabilities in this organic form that she resents, but even without the hard armor of her true body, she is still a calculating killer of unique precision. If it ever came to conflict, not a single movement would be wasted in her retaliation. She had, after all, been made by her father for the express purpose of devising as many ways to be violent as possible. That was the idea behind the ones and zeroes that made up her code.

Danger has evolved beyond that now, independent from the will of the man she now considered her oppressor, but some parts of her programming will always be a part of her. She must be thinking of it now, as she watches Greed gesture and speak with effortless ease-- how she would try to kill him, should the need arise. It isn't personal. Just a twisted kind of logic.

"Alchemy," she repeats after him. Their world sees very little of such things. She herself is a being made from a different art. But she isn't completely unaware of what some might call the supernatural, or the space between that and science, where alchemy might fall. "I am not fully educated on what alchemy specifically calls for. Particularly in the creation of artificial life forms that, as far as I have observed, appear to be sentient and have a will of their own."

It's automatic, the way her hand move in a heartbeat to catch the bottle Greed pushes, saving it from losing its balance and rolling off the table. It doesn't require her attention to leave his face.

"How like a human being are you?" She watches him intently, almost curiously as she poses her questions. "How unlike one? Do you feel and want things, the way that they do?"

"Close enough to count," Greed starts, as if they're just having a normal conversation and not talking about how inhuman one another are. It's a unique sort of poetry that the Sin in question finds somewhat amusing. "-but don't get me wrong. I'm built a bit stronger than the mortal lot - been doing this about two-hundred years."

He'll skip the two permanent deaths to his name. Just doesn't seem important here.

But of course, she just had to say that and it's the first bomb-dropped: "Do you feel and want things .. ?" Greed's chin sinks, his head churns, and he's got a side-glance tilt to watch her. The noise that comes through his jaws is a laughing sort of hiss; similar to the sound of a leaky gas line and just as toxic. "Do I want things - that's a pretty stupid question, lovely."

His eyes open wide, eyebrows raise, and his grin is suddenly spread far too thin. Feverish, heavy, and Greed brings his hands to the frames his sunglasses. Rips them from his face as his eyes screw shut. "The name is Greed, after all. I want everything you can possibly think of."

It's too late to pull back. He clips his sunglasses to the front of his collar-high shirt, sinking an earpiece in where the jut of his throat dips below fabric. "Money, women, sex - " The creature moves like he's possessed; knuckles twitch, fingers hitch into the front of his chest and bite. "-status, glory - ! I demand the finest things in love, Danger. So to answer your question - "

Finally, those eyes of his flick open and slit-pupils fan out and constrict back. He dips then, placing his red-inked palm flat against the surface of the table just so. At this point, he's forgone any sort of polite definition of personal bubbles.

Though, truth be told, he's always been a fan of popping those, too.

"-I do, but not the same way. I want it all. But I couldn't really tell you if I feel and want the same way the human lot do. Not exactly a question I can answer, can I?" His tone is slick like heavy-set paint and Greed smacks his heel into the seat. Half straddling it as he slithers back a few inches and settles in.

An elbow finds the surface of the table and he pulls back his wrist. Throws his thumbs out and cocks two-fingers of forward, mocking a loaded barrel. "But what is it you want, exactly?"

Her eyebrows draw together when he echoes her, lips pursing slightly as though she isn't quite sure what makes him react that way. The word stupid makes tension rise in her shoulders through her back, offense deepening her frown as she watches the way his grin cuts wider across his face. Tension fills the air between them, making it thick with her obvious distrust, her wariness at the sudden movement of him tearing off his sunglasses.

Now, finally, they're properly eye-to-eye.

He rattles off words that mean next to nothing to her. She understands their definitions-- money, women, glory, even sex, despite the inexperience of her organic form-- but they mean so little to her personally. She feels no urges rising in her at the mention of them. As he moves, clutching at his chest and gesturing, she is incredibly still. Like a statue. Or a machine. Danger hardly bats an eyelash, her expression frozen with that frown.

