Silco (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
conflictresolution) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
expiationlogs2024-06-29 12:02 pm
conflictresolution) wrote in expiationlogs2024-06-29 12:02 pm
All my reasons cut like knives (Open)
Who: Silco
Where: Multiple Locations around Aldrip
What: A nightmare-induced jaunt through the streets of Aldrip thanks to recent events from the Tower.
Warnings: PTSD, anxiety, mention of strangulation
i. On the run
It was the same reoccurring nightmare which stole any restfulness away from him. Even as he sat bolt upright, the images clouded his vision and his breath caught in this throat without anywhere to go but choke him. Suddenly, his silk tie was too tight, feeling like the slow pressure of fingers closing around his throat, and his fingers tore at the material in an uncharacteristic panic.
His vest felt too constricting, hugging his chest so that his ribs couldn’t expand. The illusion sensation of knees on his chest holding him down drew him from his seat and had him frantically removing the vest to fall on the floor next to white tie.
Logic had been overridden by a sense of internal alarm and panic, and Silco was opening a window to the office of the Last Drop. Within seconds of the cold night hair hitting him, he was out the window and scrambling down the two storeys to the ground; physicality was never his strong suit but he was a born and raised fissure folk and moving around – including up and down – was not actually difficult for him and the Lanes buildings were built with outcroppings.
He took off running the moment his socked feet touch the ground, sliding through the narrow alley and out on the streets. Chased by the nightmare, of the frantic old pain to just survive, he sprinted away with no mindful thoughts to combat the adrenaline as he tore through the streets and heading towards the edge of town.
He slipped across streets, jammed himself through almost impossibly narrow alleys and hopped fences. He was barefoot and disheveled within a few blocks, and his gaze was unfocused with a panicked need to flee as if he were being chased.
ii. Drop in the bucket
The salt in the air hung thick, and it was the only thing that stopped his careening mad panicked run but not until he felt the water roll over his bare cut up feet. He took a moment to draw a long shaky breath into his lungs, and almost mindlessly, Silco walked into the gently rolling waves while silhouetted by the moon hanging in the sky.
To his knees then his waist and out further until he was chest deep in the ocean, which took him quite far out given the gentle decline of the portion of beach he had ended up in. His fingers traced over the surface of the water as he bobbed before he simply sank under the surface and stayed there.
There was a comfort in the reminder of a place similar to this was where he had once let his weakness die, where he had stepped out from the shadow of someone he had once trusted. It was time to do that again, just basking in the embrace of the water even as his lungs began to burn from being submerged for minutes.
Have you had enough?
iii. Beach contemplations
He found himself sitting on the beach staring out at the waves gently lapping at the shore. Even with his legs drawn up towards his chest, the water still rolled over his feet. His forearms rested on his raised knees, fingers entwined together to keep them from potentially falling into motion. His soaked clothing clung to his frame, though it was starting to dry stiff from the salt of the water.
The moon hung low on the horizon, providing an indication of time having passed. It would be dawn within a few hours, and the reasonable part of his brain knew that he couldn’t be out here on the beach when the town began to come awake. This was not a scene he wanted to be caught staring at, not when there was the safety of any one of his businesses or the empty home waiting for him.
Slowly, he reached up and pushed drying stiff hair from falling his face then drew his fingers down over the yellowed bruises on his throat where he had been throttled. Like father, like daughter… it was a legacy he doubted Vander would want to be known for. The girl? He expected such a situation to go down as a point of pride; that was the differences of a generation.
And what would be his legacy? Zaun would survive, and that was enough. As for Aldrip? He was still building his legacy, but to what point and purpose? He knew why; his reasons had been lined up since he had arrived, and he knew they hadn’t changed. The question still lingered like a bitter pill to be swallowed.
He bowed his head towards his knees and sighed, lingering in the moment alone on the beach.
iv. Walk of shame
Well, now that that shameful incident was over, it was time to walk back home like some self-aware drunk knowing they had made a fool of themselves in public. As he had come with nothing more than his shirt and pants, Silco simply dusted off sand from his clothing and began to trek along the streets of Aldrip.
