(no subject)

[nestingdevil]

WHO: Greed [ nestingdevil ] | Open + Various
WHERE: The Devil's Nest; Residence #001, Maurtia Falls
WHEN: Tuesday, Wednesday, Wild-Card
WHAT: New faces, old faces, and a bunch bullshit in between.
WARNINGS: PG-13 to R? UP IN THE AIR AT THE MOMENT...



➥ Tuesday, 2:30am

It's a slow night. Even the rain is lazier than usual - making a soft mist rise off half-hot asphalt in ghostly patterns. Like fog at a standstill, it wafts whenever something or someone passes through. By the early am, the weather sticks to the pattern and heaviness settles in.

But even though the growing fog, the red-glow hum's hard to miss. Reflecting and churning down an alleyway with every roll and pitch. The sign twitches with bad electric, plunging the smeared letting over the front in and out of shadow. And it's a bit quiet at the door. Maybe one or two loitering just outside. There's half empty bottles littering the steps in and a few of them lay cracked and shattered against the brick face wall. Smears of still-drying booze slither maze-patterns between the burn-orange and the concrete holding it all together.

Inside is quieter still. Greed shoves his elbow to a switch and the front window lights go dark. Only the warm glow of yellow beats away as he plunges his fingers into a few empties lingering on the bar top. A slow night is never a good one; leaving much more to be desired and even the backrooms are sparse at this hour. Which is odd by all accounts, but not too surprising.

There's a new wave of imPort(s) down south and most people have gone to take a gander over the past few weeks or so.

But that's the usual news. There are other things to take an interest in: the reports of people being arrested for crimes they didn't commit, the real culprit letting himself be known. The talk hasn't really stopped, just switched gears back to the hub of things. He isn't really too bothered by the idea and one night's washout isn't anything unheard of.

Greed lazily drops his collection into a sink that's already at capacity. He's got his back to the door with his sunglasses clipped just at the line of his throat. He throws the tap on while striking a match against his thigh. A burst of orange fizzles between his fingertips as he brings it in close. Sucking the fresh end of a cigarette to a brilliant red.

When it's finished, the match is pinched between his fingers and tossed to the floor. His boot heel makes good of the rest.

➥ Wednesday, 4:30am

It's on rare occasion that Greed visits his government-sanctioned home. Ordinary, plain and it doesn't have much of what he needs. But every once in a while, the cat does come crawling back. The place is a bit of an improvement from the first; two-tier with plenty of room to come in and out as he pleased. The only difference being that here?

Well, he isn't the only one on the official roster.

The window on the second floor is easy to reach. And easier more to pick. A pry of a talon shoves the thing wide open and the Sin casually slips right in. For a moment, he saddles the window-ledge at an awkward angle. One leg hanging out, the other landing with a solid thud to the floor. It isn't a careful measure - not even in the slightest.

But it's not like he really cares.

"Eh-," Greed drones as he twists his head under and out. The place mainly remains as a point to gather what he needs. The government, as promised, had been gracious enough to supply a few things. And he's already pilfered a few. Nothing to send a red-flag home, but enough that the assigned-digs do their job. An ashtray waits in the center of the room and a few old dregs scurry when the wind chases them. The homunculus throws the butt-end of his palm to the edge of the window, holding it wide open as he slithers right in. He takes a dip down to snatch a battered plank of wood waiting propped-up against the wall. A twist, a shove, and he wedges it in as a temporary replacement.

After all, he's only here for one thing only. And he doesn't plan on staying too long.

➥ Wild Card | Choose your own, mix it up. Everything's green, so no worries there!

Comments

Tuesday

[vengefulshades]

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

Yomiel comes waltzing into the Devil's Nest very late Tuesday night, looking no worse for wear- though a little unsteady in the old body today. After all, he's been away from it for a few weeks now. The ghost has been taking up residence in Greed's walls, but this is the first time in a while his body's appeared in the flesh.

Tricky business, stealing a corpse. Less tricky when you're a ghost with manipulation powers. All it took was a line of fiddling with the red tape and getting his corpse shipped to Maurtia Falls instead of where the police morgue wanted it to go.

