[ It's odd. Knowing that there is someone else out there, that would be like this. That would understand exactly what a harsh, cruel world requires to make change, what it is to take that circumstance, and bend it and force it into place. With violence, subjugation, drugs, or contracts, it didn't matter. What mattered was the goal, that change β but was there anyone else who could understand what it was to give up on it, would turn it aside or walk away and let it rot in its own misery, if it meant...
How odd. To know that there is someone else out there like him. Monsters circling one another and finding... what? Solace? It isn't comfort.
Understanding, perhaps. They'd promised it, between blood and bites, in that darkened hallway half a world away. Was that not what this was? Understanding? Was it β or could it β be more than that? ]
Fans? No, a grouchy old man like you has fans?
[ His thumbnail scraped against one of the scars on his hand, like he was trying to split him open. Even in this semblance of comfort, there were still the sharp edges, awkward and uncomfortable. ]
I just enjoy watching a professional work, is that so wrong?
[It does seem funny, being outside of it, but the attention is too much, aggravating, and far more than he deserves for being Best Killer of All Time One of Many Number Ones.]
[That's just how the City is. Murder and death are so part of its tapestry that in order to even cut down on it, one has to take an axe to it to begin with. Ironic, really. Silco would understand. That's the point, isn't it? Understanding. They whispered that, body to body, blood in each other's mouths.]
[The simple gentleness of hand in hand seems so far away now, and yet so, so close.]
I'm practically like a bonafide celebrity to some. I don't want to even get into the forum discussions...
[The nail tickles - he knows its a reminder that this isn't something soft, but he somehow doesn't mind it, either way. Maybe he's too used to things like this. His very being was molded on it. Maybe that's why it couldn't work with Malkuth, even as aware as they were of their City. He wasn't made for something sweet.]
Would you say that to any other professional, I wonder? Or just little old me?
[ A Celebrity? It's almost funny, Silco wonders what it would be like, in that city. It isn't so unknown, that people would be fans of a powerful killer β some of the more successful Pit Fighters seem to do well enough, well known and regarded β and it isn't like Silco doesn't have his own form of...notoriety. The concept isn't even alien to him, but he supposed he hadn't really thought of Vergilius as that.
He just didn't have the air of it. He didn't carry himself with the arrogance that he'd expected. ]
How funny. I can imagine they speculate about you, don't they? Rumors are always so tiring.
[ Another scrape at his scar, it isn't painful β he doesn't have ability to β but he picks at it regardless. It feels right, more like something that he can open up, so he can put his hooks in him. ]
And what if it is only you? Can you even think of anyone else quite as capable?
[ Maybe it was the violence in him, but Silco had been on the other side of his hands, when he'd wrapped his fingers around his neck, when he'd tried to fight him off. He knew he could kill him with a squeeze, if he wanted. Maybe he liked seeing that turned around on someone else. Maybe he just liked watching violence be spilled in his name, or at his direction. Or maybe... well. There was no need to think about any other reasons, was there? ]
[Wait until he tells you about the Actual Superheroes, Silco, that will really throw your head in a loop. But its true. He's not the type who wants to revel in fame if he can help it. He shirks it completely.]
[Silco keeps scratching at him, as if to pick a piece of skin to unravel him like peeling a skin of an apple. Let him try. As if its so simple.]
[One woman saw to his core. A voice that seemed to offer so many answers. Silco would probably not hold a candle to that being who found him at his lowest, skewered him through, and still couldn't give him a satisfying way out.]
...An interesting question. [He says, a little distantly. Time to surprise the man, just a little.] Some of my fellow Colors could give you a hair-raising experience. I'm not as graceful or beautiful in my approach as some. Some of them wield powers beyond my wildest dreams.
[But he knows why Silco says that, and his hand presses at the back of his head to make him turn his head up, just a little, so he can look down, eyes to eyes]
I think its not about capability. You just like seeing me in action.
[ It doesn't have to be simple β if anything, the fact that it's not an immediate give, but that there's something at the core of it, that's what keeps him going β if getting to the center of him was easy, Silco wouldn't bother. Capitulation is for the weak, and the boorish. No, he picks away at him, bit by bit. Patience was his strong suit β despite the occasional flare of anger β he didn't need to see him give it up.
In fact, wasn't it more interesting if he didn't? If he made him look through it and work, like a miner still stuck in the fissures, hunting for those rare, precious nuggets of interest, to pull them out and bring them to the surface? Could he find a King's Ransom somewhere inside of him, to pull out and bring out to admire if he so wished?
He doesn't think he'll be disappointed with what he finds. ]
Anyone here?
[ He asks with a snide little tilt of his head. They both knew the truth. Vergilius was right. He doesn't doubt him, of course, even here. He's seen powers beyond his wildest dreams and nightmares β one of which had just done so, made him itching to be out of his room and somewhere else. Here seemed better than most. ]
I suppose it doesn't matter. [ He has the audacity to smile when he meets his eyes. That sharp little knife's edge of a smile. ] Is it so wrong if I did?
...Perhaps there is someone who could best me here. Would you even care to know?
[Silco looks up at him like so - like a smug little cat with a few feathers around its mouth from the disappeared pet bird. It unnerves him, it aggravates him, it-]
[No, he can't ignore it, really. A part of him is fond. This horrible example of a man, who violated him with taking away control over him, and yet, even so, there's a softer pang in his telltale heart.]