It was early enough in the morning that he knew few would be awake. So he took the most direct route towards his house. Within the first block, he began to leave faint bloodied footprints and his head was bowed down in an effort to ignore anyone who might actually be heading to their destination that may notice him in his current disheveled state.
"I’m not interested in escort."
Where: Multiple Locations around Aldrip
What: A nightmare-induced jaunt through the streets of Aldrip thanks to recent events from the Tower.
Warnings: PTSD, anxiety, mention of strangulation
i. On the run
It was the same reoccurring nightmare which stole any restfulness away from him. Even as he sat bolt upright, the images clouded his vision and his breath caught in this throat without anywhere to go but choke him. Suddenly, his silk tie was too tight, feeling like the slow pressure of fingers closing around his throat, and his fingers tore at the material in an uncharacteristic panic.
His vest felt too constricting, hugging his chest so that his ribs couldn’t expand. The illusion sensation of knees on his chest holding him down drew him from his seat and had him frantically removing the vest to fall on the floor next to white tie.
Logic had been overridden by a sense of internal alarm and panic, and Silco was opening a window to the office of the Last Drop. Within seconds of the cold night hair hitting him, he was out the window and scrambling down the two storeys to the ground; physicality was never his strong suit but he was a born and raised fissure folk and moving around – including up and down – was not actually difficult for him and the Lanes buildings were built with outcroppings.
He took off running the moment his socked feet touch the ground, sliding through the narrow alley and out on the streets. Chased by the nightmare, of the frantic old pain to just survive, he sprinted away with no mindful thoughts to combat the adrenaline as he tore through the streets and heading towards the edge of town.
He slipped across streets, jammed himself through almost impossibly narrow alleys and hopped fences. He was barefoot and disheveled within a few blocks, and his gaze was unfocused with a panicked need to flee as if he were being chased.
ii. Drop in the bucket
The salt in the air hung thick, and it was the only thing that stopped his careening mad panicked run but not until he felt the water roll over his bare cut up feet. He took a moment to draw a long shaky breath into his lungs, and almost mindlessly, Silco walked into the gently rolling waves while silhouetted by the moon hanging in the sky.
To his knees then his waist and out further until he was chest deep in the ocean, which took him quite far out given the gentle decline of the portion of beach he had ended up in. His fingers traced over the surface of the water as he bobbed before he simply sank under the surface and stayed there.
There was a comfort in the reminder of a place similar to this was where he had once let his weakness die, where he had stepped out from the shadow of someone he had once trusted. It was time to do that again, just basking in the embrace of the water even as his lungs began to burn from being submerged for minutes.
Have you had enough?
iii. Beach contemplations
He found himself sitting on the beach staring out at the waves gently lapping at the shore. Even with his legs drawn up towards his chest, the water still rolled over his feet. His forearms rested on his raised knees, fingers entwined together to keep them from potentially falling into motion. His soaked clothing clung to his frame, though it was starting to dry stiff from the salt of the water.
The moon hung low on the horizon, providing an indication of time having passed. It would be dawn within a few hours, and the reasonable part of his brain knew that he couldn’t be out here on the beach when the town began to come awake. This was not a scene he wanted to be caught staring at, not when there was the safety of any one of his businesses or the empty home waiting for him.
Slowly, he reached up and pushed drying stiff hair from falling his face then drew his fingers down over the yellowed bruises on his throat where he had been throttled. Like father, like daughter… it was a legacy he doubted Vander would want to be known for. The girl? He expected such a situation to go down as a point of pride; that was the differences of a generation.
And what would be his legacy? Zaun would survive, and that was enough. As for Aldrip? He was still building his legacy, but to what point and purpose? He knew why; his reasons had been lined up since he had arrived, and he knew they hadn’t changed. The question still lingered like a bitter pill to be swallowed.
He bowed his head towards his knees and sighed, lingering in the moment alone on the beach.
iv. Walk of shame
Well, now that that shameful incident was over, it was time to walk back home like some self-aware drunk knowing they had made a fool of themselves in public. As he had come with nothing more than his shirt and pants, Silco simply dusted off sand from his clothing and began to trek along the streets of Aldrip.
