expiationlogs | Now I'm Trapped Within Your Walls

[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.]

We don't know the reason we have been brought here yet, but I believe this experience is what we make of it, penance or no.

[Silco cared little for the morality of the decisions - the necessary decisions - he had to make in order to drag his city and its eceletic people to freedom. He had chosen his path from a young age, but it wasn't until he had stepped out from behind Vander's shadow that he truly began to follow it. If that made him a sinner, so be it. He would let the monster out any time his purpose required it.

Especially if it meant saving or providing for his daughter. He was fortunate to not be alone here, though it wouldn't change what he did even if she wasn't. He would simply be preparing for her arrival in that case.

He noted that they very much had a similar reaction to being touched. Like Richard, he didn't bother to stop just yet, not unless he was told to or the other man moved away from his contact. Fair's fair, and there was nothing disgusting about this scar.] The cost of action or inaction? [His other hand reached up to stroke his fingers over his own scarring, allowing himself a moment to remember.] I was betrayed by someone I thought my brother. Toxins in the water where I lived ate into an open wound in my flesh and mutilated me; I nearly lost the eye but thankfully I retain some sight in it.

[Perhaps that was more detail than Richard might be looking to have about his own scarring. It didn't matter; he was very open with why his appearance was so altered, even comfortable with it. That memory at the river fueled his anger for so long, now it was a point a pride. If he was open about his own obvious scarring, perhaps Richard with regale him with the story of the scars his fingers still held onto.]

[That sounded like the opposite that the man, Miller, had told him when he had waken up in middle of the rose bed. The explanation that he had been given entailed information about the Council, punishments and their status as prisoners. But it'd be lie to say that these words did not resonate with Richard more, rekindling some of the embers in his soul.

Taking a deep breath Richard closed his eyes. Does that story ring familiar to him. It is very similar to his own, even if Lord Hastings had not quite been as close to him as he had been to his dead brother. But there had once been mutual respect between two of them from all the battles they had fought on the same side. He had been ultimately a good man. Foolish one, maybe. But good. Unlike Richard who had taken his head.] Action. I moved up to defy the God. The members of the King's council would have seen me arrested, chained and executed if I had not been able to show them the proof of curse.

[Or rather direct their attention away from the true sin he carried with him. It had been an act of desperation, but there was only so much he could have done when backed down in the corner? When his own mother had told them about their shared secret?

Opening his eyes Richard slightly cocks his head to the side, and leans back in to touch the corner of Silco's eye with his healthy hand.] But then this is what sets up apart. Your eyes were mutilated for you -- I was born with mine.

[Silco had been victim of one of the Council's rehabilitation projects, and he had not been impressed. The fact that he couldn't recall the details of his run with the Council during sentencing bothered him; he did not like his memories being tampered with. He wanted to question their authority, their evidence, and their intentions when it came to the origin of the Chosen and how they were picked.

He tilted his head to the side as he considered the answer. Defy God, was it? His eyes flicked to regard where the mottled skin was under his finger tips, such a different colour and texture.] Is it really a curse when it saved your life? It sounds like a blessing from where I'm sitting.

[He had no doubt that there was more to this, that there were layers to this story that perhaps they would discover about each other if they decided on any sort of future association. He hadn't had a conversation with a King before, and this was the least arrogant King he'd ever heard of. More... tortured?

His head gave an involuntary reflexive jerk back at the touch to his face, but he quickly course corrected a moment later. He wouldn't be seen as weak.] I see nothing wrong with your eyes. You need to embrace what sets you apart.

[Oh.

This time it's Richard's turn to startle. But not because of the touch but because of the words that so smoothly slides off Silco's tongue like nothing. It reminds him of the warmth he used to feel wrapped around his body, whispering soft words of reassurances and comfort to his ear through the night. But this was not that warmth.

There is a nasty twisting feeling in his gut, freezing his breath inside his lungs. Suddenly the room goes dark and all he can see is the vines all around him, slithering up and coiling around his body and pressing their barbs on his flesh.

Then someone laughs. The cursed voice is calling for him, yet again. Beckoning his soul into the woods. "Look, Richard! He is even holding your hand!" He hears The Witch's mocking words ringing in his ears. Joan.

The color drains from Richard face as he flinches back and spins his head around to look behind his back. The distress becomes visible on his face when he looks around, trying to see the sight of the white witch. But she's nowhere to be found. Why isn't she showing herself?!

To those outside of him, the moment of confusion passes quickly. Not lasting more than a heart beat or two. But for Richard it feels like yet another eternity that he spends lost in the dark forest that is his own mind. When he comes around back to, he's clutching on his own throat, looking bewildered and confused.]