He hasn't necessarily told Greed about all that business yet. More specifically about Yomiel being the Manipulator. For all Greed might be aware right now, Yomiel just got really unlucky in being shot in full view of a bunch of witnesses, then being forced to play dead to keep up the illusion.

"Honey, I'm home," he says as he has a seat at the bar.

[nestingdevil]

And what's one devil to the next?

The chime-bell on the door alerts him first. By the time Yomiel comes in, most of the place has been cleared up. Save for a single glass of scotch waiting on the prep-counter. The ice inside's still thick; taking in the amber fluid and shining it back with a watery eye.

Greed's got his back to the door, but a quick glance into the sparse mirror space shows no immediate threat. After all, Yomiel had contacted him. And as vague as his answers were, the Sin hadn't paid it much mind. A project - something stirring southbound that had the lid pressed on tight.

Though that hasn't stopped the Sin's growing curiosity. "Looks like you made it back in one piece." His voice purrs out as his hand makes a claw over the brim of the glass. Five-fingers poised out, snatching it off the counter to leave a sopping ring behind.

He has his suspicions, but they're mild at best. With the mounting imPort to civilian ratio in Heropa, it's only bound to happen. Lucifer had been the first and others soon to follow. Too many in one space and not everyone stepped to the beat of the registration-drum.

Himself included.

One eyebrow sinks behind his sunglasses. Even with the momentary look-see, Yomiel does seem a little worse for wear. Greed casually reaches underneath the surface of the bar back. A pull of a hidden drawer and the wood pops open. He snatches something inside - a small bottle that hasn't been cracked yet. He turns then; rolling by the torso to face his long-expected guest.

"It might not work like it does on the mortal lot, but - " Greed places the bottle on the surface of the bar and his now-free hand reaches for an ashtray. He hooks a finger in, slowly dragging it towards him. "-looks to me like you've been busy."

He'll pry later. For now, taking care of one his takes priority.

[vengefulshades]

His suit and hair are a little mussed, and his jacket has a few holes in the top. He's already trying to figure out where to get those repaired. If only clothing could mend itself up like the rest of him could.

It's hard to notice without staring long at him, but Yomiel's movement is a little tired and clumsy. He isn't bothering to pantomime breathing right now, more focused instead on moving his limbs naturally, keeping his head up and generally trying not to look like a puppet on too-slack strings.

It's more than a little bit unnerving. One wonders how bad it would look if those sunglasses didn't cover the corpse's eyes.

"Oh, you know, nothing too unusual. Breaking out of the morgue again."

He smiles vaguely as the bottle is set on the counter, then reaches up to push his glasses back on more firmly. "Body's fresh off the truck, actually. It's been a few weeks."

[nestingdevil]

He keeps one finger lifted from the glass as he watches Yomiel. In comparison, Greed's stark-still. As he watches the other move with haggard-abandon. A subtle narrowing of the eye gives him away; the slightest tick even if all the bells and whistles have momentarily stopped.

The suit and hair aren't worth a second glance. It's the holes near the top - feathering in a pattern that speaks louder than words. Bullets and not the kind most would be able to come back from.

But Yomiel's made it quite clear that he doesn't fit into the category. "Looks like someone else had other ideas," Greed's a little bit closer now. One elbow anchoring into the wood as he points out the collection of holes riding across that too-red suit. "-anyone normal would have probably been in a hospital by now, friend."

The drink in his hand drips. As the humid air licks a collection of sweat across the side. "Two weeks, huh." That other little bit of business. Greed's smile widens and his teeth nestle together in a fanned-out row.

"You made sure no one followed you, right?" The way he asks is pleasant. Vibrating from his throat and he matches eye to eye, shades to shades. Greed settles his glass down again before hitching two fingers around the stopper of brandy. He pulls it open and it pops back; like an old bone finally finding its socket. It's set down just next to the reeled in ashtray and the Sin pushes the bottle forward.

[vengefulshades]

"Anyone normal would have been dead in the ground," he chuckles under his breath. He gestures to a spot on his forehead, then points with a finger. Then another on his temple. Then another a little lower. Another. Then he starts to point at the bulletholes in his jacket.

