[Greed turns and as he does, he shows his back to Envy. Shows his back like he knows, like he's following the same path he did a century prior. Does he even remember that? The day he left without a word to disappear in the haze of another, foggy Amestrian morning.]
[In the end, he doesn't care what Envy remembers, doesn't remember, or choses not to remember.]
[Instead, he says nothing and lets his body language speak for itself. His shoulders hitch up to his ears, the spines along his tail shudder back down flat. No, his brother isn't worth the time of fucking day, is he? So fine, he'll give him just that. The nothingness of it all that hurts and stings and strikes twice like a mamba with a mouth full of venom.]
[The former homunculus slips around the other side of the bar, the glass in his hand screaming beneath the pressure of his claws. He checks out his cache of liquor and lands on something he (at least) finds fitting. The bottle of absinthe stares back at him as green as ever; its shine like stagnant swamp water. Greed grabs it by the neck and brings the stopper up to his teeth.]
["Show me your true self - "]
[Without his usual flare or air for the dramatic, the Sin sinks his teeth into the cork. He claps down his jaws as sure as vice, threatening to tear the whole thing to absolute shreds. The Sins, his family. Can he even call them that? Did they actually deserve that? No. They're a so-called group, a gathering of creatures vomited up and spat out to cleanse a man with feet stained bloody and red. But no amount of anything could make a monster like that pure, could it?]
[And no amount of good could ever wash away his sins.]
[Greed pulls the stopper out with a violent jerk of his head before spitting it to the floor. He gives no prep to the drink when he pours it: no sugar to make it smooth, no ice to level out the flavor. No, oh no. He figures this is the answer Envy deserves. And as he tops it off, he slaps the glass down with a dull thwack.]
[All the while, he doesn't even give the other Sin a second glance.]
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[In the end, he doesn't care what Envy remembers, doesn't remember, or choses not to remember.]
[Instead, he says nothing and lets his body language speak for itself. His shoulders hitch up to his ears, the spines along his tail shudder back down flat. No, his brother isn't worth the time of fucking day, is he? So fine, he'll give him just that. The nothingness of it all that hurts and stings and strikes twice like a mamba with a mouth full of venom.]
[The former homunculus slips around the other side of the bar, the glass in his hand screaming beneath the pressure of his claws. He checks out his cache of liquor and lands on something he (at least) finds fitting. The bottle of absinthe stares back at him as green as ever; its shine like stagnant swamp water. Greed grabs it by the neck and brings the stopper up to his teeth.]
["Show me your true self - "]
[Without his usual flare or air for the dramatic, the Sin sinks his teeth into the cork. He claps down his jaws as sure as vice, threatening to tear the whole thing to absolute shreds. The Sins, his family. Can he even call them that? Did they actually deserve that? No. They're a so-called group, a gathering of creatures vomited up and spat out to cleanse a man with feet stained bloody and red. But no amount of anything could make a monster like that pure, could it?]
[And no amount of good could ever wash away his sins.]
[Greed pulls the stopper out with a violent jerk of his head before spitting it to the floor. He gives no prep to the drink when he pours it: no sugar to make it smooth, no ice to level out the flavor. No, oh no. He figures this is the answer Envy deserves. And as he tops it off, he slaps the glass down with a dull thwack.]
[All the while, he doesn't even give the other Sin a second glance.]