expiationlogs | Now I'm Trapped Within Your Walls

[Another thing that Richard vastly prefers to do is to dine alone. He's gotten into the routine to order food at the inn and then take it up to his rooms. But one evening, after having spent a long day while chasing after a deer he felt absolute famished and decided to stop by one of the local restaurants.

He orders simple looking dish, beef in a sauce with grilled potatoes and bread to go with it, and sits down in table at the corner. When the food arrives Richard removes his gloves, revealing rather.. gnarly sight when his left hand becomes visible. The skin covered in red scar tissue. There are few darker, almost ashy spots around the back of his hand and fingers, looking like the skin layer had been burned -- or rather melted off, making the remaining flesh look wrinkly. An injury that would later be most likely diagnosed as acid burn.

Though, the injury probably isn't the most notable thing about him. Because instead of reaching for the utensils placed on the table he grabs the bread, breaks it with his own hands and dips it right into the sauce. He scoops up some of it on the bread and eats it, then moving to picking up the pieces of meat with his fingers, tearing them into smaller pieces before eating them -- licking any stray droplets of the juices or sauce off his finger. Well, guess the small saving graces here are that he keeps the mess minimal? Still, by the time he's half-way done with his meal he's already gathered some questioning looks from the other patrons because... yeah, it's kinda gross?

With a growing ire Richard cast an unimpressed yet subtle side-eye at the surrounding tables. Not wanting to be a spectacle for the crowd he grabs his gloves, stands up and tosses a few coins on the table and stands up, preparing to leave.]

["There's a guy eating with his hands?"
"Did you forget to give him utensils?"
"I gave them, but he's not using them! He's just hunkering over his meal like a savage..."

Silco looked up from checking the order slips at the conversation between the waitress and the sous chef. There were certain items on the menu that were designed to be eaten with ones hands, but there was a distinct impression that this was not the case. He expected that meant they had welcomed a traveler from another city or it was someone who was a potential Chosen.

It was curious enough that he walked out behind the main counter where stools were set up for loners, and it wasn't difficult to locate the person in question due to the amount of attention that they had begun to garner. For Silco, this was not unusual eating habits; utensils were a luxury few could afford in the Undercity. This was not someone he recognized, so he expected new. Clothing was older looking, not a style common here.

He approached, and his interest piqued when he noticed the scarring on the other's hand. It looked more like burn scars, which were different from his own which marred the left side of his face. As the stranger rose, he pushed beyond a gawking customer. He nudged the other chair with a foot so it scraped on the floor.]

Ignore the onlookers, newcomer. And I don't want your version of currency tonight; a moment of your time so you can finish your meal is all I ask.

[And he seated himself without invitation. The scarring stood plainly on his face, facing most of the onlookers who returned to their meals. He crossed one leg over the other and looked at the stranger, gesturing with a hand.]

Sit, if you would entertain my request.

[Richard is just pulling the gloves back on his hands when he is approached. Normally, he would have ignored the other man and just left, as he's not all that interested in mingling with the locals and alike. But when Silco moves closer, Richard stops, his discolored eyes narrowing and brows pressing down into a small, confused frown.

It's hardly the first time Richard's come across with someone that's plagued by deformity. He's had his fair share of walking in the darkest alleys of London, where all the undesirables and wretched crawl while begging for scraps and alms from those who are better off than them. Not to mention that there is the case regarding his own, unnatural status. But it's still not everyday that one comes across someone with such visible mutation, especially not out in open like this, showcasing such confidence.

While he manages to keep his expression neutral he can't help but look right into the darkness of the damaged eye, focusing on the bright red iris in center of it. Somewhere in the distance he swears he could hear the menacing laughter of a witch.

A brief, yet heavy moment of silence passes between them before Richard makes his next move. Wordlessly, he sits back down at the table and reaches out to grab his drink.

What now, stranger?]

[Silco had bore this scar for half of his life; it was part of what made him the man that he was now. When he looked in the mirror, it reaffirmed his resolution to let that weak pathetic man die in the river Pilt and accept the pain and suffering would make him stronger. The ache of his deformed eye and the scarring around it was contained due to the use of Shimmer, of course. It kept the damage from continuing to get worse; it meant he could still see somewhat out of the damaged eye.

He waited for the lithe stranger to sit down again, though he wouldn't be offended if this one walked out there. He had no invested interest one way or another, but he was curious of the newcomer. He knew most people around, had acquired many spies to feed him information, and he made it a point to try to keep a list of the Chosen around. Maybe this was just another local, but he doubted it.]

You must be new to these parts. You have that look of a Chosen. Am I right?