Hrm. [And his hand slides to give the man's ear a little yank, half teasing, half scolding. He can't stop the smirk that crawls onto his face, more amused than he has any right to be.] If you did, maybe I should say you're a little obsessed with me.
[ That sharp little smile doesn't fade, like the feral cat that found one little mouse to play with, batting it around like it's a toy to bandy about, pushing this way and that. His eyes look him up and down β well, as best that they can with the proximity β before he rolled a small shrug, more animated than it should given where his hands were, and how close he was. Somehow, this close he still manages to talk with his hands in that odd way. ]
Wouldn't you care to know? The only way to neutralize a threat is to be aware of it first, after all.
[ Silco always thought like this, even now. It would be no surprise, that the man who had somehow snuck a bite at him, somehow had him on the floor despite his diminutive size and lack of powers would be the conniving type. Wasn't it the only way to survive, to take advantage? To find who was who, then find their weaknesses, and then tear them apart. It was power, that he sought, after all. Power was the only way to keep one alive.
He winced, and tipped his head, his single eye closed. It's not truly painful, as evidenced but the soft scoff, his open eye met his even still. ]
You would say obsessed, I would say invested. After all, if I'm going to try and hire you occasionally, wouldn't that be the wisest course of action?
[ Silco really can justify anything in that twisted little maze of a mind of his. He would have watched him anyway, of course. After all, he'd watched him kill once. That was enough to pique his curiosity β his interest. That cat's grin doesn't fade. ]
If the threat has a problem with me, yes. But then again, I get along with some people. Unlike you.
[Silco feels like that sort of man who could never get along with most. Introverted, stuck in his own little world. Then again, maybe he used to be different. Perhaps the smug little creature he knows now used to be bright-eyed and innocent.]
[Its hard to imagine. Even more so when Silco says something like that, with as much preening confidence as a peacock.]
You say this like you're deciding still.
[But...]
[His fingers brush through the man's hair before holding over the side of his face, firm, keeping his gaze right where he is. He drones out a question, more curious than anything:]
Let's say I never talk to you again. Would you be alright with that? You would move on, right?
[ Would it surprise Vergilius to know that there was a time when smiles reached his eyes, or that there was hope that lurked in that black pit of his heart? That his secret truth, this crime he whispered to him is exactly the one that broke him into all of those little pieces, and that he'd come back wrong, like a broken ghost with a mismatched eye and all jagged edges and sharp corners. A black heart with only drive, cause, and revenge left β at least until a little girl hugged him in the rain, broken in the same way, all those little pieces he could put back together just so.
Silco was not one to share the truth of it. Few knew of what happened to him, even fewer knew the weight of it, and what it truly meant. Even Vergilius β being gifted with a rare prize from Silco, honesty β perhaps had not been given the true scope of it.
But he'd been given enough. Enough that the question causes his fingers to twitch against whatever scar he'd started to pick at, a flash of something in his eyes that was...
Sharp, violent... something else too. The smile stayed, even the flash of an expression was only there momentarily. Brief, violent, before it melds back underneath the veneer. ]
I'm afraid you're rather stuck with me now. [ There's an edge there, even though his expression still looks like the cat that got the cream.
It's also the cat that can see the bird trying to escape his trap. ] After all, understanding was what you were interested in, and that comes with shared... secrets, doesn't it? [ His fingers relax against a scarred hand, and drag across the length of a scar instead. ] I know that I wouldn't want to let someone who knew certain... truths just left... out in the world, with that knowledge and no connection anymore.
[ His eyes seemed to focus on him, sharp. ] Would you?
[He half expects this sort of answer - but it does partially surprise him. That vitriol in his eyes, that brief little look of it hiding, waiting to be sprung like a trap. No, Silco is a parasite. He has wormed in, fed on his blood, and now resists the very notion of being let go.]
[His scars are played with, picked at, touched like so. This man wants to know him inside and out. That's what understanding is....is it? Is it really? This has gone into territory Vergilius has no name for.]
See, that's all understandable. But...hrm. What an interesting word. Connection....Do you think I need connection? Are you scared for it? [And now, his index and thumb caressing and encircling the other's neck, like a brief little reminder of that tryst on the floor. His own eyes are as glacial as anything, like icebergs warning for the deeper bottom waiting to be crashed against.] Do you want me to belong to you, hm?
[ Was he scared for it? Silco so ferociously guarded his secrets and his truths, something that he didn't want to be allowed out for anything. He was weak, compared to the rest of the people here. Nothing, comparatively. He had his secrets β even greater weaknesses β he knew he could be done in at any moment, were someone to utilize them just right against him. Had he been foolish, seeking that connection?
His fingers close against his neck, and his heart kicks up a little bit. It's a reminder of that night, but so much more. Vergilius perhaps doesn't know what he does, by pressing fingers to his neck, but his breath catches in his throat anyway. He caresses it, instead of squeezes, but he may as well have squeezed, Silco's single eyelid blinks a few times, his breath rushed quicker, staring at him. His eyes may be cold, but Silco's have no choice but to be a twisted reflection, as in all things, fire and heat.
Vergilius has touched on his most secret truth, perhaps on accident, but stumbled on it nonetheless. What did a man like him actually fear? It wasn't death, not really, and pain was nothing but an inconvenience to a man who had escaped death like he was an old friend passing by β no it was that dark, secret little piece of him that so few had ever even glimpsed. That old scar that had never healed over, as bare as the one on his face, if one thought to look close enough to see it. What did a man like Silco fear? Being left behind, of course.
