[What little details there are, they'll slim at best. Stocke's answer had been curt, but honest. The circumstances of how and why he killed Kimbley are still vague. When it happened, where; right now, they don't matter. Not in the long run. And certainly not with the impeding pressure still surrounding the block like an unseen vacuum. Even this far away, he can feel the sensation. The prick, while mild, lingers sluggishly in the air. Between the mismatched points of his scales, shy currents lace themselves from carbon to carbon; the trembles of corrupted static bouncing like that of a ward or a sudden shift in the atmosphere flashing a foreboding warning.]
[For here, here, is the border of numbers and codes.]
[Greed slowly shoves his heel into the steel barb of a kickstand. Most of the residents in this section of Vandare have fled already. Cold windows and empty homes pucker in the dark like flash-frozen yelps. A few of the buildings still have a light on or two, but under the Fourth's radiating influence, the trembles they give off are erratic and unpredictable. It leaves the narrow alleyways pulsing in a lightning storm's flash: the appearance more close to that of a disaster's vicious aftermath. Fat cables bounce in a tangle of faint-laced wire and as one of the lampposts further away shatters inside its case, a headlight on the opposing corner goes dim. The cutting engine practically deafening.]
[No, today? Today, he's here alone.]
[The Sin hooks his claws lazily in the loops of his keys. Copper, silver, and a dash of well-loved nickle hang on the crook of his knuckle. By the looks of them, they've seen better days. A kind of wet slicks atop the grooves like well-licked teeth. One spin though, and they quickly dry; the sudden rise of temperature in his hand turning metal and steel a searing, orange-bubble hot.]
Y'know, for someone like you, I figured you wouldn't be that dense. [Greed's voice smooths out from the dusk. Where there's a playful hum to his words, there's no denying that sharp edge. It flicks at the tips of his teeth in flutter - the forks of his tongue tasting the air with a rolling pop punctuated by a flare deep on the inside of his cheek. The former homunculus takes his time; counts his seconds. He passes by the front of his motorcycle in a hunch, his shoulders positioned high and tight.] Sorry, but you really haven't given me much of a choice, friend.
[The night's cool air ripens the more he draws near. Crisp before, his presence seems to bring a trickle of humidity. Subtle, yes, but all too much like a fever that's only clamming at the surface. Greed sinks his heel in the center of two, uneven stones - drawing the tip to a high, arching slice.] Getting me involved, that's one thing. [The pause is dangerous and indicating.] But forcing mine to kill one another?
[The Sin's jaws snap and in the shadow of a dead post, the glint of his teeth replace any light. The glow white and hot; giving even the most infamous deep-water predator a run for everything it's got. He taps his knuckle atop the side of his thigh.] That's still stealing. And if you're anything, then you should already know.
[A lift of his chin brings his head upward, the shimmer from his eyes like two, beady flashlights cruising in the dark.]
Shortly after Stocke takes out Kimbley
[What little details there are, they'll slim at best. Stocke's answer had been curt, but honest. The circumstances of how and why he killed Kimbley are still vague. When it happened, where; right now, they don't matter. Not in the long run. And certainly not with the impeding pressure still surrounding the block like an unseen vacuum. Even this far away, he can feel the sensation. The prick, while mild, lingers sluggishly in the air. Between the mismatched points of his scales, shy currents lace themselves from carbon to carbon; the trembles of corrupted static bouncing like that of a ward or a sudden shift in the atmosphere flashing a foreboding warning.]
[For here, here, is the border of numbers and codes.]
[Greed slowly shoves his heel into the steel barb of a kickstand. Most of the residents in this section of Vandare have fled already. Cold windows and empty homes pucker in the dark like flash-frozen yelps. A few of the buildings still have a light on or two, but under the Fourth's radiating influence, the trembles they give off are erratic and unpredictable. It leaves the narrow alleyways pulsing in a lightning storm's flash: the appearance more close to that of a disaster's vicious aftermath. Fat cables bounce in a tangle of faint-laced wire and as one of the lampposts further away shatters inside its case, a headlight on the opposing corner goes dim. The cutting engine practically deafening.]
[No, today? Today, he's here alone.]
[The Sin hooks his claws lazily in the loops of his keys. Copper, silver, and a dash of well-loved nickle hang on the crook of his knuckle. By the looks of them, they've seen better days. A kind of wet slicks atop the grooves like well-licked teeth. One spin though, and they quickly dry; the sudden rise of temperature in his hand turning metal and steel a searing, orange-bubble hot.]
Y'know, for someone like you, I figured you wouldn't be that dense. [Greed's voice smooths out from the dusk. Where there's a playful hum to his words, there's no denying that sharp edge. It flicks at the tips of his teeth in flutter - the forks of his tongue tasting the air with a rolling pop punctuated by a flare deep on the inside of his cheek. The former homunculus takes his time; counts his seconds. He passes by the front of his motorcycle in a hunch, his shoulders positioned high and tight.] Sorry, but you really haven't given me much of a choice, friend.
[The night's cool air ripens the more he draws near. Crisp before, his presence seems to bring a trickle of humidity. Subtle, yes, but all too much like a fever that's only clamming at the surface. Greed sinks his heel in the center of two, uneven stones - drawing the tip to a high, arching slice.] Getting me involved, that's one thing. [The pause is dangerous and indicating.] But forcing mine to kill one another?
[The Sin's jaws snap and in the shadow of a dead post, the glint of his teeth replace any light. The glow white and hot; giving even the most infamous deep-water predator a run for everything it's got. He taps his knuckle atop the side of his thigh.] That's still stealing. And if you're anything, then you should already know.
[A lift of his chin brings his head upward, the shimmer from his eyes like two, beady flashlights cruising in the dark.]
No one takes what's mine.