Edited 2024-05-20 00:23 (UTC)

[Despite the continued business happening all around them, his focus remained mostly on Richard who was still so close. This was a relatively friendly places to eat and socialize, so he currently wasn't worry about being back-stabbed. It wasn't even certain he understood the situation in the first place. That would take pondering later.

Yet, his gaze sharpened and was drawn away from the scarred flesh of Richard's wrist when he noted the colour draining from the younger man's face. He knew that look. He was intimately familiar with dissociation, with voices and the effect it had on a person. His daughter had been suffering from them for years, so he had become keyed in on the signs.

When Richard looked away, he waited calmly and yet also couldn't help but return his grip lightly to Richard's scarred wrist. He leaned forward in his chair, crowding their faces together so he was the person to focus on rather than whatever images or voices were plaguing the King.]

Richard, look at me, hmm? Whatever haunts you right now, set it aside if you can, and if not, we can ride it out together. I understand what you are enduring.

[One of the (very many) unfortunate things about coming from world without modern medical care nor any interest in scientific progress is that ailments like these are in most cases swept under the rug. Counted as nothing but a curse from above and weakness of mind. For Richard's sake the people in his life had been blind to his visual signs, never questioning why he'd go silent and withdraw to his mind every now and then. Usually, he was used to the presence of Joan, not allowing her remarks throw him off.

But in this world he was so alone. And until now he had assumed that even she had forsaken him. Who'd guess that one would learn to miss their own demons.

It's the firm hold on his wrist that helps to ground him back on the present, helping him to forget about chasing after the signs of ghosts. But still, the fear remains in his person, clinging on him and chaining his limbs down. It's that touch that makes him feel trapped, dragging out a frozen memory of a man that was no longer. Henry cowering in a fear on the floor of chapel, crying and begging Richard not to touch.]

Why are you touching me.. [Even his voice sounds distant. His free hand is already reaching behind his back, fumbling the handle of his hunting dagger that's strapped tightly on his belt.]

[It was different with Jinx, knowing how her voices worked as they had discussed them and he had come to understand. A suffering mind made them dangerous if one didn't have their trust first, and he had endured all manner of freak outs. It was especially true in the early days of having Jinx under his care.

He did not have the same trust with the King, of course. They had only just met, which meant that he was even more in a dangerous situation. He turned his head a little to examine the room, spying if he could move Richard out of the busy eating area, but he understood that too was precarious. He didn't know if it was images, voices or both in Richard's case.]

I'm grounding you. There is nothing wrong with whoever or whatever you are seeing or hearing. [His eyes dropped to watch Richard's free hand struggle for the knife. Well, that was expected.] Richard, look at me. You don't need the knife, but I'm also not going to take it from you. Look at me.

[His hand finds the handle of the knife, beginning to pull it from its sheath just enough to show a shy gleam of the blade. More of a warning than an actual attack. The confusion in his features subdues a bit, the brows pressing down into a harsh frown as he stares down at Silco. His breathing is hard and erratic, as if he was having troubles getting the air moving in his lungs.

He hears Silco's voice calling him, drawing his attention out of the witch's forest. Richard remains quiet as he tries to listen, but again, still no sign of Joan. Why? You have never been shy before?! Never before has she passed an opportunity to taunt him with her blasphemy.

But with no other voice to distract him, he actually does listen to Silco. His gazes focuses on the man in front of him, looking right into mismatched eyes with his own. The coldness in his body fades away, the heat from pumping adrenaline filling his veins.]

..Let me go. [He says, voice more focused and direct than before.]

[He was keenly aware of the knife and the precarious position of him sitting with this one leaning over him. He preferred to avoid being stabbed as much as possible, especially in a public place that would ruin business for a day or so. The safety of his clients was actually less of a concern, especially given where he came from where the rules of engagement were rather different.

Yet, he did not try to stop Richard, and when he saw those mismatched eyes actually focus on him, he made a soft noise of acceptance at the order. His fingers slowly loosened and then his hand fell away from holding the younger man's wrist. Yet, he did not move his face away, keeping to crowding to keep focus on him until Richard deigned to move on his own.]

Images, voices, or both? [Said as a man who understood that kind of torment as much as a bystander could.] I expect they play on your emotions. Not allowed any joy without their input or is it far more random than that?

[Once he's freed from the man's hold Richard immediately straightens his back and steps away. He reaches for the leather gloves he previously discarded on the table next to the abandoned plate and pulling them on with a haste, covering his scars back up while facing away from the other.

