Everywhere he walked, Wrath heard the growing excitement of the mortal cattle.

Clinking glasses rang their shrill tones from the insides of pubs and other sordid establishments, the functioning alcoholics prepping their bodies for the substantial volley of poison that would be ripping through their inhibitions and livers in the night to come.  

Storefronts shouted their sales with neon paint and posters faded by the recent rain, as if any stock left on their shelves would grow fangs and demolish life as they knew it if it was allowed to stay inside the borders of mass grocers and outlet malls.

The mortals themselves flitted about from city to suburb and vice versa, running on foot and strapping themselves into the mechanical deathtraps they so lovingly presented, phallic and murderous. 

Still, he had to admit some of the more elegant automobiles had their charm.

Mid-afternoon still shone it’s light, reflected off skyscrapers and deadened by clouds of ever-present smog, and by the rampant dying masses who made their homes on the streets Wrath passed. They would not celebrate tonight, but tuck away with bottle and syringe to avoid the sprawling masses that would offer no spare change when they were driven into a berserk panic to experience all they had not allowed themselves to in the past year. 

Crimson lips slid back across his maw of bone. Tonight, the sin of humanity would show itself in full, and he would lurk in the background, preying upon the energy of the herd and enforcing it’s presence through a suggestion here, a spark there, a closed fist bashing away any thoughts of opened palms.

All this would be his to pursue, after a visit to the most delightful of his coworkers. For, after all, everyone else was trying to fix the mistakes of opportunities strayed from due to apprehension. Why not him?

So it was that Wrath found his vessel dissipating into the air around him, leaving his dimension behind if only partly, his essence drawn to the focused gem of his desire, of all desire. Atoms reforged their bonds, hellish energy chaining the memory of his flesh back into the mortal realm.

The hotel room was grand, in a subdued manner. No gilded chandeliers swung from the ceiling, but the bed sported none of the stiff sheets and off-scented pillows that the lower levels of the tower held, instead showing the highest quality, the largest bathroom. Influential figures of ill and honored repute had graced this place with their presence, yet all their actions and character paled in comparison to it’s current inhabitant. 

He heard the shower’s water cut off, a familiar sigh, and the sound of curtain rings pulling back along a shower rod, soles resting on heated tiles so softly only a hunter of Wrath’s caliber would know they even made a sound.

He straightened his tie and lit the cigarette hanging between his teeth, falling elegantly into the chair on the balcony, making even such patio furniture kingly and throne-like with his demeanor, even as his posture slumped into the chair slightly, ankle resting on his knee, leaning on his right elbow which lay on the chair’s arm.

He inhaled on the cigarette in a calculated breath, and let it fill his lungs with wild abandon. For it was this line he straddled, between calculation and inferno, beast and man, devil and fallen angel. 

That was who awaited Luxuria, staring into the sky where the moon’s pale form could just be made out. Smiling in anticipation.

He had come to her, and if her senses were near as sharp as they were said to be, she already knew. His comfort in her abode was the first strike, and with that knowledge a single thought rose in his mind.

"Your move, Lust."

A single cold stream of questionably cloudy liquid cools her scalp, spreading down collective strands of hair, over the straight plane of a healthy stomach, and spanning long, lean legs. The water, kept at a temperature to battle the late-December heat of Miami, her favored hole for the winter, trickles at a speed that keeps her mind at ease. The gentle quakes coming from the marrow of her bones coincide with the shivers brought to her by the water's chill. If she manages to stay inside of the shower long enough, the difference between both sensations is almost blurred, dulled along with the constant noise provided by shameless bags of meat and emotion thumping across the motel's pale-pink carpet and the bright city's unkempt streets.