His fingers wrapped around his wrist, abandoning one scar for another, his hand squeezed, but he didn't try to pull him away from his throat. Like a presence holding there, waiting to feel for what he would do with it. ]
I do not fear connection, Vergilius, but I know how devastating it can be, if left in untrustworthy hands. [ Oh, how he did know. His fingers pressed into his wrist, tightening. As if he were holding him there, but there's little muscle behind it, he could press on, should he choose to. He won't stop him. ]
I wonder... [ he says, instead of responding directly. Choosing his words carefully. ] If you want to belong to someone? [ him ]
[ He challenges him with a smile, an oblique answer yet again. Like a slippery little eel, even with his hand on his neck, he tipped his head, and it served to press his thumb into his neck. Silco's thumb rubs against the underside of his wrist, like he's goading him. ] Isn't that what real understanding is? Belonging?
[He can feel that pulsing beat under his fingers - a short time ago, he was feeding on that very neck with that beat thrumming through his skin. It distracts him, for a moment, and the man's movement that seems to lean into it, encouraging him, simply doesn't help.]
[What does he fear, himself? He doesn't know, hasn't dwelt on it, buried it like he did with every other emotion in his sad little barren garden where flowers once had grown. No, he knows what he fears, he simply won't look it in the eye. How ironic. His fear is to lose. He lost so many, he lost at his own battles, and he's afraid to lose again, because every time he does, its by his own hands. It's the very notion of it that drives him forward, cuts off his own connections, even if he's ever so bad at that last part.]
[The man asks if he wants to belong to someone. Does he? He tilts his head, hair falling a little over those eyes that flicker to the other's hand now. It's funny, how much Silco says with his hands.]
[Is that real understanding?]
[His own thumb rolls up the other's Adam's apple, his own breath coming out in a low sigh.]
...My karma will leave me at the bottom of the sea, alone. So no. I won't belong to anyone. Such is the nature of what I have done.
[He doesn't deserve to belong to anyone.]
[Humanity shouldn't connect with a monster like him.]
[ The pressure feels both familiar and alien β it isn't the same pressure that would have choked the life out of him, either before in the hallway, or those times in the past, when large hands closed down on his throat, trying their damndest to wring the life out of him. This isn't quite as violent, pressing, but not closing. He should be wrenching him off, tugging his hand free, but he only lets it rest there. His fingers instead speak loud enough, thumb still running a circular pattern on the underside of his wrist.
He doesn't let him look too far away, if his eyes remain on his hand, he'll dig in with fingers, remind him that he is in front of him, that he should stay looking at him.
Maybe his hands were more honest than his mouth. ]
And mine will leave me at the bottom of the river one day, I am sure. We are all alone when it catches up to us. [ He says, and it's perhaps too flippant for the subject, but he knew where he would end up. They had nowhere else. It isn't a point of pride, nor is it shame. It is what it is. ]
Tell me... [ His fingers are back to stroking, coaxing. He catches on a scar, again trying to scrape along the surface. ] Do you hold this standard to everyone else?
[ Did this monster only seek his own punishment? ]
[Ah, see, this is his greed coming out. Silco digs in, and his eyes snap back to Silco's own. He's always had an appreciation for people who never shy away from his eponymous gaze. In this case, he both respects and loathes it in equal measure in Silco, who seems to hunger for it in his own way. He wants that terrible gaze to put a spotlight on him, and him alone, doesn't he?]
[His thumb moves to underneath the other's chin, making a little circle there as he thinks. Silco is matter-of-fact, again prying with his seemingly simple questions. But nothing is ever so simple.]
Are you asking if you want me to punish you? Hm? [Now the nail of his thumb is scraping against the bottom of his chin.] If I said yes, would it matter? Would you do something about it?
[ Silco always wanted more. He always had. It's greed, perhaps, born from a life of having not enough of being asked to scramble and scrape for scraps. He'd clawed his way from mines and into revolution, lost it all, and kept scrambling, clawing for more with those greedy fingers that wanted to find something to make his. A city, a people, a daughter β who knew what else?
He asks questions because people always gave more than they intend away. He stared at him β as always, it is laser-focused, like drilling a bore into him. Like he could split him open and see what lie underneath his ruby red gaze.
Silco didn't think he deserved punishment for much in his life; despite what most thought. Everything he'd done, it had been for the cause for good and right reasons. But he knew what they all saw him as β that dirty little thing. They'd all tried to break him with that; with punishments, starvation, the mines, the drowning β
Could he punish him? Could he actually do something to make him break fully? He didn't think so. Silco's guiding star was greater than anything; his will was stronger.
Could he challenge him to try this way? He knew he could take it. ]
I might. Do you think you could break me? [ He tipped his chin upward, only slightly. ] Perhaps I would like to see you try.
[ He had such an ego, to think he could stand against it, but then again, hadn't Vergilius already seen? Despite his size, despite his weakness, he wasn't made of glass to shatter on first push. But he gives as good as he gets, doesn't he? ] Would you want to see what I do, if you did?
[Its that ego that pulls a little of it out - that part within him that he was even surprised existed. Sure, there were some he would take down however possible, but here, there's a specific little pleasurable spite in imagining this man being put in his place.]
[Could he break him? Easier said than done. But - well, he might as well say it.]
If you were easy to break, I wouldn't even waste time on you.
[Perhaps that's a partial acknowledgement of that ugly little emotion of his, like a creature poking out its head from under a stairwell. That ego seems fit to burst, and he wants to see what confetti comes from this particular balloon.]
