[ Wasn't it funny, that there was someone else who understood and knew what it was to be in such a predicament? Who had already fully, and honestly committed? To know that there was nothing in this world, in any world, that was more important? That fighting, truly fighting, was the only way to make the world for them? Oh, he didn't doubt that Vergilius was a monster β just as he was.
He wondered what had made the man this way, of course. He knew his own story, his own path. That he'd let that weak man he'd once been float to the bottom of the River Pilt, to settle with the rest of the bodies of their fallen comrades. Just another one at the bottom of the river.
But he still felt something β had not embraced his monstrosity just yet, had he? It was there, and it seemed to leak out of the seams of him, when he was focused and clear. Then later, did it crash down? Was this his guiding star, when the weight of it became too much?
It's something like an embrace, between them. Pulled close, it is such a rarity. It isn't comfort, not really. There is still that part in the back of his head, that whispers little promises, threats, reminders. This is the way of danger; but there is no Jinx to protect here, she will be safe in the end. There is no world to end, nobody to betray him for the good of anyone else. No soul to steal and shatter and ruin every little sacrifice he'd already plunged into his own personal furnace to flare the fires of destrudction. They are just monsters, with no aim or purpose but to participate long enough to see their worlds returned, so they can dismantle them.
Monsters were always dangerous, but perhaps... perhaps to one another they are more mirror than monster, in the end. ]
And damn them if they try, hm?
[ It is muffled, the way his head is pressed against him. He wonders if this is supposed to be for him β or for Vergilius? Or does it even matter, in the end? ]
I would enjoy watching you show them precisely the misstep they have made, if they were to try to take it from you.
[ Silco was a violent, cruel man, but he worked through proxies. Purchased and hired help and loyalty. He thinks Vergilius would cut them down with the violent, angry swings of that sword of his. It would be little more than they deserved. ]
no subject
He wondered what had made the man this way, of course. He knew his own story, his own path. That he'd let that weak man he'd once been float to the bottom of the River Pilt, to settle with the rest of the bodies of their fallen comrades. Just another one at the bottom of the river.
But he still felt something β had not embraced his monstrosity just yet, had he? It was there, and it seemed to leak out of the seams of him, when he was focused and clear. Then later, did it crash down? Was this his guiding star, when the weight of it became too much?
It's something like an embrace, between them. Pulled close, it is such a rarity. It isn't comfort, not really. There is still that part in the back of his head, that whispers little promises, threats, reminders. This is the way of danger; but there is no Jinx to protect here, she will be safe in the end. There is no world to end, nobody to betray him for the good of anyone else. No soul to steal and shatter and ruin every little sacrifice he'd already plunged into his own personal furnace to flare the fires of destrudction. They are just monsters, with no aim or purpose but to participate long enough to see their worlds returned, so they can dismantle them.
Monsters were always dangerous, but perhaps... perhaps to one another they are more mirror than monster, in the end. ]
And damn them if they try, hm?
[ It is muffled, the way his head is pressed against him. He wonders if this is supposed to be for him β or for Vergilius? Or does it even matter, in the end? ]
I would enjoy watching you show them precisely the misstep they have made, if they were to try to take it from you.
[ Silco was a violent, cruel man, but he worked through proxies. Purchased and hired help and loyalty. He thinks Vergilius would cut them down with the violent, angry swings of that sword of his. It would be little more than they deserved. ]