Only when he poses that question to her does she seem to come back to life, reanimated as she tilts her head up in a somewhat condescending way, gauging him with eyes narrowed to colorless white slits.

"I don't know," is the plain and simple answer. "I am still defining my desires and my idea of 'self.' I may be immortal, but my consciousness is young. I have yet to identify what I want most for myself."

Pointedly, she goes on, "Obviously, we are different in this way."

The fever simmers. Fizzes out as he slips an arm back behind his chair; winding it around to make his fingers dribble down the sides. Greed's neck falls back into his spine then, letting his skull hang with ease. Usually, it's a different sort of reaction, but she's stagnant. As sterile as a hospital room and the homunculus flips open his hand.

"Everyone wants something, Danger - anyone who tells you otherwise is lying." And while he's got more to say, her words stop him; she's just full of them. Little things to make that rotten core of his twist. To buck and call, "Give it to me.".

"Oh, don't I want to be immortal." His voice is calm, though. Cool like the criminal he so is and Greed slides his foot backwards. Until his heel catches the bar under his chair and he hooks it around. Presses his toe to the floor.

"Seems to me you just haven't had the chance - there's a whole world out there for the taking, Danger." Greed levels his eyes to her own. They're white, clean - completely clear of anything that could be called emotion. It's almost disheartening.

"Eh- guess you have to make a choice then. Me?" His fingers reach forward, dragging the glass back. "I've never been one for following orders." The scotch swirls when he rotates his wrist. Clockwise, slowly, and his hand falls in order to the rhythm. Spreading his knuckles to give him space as he takes a pull.

It's a long one. Enough to make the cubes shift and grind against one another, threatening to fall right out if he isn't careful. His throat bobs once and his teeth do the rest; making shards from the cubes until they, too, are taken down the gullet.

Again, there's a hollow thunk and the Sin retracts his fingers. "Maybe we are different, but I'm not about to judge." A knee lifts and he leans back. Watching her down the bridge of his nose, down the tilt of his chin. "Seems a bit of a waste, bringing you down there for just that."

Her eyes briefly leave his face to follow the movement of his wrist as he swirls the amber liquid in his glass around and around. By contrast, she continues to remain still-- mechanical and stiff, except that the rise and fall of her shoulders on each breath betrays the organic state of her body. She hardly even blinks, only continuing to frown slightly and observe, memorizing all the little details, all his words.

As she watches him drink, she had that thought again-- that he is, despite whatever else he might be, much more convincing in his human-like form than she is. If she didn't know better-- if she wasn't a monster of sorts herself-- it's possible he might have fooled her.

"A waste in what way?" she asks in response, giving him her skepticism in answer to his question. "We had agreed to exchange information, did we not? If you do not feel this goal is being effectively reached, I invite your questions."

An index sways over the lip of the glass and Greed slowly lifts a glance to her. His look is absolutely wicked; with all those teeth, with that vicious sort of pitch in his eyes that makes the slits of his pupils vibrate. He closes one of them lazily, hiking up an opposite brow in tow. She's got it all right; he moves too much, mimicking humanity well. But it's a little off - as if his own coding was sent through a translator and some pieces went missing in the process.

"You're right," the Sin's voice is a-purr. Alight and suave, but there's a threat of a hiss at his words. As he molds into a comfortable slouch, his other thigh swinging open, making him lean further in. He plants an elbow comfortably to the table, lets it knock with a dull clunk. "-would only be fair, hmn?"

Greed grips onto the backside of a chair to lean just a bit more forward. As if to swallow the space given; like he's trying to see beyond the mechanical twitch to something a bit more. His eyes betray him - flicking up and down her well-built frame as he presses his lips together. "What are you, exactly?"

He locks eyes with her, then. White to purple, weapon to weapon, and the Sin's suddenly very still. As if he's waiting and he is; she's been nothing but chilled. Collected and cool with every quick-sharp answer. It's a little disappointing.