[He rubs over the other's chin, now, in lazy little circles.]
[ He contradicts, in that way of is. He has the audacity to keep looking him in the eye, always as direct as ever. His gaze was just as unnerving as his, and maybe the fact that he didn't look away himself was motivation to push just a touch. Just a little bit. See if he could draw that creature out, coaxing it bit by bit.
His thumb on his chin, it could almost be seen as something else, if someone wasn't paying attention to what they said, or the way his fingers found scars to scrape against, like he wanted to draw and quarter him, and find what made him tick underneath, this monster he wanted to drag out. ]
Would you stop, if I said it did? You seem the sort.
[ It's a little smug, armor over anything that might be something else. 'Would you', might', rickety scaffolding to balance all of this on. ]
I've never shied away from a challenge, Vergilius. I won't start now. [ Fingers fully wrapping around his wrist, tightening there again. Like lean, bony little things. ] Will you?
[Would you? Could you? Should you? They throw around hypotheticals like snippets of paper they're cutting up with their scissors. To acknowledge something definite seems a little too insecure, somehow, as if it could pull back the curtain and reveal something unappealing.]
[But Silco thrives on unappealing. He wants Vergilius to dwell in that space, too, and his fingers hook on his wrist as if he's a fish at the end of a pole.]
[Vergilius can't help it, and he lets out a snort, even as the tip of his nail decisively digs in to the side of Silco's jaw.]
That all depends. I'm not someone who takes on useless challenges. What's it in for me, in the long run? Your supposed downfall?
[ A scoff that melds with a soft hiss. His strength is such that it's effortless if he wants to break skin. Hell, Silco knew he could break his neck too, if he wanted to. It would be just that easy, wouldn't it? He doesn't shy away, just digs his nails into his wrist, like it's not just prey to catch, but like he's something to hold onto, as well. He could take it, after all. It wasn't like Silco could really hurt him, could he? ]
My downfall? [ He asks, with a scoff. ] From where? The gutter? As an outsider?
[ He says it like the proposal is a poor one. He knew he had his sights on something bigger, and Vergilius probably expected it, too. After all, he'd lured him in on one of those plays, hadn't he? ]
Isn't that boring? [ He asked, his other hand reached out to snake against his shoulder, to hold there. Like he was holding him in place, refusing to let him go. ] A pittance.
[ An insult, he thought. To the both of them.
He ran a finger along his shoulder, a petty, bold move, maybe. The audacity of it, given that he was digging a nail into his jaw. ]
You're trying to break me, aren't you? If you manage it... if β [ Punctuated with a press of his index finger. ] β Wouldn't you want to remove the pieces you detest?
[ Silco was like an insidious little burr, winding under his skin, even now. Like a thorn with serrated edges, pulling him out would take something with hm. ]
[Does he want to remove the pieces he detests? What a question. As if he could walk onto a chess match, act as queen, and remove players left and right?]
[Sure, he may have the physical power to do so. But this is primarily a psychological game. He could win by breaking his neck. But that doesn't break the person. And why does he want to break Silco, specifically?]
...I've never had a man dangle something like this before. As if his self-being is meat to cut in two.
[Silco's fingers travel - and Vergilius scowls at that, irritated from the blatant entry into such intimate space. No. He didn't earn it - he shrugged the shoulder off, letting out a short bark of a laugh.]
Should I call you a masochist? I'm not sure you recognize the depths of your folly.
[And another brief little huff, reaching up with his other hand to try to pull Silco's spider hand off.]
How can you want to belong to someone who would break you?
And I don't know if you recognize your overconfidence. I did say if.
[ Maybe they were both foolish, in this. Both of them foolish men who were trying to tear each other apart and rend one another into pieces, and damn what was left at the end. Did he want to break him? Silco? As if being betrayed and drowned in the river had tried? As if nearly losing his soul to Sebastian had tried? Silco gambled only with what he thought he could. Surely, it wouldn't go poorly.
If he were more melodramatic, perhaps he would say that both things had already broken him β that he's already been shattered, and this was the result of belonging. The man he was had already been shattered into a million pieces, and reformed at the bottom of the river. Ah, but wouldn't that require self-awareness? No, that had made him stronger he said. It wasn't breaking when it was adapting and learning. ]
Besides, maybe I'm just as interested in the challenge as you are.
[ It isn't about the breaking, after all. It's about the threat, about the game, about the mind game of putting him right where he wants. If in the end, he did, would he want to take those pieces he dangled out? Or would he like the monster just the way he was?
He notices, he uses that word again. "Belong." He'd been adamant that he could not; but that didn't seem to keep him from thinking of keeping something for himself. He doesn't point it out, because he knew it would be another opportunity for Vergilius to say something... poetically self-depreciating. A smokescreen for something else. He files that away, like he's slipping it into a ledger. ]
After all, neither of us are easy, are we?
[ Stubbornly, he keeps his fingers wrapped around his wrist. Make him. ]
[As far as the overconfidence. He scoffs - how interesting for the both of them. They're similar in that regard, stubborn old roots that refuse to be undermined by just anyone. Silco laughs at Vergilius thinking of breaking him, and so does Vergilius laugh at Silco in turn. Perhaps it isn't possible. But the trying, is that worth it? Would anything come of it? Or does it just scratch a pleasurable little itch they have no name for?]
[Nobody has ever looked at Vergilius like Silco has, as defiant as a mountain. Perhaps that's the crux of it. It's that gall that he wants to crush like an egg in the fist.]
