InsaneJournal

[The video feed is very, very dark; the room is dimly lit by candles so old that trails of wax have encrusted them to their holders. But it reminds him of home. It's quiet and lonesome, the sound of tin and glass clinking before Tyki lowers himself into a seat at one end of a dark lacquered table. More like falls into it, with a bruise forming on his jaw and a sallow, nearly waxy complexion hidden behind grown stubble and thick rimmed glasses. Waking up with an integral part of your being forcibly removed and dealing with that sudden loss takes a lot out of a man; especially one who heavily relied on the balance to keep him... sane. The pleasure checkmated the guilt into submission time and time again and now it's just an aggravating mess and a sour taste left in his mouth.

His bar was just a slathering of salt into an open wound, though oddly deserved. He would've admitted that before, perhaps, but it still irks him to see his place taken over. No, no it was Greed's bar. Perhaps that's why it bothers him so much now-- because it was born on a human connection and that's all he has now. A pitiful human existence. He draws a tall bottle of wine close and fills a dented tin cup with it. No glitz, no glamor here. Just aches and pains, a miserable existence and a strangely human presence behind his dark eyes.]

You know who you are and what you did. [He drinks, tipping back his cup.

His voice is raspy and he drops the empty cup onto the table, slouching backward against the wall.] Congrats. You won.

[And then he reaches forward to shut off the broadcasting feed.]