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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