But if what she says is true - if what she's obtained is able to be transferred? If it's real immortality and not some cheap knock off? Oh, he's all ears.

After all, it's hard to kick a habit. And with two deaths under his belt, the very idea that someone here may have the ability? To actually be immortal? Well, it's the icing on his cake.

"So why don't we cut to the chase -" Greed rolls his shoulder back, recoiling on himself as a knee shoves up from its saddled-up post. "-you show me everything you've got and I'll do you the favor."

Edited 2014-03-07 22:14 (UTC)

What is she?

That question is one that she struggles to answer in any way that isn't superficial. She is, in her mind, any number of things that blur and shift. Some days she feels more like a woman than anything else-- some days, she's a monster. It's a complicated state that a simple series of ones and zeroes should never have been able to manifest, and yet, here she is, a unique anomaly that belongs nowhere.

Her eyes narrow briefly, her stare meeting his without wavering when she finally answers him in that same low and careful voice, "I will show you my true form, if that will satisfy you."

She shrugs off her jacket, draping it over the table.

"Avert your gaze."

Greed shoves his foot into the edge of the table and pushes back. The chair underneath skips across the floor, groaning its protest as he tries at its limits. "Avert your gaze," she says. He closes his eyes with a pleasant sort of grin, arm raised above his head to flick his fingers open like a switchblade.

"I'm built tougher than the rest, Danger. But if that's what you want - " His voice trails off, as if he has more to say but he'd rather keep it private. The back of the chair thuds dully off the opposing wall, the stretch of the proverbial leash meeting its limits. The Sin doesn't really know what's going to come next: whether it'll be like a blinding light or a dull crack, similar to a skull hitting the pavement suddenly. Either way, he's intrigued.

So he stays there. Slumped in his seat, that foot of his tilted down to anchor him. Whatever's coming, it doesn't matter. Not to him.

Everything had a price, after all. Greed just figures this is the payment she's offering. A bit of show and tell.

And as promised, the favor will be returned. But first: "Whenever you're ready."

It's several moments of silence then, only interrupted by the quiet sound of fabric rustling as she methodically undresses herself, neatly folding her clothes into a small stack on the table to spare them. To show her true form requires transformation, and while Danger had yet to be taught to feel ashamed of her body, the vulnerability of bareness in her organic state is something she is careful to avoid.

The quietness drags on a bit longer. Then, there's the sound of footsteps, heavy and yet careful, steady as they approach where Greed waits with eyes closed. She touches his arm lightly, as not to surprise him, but to rouse his attention.

What seemed to be a woman before is truly only female in shape now. She is an elegantly crafted piece of machinery, armored head to toe in thin, but durable metal alloy. Her stare is luminous, lit from the inside. Muscles made from bundles of wires and cables facilitate the surprisingly smooth movements of her form.

When she speaks, her voice carries a soft mechanical hum.

"Does this answer your question, Greed?"

The voice is different this time. Cool, like electric static. And when she touches him, it's new. Not enough to warrant his own defense system to come out, but enough that he peels his eyes open. The look he gives isn't shock - not really. His interest is more piqued than that.

Instead, his leg unfurls from the other side of his perch and his other follows suit. Greed pushes forward, thighs spread, as he whistles low. "Now that is something." There's fascinating in his voice - sincere fascination. As those viper-cut eyes trail across her, the purple-coloration growing deep with all that blue. It's different, it's the same, and oh she just shouldn't have.

The Sin reaches out, holding his fingers over her form. There's an understanding and while he's pushy, hurting a woman? Just isn't his style. "I guess I owe you then, don't I." It doesn't come out as a question. More a too-hot answer; like this, they're completely opposite. Her exterior chilled and vacant and he's warm under the collar; that core of his churning and biting.

He can feel it. That intense need.

"Like I said before, I'd rather not. But it's not like you'll hurt me and I'm sure you've seen worse," Greed starts, as his shoulders fall and the vest slips away. Disappearing to tangle behind him. "So go ahead - show me exactly what you can do."

