♠ first || ➥ accidental video
[Video opens with a snap-click and the feed's recording sideways; ground below's a little dusty and the horizontal up-flip doesn't catch too much at first.]
[But there's a bit of a commotion.]
[A gathered group - the whole cloak and dagger kind - and it seems they've already struck. Recoil and put on the breaks though and that little gathering? Is quickly taking a few back-steps.]
[A heel catches, tosses the recording again and a full picture buzzes on a crackling line. While it's bright - a little brighter than should be expected - the sunlight catches in pools of blood. Splatters arched and sketched on the brick-face of a building like a crude painting.]
[And the source?]
[A pole; crude instrument of a desperate army. Shoved clear through a man's skull, pinning what would-be a lifeless corpse to the bright-side of a business establishment. But it's very clear in a few moments that that death isn't coming any time soon.]
[Because the wound pulses; electric currents run a wicked red and Greed slowly raises a hand. A hand that, for lack of a better term, should be twitching with the last quivers of a death rattle. But instead, a point finger extends - cuts the air and cants off to the left. Waggles with a performance of light sarcasm.]
[Then it hooks. Lodges into the weapon protruding out of the skull and the rest of the fingers follow, grab, and yank. That red current is quick to pursue - like a downed wire whipping out of control. The weapon's dropped with a solid thud and the wound pieces back together. Bone, tissue, muscle; it all wraps, twists, laces right back and the Sin lets out a low, elongated sigh.]
That wasn't very nice - [Spoken with nonchalance and an off-put frown. The homunculus takes one step forward on the retreating guests to bend. Knees go out, shoot off in opposite directions. And he crouches down with an extended hand.] - but that isn't going to work.
[Nails grab the frame of his shades, though the image is a little bit blurry. Enough dust has kicked up to make the feed hazy.] See, I didn't want to have to do this. [Greed flicks his wrist and the shades fling wide open. Ear pieces glint in the sun and the last dregs of the light show flicker out.]
[And it's as if he was never impaled in the first place.]
[But he hums low; a noise that rattles his throat and makes his jaw snap tight. Slowly, he rises to the occasion - one heel pivoting out as he rolls his shoulders; like a wave, it causes his arms to slip out of his vest and fingers snare it by the collar.] I'm not really into showing you this part - [Said as something - a second-coating, black as coal and slick as ink - rises from the finger tips. It pieces together, crawling up his arm and making nails into talons.] - but I guess we're not going to be friends, are we?
[But unaware that he's even being recorded, Greed raises the vest. That second skin races up, swallowing his throat and fingering up his jaw. Vest balances on those claws, hovers right over the feed. When Greed speaks again, his voice has a metallic twinge to it. Similar to that of an individual trying to speak through a tin can.] Suit yourself.