Her eyes close, droplet-covered fingers stretching to shut the water off, turning the flimsy knob as her bare back rests on the reflective shower surface. To be alone is unimaginable, but the least she would wish for is a chaos measured to exactness. Frequent cases of overwhelming situations have proven to be ineffective for her line of duty, and it would be unbelievably embarrassing to admit or conform to a probable weakness growing inside of her. Luxuria remains her own source of salvation, mainly through the recently yearly, intimate ritual she holds for herself in the confines of solitude and refinement by an element's aid. For a Sin, finding strength through individuality and independence is vital.

Though whichever experiments and remedies she tries to enact for selfish purposes, interference by her kin is a highly dangerous factor, possibly influencing more than just Hell's order or the mortal world around them.

Scraping the metal curtain rings against the rod above her head, the woman steps slowly onto the stained tile beneath her, unappreciative of the rude-awakening by another counterpart. Only she was supposed to be the one with the audacity to pounce and tower over the comforts of others'. To be on the receiving end of a trespasser, no matter one with qualities alike to hers or purpose as poised as her own, was not to be dismissed lightly. After all, Luxuria had looked forward to some time away from any of her familial bonds after the mess spurred from a disastrous group interaction.

Targeting the raw, primeval motive for his unannounced and slightly unwelcome arrival is her direct response. She pushes the restroom door open, water still trailing along her skin, some beads warming to the touch of heat in the air, forming around her as the wind from her open balcony meets her body. She moves firmly and calmly, stepping forwards as a formidable expression grows on her features. Finally, the Sin is in middle ground, dividing the outside with the indoors, carrying herself with a strict posture and demeanor.

"My birthday, actually," he croaks, the same weak smile on his face. Straightening up, he steps out of her way and invites her into his newly refurbished home. Vassago pads towards her and greets her with a sloppy kiss to her hand, his tail wagging happily behind him. Gluttony shuts the door behind him by leaning against it. Now that he’s not hiding behind the door, it’s obvious that he’s barely clothed, having only thrown a robe around himself before answering the door. His copper hair is tousled and his glasses are just as crooked as his half-grin.

"What," he swallows something back, perhaps bile, "What brings you back so soon? Am-Am I in trouble, or is something wrong, or—?"

The wooden frame of his home's entrance creaks under his weight, also different and evidently slimmer. "You look... remarkably well," she comments, eyes finishing their languid graze of him. "Better for your condition, at least, considering certain pressures and tensions."

She closes her lips, noting that they must've parted in subtle surprise. He moves aide, allowing the woman to drop her long arms to her sides, fingers curling, relaxed, in tune with her small steps into the newly decorated living space. The nail of a clear-coated pinky is covered in thick saliva, moving Luxuria's focus from the front of Gluttony's woolen robe to the more-than-probable, just-as-bulky fur of his beloved animal companion. Stepping around the man, she rests a hand on Vassago's back, letting him lead her inside, a quiet moment of appreciation surrounding her further in the distinctive ambiance.

"That couldn't have been the only way you celebrated your birthday."

When he glances over his shoulder, a burning drought of whiskey already rolls down his throat, adam’s apple bobbing in sync with bronze globes, gaze travelling from toe to head, a delighted smile just barely showing a sliver of his shining chompers.

"An absolute pleasure to see you joining us for Yule. Rumour whirring ‘round the grapevine tells of a vixen seizing mortal coils by the motherload. Wonderful to see you in fine shape, Luxuria. "

Rising with the slow elegance of bred royalty, he catches the whiskey’s neck in the crook of his thumb and forefinger, casually tossing it in Gluttony’s direction.

"Drink up and calm yourself, brother. Your performance isn’t in question to my knowledge."

The woman sunk into the armchair brought leaping images of lying leopards to the mind’s eye, potential unrivaled but always equaled squirreled away within her breast. No drink is offered, for the viper of temptation that brings hearts crumbling like papier-mâché can fetch her own bourbon. 

That first, devouring glance is the last he sees of her as he finds his way through scattered and dusting parchment, picking a path to the kitchen. Three things stand out- the greasy pan lying in the kitchen, freshly stained, a hinge ripped from the cabinets in some gluttonous rage or other, and a freezer perched atop the fridge door. 

