(Untitled)

[white_stitches]

Who: Greed and Amelia
What: Hallucinations make Amelia panic and take shelter. Greed has his chance to claim her.
Where: The Devil’s Nest
When: Shortly before the poison antidotes are distributed.
Rating: Creeping up on R; contains Greed and mature concepts.

Comments

[nestingdevil]

The 'Nest had fallen into darkness since a little event on the rooftop cut them off from a power source. It was silent on the front, not a breath of air moved in the dank halls. But upstairs, there were voices; the tremors of familiarity tweaking against the old pine that made up the joint. It seemed a safe haven for anyone to go to, even without the familiar sounds of drunken drivel and pleasures taken to the far corners. No, the small noises upstairs spoke of safe port, even if the darkness was deceptive

[white_stitches]

The first sound of Greed's voice startled Amelia in her impulsive state, and she kept her head low, ready to leave. As he lowered his voice and extended his hand to touch her, he caught her in the middle of a hesitant shuffle of her legs, turning back towards the door. She stood facing perpendicularly to the homunculus, keeping quiet except for uneven sniffling. The contact made her hope against hope that her unacceptably weak body would go unharmed, even though it deserved it.

Her mind swirled as distorted perception tried to pick out the identity of the voice, the face.

Amelia opened her mouth to speak but no words escaped for four seconds, only breaths. Finally, a ghost of her voice came to her. "I'm here...Acro...?" Her soft eyes looked into the lenses of his sunglasses. She took a heavier breath, the exhalation carrying an odor of vomit. Her spindly arms reached out to his sides, stopping before she could reach far enough to definitively suggest a hug. "I-is Greed here?"

[nestingdevil]

"In the flesh," Greed said through lips that were slowly falling into a tight frown. She was lost, that was for certain - the venom in her blood stream was probably beating a thousand times a minute. He could smell the vomit, the stink of it an acrid shrill in his nostrils. He growled, but not at her - the bodies were beginning to leave a mental tally on his growing list of dues that were coming towards him. Just one more of his things was being toyed with

[white_stitches]

Amelia could not immediately convince herself what 'in the flesh' meant. The idea arose in her mind, in opposition to the easy belief persisting that there was no hallucination here, only Acro speaking, somehow having found his way into the 'Nest. To ignore this belief would be a mild act of will, a power she possessed too faintly. The idea receded.

Invasive touches and the expression of distaste followed her question, and naturally, she considered them to be a reprimand. "H-have I done something wrong, sir?" Amelia asked. For someone to care about her health was implausible. Acro could continue whatever he felt necessary to fix her behavior. Acro didn't have anything wrong with him; he could fix a defective mind and unusable body.

"S-sorry...I can't identify anyone, not anymore." She reached over the man's shoulders, clasped her hands together and allowed herself to lean on him. The thought of being too heavy for not-Acro sickened her. "Sir, there's...I need to go purge again, before Chelsea finds us. Sh-should I go outside?"