[He let an arm rest on the table, his index and middle finger lightly tapping on the top of the finished wood. Both of his eyes were focused on the newcomer.]

I'm Silco, by the way. I own this establishment. You are?

Oh? [Richard scoffs quietly to is cup as he lifts it to his lips, taking a small gulp of the wine. His expression shifts into more amused one, the corner of his lip curls up into a half-sneer. Placing the cup down he resumes back to eating, grabbing the meat and tearing pieces out of it.]

Richard. [He offers as an introduction, leaning against his free arm.] What do I owe the pleasure of having the owner himself treat me?

[Silco was not at all bothered by eating with one's hands, and it wasn't any more or less crude than hacking ones meal as far as he was concerned. If anything, it was refreshing that someone would eat in such a manner, and while he knew some of the towns prioritized the idea of manners than others, this kind of eating did draw attention.

It also interested him where this one came from.]

Your eating habits were raising comments with my serving staff. I came to make certain that you were welcomed regardless of how you chose to consume your meal. [He reached out to take one of the coins that Richard had tossed on the table, lifting it to examine it.] Are you staying in the inn for the time being?

[Richard raises a questioning brow at that explanation, the grin on his lips subduing a few tones. There is a small pause from him as he quietly chews on the meat in his mouth and Silco's explanation. Yeah, he had suspected that there was something about him that stood out like a sore thumb in middle of the crowd -- hell, it was so damn obvious that he wasn't one from this world, but still. Hearing just what it was this time that made him to be different did manage to turn his stomach sour, make him lose the appetite.

So, after he swallows the bit in his mouth he gives his fingertips a quick lick and pushes the plate to the side.] Interesting. Isn't it a custom to throw out those who cause a scene rather than offer them a meal.

[Okay, fair. He's being a little dramatic here. He might've caught attention of the others but hardly stirred any trouble.]

Yes. That is the lodgings that I was directed to when I first arrived here.

[It was very obvious that this one wasn’t from Aldrip or Rumpitur. The fashion was different from his world as well, but he didn’t care. Chosen were here for one reason or another, no doubt for a kind of punishment they all deserved on some level. He noted that Richard abandoned the meal for a second time, likely due to something that he had said. Sensitive fellow, was he?]

Is that a custom where you’re from? Because where I’m from it depends on the scene and it depends how much one is respected. [He rolled the coin over his fingers, and he made it clear that he was perfectly contain to remain.] If you’d like me to have you thrown out, I could oblige, but I don’t consider your presence to be particularly offensive so don’t see the benefit.

[Such drama. This was someone that’s ego was easily ruffled it seemed. Maybe it was worth giving a little push.]

That is typical. Most stay there the first month to gain their bearings and funds to have their own place to reside in. I expect you will be the same. Some, of course, stay at the inn more long-term.

[Sensitive is one way to describe Richard, yes. Ever since arriving to this strange world Richard had found himself more vulnerable again, slowly returning back to his former self where he would hide away from the world rather than take it. He knew the reason for it, of course. Ever since his arrival he had found himself alone again. Gone was the warmth of his kingmaker who would shield him from the horrors of the night and his demons. The solitude that he had thought to be comforting in his youth had turned into a curse, haunting him as it slowly chipped away the confidence he had built for himself a piece by piece.]

No one wants trouble. Not unless they can afford it. [He says, sharp eyes following the gold coin turn in the man's hand. There is, of course, double meaning to his words. Trouble is something that people rarely can afford, no matter how much gold or influence they carry. Especially not a public trouble.]

The people here seem to be lenient with us The Chosen ones. [Ugh, even thinking about that moniker made him feel sick to his stomach.] I have to admit I am surprised to see that this city is functioning as well as it does. The council must be very wise.

[Silco had the benefit of having his daughter when he arrived, but that had also come with facing off against some of his enemies as well. Still, it had been much easier to integrate with Jinx here. The fish out of water was apparently good for some, built character and forced them to decide how to play things with all of the opportunities available.]

Most trouble is above what most are willing to pay the appropriate price for. Or they underestimate the true cost. [Trouble was something that found everyone, of course. It was a matter of having enough control to not lose one's life when it found them.]

Well, they do somewhat worship us now and again, which puts them in a giving mood when it comes to our antics. [His fingers stopped playing with the coin, and he stared at Richard.] Hardly. They are hands off until something doesn't go their way. They meddle in their own way; you know when the time comes to meet Jerry.