The latter is peeled open, a biting wind screaming from the icy cavern in a stone face. The gale passes without effect, as Wrath plunges his hand through icicles and clutches a packet of designer drugs, marked with the seal of Gluttony’s personal concoction, a sigil which street speak said scorched the mind of any human reading it. Shame most passed it off as the ramblings of methheads and urchins. 

"So, Luxuria. If brotherly quarrel doesn’t draw your essence like an impressionable mortal, why have you come?" 

The smile’s faded into the recesses of his baritone by the time he enters the sitting room once more, pocket newly filled. It’s exuberance at the sight of treasured kindred lies on the flat of his voice’s blade, just behind the flinted edge of questioning intention.

He flattens himself against a wall, somehow filling the room with that dominating aura of the innately charismatic leader. Arms crossed over his chest press out against a suit tailored for a vessel with less musculature than his new pick of the litter. The glint off bronze eyes is defined in the peacetime strategist, primeval intent tempered through the forge of war and cooled by the steaming water of solitude.

Revulsion overtakes the youngest of the three as a venerated sibling joins him on his dilapidated couch, purring in her revolting pleasure. The hound she had assured has fallen asleep due to the angel’s graze, but he is the only male in the room that isn’t boiling with something intense.

A thick lump strangles the youngest sibling just as he exerts all of his might into not screeching in a most distasteful, crass manner. Still, every nerve in his body aches for something to bellow or swing at, and figurative steam pours from his ears as he pushes all of that down. His face blushes with exasperation.

The brunette’s melodious voice causes him pain as she hisses her cutting words, humiliating her younger brother and praising the eldest. The older’s response only infuriates him further, as he waltzes up to her and presents her with the most radiant, brilliant smile without showing her hardly any of his teeth. Their flirtatious prose grinds on every fabric of the youngest’s being, and he finds himself trembling in some sort of fit, his hands tight enough on a glass bottle to break it into a million pieces.

Desperately, he willed himself not to fracture the straining glass.

Anger consumes him, but does not blind him. He opens his hand and drops the bottle, sending it crashing to the floor so to make room for the new one. Golden liquid stains the couch and the rug, soaking shaggy material in a heavy liquor. Once again, Gluttony wrenches the cork from its bottle, his lips rushing to catch the dark orange of the new scotch.

As he drinks, his right leg begins tapping rapidly as his heartbeat soars. He dares to snap back at his brother, but catches himself before choking on his firewater. In the back of his mind, he screams at himself and curses loudly. In reality, he shakes and drinks, enveloped in a rage so raw and deep that it could crush the life out of Jesus Christ himself.

Eventually Wrath leaves, and immediately the youngest Sin leaps from his seat and bounds halfway across the room, spilling whiskey and knocking over spellbooks. He spits at the floor and wags an accusing finger at the woman before him, his eyes wide with intense fury.

"You-You…" He swallows, and bitterly laughs once. "You—How dare you?" A hiccup steals his breath, and the younger Sin can only shake his head over and over. "How dare you come into my home and accuse me of upsetting him? Huh? Who the actual fuck do you think you are?” 

His words are screamed in hoarse whispers punctuated by hiccups. The bottle of whiskey in his hand is slung around as he gestures wildly, the contents spilling everywhichway. Gluttony pays no mind to his waste, his only thought being to somewhat contain his anger. If Big Brother Dearest can do it, than so can he. He wasn’t about to let some slick mother fucker upstage him in his own home.

Speak of the Devil—When the elder speaks up, Gluttony shooshes him indignantly, making a zipping motion over his lips. “Shh—sh-zz-zz—ZIP!” The blond only watches when Wrath prances across the room, hating him and his masculinity and body and attitude and everything that made him Wrath. He watches and hatred boils in his blood. Then he pries his eyes off of his brother and glowers at Lust. 

