expiationlogs | Now I'm Trapped Within Your Walls

[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.]

[He wouldn't try to convince Richard to follow him; that was a choice made by the younger man. It was no skin off of his nose if their interaction ended just like that, as he could simply return to work, wait a few days and then reach out to contact. He had the notion that Richard would not actually be hard to find in the city, and he had enough contacts in Rumpitur that he could determine if the young man went there too.

Yet, he took them both back through the kitchen to the quiet area of the establishment. There was a small room with a desk and chair, and a hard wooden chair that normally did not encourage long conversations. Otherwise, the room was sparse with paperwork on the desk and little else. It was big enough to accommodate two adults and that was it.

He walked in like he owned the place and moved to the chair at the desk, pulling it out and seating himself. He opened a drawer opposite to the door and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two small tumblers. He set them on his desk and poured them both a finger of the liquid and pushed one tumbler towards Richard once the younger man appeared.]

Close the door and sit. We won't be bothered here, and there's an discreet exit nearby to avoid the crowds of the eating area if you choose.

[He sat back in his chair and observed Richard.]

What does this witch want you with you?

[Richard follows the man silently, making sure to keep a small space between them as they trek towards Silco's designed destination. He pays attention to the surroundings, eyes quickly scanning and taking in the details around him. Seeing how different the kitchen is from the one he is familiar with from his home feels like yet another spike on his side.

And from the corner of his eye, he can see that the witch decided to follow them. Playing around with the pots and pans. Fine, she can have her way.

When they enter the small office he does as asked and closes the door behind them. He, then, walks to the table and takes seat. Joan settles to sit on the edge of table, pulling her legs up against her chest and looking both of them gleefully. He doesn't reach for the glass immediately, nose wrinkling a bit from the stinging smell of the liquid. The color reminds him of the ale, but the smell is far too strong and tangy to be one.

The question, however, surprises Richard. He quickly glances at Joan's direction and raises a curious brow. But the witch stays quiet.]

She does not say.

[He expected that everywhere had some form of distillery function as alcohol seemed to be one of the great unity between places. He didn't think to ask if Richard even consumed alcohol, but he was getting the idea that water was likely not top on the list of beverages much like his own home. No matter, he could drink it if Richard opted not to.

Silco followed the shift of Richard's gaze to his desk, and his own followed. There was nothing and certainly no one there to his awareness. It seemed that this Joan was here in the room, which was not unusual when it came to manifestations. Jinx's lurked in the background of every scene she lived, yet hers tended to be behind her from what he had learned over the years.]

Have you asked her what she wants? From my experience, those haunted by such manifestations are being driven to a particular path.

[Asking, of course, would be too easy. He picked up his tumbler, swirling the liquid lightly before taking a sip. He then leaned forward towards Richard.]

Is she here because I commented on your eyes? Or because we were in direct contact?

She.. [It feels so strange to talk about Joan. Never in his life had Richard mentioned about her presence to a single soul. Not to his brothers, to pious Henry who had suffered from his own sickness of mind, not Catesby, the man who had always so loyally stood by his side ever since of his childhood. Not even Buckingham, the man holding the half of his soul in his palm.] --She does whatever she wants to, there is no reason to her madness.

[A statement that only makes her laugh. She clearly enjoys from the unexpected attention towards her. "Don't be like that. Tell him the truth, who knows? Maybe this one will hold you so tightly that you'll never have to feel cold again."

Frowning, he picks up the glass swirling the strange liquid in it.] You spoke of a daughter.

[Somehow, he doubted Richard's version of an explanation, but he wasn't in a position to question the validity of it. Perhaps such an explanation was truly what Richard believed and no amount of probing or questioning from him would change that. Currently, he was curious but not deeply invested in digging through the psyche of a stranger.

His daughter was handful enough when she was experiencing her manifestations. Milo especially created enough trouble that Silco would have personally strangled the boy to death had Jinx not ended him first. Claggor had a somewhat pass, his presence less invasive.]