"Twelve shots," he says once he's done. "I'll have to dig the bullets out later." Otherwise he'll be setting off metal detectors and that's the kind of scrutiny he really doesn't want.

He takes the bottle as Greed pushes it to him, taking a look at the label. He'll barely taste it. It won't make him drunk. But it's the sort of normalcy he craves, an action like taking a drink. He nods, and gestures to ask for a glass.

"Nobody followed me," he assures him. "All the paperwork says I was dumped in a public cemetery outside Cape Canaveral. The driver just got a little lost." Way, way north lost. And he walked the whole rest of the way.

[nestingdevil]

Greed's lips pull back with a subtle sort of grin as Yomiel connects the dots. He takes the silent ask and reaches under the bar for a glass. The ability is something like his own - sort of. The bullets wouldn't have stayed in; pried and pushed out to the tune of his too-rotten core.

That and he isn't exactly a dead man walking.

His fingers twirl over the glass and Greed sets it down. It's pushed over, coasting on the leftover run of sweat from a previous occupant. And he whistles through the edge of his teeth. "Twelve - guess you really caused a bit of a stir with that project of yours." Behind his sunglasses, the Sin's chasing map work. As his bottom lip purses out, coiling his grin lopsided to one half of his face.

"Good. Wouldn't want the extra trouble," Greed presses his hand to the bar and juts back on his heel. "Pulling out the bullets shouldn't be a problem, but I'm sure you have it covered." He side glances the door. Had there been anyone tailing, they would have made themselves known by now. There's nothing but the distant sound of Maurtia's night life: the distinct hum of a vehicle hovering over asphalt, the unintelligible grumblings of an argument down the alleyway.

All's clear as far as he's concerned.

Which means: "Looks to me like a lot of trouble for some little plan." Greed rolls his shoulder and rides the movement. Twisting and turning until he's got half his back to Yomiel. His slit-glance slips into view where his sunglasses breath the room.

"-you going to tell me what that is yet?"

Tuesday

[closetshark]

Pitch has been in an oddly less dour mood the past week, humming idly in his usual dark corner and being almost gleeful in his removal of offenders of the low sensibilities here. That he occasionally seems to diss appear completely isn't entirely strange, he appears when called and does his menacing bouncer duties.

"Quiet tonight." it's more idle comment than anything.

[nestingdevil]

Greed's got his hand half-shoved down the neck of glass. "Yeah, but it isn't unheard of. Besides, I'm sure most are more interested in what's going on down south."

The towel swipes the inside dry and he racks it with the rest. A rough shove has glass bouncing against glass with a rather shrill clink. While his smile slides to the side and his brows touch together. Running a collection of lines just at the bridge of his nose.

"Hope they didn't give you too much trouble," the Sin comments. There's always a few patrons that don't exactly know when to quit. But time and time again, Pitch has proved his worth. Easily taken care of and thrown right to the curb when the situation calls for it.

Greed throws a glance over his shoulder. A few of them are probably still waiting outside. Trying to figure out whether to stand and tough it out, or to use the side-wall as the proverbial wing man.

The Sin tosses the towel to the bar face and fiddles underneath. "Though it's good to see you're still around. Would have been a little offended otherwise."

[closetshark]

Pitch chuckled, "A few people finally acting out isn't all that interesting." He said, "There are far more... interesting things going on than a bit of theft."

He casts a lazy glance towards the door, humming in consideration. "They're rather dull really, drop them through a shadow outside the door or turn the entryway around on them so they can't get back in... I've been doing it for centuries to far smarter beings. If they get persistent beyond that... well, I'm not above scare tactics." He lets out another bark of laughter at that. "It's entertaining and easy enough, so until you don't want me around anymore I'll stick around."

[nestingdevil]

"You should know by now - the mortal lot tend to get more caught up in that kind of thing." What is and isn't possible; what should be and what shouldn't. It's the politics of those that don't dab in the underbelly of things; in the secret kind of world better suited for creatures like him and his. Greed dips his skull and his grin chases across his face. "Of course there are far more interesting things. But most are more happier being unaware that they exist."