"Why? Just why? Why now? Really, I must know!" He continues whisper-screaming at her in their native tongue, still at the very brink of losing it. "Come to shame me back into recluse, or have you come for a shag or a ‘chat’ or something else shallow-minded? Perhaps you have been sent to spy because the both of you are in cahoots, hellbent on watching me burn?" He nods, licking his lips irately.

"Yeah? You want to know what I think? I think that you’re a goddamn fish and Wrath is a lot more fuckin’ sleazy than he gives himself credit for! STOP LOOKING AT HER LIKE THAT BEFORE I FUCKING COME OVER THERE AND TEAR YOUR EYES OUTTA YOUR GODDAMN SKULL AND SHOVE THEM UP YOUR ASSHOLE,” screams the youngest, shaking dementedly. 

He turns away from the two, guzzles down the remnants of his bottle, and slams it against the nearest support beam, absolutely destroying the crystal bottle as he had the previous two. The Sin asserts his fury with an earth-shattering scream, throwing his arms around. 

The disastrous effect her presence was bound to bring was expected, though the extent of such dramatics weren't entirely predictable by the cause herself. It became evident that even the most serene settings could be boiled to extremities with the addition of a single body lounging in an overly patterned settee, bones draping casually and vigilant, fingers clicking against her chin. The Family guarantees no fair plays nor a simple way to pacify their deteriorating bonds, proven especially so by the pounding strain in Gluttony's reddened temples or the slight wrinkle between Wrath's eyes, glinting its metallic luster. Really, it was her mistake for having hoped for less.

A usual object behind the mortal male stare, the woman regards the eldest's subtle, lascivious leer without reverence, cutting the moment's exchange short with an exasperated sigh, looking towards the only source of warmth found, most likely, in a few mile's radius from the encounter--the fire, orange, licking at the fallen ashes of dry wood, yellow, swallowing stress.

"I'll bite your tongue before I allow you to fall into your own disguised charm. If anything, I'd say your attempt at courtesy is dripping with foulness more than it will ever be deemed appropriate." A quirk of her pink lips, a gleam in her clear eyes--"It's always a pleasure, Wrath. Kudos to noting my work before my figure, yet you've lost redemption at the blatant display of failing to fill my glass." Complimenting her duties right before offending her grace is an endearing effort.

Listening to his footsteps falling away, they tread a slow path elsewhere, to which she assumes leads into the apartment's kitchen. Immediately, leisurely, distanced thumps are replaced with rushing stomps approaching the seated minx. She moves her head to face the Sin who, quite noticeably, holds incredible emotion within himself as she would never admit she shares as well. Luxuria performed an impressive feat by turning a blind eye to Gluttony, unaware of the amber staining a trail across the carpet, alongside scattered, withering, pale pages. Confronting the lecherous rage of any being is child's play; alleviating the fury of her forlorn past is a walk on Eden.

Smokey, rancid fumes slip from his hot breath, pouring thickly into the air, mixing with the intoxicating aroma of his natural scent and polluted state of mind. The man's hiccups water her lungs, the stench a lighter nuisance than the pain teeming, obtrusively filling her soul previously cleansed of virtue and remorse. The woman lowers her gaze, raising defined brows in an act of contempt to display nonchalance; for a Sin wired to tempt is obligated to refuse sanity coaxing sentiments of guilt, luring an absent conscience into existence.

Given no time to draw air, forming lost words, Luxuria hears an indignant speech as Wrath joins the blithe company. She trembles none, knowing well that Gluttony's passionate abuse needs release, and his treatment of language and self-destruction flows smoothly, requiring patience to balance the situation.

Growing weary by her stillness, Wrath's composure, and Gluttony's anger, a ringing vexation follows a brother's inquiry and another's exasperated rhetoric.

"If I had known how eager you two were in learning about my life, I would have made a greater endeavor to assure my arrival eons ago. We might have been able to spare the dull chartreuse of 'ol Persian and save a lot of unnecessary attitudes from spilling over."

