[ He says it, wielded like a blade. Oh, he can pretend to play along for Jinx, but Silco knows the truth. The man doesn't accept her. He never would. She was his daughter, and how could he accept anything of Silco's. She was Jinx, through and through, and the fact that he knew it, and refused? Oh, it made him angry on her behalf. It's a twisted anger, borne out of his fear that Jinx would leave, that he called her Powder still was a sign that he was trying to wrest her back. That he couldn't accept her for the messy, broken creature that she was. He never would have been able to, after all. Not as she was. Brilliant and so, so perfect β a little shattered mirror that Silco had looked into time and time again, and seen himself reflected back in the form of a child.
No, that Vander couldn't call her by her name wasn't a surprise, but what it was, was a weapon. It made him angry, so angry, but it is because he can see that the man just simply cannot break free of the past.
He never would be able to.
Silco had, of course. He'd let that weak man die in the River Pilt. He'd let himself split in two, the strong core all that was left, the weakness drifting to the bottom. Vander thinks that he took away his happiness, but whose did Vander take away? Oh, the Enforcers were guilty too, of course. They both were.
How fitting that they ended up in bed together.
Vander wants to escalate him. He can see it. He's driving it up, whipping up words and history like its a frenzy. Silco wants to justify it. A weak man would have screamed at him; 'I was angry too!' justified himself. He doesn't need to. He won't, because he doesn't need to justify his actions. He'd been angry, yes, but who wouldn't be? He hadn't been the one who snapped. He hadn't been he one to turn to violence in the end, had he?
He only looked at him, his eye half-unblinking. Angry, oh, it's so angry. No matter how schooled Silco's face is, and it is carefully bland, that eye stares at him. Black, and burning. It still glows β is it slightly dimmer these days? β still filled with anger and hate. Most of it β all of it β redirected right at Vander himself.
And he looks down. He can see it, the guilt. It eats at him. He'd said it in the cannery too, hadn't he? But what did guilt mean? He'd still refused to act. If Silco had whiled his time away deep in the depths of the Undercity, and Vander had somehow negotiated real progress, real change β if he hadn't made a deal with the Enforcers β he would even consider this water under the bridge itself.
But no.
His guilt was a sign of his weakness. He didn't surge forward, but he took one step, slow, cautious. ]
And there it is.
[ Oh, that sweet irony, wasn't it? ] Nobody knew. You tried to kill me, took my life in all but finality, and reaped the rewards. Who would argue, when you were oh so reasonable, hm? Who would argue when you were the only power left in the Lanes?
[ Another step forward. He's still far, but it's deliberate. Pursuing forward. ]
Who would argue with you? The Hound, tending to the lost children of Zaun? Who hung up his gauntlets, and kept the Enforcers out? Oh, but if they only knew the truth.
You hid that from them, didn't you? Yourself, oh, but more than that, what it cost. [ he tipped his head back, and he his lip curled, in disgust. ] You let them see me as nothing than the waste left in the river. Just that dark thing that we could all be.
Never mind anything else. Logic. Need.
You left us to fester and rot under Piltover's boot, and you reaped the rewards, all the while hiding your sins.
At least I never lied to them. All of them. They always knew who'd done you in. Why.
[ His smile isn't pleasant. He doesn't move closer. Doesn't dare get within range of his arms. ] In the end, I have always been the more honest between us. This just proves it.
no subject
[ He says it, wielded like a blade. Oh, he can pretend to play along for Jinx, but Silco knows the truth. The man doesn't accept her. He never would. She was his daughter, and how could he accept anything of Silco's. She was Jinx, through and through, and the fact that he knew it, and refused? Oh, it made him angry on her behalf. It's a twisted anger, borne out of his fear that Jinx would leave, that he called her Powder still was a sign that he was trying to wrest her back. That he couldn't accept her for the messy, broken creature that she was. He never would have been able to, after all. Not as she was. Brilliant and so, so perfect β a little shattered mirror that Silco had looked into time and time again, and seen himself reflected back in the form of a child.
No, that Vander couldn't call her by her name wasn't a surprise, but what it was, was a weapon. It made him angry, so angry, but it is because he can see that the man just simply cannot break free of the past.
He never would be able to.
Silco had, of course. He'd let that weak man die in the River Pilt. He'd let himself split in two, the strong core all that was left, the weakness drifting to the bottom. Vander thinks that he took away his happiness, but whose did Vander take away? Oh, the Enforcers were guilty too, of course. They both were.
How fitting that they ended up in bed together.
Vander wants to escalate him. He can see it. He's driving it up, whipping up words and history like its a frenzy. Silco wants to justify it. A weak man would have screamed at him; 'I was angry too!' justified himself. He doesn't need to. He won't, because he doesn't need to justify his actions. He'd been angry, yes, but who wouldn't be? He hadn't been the one who snapped. He hadn't been he one to turn to violence in the end, had he?
He only looked at him, his eye half-unblinking. Angry, oh, it's so angry. No matter how schooled Silco's face is, and it is carefully bland, that eye stares at him. Black, and burning. It still glows β is it slightly dimmer these days? β still filled with anger and hate. Most of it β all of it β redirected right at Vander himself.
And he looks down. He can see it, the guilt. It eats at him. He'd said it in the cannery too, hadn't he? But what did guilt mean? He'd still refused to act. If Silco had whiled his time away deep in the depths of the Undercity, and Vander had somehow negotiated real progress, real change β if he hadn't made a deal with the Enforcers β he would even consider this water under the bridge itself.
But no.
His guilt was a sign of his weakness. He didn't surge forward, but he took one step, slow, cautious. ]
And there it is.
[ Oh, that sweet irony, wasn't it? ] Nobody knew. You tried to kill me, took my life in all but finality, and reaped the rewards. Who would argue, when you were oh so reasonable, hm? Who would argue when you were the only power left in the Lanes?
[ Another step forward. He's still far, but it's deliberate. Pursuing forward. ]
Who would argue with you? The Hound, tending to the lost children of Zaun? Who hung up his gauntlets, and kept the Enforcers out? Oh, but if they only knew the truth.
You hid that from them, didn't you? Yourself, oh, but more than that, what it cost. [ he tipped his head back, and he his lip curled, in disgust. ] You let them see me as nothing than the waste left in the river. Just that dark thing that we could all be.
Never mind anything else. Logic. Need.
You left us to fester and rot under Piltover's boot, and you reaped the rewards, all the while hiding your sins.
At least I never lied to them. All of them. They always knew who'd done you in. Why.
[ His smile isn't pleasant. He doesn't move closer. Doesn't dare get within range of his arms. ] In the end, I have always been the more honest between us. This just proves it.