[Now he's exerting more effort in pulling off that hand, his own scarred fingers digging in, threatening to crack bones like sticks.]
[ Just as stubborn, just as cantankerous. He wouldn't crumble for just anyone.
Like a wily little thing, he smiles in the face of danger, and maybe Vergilius is the danger. He's certainly dangerous, and Silco is well aware of the danger he poses to him. His hand on his wrist, starting to grip, as if he could snap his bones with a simple squeeze. He could, Silco knew. He could snap him in two.
He didn't move, even now. Daring him. ]
What do I get out of this?
[ He repeats it, like it's an actual question, but it's clear he already knows. His fingers tighten, like he's casting a snare to catch him and wind him in.]
For the opportunity to free you, of course. From what holds you back.
[Now that makes his lips pull back - inadvertently confirming Silco's impression of him, a reaction only a known beast could have. He's grimacing, almost confused - from what holds me back?]
[Maybe there is a point to it. Again, the voice, that wonderful voice, hovers in his mind. That woman had also said that his children were merely a balm, an excuse, a way to avoid his own guilt. If only he could let go. If only he could move ahead, and selfishly love who he was without regrets.]
[But that very thought is abrasive to him - tempting, of course, even she had been close to get him to consider it, but at the same time it itches like a rash he knows should not belong on his skin. His grip is also tight, so tight, but - its held. It's controlled. He stares down at Silco, words coming out through his teeth.]
And what...do you get out of that? What business is my freedom to you? What do you care, huh?
[ He tries to hold himself back, that confused grimace across his face, all teeth, but it bares the part of him that he knows exists, that monster lurking where he thinks other people can't find it. That the guilt fights to hold it back like a chain and a cage, while it snaps and fights for freedom. He doesn't even see it, does he? The way it strains against his control, fighting to be free. Even now.
His hand is like a vice on his wrist, while Silco's hand is a shackle on his. He's holding him in place, even if it's little to no force, it's still holding him here. ]
I could ask you the same thing. [ He pointed out, his voice a soft hiss. ] There's little advantage for trying to change a Zaunite, make us anything less than what we are, but you want to try, don't you?
[ It's pointed, but he answers anyway. Some of it. ]
You don't see how it holds you back, your guilt? [ He hissed. This guilty monster, trying so hard to bit himself as hard as he bit others. Wouldn't he be so much better unrestrained? Unfettered? ] How it kept you from them?
[ Even Silco had been honest (mostly) with his daughter. His single eyebrow knitted, the expression looks odd on his face β as always, like there are two different men here. He says he's not broken, but... ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
How odd. To know that there is someone else out there like him. Monsters circling one another and finding... what? Solace? It isn't comfort.
Understanding, perhaps. They'd promised it, between blood and bites, in that darkened hallway half a world away. Was that not what this was? Understanding? Was it β or could it β be more than that? ]
Fans? No, a grouchy old man like you has fans?
[ His thumbnail scraped against one of the scars on his hand, like he was trying to split him open. Even in this semblance of comfort, there were still the sharp edges, awkward and uncomfortable. ]
I just enjoy watching a professional work, is that so wrong?
no subject
[It does seem funny, being outside of it, but the attention is too much, aggravating, and far more than he deserves for being Best Killer of All Time One of Many Number Ones.]
[That's just how the City is. Murder and death are so part of its tapestry that in order to even cut down on it, one has to take an axe to it to begin with. Ironic, really. Silco would understand. That's the point, isn't it? Understanding. They whispered that, body to body, blood in each other's mouths.]
[The simple gentleness of hand in hand seems so far away now, and yet so, so close.]
I'm practically like a bonafide celebrity to some. I don't want to even get into the forum discussions...
[The nail tickles - he knows its a reminder that this isn't something soft, but he somehow doesn't mind it, either way. Maybe he's too used to things like this. His very being was molded on it. Maybe that's why it couldn't work with Malkuth, even as aware as they were of their City. He wasn't made for something sweet.]
Would you say that to any other professional, I wonder? Or just little old me?
no subject
He just didn't have the air of it. He didn't carry himself with the arrogance that he'd expected. ]
How funny. I can imagine they speculate about you, don't they? Rumors are always so tiring.
[ Another scrape at his scar, it isn't painful β he doesn't have ability to β but he picks at it regardless. It feels right, more like something that he can open up, so he can put his hooks in him. ]
And what if it is only you? Can you even think of anyone else quite as capable?
[ Maybe it was the violence in him, but Silco had been on the other side of his hands, when he'd wrapped his fingers around his neck, when he'd tried to fight him off. He knew he could kill him with a squeeze, if he wanted. Maybe he liked seeing that turned around on someone else. Maybe he just liked watching violence be spilled in his name, or at his direction. Or maybe... well. There was no need to think about any other reasons, was there? ]
no subject
[Silco keeps scratching at him, as if to pick a piece of skin to unravel him like peeling a skin of an apple. Let him try. As if its so simple.]
[One woman saw to his core. A voice that seemed to offer so many answers. Silco would probably not hold a candle to that being who found him at his lowest, skewered him through, and still couldn't give him a satisfying way out.]
...An interesting question. [He says, a little distantly. Time to surprise the man, just a little.] Some of my fellow Colors could give you a hair-raising experience. I'm not as graceful or beautiful in my approach as some. Some of them wield powers beyond my wildest dreams.