Cruelty was not the same as indifference, and only one ran throughout her veins.

"Do you seriously accuse me of forgetting the despicable qualities nesting in our brother, Gluttony? These damned vessels will never cloud my judgement, so don't imply that I operate blindly," she says firmly.

"Do you also think so astonishingly highly of yourself to assume that Wrath and I have nothing better to do than create schemes dependent on your misery? Point fingers at us--at me, all you'd like, but the sole Sin letting himself succumb to worldly matters and anguish is yourself.

Wrath lowers himself to the dark wood panels, bent to one knee before the massive wardog, one hand tipped to the floor, ashes falling from a nearly devoured cigarette, the other scratching the hound behind it’s ears absentmindedly. 

"Release some of my duties?"

He casts a look of incredulity over his shoulder, narrowed eyes watching to see if the glutton was serious.

"It’s only been a week or so since our visit to the Pit. You’ve seen all I worked for- all I have conquered to remain favored in the eye of our Lord. That and more is what is expected, is the bare minimum for a prodigy of Lucifer himself. 

To shirk any responsibility is to show weakness. A thousand rivals fight for power in the higher echelons of Pandemonium, seeking to gain positions such as ours. We may not rule over Hell, but you can’t deny we are held above the common rabble. 

No. My duty is the holy order of Satan himself- to abandon the creeds bestowed by the Great Accuser is to renounce all that I am. All my power, my freedom, my existence is a bounty from him. 

Wrath never fades while I still yearn for vengeance, still remain condemned to the Pit while a false God reigns. My rage is the will of Satan- and while his will holds, the flame burns.”

He looks back to Vassago, his hand rising from the hound’s fur as he stands, dragging the meager remains off the cigarette and pitching it into the fireplace. 

A wave of his hand brings a lounge chair skidding to the opposite of Gluttony, a foot off from the edge of the coffee table. Wrath slides into it elegantly, elbows resting on each of the chair’s arms, the posture of a king inhis throne, or perhaps a CEO in more modern thought.

"No secret bears to mind. Might as well start us off, brother."

He leans forward and fetches a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label from the table, appreciating the amber whiskey before popping it open with a simple twist at the top, a cursory swig flowing between his teeth.

Nearby, Gluttony’s blood freezes and he bows his head, imitating the submission of a hound. He swallows, afraid that he had said something very wrong. But before he can say anything, Wrath continues, adding a terrible gaze to further elaborate the stupidity of his younger brother’s suggestion. “Shit,” the host mutters.

As Wrath speaks, again Gluttony stays silent. Now he does not move at all, not nodding or speaking to himself, or even picking his head back up. He just sits with one hand in his lap and the other on his untouched bottle of wine, and he listens and thinks about every word that his elder says, and savors their meanings.

Wrath’s speech instills many things within the younger Sin. One, shame, for relinquishing some of his powers to Beelzebub and contributing to his stress. Two, guilt for having ever been stressed. Three, longing, to take back his duties and push himself like Wrath does. …And yet, he knows that he physically cannot do these things. Not because he isn’t strong enough or can’t manage his time, but because of his vision and health. He sighs loudly, finally raising his head as the other finished his rant.

"So you say that I am immensely weak." The statement is dry, monotone. Accusatory. "I didn’t renounce myself. I had t’ do it, I swear t’—I swear t’ Satan I had t’. I couldn’t handle it all. Not ‘cause I didn’t wanna, but ‘cause I just… couldn’t…" He wrenches the cork from his bottle and stuffs the neck into his mouth, sucking the contents of the wine bottle dry. His throat is knotted up, and he averts his gaze from Wrath, uneasy and unsure now.

"Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be who ‘n what I am," he suggests. "Maybe Beelzebub just took pity on me ‘cause I was always the small one. Perhaps he just wanted t’ make a hero story out’ve me. Ha—" He stops.