One eye shuts and an eyebrow goes up. "Yeah that whole thing of yours." It's the second one he's encountered that has a similar ability. But they're both different in their own ways. "Not really how it works - I don't let go of what's mine, friend."

Greed flips a shooter out and rips the top right off. He throws it down on the bar with a toss of the wrist. "They aren't really worth the trouble," he drawls out. As he throws his thumb inside the tin, grazing a nail up the side for inspection. "-but I won't deny that that trick of yours has come in handy."

Tuesday

[attractedtodarkness]

Following the announcement from the real culprit, Violet finds herself released from custody. It helps that her crime is minor is comparison to the others and with Edgeworth's help, she's out a couple days later.

The first thing she does is, of course, to return to the safety of her room where she could enjoy her new found freedom. When evening rolls around though, she's getting up and getting dressed so she could travel to Maurtia Falls. She's missed a couple weeks; it's not looking good for her salary.

Being in custody for so long has given her a chance to appreciate her freedom once more, so slow night or no, she's going around clearing up the tables and wiping them down. It's only when things have slowed to a trickle that she wanders back to the bar to have a seat and a smoke.

"Figures things are slow as hell my first day back," she mutters at Greed.

[nestingdevil]

"Considering all the excitement in the south? Don't tell me you're surprised."

Greed plucks a half-burned cigarette from his jaws and taps the ash to the floor. A slow night means slow cash and while he's not about to complain, it really doesn't scratch his itch. The few that did pop in bought little and paid less; it's a washout by any other means and the homunculus 'tsks' against the back of his teeth.

But despite the rather shit hand out, there is one thing he's glad for. Violet's out of custody and he didn't have to do anything brash. She's more lively than she had been; back to the usual(s) and sure, it had been a short visit in lock up. But bars and iron never suited him and he's sure he could say the same for her.

Greed lifts a glass up and pries the cash-load from underneath. It's still wet from the bottom. Making a ring against the few bills, of which he quickly pockets. "Guess your way worked out after all," the Sin chides back. He hitches his fingers deeper into his pocket and shakes out a box. One twitch opens it and he snatches a match. He snaps his fingers at the top and it ignites. "-glad to see it didn't change you too much."

Not that it would. It had just been that: brief. Greed extends his hand, throwing the match under her cigarette as a silent sort of gesture.

[attractedtodarkness]

"Because the criminal confessed." Violet leans forward to touch the tip of the cigarette to the light. She leans back and exhales some smoke. "Anonymously but luckily it was enough. I think I'd go crazy if I have to stay in that place any longer."

She has no intention of going back to jail again if she can help it.

[nestingdevil]

When she's got the end lit, he slithers his hand away. It isn't a complete retreat and he's far too close still. Just the right amount of breathing space for her to feel out her (re)found freedom.

She's owed it.

Greed winds his finger around the edge of the match and promptly snuffs it out. For a moment, a red crackles from his skin. "Yeah, he did. But he's already made it pretty clear that the law down there really doesn't apply as much as they say it does." He presses his fingers together, cleaning off the soot. "Otherwise, he would have been caught already."

He breaks the match with a pinch of his finger and throws it to the floor.

"Though you would have been out sooner if you took my deal." He slumps a bit forward, resting his arm across the bar. One foot slides up against the other ankle and he's all chiding grins and slick promises. "But I'll make sure it doesn't happen a second time. Can't really leave mine behind, after all."

[attractedtodarkness]

After working with Greed for a while, she's grown to not mind his presence as much. She still lets her opinion known when it needs to be but as far as she cares right now, he's a better employer than her last one.

She rolls her eyes at his words. "I'm not some kind of object. I can take care of myself. This was a fluke." And so was the last incident where she got hurt. "If I took your deal, I'd be in deeper trouble." She's pretty sure she doesn't want to have to live as a vigilante. That's not what she registered for.

tuesday tuesday tuesday

[fingerbang]

Don't speak of the asshole, and she too shall appear.