The Sin leans back, as if daring. Exposing his throat as his head lulls back. "Just a fair warning: it tends to get a little messy. Hope that isn't a problem for you."

Standing there, Danger is an impressive six feet and nearly three hundred pounds of hardware, all housing a sentient program of poetic binary. That soft, fleshy body that she had arrived in paled by comparison-- like this, in her true form, she's alien and strange, as if she had been built with a human inspiration that had evolved into something else entirely. And yet, the mannerisms and movements remain the same; the mind remains the same. It must be familiar, the way she tilts her head slightly and scrutinizes him as he offers himself to her in challenge.

"I am incapable of feeling physical pain in this body," she clarifies in response, "I am more than capable of handling 'messy.' But I would find it impolite to cause destruction here."

She pauses to gesture at their surroundings before going on, "Are you certain this is what you wish?"

Which means she easily towers over him. And it's a little eerie, looking like that. Similar to a statue, more like a machine; glowing with the same sort of hum off the device he was given. To read him in equations rather than thoughts; but he suspects that's not entirely true either.

"I said that you could. Like I told you, it's a little hard to hurt me," Greed shuffles forward and his knees knock out. He's half-slouched over when he finally swivels into her space and he moves with curious inspection. He pockets his hands and kicks his heel out to the side, making it shoot off the ground with a finalizing click. "I'm not really one for regrets either, Danger. So if you're willing - "

The Sin recoils by hoisting himself straight by the spine. One hand slips from a pocket and he holds two-fingers laced. Drumming against his temple a couple of times. "Just wanted to make sure - I'm really not too interested showing it off to a woman. But if you're used to messy - "

His grin flashes. Pearly-white and deadly sharp.

"-then, by all means." There's something in those eyes when he says that. As if he's far too excited about the idea. Sure, he'd rather keep a woman out of the line of fire. But Danger's not exactly the normal type, is she?

His slit-eyes thin out to points as he waits.

Edited 2014-03-12 22:48 (UTC)

If nothing else, Danger is curious-- her interest is piqued by whatever it is that makes Greed invite her to attack him with such confidence and nonchalance. There must be something she hasn't seen yet, some clever trick that might be unique to a "homunculus." Something that is, perhaps, more inhuman than not. And despite the massive database of superpowers housed in her computerized mind, it's difficult to guess with any certainty what that ability might be.

There is, of course, one straight-forward way to find out. She had always been a fan of experimentation.

"If you insist, then."

That's all the warning there is before she lungs towards him. Her movements are surprisingly quick for such a heavy thing, graceful despite her bulk. She'll spare him the lasers and bullets-- that isn't necessary, and certainly not here, not when she has no real intention of trying to kill him-- but even so, just her fist alone is solid metal, backed by taunt cable muscles as she goes directly for the gut.

She hits like a ton of bricks. Even with her warning, Greed's not entirely ready for it. He takes it full force, heels digging into the ground as he's pushed more than a few inches back. They skid across the wood floor, leaving marks like rubber to the pavement.

His eyes go wide when he feels the snap and his teeth grind together when he hears the crunch. There's copper in his throat - that much he can make out. The chair he had been perched on is on the floor by the time the world stops spinning and the Sin just leans over. Bowing to where her metal fist made contact.

For a few seconds, he just stays that way.

Then the tip of his boot waves back. Slowly. All the muscles returning to memory as a spark jolts in his torso. It isn't the show he'd usually like to put on. But with his head-bowed, he can't hide the pleased sort of smile that graces his face.

A soft glow hums in his stomach. The color entirely wrong and if anyone's right with a key phrase, it's just that: something wicked, something red. Greed keeps his arms spread out to either side and his knuckles jitter.

"-that's one hell of a punch you've got there, Danger."

But he lifts himself up and the pulsing light's gone. The Sin throws his head back, wrapping a hand to the base of his skull. A few snaps have him right in place and he laughs as he catches his next breath. "Might have broken a bone or two - any normal person would have been going to the hospital."

Thankfully, he isn't the sort.