Gluttony shakes his head and reaches for another bottle on the table, this time it was whiskey that he grabbed. He downed it just as quickly as the first, and though his throat ached in protest, he continued until it too was drained. Both bottles lay at his feet now, ready to be used if he felt like breaking something. For now, he didn’t—he just felt pretty shitty.

Vassago rolls around in pleasure, even after Wrath stops. Content, he turns around in his chair and goes back to sleep with the hopes that the Not Stranger will give him his Christmas steak…

The younger Sin nodded, grabbing his fourth bottle. He drinks it a bit more slowly now, and groans when he puts it down.

"Well, a secret ‘a mine right now is that I’m having a mid-existence crisis because I now believe that I’m not who I’m s’pposed t’ be ‘n maybe I shouldn’ta been chosen at all but maybe I would’ve been more healthy ‘n not a fuckin’ blind freakshow if I hadn’ta eaten that guy ‘n given M’Lord those ideas ‘n fucked my existence over ‘n—" He finishes off the whiskey and jumps up, throwing the empty bottle at the blank wall. Glass shatters, shards flying everywhere. Gluttony stands, fuming, his ears burning with anger and intoxication.

"Fuck." He plops back down and runs his fingers through his hair, continuing to curse.

She walks among the careless, touching arms colored velvet with the cruelest intentions, inciting whimpers and stirrings deep within abstinent beauties and those of pure hearts. The gravel she steps her bare feet onto scratch at her soles, scraping against her warm skin as softly as she trails her fingers on the people surrounding her. Her figure is an extraordinary one managing to blend with thousands, sharing a common link under the fading light of a crisp Sun. The corruption is only revealed when the glow of what she's carved into mortal flesh sinks into the Creations as surely as the day is consumed by night.

The power emanating from the clusters of human heat never shock Luxuria, yet dilates her pupils every now and then, sharply gasping from her creased lips in admiration...

...until her mundane heart submits to the superior soul it harbors incompletely.

A question arises inside of her, neon shop lights illuminating the thought as clearly as they shine over the multitudes dancing in sweat-slick sweetness. The answer is her presence; a show of face that, by the insistent pull in her stomach, may be of urgency. She disappears from the florescence--the Floridian scene.

Her arrival is unnoticed, wisps of her gritty scent mingling with the cool musk of Gluttony's apartment, and covered cleanly by the metallic edge settled with Wrath. Vassago perks his head, alert yet curled in preparation for rest, eyes flicking open at her sudden appearance. The beast doesn't move, hazy recognition crossing over its focus on the far figure, unaware of the growing tension forming to his side. Luxuria comes near, hand stretching forward in greeting while gently hushing the animal to compliance. She strokes his smooth hair twice, and firmly once more for good measure, successful in finally willing him to sleep as soundly as he wanted to. The small welcome from Vassago is bound to be better than the one she'll receive from her agitated Brothers.

Gracefully, clad in long-sleeved wool cut above her midriff, she sits on the closest couch to the relaxing warmth of the flames, crossing long, bare legs, tuning into the topic of discussion. Hearing enough, Luxuria poses an elbow on the armrest and interjects rather bluntly, slightly disappointed by the verbal blows exchanged.

"A few things do come to mind, actually. I'm pleased that you still have the decency to ask, Gluttony, what with the little tantrum you've unceremoniously provoked in Brother Dearest over there."

"Whether or not you two blubbering imbeciles can make peace for a second is something that I'll leave free will the privilege to decide. Keep in mind that I've earned an attentive audience after biting my tongue, preventing myself from interrupting such a sensitive, flippant quarrel between Sins, for Lucifer's sake."

[Gluttony dips his head down to retrieve a small box and a lighter from his jacket pocket. He pulls out a single cigarette and places it between his lips, lighting it quickly after. He puts the lighter and the box back in his pocket and takes a half step away from the others, looking off as he puffs at his cigarette. The blond’s eyebrows are knit together, causing him to appear quite miffed.