Plenty of women wear high heels. Plenty of women with measured steps, making every click sound almost deliberate. But Lust is not plenty of women, and she trusts -- almost arrogantly -- that this is enough to herald her presence. Either way, it's not as though she'd have given her brother any forewarning. He has to know that this has been a long time coming. She's given him plenty of time, all things considered -- enough to build a business, to create a fledgling network of fellow imPorts, to spread her name around if he's so inclined. It's only expected, and only fair in her eyes, that eventually his time would run out. The game has changed, and with it has gone her patience.

The door being unlocked is a pleasant surprise. Just as quietly as she's approached, she lets herself in. She's got a coat with her, of course -- because you don't walk down the streets of a city like this, in an outfit like hers, without drawing the most obnoxious kind of attention -- but that's it so far as concessions to normality go. It's one of the few positives of a situation like this, in Lust's eyes; no need to bother dressing up. She's also got a clutch purse tucked under her arm, but that has nothing to do with appearances. He'll see later, if he doesn't kill her first.

"That," she says to Greed's back*, "is a filthy habit." She might as well be telling him to wash his hands before dinner.

*or face since I'm assuming he would have turned around at the noise anyway WHO KNOWS DO WHAT YOU WANT

[nestingdevil]

Plenty of women do wear high heels, but no so many have that distinct sound. Acute and accurately threatening; Greed knows it before he even has the chance to turn around.

It's been a long time coming and the sand has finally run dry.

His smile is crooked and sarcastically pleasant. He doesn't react stiffly or even remotely violent. Just slouching and rolling, his hand slipping through the running-tap as he puts the last glass to rest. This has been coming; he knows that. Not as long as a century, but the game is certainly different. Amestris had a set-point-match going from the start - one that he had been privy to the outcome. Here, though?

All bets are off.

Greed turns to face her and his shoulders slump, his spine eases. And with a sharp grin, his lower lip pushes out.

"Didn't think it was a problem," he all but purrs back. While making a point of snuffing out the remnant cigarette butt with the tip of his boot. Ash smears a gray-black across floor in one curved stroke. From under the bar, Greed grabs a bottle by the neck. The top's between his fingers when he lets his arm sway and still by his side.

Without breaking eye contact, he steps the length of his bar. Even behind his sunglasses, the too-wide spread of his eyes is laughably noticeable. Especially when the temperamental lights from above give a sneak peek. The situation could go from bad to worse if he isn't too careful.

Thankfully, Lust does have some class.

He sidestep exits the bar by the swing-door at the side. "I can't imagine you're here just to talk." The bottle in hand is his preferred brand of poison - scotch. Old, aged and probably worth a good penny if he had actually paid for it. The tin at the top hasn't even been cracked yet.

"So what do you want, Ultimate Spear?" Greed's tone is a-sizzle. Mockery at every note as it sings-songs through his teeth. The bottle swings at his hip and the liquor starts to spiral. Tunneling softly; down, down, down.

Greed gets a little too close with his shoulder, his elbow. He's noticed the purse clutched under her arm - a new addition by his recollection. But he says nothing of it. Instead, he only chimes in with a low-placed whisper:

"Let's not make this any messier than it has to be, hmn?" And with that, he passes her by. He's not too worried about what she can do to him - her aim is spot on, her viciousness more so. It's the lingering mass that raises a concern.

Though, even that's a mild one.

[fingerbang]

"I wouldn't dream of getting your floor dirty," she says. Her voice, directed to the retreating form behind her, is prim, clipped, but nothing else. Even in a case as personal as this, disdain is rarely more than a tool in her arsenal, and she sees no use for it here. Greed knows perfectly well what she thinks of him; if anything, his recollection will have magnified her distaste. She keeps her back turned to him and steps forward to the bar itself.

"Last time we spoke, you said 'send what you have.'" At this point, she does turn her head to glance his way, but only as a precursor to her next action. With her free hand, she brushes her hair over her shoulder. "But I'm afraid that simply wasn't possible."

In a single motion, Lust takes a seat. The clutch purse rests in her lap, beneath her demurely folded hands.

"Even if I had the spare time to write down all that I know, well." She crosses her legs at the ankle. "It would take more words than I have the paper for, and then there's the cost of postage to think of. This way was the most efficient... unless you're no longer interested in what I have to offer, Ultimate Shield."