It was early enough in the morning that he knew few would be awake. So he took the most direct route towards his house. Within the first block, he began to leave faint bloodied footprints and his head was bowed down in an effort to ignore anyone who might actually be heading to their destination that may notice him in his current disheveled state.
"I’m not interested in escort."
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He didn't move at the moment, instead watching Whitey move over to sit next to him. The warmth that radiated off of the pig caused a shiver to run down his spine. He was reminded that yes, he was cold and his clothing clung uncomfortably to his skin. All the more reason to walk his walk home, wasn't it?
Instead, he stayed, his hands twitching as he returned to staring at the waves with his newfound companion.]
Are you spying on me at Richard's behest?
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Whitey doesn't take his gaze off the waves, however, and only snorts softly to his question. He's his own pig and doesn't need Richard's approval for his activities. He's here for you, man. Not for the duke.]
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His daughter was the only one recently who could offer a similar comfort, but normally, it was the other way around. It was why he didn't reach out but instead seemed to just tolerate the weight pressed to his side.
Finally, he sighed as his shivering became too obvious. He forced his hands apart and set them in the sand, well one in the sand and the other awkwardly around the pig so he could push himself forward to attempt to get up.]
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But you know what's not scary? The hand on his back. Whitey takes the gesture as a sign for upcoming belly scratches and flops to his side, offering a better access to his underside to Silco. Hope you don't mind the added weight on you, dude.]
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Being in the process of rising left him unprepared for the fact that the place where one of his hands happened to be situated suddenly moved, and Silco found himself overcompensating badly before falling on his side. He braced with his hands and twisted to glare at the pig who currently trapped his leg under it. The gesture was obvious, and Silco awkwardly patted the pig's side in a manner that clearly told the world petting animals was a skill he'd never developed.]
I'm going back to the office. Get off my leg.
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But, despite being pampered little boar he definitely isn't selfish nor unreasonable. So when Silco mentions going back he lets out a grunt and rolls away from him and gets back on his feet. Then he quickly shakes the sand off his coat and looks up at Silco with waiting eyes.
All ready to go!]
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Once his leg was free, he pulled it close to himself and levered himself to his feet. It was a slower than normal process given his state of exhaustion and the ache throughout his body. This kind of adventure was not one he put himself through. He'd be paying for it for days he expected.
It was nothing more work couldn't distract himself from.
He began to make his way up the beach to the sidewalk. His steps were ginger at first but once he grew used to the discomfort, he simply settled into walking with a slight hitch to his steps. Within a half a block, the cuts of his feet had opened and he left faint bloody foot prints.]
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However, once they reach a certain crossroad he stops on his tracks. Turning left would lead them to their original destination, being Silco's office, meanwhile the right path would take them elsewhere -- to Richard's current residence, that is. Whitey looks up at Silco with his brown eyes for a brief, yet meaningful moment. Then, he turns right and walks few feet away from the man before looking back as if to make sure that the other one was following him.]
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He paused when Whitey did, looking around tiredly as if searching for a source of danger or disquiet. He noted the change in direction and stared after the albino pig; he knew that's where Richard was currently residing. At first, the option was obvious in that he was going back to the bar.
He took a step in that direction then stopped again. The idea of returning to an empty house or empty business with signs of his mental disturbance was repulsive. Yet, the perception of what he currently looked like was almost equally as disgusting; why would he let anyone see him like this? He looked at Whitey then towards the left that would take him to the Last Drop.
Silco shook his head to himself and began to head to the Last Drop and within ten steps, he slowed and changed direction to follow the pig.]
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When Silco decides to take up on Whitey's quiet, yet still very loud and straightforward, guide he continues to lead them towards a new destination that is Richard's new residence. He doesn't turn to look over his shoulder to check whether the man is following him or not, either trusting him to follow or not caring enough. Well, whatever is the case it only takes about ten minutes or so for them to arrive at the house Richard's claimed for his own.
The house itself is rather modest one, reminding somewhat a hunter's cottage, located near the outskirts of the city. There's smoke coming from the chimney and a faint light emitting from the shut windows. Whitey approaches the house, going straight to the door. Grunting loudly, he headbutts the door and scratches the wooden surface with his hoof. The demand for attention works because it doesn't take even a minute for the door to open.]