He lets the two converse without his angered response for a few minutes, occasionally mocking Lux by mouthing what she says with a nasty expression on his face that is punctuated by eye rolls and haughty snorts.]

Every single person on this planet can be used to some advantage if you work hard enough. You could be capable of enjoying convenience if you thought about it. But you don’t seem to stick around long enough to even try.

I remember just fine on my own, thanks. I’m not as moronic as you’re implying.

The reminder isn’t needed. As for the shortage..I’ve a few things in mind to stir up trouble on the Surface. Plans have been setback with recent-

[Glances at his new vessel]

-events, but I’m confident the situation can be eased, if not remedied, in the near future. 

[Back towards Gluttony and a passive sigh coming from her lips, she replies to him...] How long I stay here is determined by Lucifer's administration. Take your complaints to the plebeians with proper power for those kinds of tasks. As for how moronic I believe you to be, my opinion on everyone's intelligence depends on how willing or quick they are to consider someone's words as insults. You should be capable of figuring out the rest on your own.

At least you [Wrath] understand when--ah, [looks over his form again, nodding appreciatively] good one. Sometimes I wonder if i should change my--[shakes her head, going back to topic]

[Wrath shifts his view between the two, rolling his shoulders as he plucks a flask from the suit’s fabric.]

This city’s only as sweet as you desire it to be. Whether you see a vermin-infested ape factory or a bohemian paradise is entirely of your own will.

We'll always be around; it's senseless to miss one another--a waste of our unfortunate inheritance of mortal emotions.

It is my will, and my will is as good as any of yours [briefly pointing a finger at the two], if you both need a little reminding.

Another chuckle dances through the air between them, and as he sends the cherry into exultation once more, he can’t help but nod his head a bit at her words, whether in recognition of their existence or agreement a weight on a fluctuating scale. Blowing the smoke through the corner of his lips in a steady stream of gray, he never breaks his eyes from hers.

“The ‘fascination’ that draws in so many by throng and crowd may very well be an illusion, but for every great illusion there is a woman behind it. Such a woman is intriguing, rather than fascinating, to correct my poor choice of words. Energy and emotions are still harnessed by a mind swimming in beauty and piercing with intellect. “

“As for mortal tendencies..”

He rises from self—induced slumber, feet shifting forward to support the lifting mass. Without adjustment the Italian-crafted suit falls in tailored perfection about his physique, and despite his namesake, his stance does not seek to intimidate. The faint, layered aroma of leather and ash drifts between them, and his slight grin is as entrancing as it is dangerous- the brass of his eyes glinting with an inner light.

”..who knows? Certainly not I, for I don’t claim to own the thoughts within your mind or even trace their existence through the seawater windows set into features so fair. But rumours abound, of romantic affairs not so careless and hedonistic in their pursuit, focused upon a clinging of mortal origin.”

“Some crows even sing of Lust’s slip away from granting her touch for pleasure and purpose, so as to turn to a forbidden love as plagues the tales of infinite mortality

[Lust takes his speech in as praise, hoping that this assumption on her part is not in the least bit inaccurate. She takes a step backwards and also switches her line of sight to accommodate the unexpected movement of Wrath rising from the comforts of his luxurious chair. Being in such close proximity with the man is something she is not used to, considering that he has never expressed an interest in associating himself with those of his immediate kind. The woman searches once more for a catch to his mesmerizing visage before she snaps back into the promise she's made to herself. She will listen; she will not analyze.]

Flattery amounts to nothing when it is spoken by the likes of you. Consider your talk noted, yet not completely understood. It's obvious that you realize I am no fool, so I expect you to not go about a conversation with me as if I am one.

[The wink he slips in would have been overlooked, had the smoke been plenty and the twitch of her nose present. Again, the suspicion strikes.]