[He's not sure what to think of the mention about worship. Were they not here to repent and atone for their sins? Why would anyone in their right mind worship a criminal like that? There was so many things that he did not understand about this world, its strange magic, people and his own role in it all. It made him feel even more lost with himself, frustration and doubts churning inside his stomach like a soured milk.

Richard had been told about The Council and their henchman Jerry when he had first arrived. Though not much had been said about them, aside from them looking after the law in the city and being the ones guarding their 'rehabilitation.' However, it seems that his companion here has quite heated feelings and thoughts to share about their so-called captors.]

So, you are saying that they let us roam free and do as we please as long as we don't stand out. They do not collect taxes nor impose laws nor rules upon us. From that description alone it seems like we are their valued guests, but you seem to disagree. [He shifts on his chair, turning properly to face Silco while also reaching back for his cup.] If you truly have a moment to spare I would appreciate hearing more of them, and their rule in this city.

Edited 2024-05-13 15:28 (UTC)

To an extent. They do seem to know what we do and what we say, and it is up to their punishment quota of the month on if they bring a person in for that punishment.

[He made a soft noise at the mention of taxes, and he immediately thought that was the kind of concern that someone who ruled might lead with. Interesting fellow. He'd be in the market to know more about this one.]

The formalized government is more liaisons between the cities to create agreements and treaties. We aren't able to view Council meetings or minutes, and indeed, going to City Hall will have one not remember much of anything of their time in that space. The city has experienced a dramatic change recently, so time will show if the Council will take a more direct hand in laws and ruling.

A peasant has no business to King's council. Their role is reap the wheat and harvest the crops and trust that their leader in their divine knowledge will not allow them to suffer. [He says as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. And well, in a way it is. Everyone is bound to their roles by the God's will and fate. Peasants reap, soldiers follow and kings rule. But they're not peasant here, are they? As it seems that their roles as glorified prisoners are still just as confusing and contradictory as before.

Besides, there is the one fact that bothers him.] But I was told that there is no king here.

You're also one of The Chosen, are you not. How did you come about owning this establishment?

[Silco's fingers paused with coin, and his opinion of the man reoriented. That was talk one such as himself would hear out of the mouth of someone from Piltover's elite. Internally, he bristled yet kept his expression carefully interested in such prattling.] Is that so? How does that work out for the peasant in the long run? King's of your time don't create suffering with their actions?

[He nodded his head, setting the coin back on the table with two fingers.] No, there is no King here. Or Queen. Or Mayor or Chancellor. Just the Council, and they don't appear publicly.

The owner disappeared and no one wanted to invest the time and energy to keep it running, so I said I would. Now it is mine. I own a few businesses in Aldrip.

[Uh oh. The look in Richard's eyes sharpen a little at that comeback. However, it is not from anger nor from frustration but rather from subtle fascination. Now, he's aware that peasants and so would not always mince their words when crying out their complaints about the ruling king. Hell, he's had to douse the doubts of those who had been disappointed in his king brother. But it is not often that he hears such thoughts to be directed at the Throne.] Only if they are ruled by a false king.

However, there is no life that is not touched by suffering and sorrow. A king who does not know the hardships of his people or is ready to fight for them is no king.

[He counters, raising the cup back to his lips to empty it this time. He gives his upper lip a quick lick as he sets the cup down, trying to wrap his head around the state of this world. There is no King, no leader outside of this mysterious Council, and yet the city seems to be flourishing. Aside from a few petty criminals he has not yet seen the wretched crawl and wail in the outskirts of the city. No residents of shadows begging for the blessings of the light.]

I see. All part of your penance, I presume? [A man building an empire of his own within the city. Certainly he wouldn't have any ulterior motives, right? Not unless he, too, was one of those born from darkness.]

[The Council of Piltover and the other ruling families of that society made it infinitely clear that those of the Undercity were there to serve. They worked until they died, or until they found something better to offer then their breaking bodies in the mines.] A false King, is it? That's all I've ever been ruled by then.

[Yet, he hadn't experienced much the idea of a high class willing to make the types of sacrifices that Richard did. Time would tell if those were lip-service or something the man actually believed in.]

Do you know the hardships of your people? You speak as someone who has been raised high in political standings.

[The question had his lips pull into a satisfied smile, showing a hint of his spaced front teeth.] Hardly. This is where my skill set falls, and I would be remised to apply that to my new home. If I can build a community, hopefully most will also benefit.

[Just his daughter is what he really meant. The Chosen and non-Chosen were not his people, so his investment in them was limited.]

[Now it's Richard's turn to quirk his lips into a faint, amused sneer. There is something here that reminds him of the meeting with Duke of Albany -- a wretched young brother, overshadowed by his worthless older brother. How easily had that man sold out his country just so that he could be the King.