There's always reason for madness. We may simply not understand it at the time.

[He shrugged his shoulders when the topic shifted to his teenage daughter; in the eyes of Zaun she was a woman grown and an adult but to him, she would always be his young daughter. There was much he had to teach her, and many years of support he'd still like the offer even if she came to resent him for it.]

She has auditory and visual manifestations of her dead brothers mostly but there are other lesser symptoms of distress sometimes. She came to me when she was still young, and I've become a person she trusts where the voices are quieter when I'm near. I wouldn't change who she is for all the power and wealth in the world. [He took a sip from his tumbler and set it back on the desk.] You had the same look she does when she is experiencing such afflictions.

[They certainly didn't know each other well enough for him to know what the triggers were or how to bring Richard back.]

One should not have their expectations high when dealing with a witch. [They were servants of the devil, after all. Words failing to contain even an ounce of truth, seeking to seduce a poor soul from the path of light. "Just like you," the witch chimes in again, which Richard decides to ignore.

A child with such sickness of a mind must be hard to deal with, Richard thinks. He could already see the possible that she would bring to the family, potentially leading to them being ostracized or even taken in by a officials. It would not be the first time when a person speaking with the spirits would find their find to the flames.

But yet another thing that resonates with him is what goes unmentioned, but is still hinted. That the girl in the question was not the man's own flesh and blood. ]

You admit that she is not part of your lineage? [How.. Bold. It makes him think of the small child living in his castle who called him so endearingly "father". A child who's true lineage would cause a deadly scandal to him, if it ever was discovered by his enemies. Richard is not certain whether this confession was an offer of trust or not on the man's behalf]

These visions of hers. Have you two found out what they want of her?

Hmm, I find witches to be useful and sometimes rather informative. They go where others fear to. [There were those who ventured to be with the sick and the dying (the weak), but he would not fault them the attempt to make amends to the dispassion of the Chem-Barons. Not everyone was capable of rising to the top after all.

He chuckled softly at the question regarding lineage. That wasn't honestly a serious question, was it? Everyone in the Undercity was some sort of mutt, so bloodlines didn't matter. Many families were comprised of unrelated bloodlines.] I do. I have fathered no children of my own, and she is more cherished than anything wretched I could produce naturally. [He shrugged, having never intended to sire his own children.] Adoption is very common in my city; we have a high rate of broken families.

[He paused to consider his answer; he would do nothing that compromised his daughter or her trust.] One in particular wants her to suffer because she believes it is as she deserves. [Broad enough to be truth but not specific enough to give away the reasons for her torments.]

[Richard raises his brow curiously at that statement. So the man truly has no fear for his soul? He can't quite tell whether he finds that commendable or foolish. Richard himself knows that there is no chance for him to ever enter through the pearly gates into the paradise, but he still found his anxiety rising in the presence of the witch.

He says nothing to that comment, but there is a subtle warm feeling in his chest, raising up to his throat. It reminds him once again why he had decided to invade Silco's personal space just a few moments ago, seeking out for contact with someone whom he saw sharing the same darkness as he.

The laughter is not appreciated but he'll let that pass.] I suppose that is not unheard of among the common folk. [He says, drawing attention back to their status differences.] For those from high families such dealings aren't so simple. The person outside of the lineage has no right to any inheritance, and would always be only reminded of their status of someone less than others. There would be no possibilities for them to thrive in future. In the worst case scenario, the impurity of blood is nothing but a death sentence.

[The blood running in his veins was the only thing that Richard could be proud of. It worked to him as a lifeline and shield, protecting him from the certain death that would await him.

He looks down at the tumbler in his hands, finally deciding to raise it to his lips despite feeling dubious of the strange liquid. Which turns out to be warranted doubt. Because the instant the alcohol reaches his throat he feels the burn of alcohol, prickling against his larynx as it tries to go down. It punches out a brief, dry coughing out of him.

So yeah. Strong liquor really was not a thing in medieval times.]

