[ Silco doesn't even really pay attention to what Gen had been feeling at, as soon as his throat is freed from his grasp, he collapsed on the ground, breathing in and out in rasping breaths. He doesn't want to admit that he is shook, but on his knees, with one hand at his throat, the other β gone β he feels angry.
So, so angry. It's coming off of him in droves, like waves of fury, a tempest in a man and he wants to order Sebastian to kill him β crush his shard right then and there β but he can't find the voice to do so. His breaths are wheezing, one eye ever open, dancing to try and see what Gen's doing, even as his vision blurs, and he tried to swallow the thick coating that he felt in his throat, from trying to breathe through his mouth, and he coughed.
Gen, Gen wasn't done causing destruction, though.
He watched, as Gen started to hook his fingers under his desk, and start to lift it.
There were more than just papers on the desk. More than just a decanter of fine liquor, a few hatch rocks glasses. More than a trinket or two Silco had gotten from one conquest or another β they were gray, and old, standing out in that they were not fine. Covered in paint markers, like a child's drawn-on art, it's almost comical how much they do stand out, and how much everyone ignores the precious ashtray he keeps on his desk.
As soon as the desk starts to tip up, Silco starts to scramble, uncoordinated though it is. His feet scrape the floor, a single hand tries to get himself up in the same moment that he is also reaching out with β nothing. He has no hand there. Nothing to catch the cup that falls to the ground, or the ashtray.
They are not particularly delicate, they look like they're made out of some sort of sturdy stone. But stone can fracture, when dropped, even over time, those fractures can grow larger. And growing up raising Jinx means that plenty of things have fallen over the years, and cracked and fractured.
The cup cracked, as it hit the ground, and hatred was all Silco knew. ]
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So, so angry. It's coming off of him in droves, like waves of fury, a tempest in a man and he wants to order Sebastian to kill him β crush his shard right then and there β but he can't find the voice to do so. His breaths are wheezing, one eye ever open, dancing to try and see what Gen's doing, even as his vision blurs, and he tried to swallow the thick coating that he felt in his throat, from trying to breathe through his mouth, and he coughed.
Gen, Gen wasn't done causing destruction, though.
He watched, as Gen started to hook his fingers under his desk, and start to lift it.
There were more than just papers on the desk. More than just a decanter of fine liquor, a few hatch rocks glasses. More than a trinket or two Silco had gotten from one conquest or another β they were gray, and old, standing out in that they were not fine. Covered in paint markers, like a child's drawn-on art, it's almost comical how much they do stand out, and how much everyone ignores the precious ashtray he keeps on his desk.
As soon as the desk starts to tip up, Silco starts to scramble, uncoordinated though it is. His feet scrape the floor, a single hand tries to get himself up in the same moment that he is also reaching out with β nothing. He has no hand there. Nothing to catch the cup that falls to the ground, or the ashtray.
They are not particularly delicate, they look like they're made out of some sort of sturdy stone. But stone can fracture, when dropped, even over time, those fractures can grow larger. And growing up raising Jinx means that plenty of things have fallen over the years, and cracked and fractured.
The cup cracked, as it hit the ground, and hatred was all Silco knew. ]