Oi, where have you been? [Richard says as he opens the door. The words are stern but there's still clear signs of affection in his voice. But just as he peeks outside his eyes land on the 'stray' that his companion picked up and brought home.
He's wearing much more loose clothing than during their previous meetings. Wearing a simple white linen shirt rather than wrapping his body in dark and protective leather. He's even tucked the hair behind his ear, revealing both eyes instead of hiding the so-called abnormality away. Seems like he's actually had quiet and relaxing time for once.
However, that relaxation and ease fades away from Richard's features, brows knitting into a confused frown as he stares up at the man who looks like nothing but a drowned rat. But there's more than confusion reflected in his eyes... Worry, maybe?]
What happened to you?
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By the time the house came in sight and Whitey was at the door, he had lagged behind enough and came into view clearly limping despite his best efforts to hide the hinderance of damaged feet from his adventure. He was in motion now, and he didn't dare stop even as he spotted Richard in attire he was plainly not used to seeing the younger man in. At least both of them were out of the usual norm clothing wise.
He came to a stop a handful of feet from the door, and his internal turmoil had not abated seeing Richard. Why was he here? What was his own intention? What was Whitey's intention? He shouldn't be here. Yet, he had no one else aside from perhaps Miller, and he had appeared previously out of sorts to that man. Why was he here?
At the question, he looked aside, absently smoothing his rumpled shirt with his hands.]
It's.. nothing. [If he wasn't so tired and sore, perhaps he could have come up with a lie that suited the look. As it was, his thoughts were sluggish. A part of him recognized he was in a perfect position to be taken advantage of.] Could I trouble you for a parcel of floor space tonight?
[All the businesses, the house or even the caves he could use, and yet here he was. It wasn't the space; it was the atmosphere. A reprieve from the deep churning emotions of isolation and failure even for a few hours, if Richard would allow it.]
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Come in. [Richard says and steps back inside, leaving the door open for Silco to enter in his own pace. Whitey, the true mastermind behind this situation, has disappeared into the night to conduct his own adventures, it seems.
The interior design of the house is also just as modest and bland as it looks from the outside. Richard hasn't really had much time or interest to gather any personal belongings other than those that he deems to be useful. He was never materialistic the same way as his brother had been. So, there can be mostly found weaponry used for hunting such as spears, daggers and bow placed neatly against the wall, and his sword lies on top of the kitchen table next to a piece of cloth. It seems like Richard had been in middle of cleaning his weapons before Silco had arrived. Other than that there are pelts placed around the space, there's one against the wall, one on the floor in front of the bedroom door and one placed close to the fireplace where the embers are still softly sparkling, creating both light and warmth inside.
Richard really needs to learn how to start using electricity more...]
Take off your clothes. I shall fetch you a blanket and more wood for the fireplace so you can warm yourself. [He commands and quickly points at the spot before the fire, telling him to sit down. Honestly, the situation was so baffling that springing to the action seemed most logical thing to do. First they needed to get Silco back to his clear mind of state. Any questions Richard might have can come after that.
With clear line of action in his mind, Richard quickly walks to the bedroom area, grabs a cover off the bed. Normally, he'd offer the man spare clothes to wear but as it was he didn't have anything else but his own. And despite Silco not exactly being one of big built he still was considerably taller than Richard himself. But he's certain that the man could tolerate a little humiliation and being in compromised state until he gained his strength back. ]
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It was... homely in here and without anything over the top. He preferred the simplicity, even as he limped his way over to the pelt in front of the fire. Despite his usual position giving the orders, he was exhausted and mentally spent enough that his fingers moved to work through the buttons of his shirt. He fumbled with the cuff buttons before he simply had to shrug his shirt off and worked it over his hands.
His chest and arms bore old scars, but the newest were two bullet holes, one to the middle of his chest and the other closer to his throat. He didn't presently care as his attention was working open his trousers and dropping them and his underwear to the floor before he half collapsed unceremoniously onto the pelt so he could work the material off with a wince from pulling it over his damaged feet.
He folded the clothes into a neat pile and set them aside and sat staring at the embers, not at all embarrassed to be naked compared rumpled clothing appearance.]
I don't mean to inconvenience you. I will stay a few hours until sunrise.
