the name's greed (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nestingdevil) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2014-02-27 07:01 pm
nestingdevil) wrote in maskormenacelogs2014-02-27 07:01 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
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.
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.
no subject
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?"
no subject
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?"
no subject
"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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
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.