[The more Marco elaborates, the more the Sin draws near. He's like a moth to flame - a sick, mangled, disease-ridden flare as rich as gold and as toxic as centuries-old lead, disturbed from its roost. He may not know, he probably doesn't even have an idea. But everything the other's spouting? It stabs right to his core; like simultaneous bullets firing at a target. First: "...took a part of the Fog God's Power..." The second: "..forced it into him .." And the third time? Surely, it's the charm. Marco's information hits its mark. His aim steadied and level to one of the many things he so, so craves:]

["He still lives outside his own body ... He hasn't aged .."]

[Greed splays his teeth. Where his gums had been bleach-dry before, the slick in his mouth is savory; a big cat with a bigger picture and a belly starved for more, more, more. The former homunculus laboriously prods at the insides of his cheek. He can feel it coming before he can stop it. A copper in his spit, faint like swallowed pennies. The taste of a brush fire catching in his throat like a set-in drought.]

[No, truly? Marco just shouldn't have.]

[The Sin quietly constricts in their shared space and as he sways, the hum in his eyes vibrates. Purple melts away, a red replaces it. Until his sockets are nothing more than empty pits - alight and steaming like that of flare, floating atop a murky swamp. For as ageless as it is, avarice? Avarice - ]

[It's never, ever enough.]

[The former homunculus leans over, forcing his wings to pull a little more taut.] That so. [His words come out lofty on his tongue. They form in swills of smoke; in a smear of smog, like that of an engine running hot against the winter's chill. This isn't the first time he's stared down an answer to his question. Back then, all those years ago - the forks of the Sin's tongue split between his front teeth. They feather along the points; a split made of sulfur and burning just as bright. One of Greed's knuckles tenses and as the bones in his hand grow stiff, the curve of his claw bites into the leather of his pants. Allowing a thin scratch to squeal itself into a long, dangerous line.]

[Because, haven't they learned by now? Haven't they done this before?]

[Never, ever, tempt the sinner.]

Wouldn't happen to know how he did it, would you? The Doc - [Inches way, his residual heat is almost suffocating. The thin blades of grass nearby shrink under the influence. They crinkle in on themselves - the look of them more similar to plastic, tossed on the grill. The former homunculus stiffens his shoulders.] - if he's still around, then there's a possibility. Though, I'm gunna guess it's not that easy, is it? Sounds pretty personal. [Again, the brunt of his tongue rolls behind his teeth. No, Elias wouldn't make it so simple. There's a family connection there; a tenuous thread tied from himself, his power, and a father who succumbed to the very creation he sought to make.]

[It may be the only thing, the one thing, the two of them have in common.]

[Still - ]

[The earring in his ear chimes and Greed tentatively spreads his knees. He listlessly tosses his head over his shoulder and as he turns, a strike of white shifts across his face.] Ehh - you wouldn't really tell me anyway, would you? That's really too bad - [Another sliver of ash snakes out of his jaw. Whether Marco actually knows, whether he doesn't, the point? It's moot. Because there's an ability: a way to swindle from either Gods or both and, what is it he's always said?]

["There's no such thing as no such thing."]

[The Sin slumps.] - a deal's a deal, though. If you do know, it'd be better to just tell me. I'll find out either way. [For the last time, his glance slides in Marco's direction. With only the glint of a silvery sky and his own flame to guide them, the expression he takes is dark. The devil dancing in the pale moonlight, waiting, lingering, for someone to give, give, give.]

[And who better, than the very priest that cast him down in the first place.]