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He does not answer Silco and just drops the blanket over his shivering frame, continuing to go fetch the other things. After a minute or two he returns with two logs for the fireplace and a cup of wine, which he pushes to Silco's hands.]
Here, drink this. It will restore your spirits. [He says, not really giving the man an opportunity to say no as he begins to tend on the fire. Once he gets the flames back up, filling the small apartment with a new warmth. Only once he's done with all that, he sits back on the pelt next to Silco, observing the man's condition again.]
Are you hurt?
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He took the wine cup and sniffed the contents. Wine had never been his drink of choice, but he also wasn't going to spit in the face of his host either. He sipped from the cup as he examined the bottom of one foot. It was filthy and bloody, and he knew he would have to deal with them. He'd soak them once he was home.
He stared into the crackling flames as they built on themselves on the wood. Open hearths were not a staple of his city due to a lack of access to trees. He pulled the blanket a little tighter with one hand as Richard settled next to him.]
Pride and feet perhaps, but both shall survive to see another day. [He side-eyed the younger man, taking another sip of wine.] I will consider our previous debts paid with this.
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Though what he says next does make his lips tug into a small smile.]
What debt? [Of course he knows that Silco is referring to their previous encounters where the man had provided Richard with guidance on how to navigate around this new, strange world. But to refer to that in a situation like this with such manner seems stubborn and almost petulant.]
We do not think ill of each other, do we? I have no reason to turn you away from my doorstep.
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[He might lack all of his awareness, but he had noticed the lack of electricity. That was something they were going to correct when he could think about more than the fact that Richard was here and offering him hospitality.]
What...? Oh. Yes, your assistance has matched with mine in previous conversations. [He was so used to relationships being transactional that it was instinctual to call everything between people debts or unbalanced scales.
He was quiet for a time at the question, as if it was far more invasive and difficult to answer than it actually show be. Yet, it was the question that dawned on him that he didn't dislike Richard; his curiosity and their similarities made the younger man welcomed company. That was... uncomfortable to admit to himself, let alone to the room.] This hospitality is not something offered to me back home often... not without a heavy price unless it was... [He trailed off. Jinx]
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And well, Silco isn't far from thinking that there was a transaction of sorts happening between them, but it was hardly something Richard would call owning a debt. You do a good thing for someone and they do one for you, simple human behavior as that. Though that might as well be one of the jarring, alien factors between them. They were not like most men, every interaction counted as a game of sorts. Each interaction held their own value in larger scale. So, normal human interaction and decency wasn't for them.
Richard takes note of the silent uncomfort that his choice of words have stirred in the man. He, too, sits in silence, eyes focus on the cracking wood in the fire.]
I benefit more of you alive. I believe you feel similarly. [Why else would have Silco sought refuge from his adobe?]
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[It was conversational on purpose; if he built an illusion of business around their interaction, he could believe there was no other ulterior motive to his being here. People like he and Richard had agendas, and it seemed fitting to play into that notion even here when he wasn't at his best. Yet, he couldn't ignore the deep boned tiredness that was beyond physical.]
So it would seem, yes. You are... a curiosity too. There aren't many like you in this place. [Like discovered like, it would seem.
He turned his head from the flames to regard Richard next to him, pulling the blanket tighter as his shivering increased as his body began the process of trying to warm itself now that there was opportunity to so. He noted the hair moved to the side and his eyes dropped remind himself if that scarred hand was exposed as well. Uncharacteristically impulsive, he reached out to run two fingers over the back of Richard's damaged hand whether exposed or covered.]
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I dislike the false light. [Richard admits, knowing very well how ridiculous his reservations must seem like. But to him the electricity was just that: false. A cheap imitation of true light. Basking in it unnecessary felt like an added insult to old injury of being neglected that light. In the end, the aversion of it all is in his head and Richard does realize it to some extend.
It's his turn to settle in heavy silence. The word "curiosity" stinging tad bit too hard. It's not first time that he had been referred as such, his difference to others being highlighted and put on display. But he has already learned that it was because of that difference he carried within him that made him strong and capable of everything. Buckingham had showed him that.
