[ He asked, a half-laugh on his scarred lips, more a scoff than humor, though it was there. There was mock curiosity in his tone, as if these were steps to a dance; or maybe closer to the steps of negotiation. It's like business, in its own way, which makes this easy where Silco's lack of...recent experience would otherwise stay his hand and beg more caution.
Foolish, he thinks, but with the poison in his veins, he's less under danger than he would have been otherwise. So why would it be considered foolish? Was his life in danger? This was not Zaun, where there was the weight of a burgeoning war; nor was it Kenos, where he was struggling to hold onto the one thing that would keep him from breaking apart at the seams. He nearly had, too, feeling the bubbling rage under his fingertips and practically leaking from open wounds that wouldn't close. This was different here, and the power that vampirism gave him made him... foolhardy. Too confident. (Oh, how it would bite (π) him later.)
His thumb scrapes against the wound, dull nails to worried and coarse flesh. He would β will β cut the both of them to see what happens when they're flayed into pieces, and how everything rearranges. ]
That would make me something of a hypocrite, wouldn't it?
[ He absolutely was one. His lips twitched into that sharp smile, as always. It's just as predatory as ever β the only kind of smile that rests on his face. Like a beast lurking under the water, ready to lunge.
When he pulls away, Silco moves to follow; whether it's to chase or simply get up, it's probably difficult to separate the difference. Propped slightly on one elbow, his other fingers dig into that wound. He looks him in the eye when he does it; as if daring him to complain about it, or lash out, or... something. ]
no subject
[ He asked, a half-laugh on his scarred lips, more a scoff than humor, though it was there. There was mock curiosity in his tone, as if these were steps to a dance; or maybe closer to the steps of negotiation. It's like business, in its own way, which makes this easy where Silco's lack of...recent experience would otherwise stay his hand and beg more caution.
Foolish, he thinks, but with the poison in his veins, he's less under danger than he would have been otherwise. So why would it be considered foolish? Was his life in danger? This was not Zaun, where there was the weight of a burgeoning war; nor was it Kenos, where he was struggling to hold onto the one thing that would keep him from breaking apart at the seams. He nearly had, too, feeling the bubbling rage under his fingertips and practically leaking from open wounds that wouldn't close. This was different here, and the power that vampirism gave him made him... foolhardy. Too confident. (Oh, how it would bite (π) him later.)
His thumb scrapes against the wound, dull nails to worried and coarse flesh. He would β will β cut the both of them to see what happens when they're flayed into pieces, and how everything rearranges. ]
That would make me something of a hypocrite, wouldn't it?
[ He absolutely was one. His lips twitched into that sharp smile, as always. It's just as predatory as ever β the only kind of smile that rests on his face. Like a beast lurking under the water, ready to lunge.
When he pulls away, Silco moves to follow; whether it's to chase or simply get up, it's probably difficult to separate the difference. Propped slightly on one elbow, his other fingers dig into that wound. He looks him in the eye when he does it; as if daring him to complain about it, or lash out, or... something. ]