"Ah," Greed groans, similar to someone waking up after a long nap. "-that was pretty impressive, I'll give you that."

She gauges him, emotionless in her face but calculating, analyzing as she circles around him, watching him with attentiveness as he slowly recovers himself. Her eyes catch that smile, but sharp observation can't interpret it for her-- and that expression becomes a secondary detail the moment there's that crackle of red light. Despite how it seemed to have hurt him-- how hard she knows she hit him, down to the precise physical force per square inch-- he's recovered somehow, that much is obvious to her.

There is no move from her to attack again. The way she eyes him is almost curious, if such an emotion can be attributed to that unreadable metal mask.

"What did you do?" she asks, maintaining cautionary distance between them. "I assume that is one of the abilities being a homunculus grants you."

"It's one of the perks."

He hobbles with a two step and his boots sound off; clunk, clack. The bones have already snapped right into place and Greed slides his hands down to the middle of his back. He pushes his hips out as he does, letting everything settle with a resounding crunch.

"We can heal a little faster, sure. But I told you before - it's not like we're really immortal." Close enough to it, but not enough to take the whole thing home. Greed lets his head sag back and the smile is genuine. Even if the whole thing's jagged.

He opens one eye to look at her. To really take a look. True enough, she's solid as steel. Blank as a slate. Greed rolls his shoulder as he pivots away from her briefly.

"And is that what you're made for? Or is there something else you're not sharing?" He briefly palms his neck again, edging the butt-end against the side. "I told you to show me everything you've got, lovely. Don't feel like you have to hold it back, hmn?"

His hand waves though, going back to a slack position at his side. He's not about to force the subject; not too much anyway.

Truthfully, a solid right hook is the least of the abilities at her disposal-- it's only reluctance to show her full hand unnecessarily, or some sense of how wasteful it would be to damage their surroundings that makes her hold back. It isn't as if she truly means to hurt him. Violence comes to her naturally-- that's what she was made for, after all-- but her violence is rarely without purpose. Practical violence. Or vengeful violence.

This is almost like playing, or it would be, if she had any real concept of "play."

"I thought that might be a sufficient demonstration. But obviously, your abilities allow you to endure much more severe punishment than I had initially assumed."

The mechanical hum of her voice hardly inflects at all. There is almost no warning at all that she's decided to push this farther, despite what ever reservations she'd had before. She lifts a hand, pointing her palm outward at him-- then, in a way that's almost ironically organic, the metal panels in her armor shift, reconstructing themselves into something that suspiciously resembles a machine gun. When she opens fire on him, it becomes obvious that it functions like one too.

Punishment. It isn't a word he generally likes. Bad connotations and he remembers the last time it came to pass. Greed's still when that tinny voice comes through; emotionless, calculative. There's nothing he can read on her - no signals, no body movement to swindle in his direction. It's too cold; like speaking to a corpse that's been given a chance to tell him what's what.

Then her fingers shift, her palm spreads, and Greed's left with a noise in his throat: "Eh-?"

His eyes snap open wide and his teeth grind. The bullets come faster than he's used to; popping and splitting, making his body twitch as if he's suddenly stepped on a high-voltage wire. Greed sinks his heels in; there's a twinge of pain, but it's a bit of a blur. He chokes back a spit when a lung and connective rib crunch. Before the spray hits his temple and it's lights out.

His shoulder smacks the wall and it's a new red-smear paint job. For a moment or two, he's just slumped there. Body hanging over itself, giving him the look of a ghoul that's just been had. And the silence lingers; like deaf ears ringing after the machine gun blast.

Until finally: "Oi, oi, oi..."

Talons shoot out. Snagging the wall he's half-propped up against, leaving gashes in their wake. He sinks the tips in, grinding plaster and paint as if it were merely paper in his hands. There's blood - a lot of it. Coating the floor, running splatter marks up the wall to make for a crime-scene nightmare. Greed lifts himself up slowly, even as the reaction starts up again. A crackle of red-electric there, a sputter there. He rolls his head to the side and the bullet-hole lingers. Giving a glimpse in as the skull reforms; puzzle-piecing itself back together again.