'Once words slip past those feverish lips, no man can resist,' or so had his other half told him when Richard had gone up against a servant of god. But bishop, too, had hid deep darkness within him that Richard had been able to exploit. He was only a man after all.

Now, he can't help but wonder what is the shape of the darkness inside his current company? Because what Richard sees and hears in Silco is potential. Bravery to speak ill of the fate and challenge the council with his words. He's not sure whether he believes the mention of the community just yet. And even if it is true Richard is not sure what it means to him.

Or maybe just perhaps he was seeking for the light as well. ]

Aye. I fought the war with them in the front lines while my older brother, the useless king, hid in his comfortable chambers and drowned himself in the pleasures of flesh. [It's the first time since arriving here that Richard gives a clue about his identity as a part of royal family. The third son of York and youngest brother of the divine King. Always loyal to the royal bloodline, guarding the crown, never wanting anything for himself.

Or so they had thought.

Richard stands up from his seat and takes a step towards Silco, closing in the space between them so that his small body looms over the man. Then, he reaches out with his injured hand to touch Silco's cheek.]

Then. You know what you must do when you see a false king.

[The slender fingers scrape over the healthy skin as his own, discolored eyes stare into the man's under the long lashes.]

You are on the right path already, are you not. Be it a king, council or a god himself it matters not. You need to cut through the thorns blocking your way until you reach the destination you have set out for yourself.

Edited 2024-05-18 01:38 (UTC)

[He was still appraising the situation, but it was clear to him that there would come differences with birthrights. This one had clearly been a political siring while he had been an accident in the dark that simply added to a population where there wasn't enough to go around and child mortality was rather high. Whether his being a 'peasant' as it were would become a problem was something he knew he would discover eventually and would care little for that.

He'd been looked down upon all his life. If anything, it would provide motivation to prove them all wrong or at least make them realize the mistake of their assumption.]

And did you win this war on behalf of your kin?

[He didn't move when Richard stood, but his shoulders tensed when the young King - Prince? Duke? Who knew! - came around the table towards him, and his blue eye followed the movement of that hand even as his jaw set. His head nearly jerked back at the feel of damaged fingers on his flesh; so rare was it that anyone would dare to touch him.

A hand snapped up to grasp Richard's wrist, and his blue eye narrowed even as the mutilated one remained focused on this strange man.]

When you have nothing in life, there are few choices but to cut through the thorns. Some just happen to be more astute about it than others. And what of you? Will to move to become our King?

Of course. A leader who is willing to share the bread and suffering with his people is inspiring one, able to lead them to the victory.

[Not to mention he had also been able to strike right in the heart of Scottish family drama, turning a brother against brother. Like a demon that he was.

Richard doesn't do even as much as flinch when his wrist is grabbed. Instead he leans in closer, letting some of his hair strands fall down and tips verge on other's skin. He laughs at the suggestion.]

And what would my kingdom be? One made of sinners and heretics? [He tries to listen but the cursed voices stay quiet in his mind. Joan is being uncharacteristically silent. No cutting remark how crown of the fallen would sit his head the best rather than one made of gold.

His thumb brushes over Silco's lips as he spreads his fingers further, reaching to touch the mutilated side of his skin.]

I think not. Besides, wouldn't this throne suit someone else better? Someone who has been here all this time, building the city and giving it to the community? A man who does not hide his face in darkness but reaches out to those around him.

Am I to assume then that you value loyalty? If you are willing to be down in the mud with the peasants, they will respect you more.

[It was true. When he had been young, that had been the life of the Undercity. Brothers and sisters of Zaun standing back to back willing to fight together against whatever the world threw at them. They had nothing but loyalty, and it was so deeply engrained in them that it was a shame how much of those times were a dying breed.

His fingers tightened when Richard persisted in touching him as this was not an act that endured often. Jinx was the only person in this world and the next that he allowed to touch him freely, so this invasion of his space was deeply uncomfortable. It happened when someone wanted something of him, thought to slip into the shadow of his station, but they were rare and his bodyguards almost never allowed them so close.

Yet another reminder of how much of what he had in Zaun being taken from him.]

If you're supposed to be blessed by a god, wouldn't it be part of your duty to convert the heretics and sinners back to the path of your choosing?

[Despite his voice being calm, he was leaning back further in his seat, tipping his head away from the contact.]

Why are you touching me, boy? Is this a custom where you're from because it is not for me? Does the facial scars intrigue or bother you?

