[As he pulls away, the Sin mindlessly pats one of his fingers down the length of the bar, counting his steps - the motion, a way to keep his hands (his wanting, needing, demanding hands) busy. He knew it wouldn't be that easy. Everything about Silco (from the way he holds himself to how he keeps it all short, cut, and to the point) is enough that he isn't surprised by his answer. Men like him rarely take orders, if at all. It's something else he can appreciate about him. The kind of independence that barely gives an inch and demands a whole, lot more.]
[Greed wraps his hand around the side door, prodding it open.] Figured as much. I'd be a little disappointed if you said otherwise. So, think on it. And once you've made your decision, we can talk about what we can do here. I've already got a few ideas in mind. [He pushes, and the makeshift separator swings open, sending twirls of rust and ash spinning out from its hinges. However, as prepared as he had been for Silco's answer, he isn't ready for what comes next.]
[The thanks practically hits him like a bullet, stopping him dead in his tracks. It causes him to freeze up, stiff and still; the movement of his tail, jerking to a jarring, jack-knife point. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Hell, it should have been easy: a little drink to melt the ice, a bit of tobacco to burn away the night. The Sin scoffs to himself and as he gradually releases his grip on the side door, he lets his thumb feel out the hem of his pants - the stretch of his fingers, fanning out one point at a time.]
Don't mention it. [He answers, finally.] Avarice runs a bit deep, is all. Wouldn't think about it too hard. [Greed touches two of his claws together, giving Silco a half-hearted solute off his hip.]
Should probably go see how our supplies are doing. Feel free to take your pick of one of the rooms upstairs. [The chord of his tail snakes behind him, leaving the side door to sway lonely at his heels.] Even if you decide it isn't worth it, consider it yours. Seems only fair. [He doesn't bother looking back at Silco. He doesn't think he has to. If the man wanted to cut his throat, he would have done it already.]
[So instead, he slinks towards the set of stairs leading deeper into the bar's bottom floor.] Have a good night, Silco.
[And with that, he heads down below; the rattle of his chains, chiming like a wandering, fading ghost.]
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[Greed wraps his hand around the side door, prodding it open.] Figured as much. I'd be a little disappointed if you said otherwise. So, think on it. And once you've made your decision, we can talk about what we can do here. I've already got a few ideas in mind. [He pushes, and the makeshift separator swings open, sending twirls of rust and ash spinning out from its hinges. However, as prepared as he had been for Silco's answer, he isn't ready for what comes next.]
[The thanks practically hits him like a bullet, stopping him dead in his tracks. It causes him to freeze up, stiff and still; the movement of his tail, jerking to a jarring, jack-knife point. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Hell, it should have been easy: a little drink to melt the ice, a bit of tobacco to burn away the night. The Sin scoffs to himself and as he gradually releases his grip on the side door, he lets his thumb feel out the hem of his pants - the stretch of his fingers, fanning out one point at a time.]
Don't mention it. [He answers, finally.] Avarice runs a bit deep, is all. Wouldn't think about it too hard. [Greed touches two of his claws together, giving Silco a half-hearted solute off his hip.]
Should probably go see how our supplies are doing. Feel free to take your pick of one of the rooms upstairs. [The chord of his tail snakes behind him, leaving the side door to sway lonely at his heels.] Even if you decide it isn't worth it, consider it yours. Seems only fair. [He doesn't bother looking back at Silco. He doesn't think he has to. If the man wanted to cut his throat, he would have done it already.]
[So instead, he slinks towards the set of stairs leading deeper into the bar's bottom floor.] Have a good night, Silco.
[And with that, he heads down below; the rattle of his chains, chiming like a wandering, fading ghost.]