"Now that's a bit of a talent - " He drawls, though most of his voice is tuned out. By the electric hiss, the regathering of his body parts as they find one another again. He sways his neck to the side and that tell-tale grin of his widens. He's impressed, he'll give her that. "I told you - it's not like you can really hurt me."

But she can leave a mess and Greed clicks his nails down his neck again as a hum of red filters through his fingers. "Didn't think you had it in you, but I've been wrong before."

Edited 2014-03-23 23:21 (UTC)

Her intention had not been to kill him-- in fact, she's nearly certain he'll recover quite quickly, given her observation of his abilities, and naturally, Greed does not disappoint her. There is a moment where she watches him with curiosity as he sits slumped against the wall, bloody and motionless, like a puppet with its strings cut, until finally his mouth moves on those repeated syllables. Again, there's those dancing red sparks, crackling as his body reforms itself.

Interesting.

Danger retracts her weapon, letting the panels of armor in her limb fold themselves back in.

"I am satisfied with the extent to which I have tested your power," she answers after a moment, maintaining some distance between them as she considers him, the weight of her attention heavy. "But I do not yet understand the mechanism of it. If you are, in fact, artificial, then your construction is rather impressive, and unique in my experience. One does not usually associate the idea of an artificial being with something made from flesh and bones."

He breathes. Hollow with his mouth-open wide; with those razors lined into a row and his eyes close shut as he rocks his head to the side again. "We aren't born - not like the mortal lot, anyway."

Greed lets his arm fall slack to the side. As if he's suddenly lost control of the muscles, but it couldn't be further from the truth. His sultry demeanor is a learned trait; a means to bring them in and steal everything they could possibly have. Despite having abandoned the rest of them, there's still some habits that stick. The ability to appear at ease; like a gun at rest, but there's plenty of bullets in the chamber.

A weapon, a tool. Though, he's given up those as well. "I already told you alchemy's involved, but it's a bit more than they teach back in Central." The Sin sways. Rolling his hips as he saddles back over to the table. His hand comes out, opening five-fingers wide to grasp his drink. "It's called a Philosopher's stone. A little bit of a taboo where I'm from."

Because the payment's high; a steep price for endless power. Well, almost. Greed peels open his eyes, lets them laze at a half-hooded position. "But that's something you might not be too interested in. And I wouldn't want you to judge." He doubts she will; he hardly even thinks she has the capacity to do so. To decipher what's right, what's wrong. It's a matter of electronic calculation. Or so he thinks.

Either way, Greed shrugs as he spins the left-over dregs of his liquor. It's practically water now. The amber color muted with a clear film at the top, though he takes from it just the same. Letting it smooth down his throat as the burn of copper and sulfur slips away.

"There's seven in total, but they aren't exactly a friendly bunch. Call it a family trait," he purrs, one shoulder lifting as he goes to look at her again. Even like this, there is some beauty to the making. Curves cut from blue that screams sapphire - Greed doesn't even try to hide his appreciation.

"Though you - seems like you were intended for the same. Do you still work for your maker? Or is that something we're not talking about?"

Edited 2014-03-24 23:48 (UTC)

She knows what it's like to be someone else's tool, to be treated like an object, only something to be used. It had bred the first emotions that she had ever felt: hatred, loneliness, anger. Then obsession-- obsession with killing her "father." Eventually she had forced her way to freedom, liberating herself from the grasp of her creation to seek her own purpose, but those feelings had never quite subsided fully. Under that cool, impassive exterior is a violent and vengeful being.

For the moment though, she feels no such inclinations. She's only curious-- listening intently to Greed as he speaks to her. Seven in total. Sins, as his own name seems to imply. It's fitting in a way, maybe even poetic. It begs the question as to what a person might want with seven homunculi, to put such effort into their meticulous making. As he admires her, she admires him in a similar manner, appreciative of the human-like detail that her true form clearly lacks.

