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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!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

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.

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.

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."

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."

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.

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.

"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.

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."

"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.

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?"

"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."

"Yeah. A bit."

Yomiel catches the glass and then takes the bottle of brandy in his hand. He lifts it, watches it swirl in the bottle, even brings it to his nose for a sniff-- pointless, of course, as he can't actually smell it, but it goes back to that pantomime of normalcy he likes to have when he can. He pours his glass full, then pops the cap back on the bottle and sets it closer to Greed, so he can pour his own if he's so inclined.

He makes a bit of a face at the mention of pulling out bullets. "Well. It might be," he mutters, mostly to himself. It'd be easiest if someone else could help him do it. It's a little difficult to keep constantly-mending flesh open long enough to get a bullet out. Yomiel can sort of tell where they are and none made it very deep, thanks, again, to said special flesh.

Knocking the drink back, he lets the liquid sit in his mouth for a moment before it slides back and down his throat. It tastes dull. Just barely sweet. Not even a little bit of a burn.

He sets the glass down then and shakes his head, pantomiming another deep breath just out of habit.

"You been watching the news?" he asks.

His fingers reach out, hooking the bottle by the neck. A swing of the thumb does the rest of the job and the tin-cap spins right off. It falls onto the bar, slowly rolling away before dropping to the ground with a missed clink.

Normalcy isn't something that comes to the 'Nest often. Maybe on the outside, maybe to pass through the usual inspection.

Really, it's anything but.

Greed's expression turns a bit. An odd kind of fondness that misses the point. "All you need to do is ask," the Sin starts as the bottle is lifted from the bar. He gives a lazy pull of the shoulder before pouring himself out a helping. It won't get him drunk either, but at least he can enjoy the taste. "-just might get a little messy."

The brandy's capped and Greed circles the lip of his glass. Yanking it up and he takes a heavy pull. The liquor sloshes right down without the added ice and soon, he's got nothing but a sliver left.

He cleans his mouth with a crude swipe of the thumb when he comes up for air. "Kind of hard to miss, what with everything that's been going on." The homunculus sways his wrist and brandy sloshes up the sides. From one corner to the next, lapping it with a cherry-clear film.

"Would you mind? I'd appreciate it." He looks surprised for the offer. Aww. That's kind of nice of him. Yomiel was probably going to ask eventually, just because it's difficult to manipulate himself into quite that complicated a job. It's easier for someone else to do the dirty work, but it takes quite a strong stomach for the fighting and forcep-ing they're going to have to go through.

"Not even messy," Yomiel assures him. "I don't bleed. But if you find violently yanking flesh apart before it mends too unnerving, I won't hold it against you." He'll at least depart from his corpse before they get started, just to avoid making someone violently yank flesh apart on a moving body.

At least it can't hurt.

Yomiel smiles a little awkwardly and puts his lips around his glass again. There's a little bit left, so he tries to get it out as best he can before giving up and setting it down.

"That interesting crime spree where nobody knows who's doing what?"

He won't admit to being the Manipulator. The people who might know that he is are all the way in Florida right now, and he'd rather not end up cornered anywhere due to his powers.

"I... might have had a hand in planning it."

Edited (ermagerd verb ternse) 2014-06-20 02:33 (UTC)

With a dragged-out slowness, Greed sets the glass down. His fingers hold it by the lip, tilting it towards him until he releases it. Then it tips back forward, bounces, and stills. "Wouldn't be the first time," he says with a lowered whisper. It isn't something he really enjoys, but the concept isn't a foreign one.

It's what he had been made for, after all.

His eyes close with a kind of heaviness to them. Telling of his age, how long he's been around. Not in Maurtia of course. He's only been in this world for a brief time. Months really didn't matter when there's two centuries already under his belt.

"That so."

The glass in his shades spirals when he lifts his head. Peeling the blackness from them with muted whites and yellows. In that quick flash, his pupils dilate. Thickening out and snapping back to sharp slivers.

"Wouldn't happen to have run across someone in particular, would you?" Greed readies his hook. No matter what the answer happens to be, Yomiel's already signed the dot. Written his name across a contract that doesn't exist: he's one of his. And in a place that always seemed to teeter on bad news, a mistake isn't something the Sin's about to hold against him.

"-Violet." His smile closes and Greed dips his head just to let his sunglasses trail down his nose. Like this, he can really stare back. His reflection in Yomiel's own pair as he traces the frame of his bar with the pads of his fingers.

"Might as well tell me - I'm not about to hold it against you. But she's one of ours." His body language is lazy, nonchalant. But predatory in its design, as if all the muscles are just waiting for the signal. "Though if you did, I have to ask why."

And what it was that he found, if anything.

But first thing's first.