His thoughts are interrupted by a brush of fingers against his burnt hand. The damaged skin was much thicker with scar tissue, making it more dumb to a degree. But there still were few red spots among the ash-colored burns, where the nerve endings seemed to be more sensitive. Overall, it was an ugly sight and so far there had been only one person aside from Silco who had not felt disgust upon laying his eyes on it. The same man who had the nerve to bed a demon and become his other half..]
You are right. There is no one else like me. [And with that Richard raises his hand, extending towards Silco.]
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[There was some electricity in his city, but it was by and large chem-tech in the deeper layers. Chem-tech ruled much of the innovation in Zaun, and it would continue to do so. It was a different kind of light on the spectrum he assumed, and it had taken him time to adjust to long term daily exposure to it. It was a matter of necessity.]
It is their primary source of energy aside from fire, I suppose. It has its uses and can be just as deadly as any other energy.
[He had seen the hand before and knew it came with a cost. He expected that, like his facial scarring, the nerves were dysfunctional in many parts of skin due to the scarring. It was clear that Richard could feel some with it, and it didn't hamper the younger man's mobility much. They made do with what they had, it seemed.
It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the movement due to exhaustion, too focused on the words instead. How many times had he extended his hand like this to others? A promise, an offering, a temptation. Rare was it to be offered in his direction and he actually consider it.]
Good. This is the way that it is meant to be. Never apologize for who you are. [He leaned forward until his scarred cheek pressed lightly against that extended hand, a show of their similarities. Revulsion from many, never from him.]
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The rough, battered and torn fingers brush along the equally damaged skin. The texture feels odd yet familiar at the same time against his fingertips, rough but also soft at times. The touch was soft but also meticulous, as the scar kept gracing over another layer of scar. A mark that would always linger, no matter how much time passed, reminding them just what all they had lost and what was still yet to be gained. Something that would always be there to set them apart from others. Richard tried to conceal it, of course, like with everything else in his body. Hiding any imperfection away that he could, while also hoping that no one would smell the stench of darkness in his soul.]
And what about you? Are you finally showing all that you are?
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There was such a dichotomy of the contact which he expected they experienced similarly. There were patches of skin that experienced touch normally or were hypersensitive but other larger swaths that experienced pressure and a change in temperature but not the softness of touch. He lingered there with a common theme, as they seemed to find more than they should.]
No. Hiding who I am is for survival's sake, and there is only one who knows who I am. [He tipped his face and opened his eyelid to peer at Richard with his blue one.] Are you?
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His thumb slides under the darkened eye, stopping at the cheekbone to cradle Silco's cheek for a moment. While he believes that the man not to lie to him, Richard can't help but believe that it isn't fully truthful claim either. He might not be showing the darkest parts of his soul, true, keeping the horrors still at the bay. But that doesn't mean something else is being revealed. The man behind the monster.]
Nay. We all have our own secrets that we do not wish to shine light upon. [And oh dear. Did Richard have lot of them. He had built his own claim for the kingdom upon series of lies and deception. Constantly, without a break, lying to those around him that he is something he is not.
Richard's eyes focus back on his hand and the small connection between them, finding himself once again wondering what if? Maybe Silco would truly be a man of his words and follow through his previous claims of not seeking for salvation, but rather seek to dine with the demons.]
There are much more frightening creatures in the dark than just monsters.
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[Silco should sit up; a small voice urged him to remove his face from that scarred hand. Richard's thumb was close to his mutilated eye, could strike and blind him the rest of the way without much effort. Yet, he remained for the moment soaking up the attention, hating how he had come to rely on Jinx's usual bombardment of affection on him to sustain that usually muted need.]
There's a monster inside all of us, but it takes a certain type of person to admit it and be that without hinderance. [Finally and slowly, he began to lift his cheek from Richard's palm, all so that he could look the other in equally mismatched eyes.] Perhaps in time, you and I show some of our darker secrets to each other. There is comfort in knowing another with such darkness I've been told.
[He inclined his head a little, agreeing in his own way. There was always worse.]
And what is it that you like to do in the dark, hmm?
[Scare children? Murder rivals? Plot to overthrow those in power? Fortify a position? Whisper ones secrets to no one as if daring someone to be there to listen?]
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cw: nudity & ...groping?