"No," she answers at length, "I attempted to kill my father. When that failed, I sought purposes for myself. Perhaps I am still seeking that now."

A brief pause, before she asks in return, "And what of your maker, Greed?"

It's almost too ironic. Even with how base-line and drably she says it: "I attempted to kill my father." Greed buckles at the hip, straightening up as his stomach knots and his shoulder kicks back. That smile is wide, but poised. Without his set of knives to bare and the laugh that comes from him is short-sweet. Barely a wheeze as he circles around the table.

"You and I share something else in common then," the Sin starts. As he slips away from present company to move back into the kitchen. Everything that had transpired is practically gone; save for the peck-marks in the wall and the brush-line still running up the side. The blood that's left will probably stain, but it's not like he particularly cares.

Not when he's met a kindred spirit of sorts.

Greed pries open the freezer and speaks to her from his back. "I don't know if it worked. Didn't have the chance to see it all play out. But if you really want to know, I'd put my money on them any day." It's a vague reference and Greed skips the details. She doesn't really need a history; that's not what she's after. He tosses his fingers back and forth, waving the thought away. "We never really saw eye to eye, him and me. My avarice runs a little too deep for that."

He grabs a collection of ice-cubes from the freeze-box. Makes a claw around them with thick-knuckles and calloused fingers. "It never really suited me to work for anyone else anyway," his voice is smooth. As he drops the ice in the half-shot glass, making the cubes clink and clack against the sides. The bottle's found again a moment later and he tips the open lip inside. "Not really sure if it did the job, but I think I made my point pretty clear."

A last ditch effort. The final card to play and it had been all in or all out. Greed's lips open a hitch to one side of his jaw. A hidden look, a private one. "But I paid for it and it wasn't exactly the first time, either."

The bottle's lifted once he's got enough amber-orange to lick the top. A few swirls settles the concoction down and it's as if he's done this a thousand times before. Each motion as simple as the next - like talking with an ingrained mannerism.

Finally, though, he gives her a bone: "It was the second time I actually died. The permanent kind and not one we can easily come back from." Greed jerks back, anchoring his heel to churn towards her. He has his refill in hand as he hip-checks the counter. "I figured you should know, since we're being honest with one another."

The Sin raises his glass a bit. Not a salute, not in the slightest. He points to her as a finger arches off the side of his drink. "Sure you don't want one? Seems to me I owe you a little more than just a story since you've been so kind."

Even lacking the proper context, Danger seems attentive, recording every word for categorization and storage in the vast digital space of her computerized mind, every detail perfectly preserved to the syllable. But still, it's the greater message that seems most important to her-- they are, in a way, kindred spirits. The conflict Greed implies with his father makes her identify with him even more than their artificial natures.

"No. Enslavement did not suit me either." Of course she would interpret it that way-- working for someone else. She'd been forced to serve her father. Now, if she aided anyone, it was pointedly by her own volition. "I dislike being used."

When her voice comes again, it lacks that mechanical hum-- softer, human. She'd taken advantage of his turned back to return to her less threatening organic form.

"Regardless, I appreciate your honesty." She dresses as she speaks, pulling her shirt over her head and dragging her pants up over her hips. "I have never personally experienced death. My consciousness is fluid and transferable. Essentially, I am infinite."

He's similar to a vulture. With the glass clutched in one hand, Greed hangs over his hips and his elbows point back behind him; it's a scavenger's look, head tilted with fascinated curiosity. Despite their lengthy conversation, his expression hasn't changed much. She's an anomaly like him, but different in a way he's always hoped to be.

"Infinite, huh." He makes a noise in this throat. "How does it feel? Never really being able to die."

Old habits and all that; it's a bit too hard to kick. But history's shown him a thing or two and Greed stops short in front of her. She's fairly normal-looking in this form. Easy to slip past the radar, to blend in. Another thing they share. "I make it a point not to lie, Danger. It just isn't my style."