[But he knows why Silco says that, and his hand presses at the back of his head to make him turn his head up, just a little, so he can look down, eyes to eyes]
I think its not about capability. You just like seeing me in action.
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In fact, wasn't it more interesting if he didn't? If he made him look through it and work, like a miner still stuck in the fissures, hunting for those rare, precious nuggets of interest, to pull them out and bring them to the surface? Could he find a King's Ransom somewhere inside of him, to pull out and bring out to admire if he so wished?
He doesn't think he'll be disappointed with what he finds. ]
Anyone here?
[ He asks with a snide little tilt of his head. They both knew the truth. Vergilius was right. He doesn't doubt him, of course, even here. He's seen powers beyond his wildest dreams and nightmares β one of which had just done so, made him itching to be out of his room and somewhere else. Here seemed better than most. ]
I suppose it doesn't matter. [ He has the audacity to smile when he meets his eyes. That sharp little knife's edge of a smile. ] Is it so wrong if I did?
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[Silco looks up at him like so - like a smug little cat with a few feathers around its mouth from the disappeared pet bird. It unnerves him, it aggravates him, it-]
[No, he can't ignore it, really. A part of him is fond. This horrible example of a man, who violated him with taking away control over him, and yet, even so, there's a softer pang in his telltale heart.]
Hrm. [And his hand slides to give the man's ear a little yank, half teasing, half scolding. He can't stop the smirk that crawls onto his face, more amused than he has any right to be.] If you did, maybe I should say you're a little obsessed with me.
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Wouldn't you care to know? The only way to neutralize a threat is to be aware of it first, after all.
[ Silco always thought like this, even now. It would be no surprise, that the man who had somehow snuck a bite at him, somehow had him on the floor despite his diminutive size and lack of powers would be the conniving type. Wasn't it the only way to survive, to take advantage? To find who was who, then find their weaknesses, and then tear them apart. It was power, that he sought, after all. Power was the only way to keep one alive.
He winced, and tipped his head, his single eye closed. It's not truly painful, as evidenced but the soft scoff, his open eye met his even still. ]
You would say obsessed, I would say invested. After all, if I'm going to try and hire you occasionally, wouldn't that be the wisest course of action?
[ Silco really can justify anything in that twisted little maze of a mind of his. He would have watched him anyway, of course. After all, he'd watched him kill once. That was enough to pique his curiosity β his interest. That cat's grin doesn't fade. ]
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[Silco feels like that sort of man who could never get along with most. Introverted, stuck in his own little world. Then again, maybe he used to be different. Perhaps the smug little creature he knows now used to be bright-eyed and innocent.]
[Its hard to imagine. Even more so when Silco says something like that, with as much preening confidence as a peacock.]
You say this like you're deciding still.
[But...]
[His fingers brush through the man's hair before holding over the side of his face, firm, keeping his gaze right where he is. He drones out a question, more curious than anything:]
Let's say I never talk to you again. Would you be alright with that? You would move on, right?
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Silco was not one to share the truth of it. Few knew of what happened to him, even fewer knew the weight of it, and what it truly meant. Even Vergilius β being gifted with a rare prize from Silco, honesty β perhaps had not been given the true scope of it.
But he'd been given enough. Enough that the question causes his fingers to twitch against whatever scar he'd started to pick at, a flash of something in his eyes that was...
Sharp, violent... something else too. The smile stayed, even the flash of an expression was only there momentarily. Brief, violent, before it melds back underneath the veneer. ]
I'm afraid you're rather stuck with me now. [ There's an edge there, even though his expression still looks like the cat that got the cream.
It's also the cat that can see the bird trying to escape his trap. ] After all, understanding was what you were interested in, and that comes with shared... secrets, doesn't it? [ His fingers relax against a scarred hand, and drag across the length of a scar instead. ] I know that I wouldn't want to let someone who knew certain... truths just left... out in the world, with that knowledge and no connection anymore.
[ His eyes seemed to focus on him, sharp. ] Would you?
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[His scars are played with, picked at, touched like so. This man wants to know him inside and out. That's what understanding is....is it? Is it really? This has gone into territory Vergilius has no name for.]
See, that's all understandable. But...hrm. What an interesting word. Connection....Do you think I need connection? Are you scared for it? [And now, his index and thumb caressing and encircling the other's neck, like a brief little reminder of that tryst on the floor. His own eyes are as glacial as anything, like icebergs warning for the deeper bottom waiting to be crashed against.] Do you want me to belong to you, hm?
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His fingers close against his neck, and his heart kicks up a little bit. It's a reminder of that night, but so much more. Vergilius perhaps doesn't know what he does, by pressing fingers to his neck, but his breath catches in his throat anyway. He caresses it, instead of squeezes, but he may as well have squeezed, Silco's single eyelid blinks a few times, his breath rushed quicker, staring at him. His eyes may be cold, but Silco's have no choice but to be a twisted reflection, as in all things, fire and heat.
Vergilius has touched on his most secret truth, perhaps on accident, but stumbled on it nonetheless. What did a man like him actually fear? It wasn't death, not really, and pain was nothing but an inconvenience to a man who had escaped death like he was an old friend passing by β no it was that dark, secret little piece of him that so few had ever even glimpsed. That old scar that had never healed over, as bare as the one on his face, if one thought to look close enough to see it. What did a man like Silco fear? Being left behind, of course.
