Who: Greed | OPEN What: The first night The Devil's Nest is open. When: Friday night? Where: Mandalus' nasty part of town.
It was the nasty part of town. The kind that sent up all red-flags for anyone and anyone that wasn't cut from the lower deck; the kind of place where Mandalus' tall order of normalcy was null and void.
Red lights slashed alleyways; cut them and flooded them in a wickedness that harbored those refugees who pulled against the tide - the types that wore themselves with lips drawn tight. The types that had history written out in wrinkles, scars, and half-lidded eyes looking to catch a glimpse at the next big thing.
They were the thugs and the criminals; the has-been(s) and should-have(s). Men who dug into the alleyways and spat in the direction of any poor soul that happened to wander off the beaten path. They were women who used the trick of their trade to swindle enough cash to make a night worth wild.
And even still, they were those that were far more than their outward appearances would seem.
But even with the debris of a long-fought battle still littered on the cobblestone, it seemed business as usual for the dregs of Mandalus' society. And there was a buzz on the streets - a few lingering souls whispering and heading in the direction of a neon-blaze red sign. A new sight in the underground, but one that didn't seem to disappoint.
Because while that red was wicked - sinful - it drew in the crowds. People looking to forget the events that had passed, people looking to drown themselves in whatever was being pushed.
It was spoke like a rumor; like a well kept secret. And news was passing swiftly.
And that was just what he wanted.
The Devil's Nest's sign sparked down a winding path of alleyways and street corners. It's red seemed crudely painted on and the sign itself hung crooked; as if the owner had no intention of hiding the joint's true intentions. And from deep below, the noise was starting up - the exchange and chiming of tossed glasses, the low hum of a few who had probably had had too many by the time the bar was really hustling. There were those lingering at the entrance - a gaping jaw groaning with the passing fancies of good times spent.
But it was like a pit; a deep stairwell that swelled with swill and seemed to yawn stale-smoke into the air on a constant wave.
It was the perfect place for monsters. And that was exactly what was there.
Greed lodged his knuckles around the neck of a particular brand of scotch - one that had come along for Mandalus' unexpected ride. It bore no name and as he tipped it into a glass half-stocked with ice, a wicked smile crossed his features. One that sliced the air like a knife.
"Why do they call me Greed?" He purred in response to a nameless patron as his fingers scratched across the surface of his bar. The lights above send his shades swirling and spiraling with yellows, reds, and blues. Then in a flick, they were gone - swallowed down into those hollow pits as viper-eyes expanded. The top of the bottle was rolled across the rim of the glass and the homunculus slowly lowered the butt-end to the smooth surface.
"Truth is - that's the only name I have," he said as he turned his head up, exposed the lower half of his throat and jaw. The fur-trim of his vest fanned around the thick chords of his neck and both eyebrows coiled up high. "See, I wanted everything you can possibly think of .."
But the rant would be saved for another time. The cruel-grin didn't fade as he raised the liquor to his lips and snapped his fangs against the brim. Gulped thickly after and let the booze dribble down his chin. Ice followed and even that didn't hold up to his less-than-holy jaws; crunched and sawed, like the vicious ripping one would see out of particular fearsome marine animal.
Half-gone, the Sin tossed out his glass and let out a thunderous bark. "But that's not why you're here, right? So tell me - what do you want."