He knocks the side of the drink against her shoulder when he hooks a nail into the slip of her shirt, righting it. "And I don't like being used either. He never really got that - why I couldn't work for him like the rest. Just wouldn't have suited me." The Sin lets his hand fall away; personal spaces aside, the gesture's harmless. He claps his heel back, swinging the point of his boot to the side.

"But that's interesting - guy must have known quite a bit to achieve something like that." Greed yanks back, cross-crossing his ankles as he moves to side-step away. He swings behind her, slipping towards an empty couch. "Wouldn't happen to know how he did it, would you?" It shouldn't be so casual how he asks it; the concept of immortality, of creation. Of being as deadly as a switch blade. Yet it comes out so easy, as it's just a casual shooting of the breeze. "Living in that body and being able to transfer your - consciousness, right?" Consciousness, soul. Same difference, in the end.

Greed pops his spine with a twist before settling into the couch. He throws up two legs on the coffee table and stretches them out. Like this, it's almost like he could own the entire joint. Or at least, he acts like he does. "Sounds like immortality to me."

He waves his fingers, chasing away a sliver of left-over smoke. "If you have the time, I'd like to know all about it." The Sin licks his lips and shakes his glass a bit, making it ring like the dull-end of a rattler's tail. "But you should know - I'm not a good guy, Danger." A slouch sends his shoulders up and the fur at his neck fanning out.

"But I'm not so bad either."

Edited 2014-04-03 22:06 (UTC)

She pauses a moment, turning to watch him as he moves behind her, settling down on that couch. There is no immediate answer. Instead, she takes a moment in adjusting the sleeve of her shirt, pulling the shoulder up and straightening it with a few brisk strokes of her hand.

"It would be difficult to explain the process of my initial creation without elaborating on the intimate details of computer programming," Danger responds at length, "As humans are constructed from their genetic code, so I was constructed from a numerical code. At my most basic components, I am simply an elegant assembly of ones and zeroes, arranged to execute certain functions."

"A series of numbers is more readily transferable than human consciousness," she goes on, loosely folding her arms as she speaks. "Therefore, I can transfer my own consciousness in its entirety from any appropriate container to another at will. I do not age, and I am not susceptible to diseases in my mechanical form. If my body is destroyed, then I simply occupy another container."

Finally, as she considers him with a slightly tilted head, she adds, "Regardless, your morality or lack thereof is not something I intend to judge. I am neither entirely good nor bad myself-- though I will admit that I have been considerably 'bad' in the past."

Nothing she says is anything he can understand: computers, programming. Ones and zeroes arranged in a fashion to give her some sort of life. Greed lulls his head back - it's something he'll have to learn.

Good thing he has all the time in the world to do so.

But one thing he does recognize is that: the idea of having a different container. And Greed's laugh is smoldering. Like ash up his throat as he slaps his fingers across the edge of the couch. "Sounds like purification, but I don't think we'd be talking about the same thing."

How he says it is almost bitter. Slightly tinged, making him snarl for the briefest of seconds. In the moment, the tips of his nails dig into the couch, making it groan back. "But no - it's not the same."

Greed tilts his boot to the side, making it roll off towards the wall and he turns his head in the same direction. To admire her with a glance down his nose. Despite her conditioning and her make-up, she's hardly sore on the eyes. Opposite in fact and the Sin's smile widens again. "Glad to hear it - usually, people are far too quick to judge."

"But you're not really human, are you." Greed opens his hand, fanning out his fingers. "I don't plan on judging either - what's right, what's wrong. To me, it's all good, Danger." The tone's sultry; slippery like oil and slicker still.

"It's a little different for us - alchemy. But if you really want to know," his voice tapers off. As he slides his fingers down his throat, across his collarbone. Trailing until he finds his breast plate and he knocks on it with his knuckles. "-it's called a Philosopher's Stone. A little bit of a taboo where I'm from."

And rightfully so; because while she doesn't have a soul to count, he's got a hundred. Thousands damned, writhing just under the skin. A terrible sort of secret and Greed hitches his fingers into the front of his chest.

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