His fingers wrapped around his wrist, abandoning one scar for another, his hand squeezed, but he didn't try to pull him away from his throat. Like a presence holding there, waiting to feel for what he would do with it. ]
I do not fear connection, Vergilius, but I know how devastating it can be, if left in untrustworthy hands. [ Oh, how he did know. His fingers pressed into his wrist, tightening. As if he were holding him there, but there's little muscle behind it, he could press on, should he choose to. He won't stop him. ]
I wonder... [ he says, instead of responding directly. Choosing his words carefully. ] If you want to belong to someone? [ him ]
[ He challenges him with a smile, an oblique answer yet again. Like a slippery little eel, even with his hand on his neck, he tipped his head, and it served to press his thumb into his neck. Silco's thumb rubs against the underside of his wrist, like he's goading him. ] Isn't that what real understanding is? Belonging?
[ Or did Silco have a warped, twisted view? ]
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[What does he fear, himself? He doesn't know, hasn't dwelt on it, buried it like he did with every other emotion in his sad little barren garden where flowers once had grown. No, he knows what he fears, he simply won't look it in the eye. How ironic. His fear is to lose. He lost so many, he lost at his own battles, and he's afraid to lose again, because every time he does, its by his own hands. It's the very notion of it that drives him forward, cuts off his own connections, even if he's ever so bad at that last part.]
[The man asks if he wants to belong to someone. Does he? He tilts his head, hair falling a little over those eyes that flicker to the other's hand now. It's funny, how much Silco says with his hands.]
[Is that real understanding?]
[His own thumb rolls up the other's Adam's apple, his own breath coming out in a low sigh.]
...My karma will leave me at the bottom of the sea, alone. So no. I won't belong to anyone. Such is the nature of what I have done.
[He doesn't deserve to belong to anyone.]
[Humanity shouldn't connect with a monster like him.]
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He doesn't let him look too far away, if his eyes remain on his hand, he'll dig in with fingers, remind him that he is in front of him, that he should stay looking at him.
Maybe his hands were more honest than his mouth. ]
And mine will leave me at the bottom of the river one day, I am sure. We are all alone when it catches up to us. [ He says, and it's perhaps too flippant for the subject, but he knew where he would end up. They had nowhere else. It isn't a point of pride, nor is it shame. It is what it is. ]
Tell me... [ His fingers are back to stroking, coaxing. He catches on a scar, again trying to scrape along the surface. ] Do you hold this standard to everyone else?
[ Did this monster only seek his own punishment? ]
Do you only seek punishment for yourself?
[ Was that what this was for him? ]
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[His thumb moves to underneath the other's chin, making a little circle there as he thinks. Silco is matter-of-fact, again prying with his seemingly simple questions. But nothing is ever so simple.]
Are you asking if you want me to punish you? Hm? [Now the nail of his thumb is scraping against the bottom of his chin.] If I said yes, would it matter? Would you do something about it?
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He asks questions because people always gave more than they intend away. He stared at him β as always, it is laser-focused, like drilling a bore into him. Like he could split him open and see what lie underneath his ruby red gaze.
Silco didn't think he deserved punishment for much in his life; despite what most thought. Everything he'd done, it had been for the cause for good and right reasons. But he knew what they all saw him as β that dirty little thing. They'd all tried to break him with that; with punishments, starvation, the mines, the drowning β
Could he punish him? Could he actually do something to make him break fully? He didn't think so. Silco's guiding star was greater than anything; his will was stronger.
Could he challenge him to try this way? He knew he could take it. ]
I might. Do you think you could break me? [ He tipped his chin upward, only slightly. ] Perhaps I would like to see you try.
[ He had such an ego, to think he could stand against it, but then again, hadn't Vergilius already seen? Despite his size, despite his weakness, he wasn't made of glass to shatter on first push. But he gives as good as he gets, doesn't he? ] Would you want to see what I do, if you did?
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[Could he break him? Easier said than done. But - well, he might as well say it.]
If you were easy to break, I wouldn't even waste time on you.
[Perhaps that's a partial acknowledgement of that ugly little emotion of his, like a creature poking out its head from under a stairwell. That ego seems fit to burst, and he wants to see what confetti comes from this particular balloon.]
[He rubs over the other's chin, now, in lazy little circles.]
Would that please you? Trying..
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[ He contradicts, in that way of is. He has the audacity to keep looking him in the eye, always as direct as ever. His gaze was just as unnerving as his, and maybe the fact that he didn't look away himself was motivation to push just a touch. Just a little bit. See if he could draw that creature out, coaxing it bit by bit.
His thumb on his chin, it could almost be seen as something else, if someone wasn't paying attention to what they said, or the way his fingers found scars to scrape against, like he wanted to draw and quarter him, and find what made him tick underneath, this monster he wanted to drag out. ]
Would you stop, if I said it did? You seem the sort.
[ It's a little smug, armor over anything that might be something else. 'Would you', might', rickety scaffolding to balance all of this on. ]
I've never shied away from a challenge, Vergilius. I won't start now. [ Fingers fully wrapping around his wrist, tightening there again. Like lean, bony little things. ] Will you?
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[But Silco thrives on unappealing. He wants Vergilius to dwell in that space, too, and his fingers hook on his wrist as if he's a fish at the end of a pole.]
[Vergilius can't help it, and he lets out a snort, even as the tip of his nail decisively digs in to the side of Silco's jaw.]
That all depends. I'm not someone who takes on useless challenges. What's it in for me, in the long run? Your supposed downfall?
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My downfall? [ He asks, with a scoff. ] From where? The gutter? As an outsider?
