It was a quiet evening. There wasn't much for their gang to do but harrass the Elric brothers, a long and well-respected hobby among the lower-class. While most of them were out cheating at ping-pong, Greed and Kimberly sat in a bar. Greed's bitches had gone off to watch the ping-pong some time earlier, and Greed was bored.

He looked over at Kimberly, who was idly blowing up bottles. "So," Greed said. "Jork."

There went an old whiskey. "Yeah? What?"

"Jork. Jork Jork Jork."

And vodka. "...What, I asked."

"Jork the Jerk Dork."

The shards from the rum bottle embedded themselves neatly in Greed's skin. "Do you have a problem?"

"No, no," Greed said, waving a bloody hand cheerfully. "No problem."

"Good."

There was silence for a few moments.

"Though, man, I really gotta wonder what you did in your last life to be given a name like Jork Kimberly-"

Much later, they stared at each other grumpily as dust rose from the remains of the bar.

"I'm not paying for that," Greed said.