Fortunately, he's prepared for this question. In his hanging out at the bar in spirit form up to now, he had been quite surprised to see Violet of all people come walking in here. And she worked for Greed, as it turned out-- and Greed was probably not going to be happy to hear that Yomiel had manipulated her into being an accessory to a crime.

Then again, Greed didn't know Yomiel could manipulate people. And he wanted to keep it that way.

"I meant that I helped to plan it," he says, smooth as could be. "That Manipulator guy... asked me to help because of my job. All I was supposed to do was put the computer pieces together for him once he stole or bought them with his stolen money. I didn't know he'd go to such horrible measures to do it."

He sighs, sweeping a hand over his tall, slicked-back plume of hair.

"Imagine my surprise when I met the guy face-to-face in the middle of town square, possessing some kid... and telling me I knew too much to live. He made her empty her clip into me. And rather than face a bunch of annoying questions about why I didn't have a scratch on me after my death, I just left my body for a while to play it up. Then misplace a few papers in the coroner's office, and here I am."

Pantomiming a sigh, he folds his hands on top of the bar. "She okay?"

"Quite a guy - even I'm impressed," Greed charms his way back in. All slick-tongued as his fingers press into the bar. His shoulders sag and his head tilts playfully to the side. "-though getting one of mine involved. I might take it personally."

Though, he really wouldn't. Things being as they are, Heropa and the cities in consequence were a web of sorts. It's bound to happen; to be tangled up in someone else's business. Had Violet suffered anything but a short trip to a cell, the whole situation would have been a lot different. As it stands?

It's a minor offense.

There's a stillness to his glance as Yomiel tells his own story. Watching every motion, every tick like a feline in waiting. "Ah, right. You're familiar with how all this works." Greed throws out a hand, gesturing around him. The technology of this world is still something he's getting used. It's advanced for him and more complex than he ever imagined. "-though with an ability like that, it seems he could have done it himself. Funny he sought you out."

The homunculus lets his heel clack against the ground when he shifts his weight. "It could have been worse. A lot worse." Horrible? Sure, in some eyes. But there's a fine line between good and bad and Greed's never had a problem with the morally gray. It's a place he's most comfortable in as well. Maybe getting certain people involved was a bit out of his league, but.

He's not about it hold it against the guy. "So you saw him - what he really looks like." An eyebrow cocks up and Greed sinks a bit further. Aligning his spine while his forearm chases the frame work of the bar. "I'd be interested to know - just in case."

To the last question, the Sin tosses his fingers up from the bar a little half-assed. "Nothing she can't handle. Not exactly an ideal situation, but she said no to my initial offer. Seemed it all worked out in her favor."

Wow. He bought it. Not that Yomiel was expecting not to be believed... with abilities are strange and bizarre as his, it's not like they are supposed to be predictable or make sense.

He nods to confirm Greed's guess that he knows how the technology works. "Yeah... though computers are different than other machines. They have their own language. Being able to control one is a lot different from being able to 'speak the language.'" He pushes his sunglasses up his face a little to make sure they stay on. "Since I can hack and program computers, he decided it would be easiest for me to do it all for him."

"And, well... I only saw him in the body of that girl who shot me. He's a ghost too, or something like it, and if I wasn't already dead he'd have made sure to do the job for me. Who knows what he looks like for real?"

Yomiel even looks relieved to find out that Violet is doing okay. It's true, she is out of prison. That means that the useless law enforcement must have figured it out enough to let her go.

"That's good," he says. "Poor kid. I never thought somebody would be so ruthless. If I never come near that guy again it'll be too soon."

He sways away. What Yomiel has to say all makes sense. At least, in the terms Greed understands. This world is more complicated than his own; the ratio of human to not-so-much not withstanding. Greed's nails scratch small lines as he retreats. Rolling back on his torso and he slouches just so.

A flip of his back has him returning attentions to the clean up. Greed swipes a few empties from the prep counter, letting them fall into the open mouth of a trashcan just at the outer edge. From the outside, there's the distant sound of a siren and flashing lights briefly spray red and blues down the alleyway. He perks up at them, watching as they spin and chase, before disappearing again.

It's the best opportunity. "So - how much of that was bullshit and how much of it was true?" The bottles and the mirror reflect back his toothy grin. Slicing up his jaw and his sunglasses right themselves when he sways his head back. He's not entirely stupid and while consequences do happen and odds are more stacked in Yomiel's favor, Greed's been around long enough that even those eventually do add up.

Though, nothing is impossible.

He thumbs a glass nearby, rotating the pad his thumb across the lip. It's just him and present company at the moment. All quiet on this front with only the soft tolling of the ceiling fan as a backdrop. The Sin raises his skull and those pitch black shades glint in the reflection.