Her chin juts slightly forward. It's the only concession she's making to her curiosity.

"Don't tell me I came all this way for nothing."

[nestingdevil]

"Oh-? Careful - someone else might actually take that to heart," Greed hums as he circles around the seat she's taken. He births from behind her back, lifting the branded-booze up as he goes. He's got it by the neck, though through a slip, it's only barely held in an easy grip. A drop has it placed to his right and her left; a metaphorical barrier between himself and his older, more experienced sibling.

A line drawn.

Greed takes the stool one-down (giving enough space should anything go sour) and immediately hooks both of his boots into the rungs below. "Glad you remembered - was starting to think you forgot." His wrists sag between splayed-out thighs and that expression of his turns up with a sneer. Their positions speak louder than words; each pointed forward instead of face to face.

As if they weren't having a conversation at all.

"I'll admit - I'd be a little offended if you decided to skip out on our deal." The way he speaks is with a bit of a bite. Lust is, by all accounts, on an old-time shit list.

He gives her a side-glance. "Though you can cut the bullshit - you know I've only been honest with you from the start. Seems only fair." The younger homunculus gives his temple a tap. Two fingers bounce off the side of his skull and his sunglasses return with a rattler's call. Buzzing at the brims, making the lenses quake. He throws his arm behind the arch of the seat he's in soon after. Relaxing into the wood frame, he lets his fingers dribble and drum down the side.

"I'm still interested in what you know - nothing else." The grin is a forced expression. Cheshire, but feral; as if the fabled cat had been stepped on one too many a-time. "But coming out all this way - gotta say I'm surprised. What with everything else going on."

He doesn't need to say it; they're practically made for this sort of thing. A person, person(s) of interest. Edward Elric always made waves where ever he went, his younger brother more so. The name wasn't too hard to find and he's sure Lust has already been made well aware.

That doesn't mean he's going to spoon feed anything.

Greed pulls a new smoke out of his pocket and reaches forward to snatch a candle. It's lit, the wax only a pool at the bottom. He weighs a hand inside, smiling just a bit more when he feels the burn there. Boiling hot and red - a reminder of less fortunate events.

But that's a topic for another time entirely.

The tip hits fire and liquid-hot wax lashes the glass. When the flame in the center spits a protest, Greed lets the glass jar go. Not unlike a kid releasing something out of defiance. Thankfully, it just tips towards the bottle of scotch, rocks back, and stills.

No disaster.

"So - what is it you have to share?"

OOC | I AM SO SORRY ABOUT THE AMOUNT OF EDITS ON THIS BAD BOY

[fingerbang]

One of her hands migrates from her lap to rest on the polished surface of the bar as he lights his cigarette. An innocuous enough gesture, were the two of them anything but what they are -- still, it's not a move born of aggression any more than the stool between them is a concession of weakness. They're both threats to one another. She's simply acknowledging his tip of the hat to that with one of her own.

"Oh, I don't know about that," she says in response to one of his earlier statements, scanning the bottles as though they're of any interest at all. Her voice is mild. "All kinds of novel things are happening these days, after all. And anything is worth trying once."

And she really did want to see this place outside the phone's-eye-view he's granted the Network. Lust had never examined its predecessor in person. That had been Wrath's job, and after the raid the place had no doubt been razed too thoroughly to bear any resemblance to its former self. Not that that had been any loss. Like so many other things, before death had forcibly shifted her perspective, she had thought nothing of it. It was immaterial -- now it's slightly less so.

"Now. It's customary for the gentleman to begin things." She drums her fingers on the bartop idly while her other hand fishes in the purse. "Don't misunderstand -- I don't expect any information from you, just a place to start."

Totally wild here.

[braided_icarus]

[Later that same day he got the strange text, Ed figures the directions and finds himself at where he....well, assumes is the right place. It certainly reminds him of a certain Homunculus' hangout back home, in any case. But at the same time, he's not sure on this. How much Greed would remember. If this would be Greeling or the first Greed they encountered that kidnapped Al.