Temperance is a dumbass, and so is Patience. Huh. [He laughs internally at his brother’s comments.] There’s a million things I could and would rather be doing right now instead of having to listen to your bullshit about our unsubstantial quotas and how we haven’t reached what we haven’t gotten. Must I remind you of your failure to intimidate me earlier? Don’t start that shit again. [He blows the smoke right back at Wrath.]

Wrath merely gives the slightest hint of an amused chuckle at his brother’s words, the cloud of smoke funneling through his nostrils as he inhales deeply, enjoying the aroma and the toxins that filter through his body despite the quality, comparatively poor to his usual choice.

“A plan is not a failure if its result is the intended one, though it’s disappointing that you think my friendly visit was established on the grounds of intimidation. I’m not a schoolyard bully pushing people for money that has no worth to me.”

“What I want, is knowledge of the ones that flutter about our group. Sloth’s living space seems to elude me, as does the identity of the demon you’ve apparently chosen to dote upon.”

There’s a click of his pen as it’s tip presses upon the notepad that’s appeared from his pocket.

[Her nose twitches slightly once she catches a different smell coming from the end of the taller man's cigarette. She found it interesting that how after being around Gluttony for a longer time than usual, she associated the scent of smoke in a positive light compared to the connection she struck with the scent of smoke and Wrath.]

Yes, well, even I haven't figured out Sloth's exact whereabouts or the explanation behind the demon's inclusion into our lives after so many months of being here.

Never falling farther into the seat, the most motion he makes is prying his fingers from their overlap to lie his right hand on the chair’s arm, thumb flicking the mouthpiece of his vice to release the ashes’ withered remains.

“Perhaps I’m always honest, but my intentions fall from whatever weighted moral compass the company of humans seems to have imparted upon some of our ilk.”

As she stands above and looks down upon him, he matches the look that has enticed beings too numerous to name with his signaturely steely gaze, an ever-sharpened canine poking from the corner of his closed grin.

That's my fear exactly. Are you telling me that I've developed the mind of a mortal?

[A catch to his amused expression is finally revealed. No matter how kind Wrath appears to be, a threat lingers whether it is in the form of direct intimidation or a tooth.] 

[Gluttony looks away when she parts, eyebrows raised in irritation. Their small moment of sweetness was brutally stolen from them; something that caused the blond to hiss under his breath. He pulls his hands from her neck to put a hot palm on the middle of her back, the other resting on his hip. Arakiel rolls his eyes to further his obvious annoyance.]

A short snarl of laughter, impatient twitch of the brow.

“Please.”

He glances to the cigarette as his fingers tap against it, then fixes the two of them with his metallic gaze once more.

“Temperance is a virtue, brother. My point is, when are we getting on with the actual business?”

Another drag, released cloud.

“A part in adventures foul and infamous only serves to further the notion that you’ve performed your duty, no?”

He lets a low chuckle rise from his chest as he settles back into the chair, back tilted at just such an angle that he could spring from it’s hold in a deadly instant as much as he could fall into the comforts of slumber. Tucking the cigarette between upturned lips, his inhale sends the cherry into marvelous reawakening, it’s crimson glow lighting his face in the newly dimmed atmosphere. 

The dying cherry’s glow throws into relief the image of parting lips, freeing the toothy grin they had imprisoned, and setting free the Sin’s thoughts.

Besides, I like to think I actually deserve the perks and rewards that come along with the daily routine.

[She moves from her previous position in the center of the room so she's now standing in front of the seated fallen angel. The manner in which the other man relaxes into the chair reminds her of how his tendencies seem to mislead others. There's always more to the way he does things and even a simple, swift motion in which he rests is planned to execute a greater purpose. The only trouble she found in interacting with the other  man was in deciphering his habits to predict the motives behind them. Out of the many approaches one could take when in the company of a member from her family, she always stuck to those that guaranteed peace within the conversation. She would rather leave the tension for Lennox to handle.]

A cloud of smoke releases from between his lips, corners twitching in some indistinct mix of impatience and amusement.

Is someone sour about his greeting not being as intimate as ours?