He looks more amused than anything else. "Might as well be honest with me," he lulls out, turning his head to the side to catch a second look-see. "-I make it a policy not to lie, friend. Figured you could at least do me the favor."

It's a draw at straws and Greed raises both hands with a more pronounced shrug. "Just seems a bit too convenient if you ask me." His arms fall slack to the side, with one circling and anchoring a thumb into the belt-loop at his hip. "Your choice. But if you work for me, I'd expect a little bit more than that."

Okayyyy... maybe not so much.

There's a brief pause, then Yomiel laughs. It's short and just a little bit awkward, accompanied by a shake of his head.

It's true, he could keep lying. The nice part about being dead is that you don't show the same tells as a living person does unconsciously. His face and body only move the way he makes them, so there's no accidentally giving himself away when he lies.

On the other hand, Greed is being good enough to house him and give him a place to hide. He may as well come clean when he has a chance.

"All of it's true," he says. "Except the part where I'm the Manipulator."

"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.

The Manipulator. Greed slips his finger into the glass he had been toying with. Hooking it in as he rocks his head to the side with a chaste kind of smile. The moniker is all Heropa; with its heroes and villains, its good and its bad. He doesn't understand it all. The idea of clear-cut lines and none of it suits him in the slightest.

Still, the coincidences did add up. Sure, anything is possible and there could have been someone else pulling the strings. He's glad the shot in the dark wasn't wrong.

"See - wasn't that hard, right?" Greed places the glass into the mouth of the sink as he turns around. His other fingers, wrapped firmly around his hip, splay out. Index at the ready and it curls just a bit when he bows forward. "Still - might be a good idea to make sure not to get ours involved next time."

It's both an idle threat and a suggestion. The Sin's not about to punish for the mistake and that sneer of his quickly fades out. "Though you still haven't told me what it was you were up to." He trails the line of the bar as he talks. Walking with a smooth slide as he tosses heel over toe and back again. At the end of the bar, he hip-checks the sway door and eases himself out.

"Find out anything useful, or was it something else?" The question's posed as he comes a little closer. Upon the inspection, most of the bullets might not be too hard to pull out. There's a few trouble spots, but if pain and blood isn't a factor, then it shouldn't be much of a problem.

"To be fair, I didn't know she was 'ours' at the time," Yomiel replies casually. He's watching Greed out of the corner of his eye, trying to see any reaction he's showing to learning that his newest employee, in addition to being a ghost driving his own dead body around, is also capable of manipulating people into doing whatever he wants.

"I didn't really target her, either," he adds. "I reached out for the nearest convenient people. It just so happened to be her. But it wasn't personal. I wouldn't have confessed otherwise."

Once it's apparent that he isn't going to be tossed out for the mistake, he shrugs and turns around in his stool, leaning back against the bar.

"I was trying to get to the Porter," he says. "More specifically, building a computer that would allow me to reach it. People aren't the only thing I can manipulate. I thought I'd try tinkering with the Porter to see what I could make it do."

"Didn't think it was - all those people. If it were personal, you would have made it clear, right?" Smarmy right back with a half-put twist of the lip to match. There's no hint of anger to his tone, to his language. Greed's only languid; constantly moving with a fluid, but erratic flow.

"Though I don't think I need to tell you that she might end up taking it a little more so," Greed voice rattles in his throat. Simmering a bit too hot just at the edge of his words. "-can't say I'd really blame her either." Personal spaces are null and void at this point and the homunculus eases his foot onto one of the wood rings holding the stool together. "Either way, she's going to find out eventually. Would you rather have me do it, or do you think you can be honest with her?"

He doesn't think he needs to say it again, but: "I just told you I make it a point not to lie. There's nothing really to gain from it." Lies get nasty and complicated far too fast. And soon it's all out of control. Ball rolling and rolling and you're the one stuck in the proverbial pathway.

Razor-cut teeth glint when Greed shows them and he swallows. "Your choice. I'm not about to force you to do anything you don't want, friend. Just remember what I told you." From behind his sunglasses, those viper-cut eyes trail. He's not about to do anything out here - it might not be messy, but who knows what kind of last-dregs might scurry in at this time of morning. Anyone worth a damn would have all-flags raised at the sight of seeing bullets removed so easily.

No - it's better to do this where the others can't take a look-see. Besides, there's still that matter of the Porter that's piqued him.

"C'mon," the Sin orders as his boot slips from the stool. He doesn't gesture with the usual curl of the finger. Instead, it's a slothful slump of the shoulder, making him teeter to the side as if he's about to lose his balance.

He isn't.

"Let's take care of that little problem of yours first. And then you can tell me all about it."

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