[ Shortly after Greed catches the imp, Mammon is twirling his cane around like a boss. There's a sharp clang as he drives it into the ground and proceeds to lean against it, observing him with the same keen interest one might give a fly buzzing around a pile of shit. ]

It can catch. You're a regular Gold medalist at the Special Olympics, aren't ya?

Listen here, rump ranger, you're barkin' up the wrong tree if you think I'm gonna pitch for ya. One Ring down, look for the flaming fucking rooster, that homo shit has his name all over it.

[ But something changes in his expression, perhaps he has noticed something about Greed too, or stepping over the crumpled forms of small fries has become boring. Those bright green eyes remained trained on him as he approaches, giving nothing away, but the smile is what reveals his intent. Just as eager as Greed is to stand up for the chumps, Mammon is eager to put a kid in his place.

Who the fuck does he think he is walking like this, swinging his dick around?

Without warning, he disappears in a puff of green smoke and reappears roughly a foot away from Greed with two hands on his hips. A third gestures idly while the fourth, still holding the cane, lifts up so he can prod the man in the chest. Through his shark-toothed grin, little wisps of that same green smoke seep out from between his teeth, which he promptly directs in Greed's face. ]

You challenging me, boy?