Then--, [He says between the coughs, small color raising to his cheekbones] Then, you're saying that these ghosts are not.. real.

[There was a narrowing of his blue eye at being call common folk, lips thinning in displeasure. He had lived a lifetime of being 'lesser', and he did not enjoy the implication that his existence was somehow lesser than Richard or a member of the Piltover houses. He had to remind himself that slitting the man's throat for the insult would earn him no favours, and he almost felt pity for someone that relied so heavily on the importance of who one's parentage was.]

Well, when you are born into nothing, you have nothing to lose, do you? Myself and my daughter scraped a living out of the filth of our city by merit of our character and intelligence, not because we happened to be blessed to come from between the legs onto silk sheets. [His tone was bordering on dangerous, and it was truly the only warning that he was going to give when it came to underestimating him based on his muddied genetics.] My daughter is my family regardless of how she came to be in my care. She may not be related to me by blood, but I would bring this world down for her if it meant her happiness.

[His vehemence when it came to his family subsided once he found Richard coughing through a sip of whiskey. It wasn't the best quality, but it was good enough to put a good warmth in their bellies. He made a point to sip from his own tumbler without a similar reaction.]

To her, they are. I never see nor hear them, but that doesn't mean they don't shape her life. I assume the same is for you. I never saw nor heard your Joan, but does that make her any less part of your reality? [He shrugged his shoulders again. It didn't matter what he believed; it mattered what Richard did when it came to the witch.] Either way, I imagine she wants something of you.

[The shift in the tone is impossible to miss. Unlike the reason behind it, as Richard had only stated the obvious hadn't he? Still, there was something in the warning tone of the man that reminded him of his late brother. Edward had showcased similar anger at his own kingmaker when Warrick had questioned his decision to marry Elizabeth Woodville instead of the princess from France. Making a woman of lowborn a queen of all England. A queen that would seek out to destroy the entire Plantagenet-bloodline, and overthrow the York Kingdom.]

You did say something like that before, yes. [Silco had made it clear that he was not born from nobility, struggling from poverty to rise into power. To Richard it didn't matter. If anything it made the man only more interesting in his eyes.] Then for you and your daughter's health. May she cut down the thorns from her side as her father does.

[He raises the tumbler up in a small toast, taking another sip from the liquid. This time swallowing it with more ease and actually tasting some of the fine details of it as it went down. The drink settled in nicely, bringing warmth to his body faster than any wine had before.]

I once knew a man who's illness made him lose the track of time and place. During those spells he would not remember who he was nor be able to recognize his surroundings, only pray for God.

[It was wise that Richard took the obvious hint to not refer to his low birth as a means to use against him. He had fought his entire life against that fact which gave Piltover the assumption that abuse was warranted to keep the scum in their place. He suspected Richard was very, very naïve to the way life worked for those who were born into poverty regardless of the previous speech about fighting and dying in the trenches with one's subjects.

So, he let the matter drop for now. He did not need to have to hide a body and clean up blood in his office. It would reward him only with questions and likely another stint doing pathetic penance.

He lifted his tumbler to accept the toast to their health. He expected Richard had no idea that death wasn't permanent here. He would provide that eventually, if it wasn't given by someone else.] It's a work in progress, but it is worthwhile. She had much the offer this world, even if people might deny it. Best to do so while healthy and strong.

[He sipped the liquid, corner of his lip twitching when Richard managed to take some without being reduce to a coughing fit. He set his tumbler down on his desk, and now he had to be curious if he was about to get a king drunk?]

Had he taken a sufficiently hard hit to the head? [Though, now he had to wonder.] You talk about your God, but I can't say I'm aware of this one. Could you tell me about them?

[Well, Silco is on right track here. Richard might have more insight to the suffering of the people than his brothers' or those from nobility ever did. All due to the demons plaguing his mind and the secret he carries with him -- setting him ultimately apart from the rest. But there was still so many ways that he stayed ignorant to the dealings of the subjects of his kingdom. Which is, no doubt, going to be one factor complicating his attempts to adapt to this city.