Which is why he's left Al back home with Winry. Coming alone as he enters and looks around, sticking out like a sore thumb with the red coat and distinctive eye colour. And obviously underage for that matter.]

[nestingdevil]

[From a staircase near the back, a voice calls. Oily and humming, like the sound of a fire being stoked. Greed circles his hand around the wooden post signaling the end of the stairwell and his nails clip lightly at the front.]

Glad to see you got the message.

[He's careful not to come too close at first. The last time the elder Elric saw this face, it had been a rocky start. But Greed hasn't forgotten; the subsequent purification, the prince in tow, and the end that had been his final curtain call.]

[How much Ed remembers is what's really at question.]

[The homunculus takes a step off; hands deep in his pockets as he trails and closes the space between. The Alchemist had been a hot-head in the past; still is, to some degree. But he wasn't an idiot and the Sin in question hoped that this time? Luck would be more tipped in his favor.]

[So he opens with an easy one - ]

Ha - ! You and that little pissant prince - [How he moves is entirely predatory; taking a wide-birth circle around the other as he shuffles with a sidestep.] - though I guess that would really depend on what you remember.

[Because the Porter is a tricky one. He doesn't know the in(s) and out(s) about it, but one thing is clear:]

[Not everyone's history has been written out yet.]

[braided_icarus]

[Ed turns when he hears the familiar voice, raising an eyebrow at it. It's different. Not the same as from Greeling he recalls, but the previous Greed before that. He's guarded, hands remaining in his pockets as he shifts, watching the homunculus descend the stairs warily. He's no idea on what the story is with Greed, hasn't seen him since the fight with Pride back before Hohenheim sealed Al in that dome.

But the mention of Ling takes him off guard, and he frowns in response, confused. What did he mean by that? Did he recall something Ed didn't? Because he thought this version of Greed was dead and gone, used in the Stone Father used with Ling after they escaped from Gluttony.]

Spit it out. What do you remember? I thought you died and were used with that Stone when Father made that new Greed with Ling. What's going on?

[nestingdevil]

[The Porter makes things messy. Messier than they should be anyway. Greed pauses, leaving a few feet between himself and the older of the two Elric brothers. He claps his foot down, swiveling it out as his body shifts and slouches to one side.]

A lot more than you, apparently.

[Greed hitches a thumb into the lip of his pocket, moving just a bit further around the circle he's making. The cocky attitude is a signature of his, his smile more so. Filled with sharp teeth and sharper promises. Still, he's at ease when he speaks: his inked-red hand flinging out to the still air between them.] Purified - [He corrects, not without a bit of malice to the word.] - he made sure I didn't have my old memories. But that pissant of a prince thought otherwise.

[It's a private matter, that set-back down in the bowels of Central. Ed doesn't need to know: no one does. Call it a sour point.]

[The Sin takes one more step further, testing the boundary.] You really don't know, do you? [Which is both good and bad, he supposes. Not his crowning moment there at the end of things. A choice and he had tipped the scales to his would-be host.]

[Greed momentarily rolls his eyes back behind his sunglasses. A light 'tsk' clicks from the edge of his tongue.] I've died twice - in the way I can't really come back. [Said as he turns away, looking at the small trickle of rain that's stuck to one of the windows. It's a baited hook, he knows. Vague, but hey.]

[He's not about to let it all slip right off the bat.]

[braided_icarus]

Okay. You remember more. Explain then.

[Ed's almost constantly shifting himself, watching Greed as the homunculus keeps circling him, watching him. His lips purse in frustration as he waits before the other explains. Died twice. Okay, so generally 'dying' is not really death for a homunculi, but it can obviously be done. He knows that through Gluttony. Lust. The original Greed must have if his stone was all that was left that Father used to create a new Greed from Ling. But he still frowns, listening.]

So you do remember. Martel and the others, kidnapping Al. What do you mean you can't come back? The stone....?

[How did that work? What happened? The only thing he can vaguely recall there being a time where the Stone was gone from a dead homunculus was with Pride, when he ate Gluttony. This is different, somehow. There's much more dread, a much more sinking feeling as Ed asks.]

What happened?