[ His attention snapped to follow the rolling head, watching it move with the interest of a lazy scavenger. Where Vergilius was a hound that barreled his way through the hallways, Silco walked behind, like he was interested in picking off the bits and pieces that sloughed off from his violence. He didn't move on the vampire, since he's had them before β deeply unpleasant β and his gaze moved back to Vergilius, who kept talking.
He wasn't incorrect, of course. Silco thought very much the same, that the hunger for violence and power was not so different than that of a vampire. He'd experienced both before, and knew that it was something that could be denied with will, and freely indulged if one chose to. He had often been very careful with his vampirism in Kenos before, only circumstances drawing that hunger out from the cordoned-off hunting grounds, or when it had been offered, even if it didn't taste right. (Sebastian... was not so great at inventing the taste of human blood.) He wondered what his would taste like, which was a dangerous thought to have, but more importantly...
He wondered what his strength would be like, with it. ]
That's because of what they're working with.
[ He said, from behind. ] The villagers? What do they have that even the most powerless amongst us does? Even I have a stronger will than they do. They do this out of adoration for a false god. Their Forest Lord. [ The hateful tone only complete with an eyeroll. He moved closer, as if trying to stay in range of him, lest a vampire get too close, and very nearly bumped into him.
His hands lifted from their clasped position to rest against his back β as if it was an accident that he was so close. He did not try to pull away, either, but nor did he apologize. (As if he would.) ]
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He wasn't incorrect, of course. Silco thought very much the same, that the hunger for violence and power was not so different than that of a vampire. He'd experienced both before, and knew that it was something that could be denied with will, and freely indulged if one chose to. He had often been very careful with his vampirism in Kenos before, only circumstances drawing that hunger out from the cordoned-off hunting grounds, or when it had been offered, even if it didn't taste right. (Sebastian... was not so great at inventing the taste of human blood.) He wondered what his would taste like, which was a dangerous thought to have, but more importantly...
He wondered what his strength would be like, with it. ]
That's because of what they're working with.
[ He said, from behind. ] The villagers? What do they have that even the most powerless amongst us does? Even I have a stronger will than they do. They do this out of adoration for a false god. Their Forest Lord. [ The hateful tone only complete with an eyeroll. He moved closer, as if trying to stay in range of him, lest a vampire get too close, and very nearly bumped into him.
His hands lifted from their clasped position to rest against his back β as if it was an accident that he was so close. He did not try to pull away, either, but nor did he apologize. (As if he would.) ]