Disloyalty is nothing but another thorn ought to be cut down. [A rule he applied to anyone. Restlessness within spirit was nothing but a dangerous mixture, a poison that would spread like a wildfire if given room. There was no blood too sacred to be spared, no friend too dear to excuse. Hadn't he just executed a man whom hey had shared many meals and battles with? Someone who used to look at him as friend. And hadn't he ordered a death of his brother too for the very same reason?

Which honestly makes Silco's words chime in his mind, like a bad joke. God has never loved him, leaving him outside of the touch of the light. His presence in this world ought to be proof of that.

But his own fingers curl tighter at that small snide, eyes sharpening in displeasure. Richard does not appreciate having his person questioned, especially not when it is aimed to his body. He is a full grown man, a lord with lands and power. Not a foolish boy still covering in the sight of his fears.]

They bother me not. If they did I would have shunned you already. [He is intrigued, that much is true. The mark of cursed flesh, as people called it back at home. Richard, too, carried the sin on his body.

But he can accommodate to Silco's comfort. He straightens his back so that he's no longer looming over him, withdrawing his hand.] Would someone blessed by a God truly be here?

And does that include the factors that create a reality of disloyalty due to competing perspectives and desires? [He knew that the reasons for disloyalty could be complex; everyone had their own motivations, goals, wants, desires and interactions. Inaction could prompt a shift as much as action could.] Have you been disloyal even for a reason that ultimately benefitted many more?

[These were ultimately complex questions that he didn't expect to have with a newcomer, least of all with a stranger currently invading his personal space.]

You would not be the first to shun me over them, nor would you be last. [He slowly sat forward again, and he allowed his grip to ease on Richard's wrist.] But these scars are a sign of a survivor, someone who let weakness be shed like a serpent's skin. They remind me of when I used to be a weak man.

[He shrugged his shoulders.] It doesn't matter if they are or they aren't. It's whether or not they believe they are.

Traitors are traitors. No matter what.

[It's simple as that. All traitors must be dealt with accordingly -- no matter who they are or what their reasons are. Richard knows that very well. As he's the biggest, the most dangerous traitor out of them all. But he knows how to play this game. The game of deception, waging his one soul and head in the process.

The speech makes his lips curl into a smug, satisfied smile. He lifts his hand in Silco's grip, bringing it up right between them. The permanently damaged skin, marred by red burns and darkened spots, is only highlighted against the paleness of the other man's hand.] The darkness of the soul, escaping from its cage and infecting the body. Or so they say.

[The mark of the king. Or so had Buckingham called his cursed flesh. A sign of a battle he won against those who would have had him executed and deny him the crown. He wonders whether Silco is the same as him.] There is no God here.

Then we're all traitors.

[He spoke with a finality as if they had been having some kind of moral disagreement. Instead, he found the black and white declaration from Richard to be far more refreshing than the mewling justifications of complexity that he leaned in on. Let the ugliness show then, and let them accept that, in the end, they did what they needed to for reasons that were often their own.

His mismatched eyes dropped to regard the scars on Richard's hand, noting that it disappeared under the clothing. How far the scars went up that arm he didn't know, and as much as he was curious, this was neither the time nor place to ask.] So which mistake in life does this reflect upon you? What darkness did you allow to swim to the surface to gain this?

[His fingers stroked over the scarred skin, noting the differences in texture. He was not a touchy person, but scars like that reminded him of his own. A mistake made or a hard earned victory over adversity. Maybe both. Maybe neither.]

No, there is not. Which means we are here to make what we can of this life all on our own. I wonder what you will decide to fight for.

Is not the reason for our presence in this world. For betraying the God's will.

[There is no soul free of sin. Or at least that is what Richard has learned during his relatively short life. What matters is whether the soul is ready for penance and seek the forgiveness with their actions and accept their fate into their heart. Something that Richard had refused to do -- and still refuses to. There is little point in being sorry now. And somehow he believes the case to be same for Silco.

His eyes narrow when he feels Silco's finger run along his burnt skin. So far there has only been only one person before him who has dared to touch him like this, unfazed and uncaring towards the ugliness of his body. In a way, the gesture is far more intimate than Richard's own just a moment ago.] It's all part of the crime this world accuses me of. What of your own abnormality?

[What will Richard fight for, indeed. There's no crown for him, no golden circle of paradise. No bloodline to protect, not the cursed voice calling after him. No warmth of another body in his bed. Just what there is for him to fight for here? He was stranger in this land, standing out like a sore thumb -- bot even knowing basic etiquette of dinner time. He falls quiet at the question, the gaze lowering down at their joined hands.]

II - Restaurant (cw: description of an injury)

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