Pressing his lips tightly together, forming a harsh thin line, Richard tries to catch his breathing. Inhaling and exhaling through his nostrils, the tension still very much evident in his shoulders, but at least he's feeling like himself again now that the moment has passed. He's really glad that none of the other patrons seemed to pay much attention to them -- maybe it was all part of Silco's influence? He's certain that the staff would be paying attention to the actions of the owner, but knew better than not to mingle.

At first Richard considers about leaving. Marching out of the room and disappear in the streets of Aldrip, until he'd reach the inn and hole up in his room. But at the same time he remembered the coldness of his bed, mockingly reminding him what he no longer possesses. And would never posses again.]

...Before I was born my noble father arrested a witch. [He begins, trying to find the confidence back to his voice that he had showcased just mere minutes ago.] Joan of Arc, she was enemy of our country. She would dress up as a man and seduce men to their doom with her witchcraft. My father executed her by burning her at stake.

It is her spirit that haunts me.

[Haunted by ghosts? Well, that wasn't completely unrealistic given the manifestations that Jinx had to deal with. All the monsters that manifested as certain dead people, but there was something about Richard's explanation that made little sense to him. If it was before the boy was born, why would it manifest in such a way? It wasn't Richard's guilt?

He knew that certain elements of demonic and angelic origins even roamed Runeterra, but they were few and far between. Perhaps this was a demon feeding on Richard's negative energies? That begged the question on if spiritual elements could be brought here along with the person they haunted? Jinx's did, but hers were mental illness paired with significant trauma.

He shifted to switch which leg was crossed over the other, perfectly comfortable retaining his seat as he was. He moved to pick up one of the coins on the table again, bringing it closer to his face to inspect the impressions into the metal. No one he recognized.]

I see. Has she been manifesting to you all of your life, or did she begin to torment you after a certain age that you recall? [He began to play with the coin again.] My daughter suffers similarly.

[Joan had given Richard the reason for presence during their first meeting. 'It's because we are the same,' or so she had claimed. She had been a Witch and Richard was a demon with a cursed body. Both of their existence were nothing but a crime against the God's will.

Richard brings his hand to grab on his own arm, the gloved fingers anxiously rubbing against the fabric.] ...Ever since I was a boy. [He takes a break, feeling the coiling vines threatening him again. The cursed voice, damning his existence had been part of his life as long as he could remember. Speaking of the prophecies of the misfortune that he would bring about. But Joan? Yes. Richard supposes he could remember the even after she became part of his life.]

My mother once took me to the woods when I was a child. ['There is a witch living in the woods. That's why you should never go there, or the witch will eat you.'] and left me there. I believe that was the beginning.

What of your daughter, then?

[The anxiety was palpable from the other man, and Silco watched his back with a curious interest. Everyone was tormented after all, but it was how they wielded their torment that defined them in his mind. He noted the rubbing, expecting that the scar that he had seen before to perhaps rise that far beneath fabric.

His eyes moved from Richard to the diners, some leaving and others coming. This was not the place to discuss such matters, not if Richard was about to be open about it with him. He didn't speak of such things about his daughter so publicly either.

So, he rose from his chair, collecting the coins with the intention to return them later.]

That would make sense. I imagine a forest would be a frightening place for a boy, especially if he's not intimately familiar with it. [He straightened his vest and gestured with a hand.] Come, this is not the place to discuss what haunts you. We never know who has twitching ears and will have a wagging tongue.

[He turned away, expecting Richard to just follow him towards the back of the house where he had a small office space.] I will give you something to smooth the nerves as well, then I will tell you of my daughter.

[The rubbing motion irritates the burned skin trapped in the leather. It's not much but the pain does help him stay focused. He wonders what would Buckingham say if he were to see him like this? Probably scoff in that pompous, ever so all-knowing manner, grab him and drown in that overwhelming heat, cutting down any threatening thorns from his flesh. Or maybe that is just wishful thinking on Richard's part? Well, it matters not. The demon's other half is not here, leaving him face these adversaries on his own once again.

Richard watches the man to stand up and move, gesturing him to follow. At first he stays still, feet planted right on the spot. The fear might have left him, but yet he could see the signs of danger ahead. As if he was to going to follow the man it would mean entering just another part of the forest.

Silco doesn't get too far before Richard can see one of the patrons sitting in nearby table turn around and look at his way, wearing the grinning face of Joan the Witch. "Go for it, Richard. Maybe he'll even hold your hand again," the vision speaks. Voice screeching like a raw cry of a crow. But he's not going let her get a jump on him again, so clenching his fists, Richard makes his move and follows Silco out of the room.]

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cw: dissocation

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