But that is nor here or there.]

I am a father, too. So, I understand the importance of children and the wishes of a parent. [His son, Edward of Salisbury, did have an important role in his plans of capturing the crown. After all, what is a king without an heir?]

Nay. I was told that the condition was hereditary, but I would not know. [Henry had never displayed signs of his illness during their time together. At least not until the very end. Richard raises the tumbler back to his lips, taking another sip of the drink.]

There is only one God. [He says thoughtfully, casting his gaze down at his hands.] I am not the best person to talk religion with, as I have never quite been that devout. The matters of spirit were never my specialty. But they say that the God sees all and is everywhere at once. He has laid a great plan for all of us and it is our duty to follow the path He has laid in front of us, following his teachings to value the worth of our souls. We beg forgiveness for our sins and trespasses, hoping to gain a pass to his eternal paradise that waits for us in death.

[Silco raised his only remaining eyebrow when he was told that the man sitting nearby was also a father. He relaxed back into his seat as he considered that, how difficult it might be on a child to endure a parent who suffered as Jinx did. It would be... complicated but he didn't doubt the pair make it work.]

Are you? Is it a male or female child? [He'd heard in some nations that there was a certain importance put on gendered children. Piltover, Noxus and Zaun did not happen to care much for such things.] So your child will inherit your kingdom when you eventually die. So will mine.

[He knew of many conditions that made someone not be quite right. It was far more common in the Undercity thanks to the toxins in the air, the water and the food. Still, those that survived contributed similarly.] You were comrades with this person who lost track of themselves?

[Silco found the discussion of God to be interesting, especially when it came to feverent belief in one. When he was a boy, he had prayed to Janna who was protector of the people of Zaun, but as life had gone on, he saw little reason for faith in anyone other than himself.] What is your specialty, Richard? [That seemed the better question.] Oh well, there is no paradise for men like myself, so I don't waste time on such things. I'll be among the demons once this stint is over.

[The surprised look at the revelation of him being father is nothing new. Richard has dealt with similar queries from the people around him ever since the birth of his son. The rumors about the loveless union between his and wife were well-spread, and there were those who would question legitimacy of their child. But those rumors were nothing but thorns that he'd cut down. Or so he had intended to, once he had the crown.]

A boy. [He nods, chuckling softly at that declaration. Edward will not inherit anything. Richard has already been gone far too long and left his family unprotected. It is a small miracle if the boy is still alive. And his wife has probably already either been married off to someone else or locked away in a convent.]

He was a man whom I killed. [He says, staring at his own reflection in the brown liquid. That's right. Yet another man who he had sacrificed for the sake of crown, nothing more. He knows he had been the one to bring up Henry and his ailments but suddenly he found his tongue heavy and tied, not wanting to go into the subject any more.

Oh. Richard is not sure if it's the strange alcohol running in his veins or what, but a sudden, almost shy warmth raises to Richard's face. He looks up from his tumbler, looking right back into Silco's eyes with a slight confusion mixed with amazement shining from them. Maybe even a shade of hope? He had ever only one person to speak so proudly of his status as a demon among the men. It made his chest ache, almost enough to miss Silco's initial question.

The witch seems to have gone quiet again.]

..Deception.

[He nodded his head. It seemed they yet had more in common, and he was almost uncomfortable how quickly that list was growing.] What's your boy's name? [The chuckle indicated to him that Richard was at least somewhat fond of the boy.]

Personally or ordered? [Silco had to ask. There were plenty of people that he had sacrificed for ambition after all, but if it was done by their own hand, then he considered a personal killing.] Did he betray you, or was he a necessary sacrifice for a cause?

[He tilted his head at the look that Richard gave him, at first not understanding what his open declaration of being cursed to reside with demonic entities.] To what to I owe a look like that? [Curiosity nipped at him; what a strange man this was.

He lifted his tumbler to take another sip of his whiskey.]

Useful specialty. That will come in handy here.

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