[ He says it like the proposal is a poor one. He knew he had his sights on something bigger, and Vergilius probably expected it, too. After all, he'd lured him in on one of those plays, hadn't he? ]
Isn't that boring? [ He asked, his other hand reached out to snake against his shoulder, to hold there. Like he was holding him in place, refusing to let him go. ] A pittance.
[ An insult, he thought. To the both of them.
He ran a finger along his shoulder, a petty, bold move, maybe. The audacity of it, given that he was digging a nail into his jaw. ]
You're trying to break me, aren't you? If you manage it... if β [ Punctuated with a press of his index finger. ] β Wouldn't you want to remove the pieces you detest?
[ Silco was like an insidious little burr, winding under his skin, even now. Like a thorn with serrated edges, pulling him out would take something with hm. ]
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[Sure, he may have the physical power to do so. But this is primarily a psychological game. He could win by breaking his neck. But that doesn't break the person. And why does he want to break Silco, specifically?]
...I've never had a man dangle something like this before. As if his self-being is meat to cut in two.
[Silco's fingers travel - and Vergilius scowls at that, irritated from the blatant entry into such intimate space. No. He didn't earn it - he shrugged the shoulder off, letting out a short bark of a laugh.]
Should I call you a masochist? I'm not sure you recognize the depths of your folly.
[And another brief little huff, reaching up with his other hand to try to pull Silco's spider hand off.]
How can you want to belong to someone who would break you?
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[ Maybe they were both foolish, in this. Both of them foolish men who were trying to tear each other apart and rend one another into pieces, and damn what was left at the end. Did he want to break him? Silco? As if being betrayed and drowned in the river had tried? As if nearly losing his soul to Sebastian had tried? Silco gambled only with what he thought he could. Surely, it wouldn't go poorly.
If he were more melodramatic, perhaps he would say that both things had already broken him β that he's already been shattered, and this was the result of belonging. The man he was had already been shattered into a million pieces, and reformed at the bottom of the river. Ah, but wouldn't that require self-awareness? No, that had made him stronger he said. It wasn't breaking when it was adapting and learning. ]
Besides, maybe I'm just as interested in the challenge as you are.
[ It isn't about the breaking, after all. It's about the threat, about the game, about the mind game of putting him right where he wants. If in the end, he did, would he want to take those pieces he dangled out? Or would he like the monster just the way he was?
He notices, he uses that word again. "Belong." He'd been adamant that he could not; but that didn't seem to keep him from thinking of keeping something for himself. He doesn't point it out, because he knew it would be another opportunity for Vergilius to say something... poetically self-depreciating. A smokescreen for something else. He files that away, like he's slipping it into a ledger. ]
After all, neither of us are easy, are we?
[ Stubbornly, he keeps his fingers wrapped around his wrist. Make him. ]
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[As far as the overconfidence. He scoffs - how interesting for the both of them. They're similar in that regard, stubborn old roots that refuse to be undermined by just anyone. Silco laughs at Vergilius thinking of breaking him, and so does Vergilius laugh at Silco in turn. Perhaps it isn't possible. But the trying, is that worth it? Would anything come of it? Or does it just scratch a pleasurable little itch they have no name for?]
[Nobody has ever looked at Vergilius like Silco has, as defiant as a mountain. Perhaps that's the crux of it. It's that gall that he wants to crush like an egg in the fist.]
[Now he's exerting more effort in pulling off that hand, his own scarred fingers digging in, threatening to crack bones like sticks.]
What would you get out of this challenge, Silco?
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Like a wily little thing, he smiles in the face of danger, and maybe Vergilius is the danger. He's certainly dangerous, and Silco is well aware of the danger he poses to him. His hand on his wrist, starting to grip, as if he could snap his bones with a simple squeeze. He could, Silco knew. He could snap him in two.
He didn't move, even now. Daring him. ]
What do I get out of this?
[ He repeats it, like it's an actual question, but it's clear he already knows. His fingers tighten, like he's casting a snare to catch him and wind him in.]
For the opportunity to free you, of course. From what holds you back.
[ From that guilt. ]
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[Maybe there is a point to it. Again, the voice, that wonderful voice, hovers in his mind. That woman had also said that his children were merely a balm, an excuse, a way to avoid his own guilt. If only he could let go. If only he could move ahead, and selfishly love who he was without regrets.]
[But that very thought is abrasive to him - tempting, of course, even she had been close to get him to consider it, but at the same time it itches like a rash he knows should not belong on his skin. His grip is also tight, so tight, but - its held. It's controlled. He stares down at Silco, words coming out through his teeth.]
And what...do you get out of that? What business is my freedom to you? What do you care, huh?
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His hand is like a vice on his wrist, while Silco's hand is a shackle on his. He's holding him in place, even if it's little to no force, it's still holding him here. ]
I could ask you the same thing. [ He pointed out, his voice a soft hiss. ] There's little advantage for trying to change a Zaunite, make us anything less than what we are, but you want to try, don't you?
[ It's pointed, but he answers anyway. Some of it. ]
You don't see how it holds you back, your guilt? [ He hissed. This guilty monster, trying so hard to bit himself as hard as he bit others. Wouldn't he be so much better unrestrained? Unfettered? ] How it kept you from them?
[ Even Silco had been honest (mostly) with his daughter. His single eyebrow knitted, the expression looks odd on his face β as always, like there are two different men here. He says he's not broken, but... ]
Don't you regret that?
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