JANUARY MINGLE

[etrayamods]

WHO: Everyone!
WHEN: January 17th - January 23rd
WHERE: Etraya
WHAT: The arrival of newcomers and some new construction!
NOTES\WARNINGS:

⏵ arrival ⏴ Welcome to Etraya! Arrival goes as expected - characters awaken on hospital beds and are offered an explanation of their situation: that they have arrived in the city of Etraya, and they are their world's only hope. They are welcome to wander the hospital if they would like to - the upper floors are mostly empty, full of pristine hallways and numerous rooms filled with supplies, cots, and things one would expect from a relatively average 21st-century hospital. A coat rack is situated by the doors leading out of the hospital, covered in warm clothing that fits the new arrivals just right - whether it's to their preferred style or not is something else entirely. Some of them appear normal enough. Others? Well. Looks like someone was trying to improve on last month's designs. Outside the windows, the grass is covered in a couple of inches of loosely packed snow. We hope you enjoy your stay. ⏵ passion for fashion ⏴ As the newcomers find themselves leaving the hospital as per their usual arrival, they will find that not too far from it is a small boutique. Newly added, just as they have been, though they lack the context to know this. Companion bots will encourage them to go in and meet the particularly unique bot inside, dressed to the nines in line with the fashion the boutique itself is offering. While small, it's clearly been decorated to emphasize the loose era and taste of the particular fashion it's advertising. The building itself is also petite, and made to feel more personal rather than a commercial experience. It has a single dressing room, and outside of it has an area with mirrors where one might take in their lovely visage from nearly all angles. There is a little waiting area with seating in the front, for those who are not being molded through Theobold's vision, or simply waiting for whoever is. The tastes and aforementioned era of this little establishment is decidedly Victorian, with a bold splash of neon trimming, cog-like adornments, and other accessories that brighten up the otherwise neutral fabrics typically used in the style of dress. Theobold, as he has named himself and will not let anyone forget, has taken to a three-piece suit, a deep emerald in color, with a black vest, and matching black gloves. He will take it upon himself to judge each person's attire (which he will unabashedly hate), then restyle them into something more along his tastes (even if it takes him a while, he will find something you don't ruin). There are, of course, many different combinations to pick from, all hearkening to a very loud style of dress that seems as much neon as it is punk or steam. One might even name it steampunk with a splash of neon. Neon Steampunk? Something like that. An interesting combination to say the least, Theobold insists as much. This is, of course, not simply limited to newcomers, though they will likely be exposed to this boutique more quickly than the others. Any who come near the general area of the hospital (thus the boutique) will find themselves being encouraged by the other bots to come inside, and they will likewise be judged and restyled to Theobold's tastes—which are as bright as they are bold. He really doesn't take no for an answer, though he can't truly stop anyone from leaving any more than a pushy grandmother fussing over her grandchild's clothes might. He has obviously discovered his passion, why not indulge him? ⏵ trending or treading ⏴ After enjoying the privilege of being restyled by Theobold, he will also insist that you take the outfit for a spin around the city! See what people say, take note of how many looks you catch, how many eyes are on you. He wants to hear about it as well, clearly to validate his own artistry, and who can blame him? Does not every artist strive to hear a little bit of praise for their hard work? Do they not yearn for recognition from the public? Theobold may be a bot, but he is also an artist honing his craft! His boutique is not above critique, though he hopes the critique isn't too harsh... Should one indulge him, telling about what others thought, he will gladly gift the outfit to the wearer. A humble act of his endless generosity! Or if they fancy another outfit of their own taste from his boutique, then that will suffice as well. Even if it breaks his heart that you don't like the outfit. No, no. It's fine, really. It's perfectly okay. Everyone has their tastes, and yours just happens to stab him in his mechanical heart. He'll get over it. In time. Probably. ⏵ leaving tracks ⏴ Companion bots have taken to building train tracks, as well as what appears to be a train station, in the South Eastern island of Etraya. The area is, for the most part, blocked off from Etrayans. After all, it is a construction zone, and the companion bots are ever vigilant with safety. At least they try to be. However, if people wish to lend their aid in the construction, well, they won't necessarily stop them. However they will assure them that they are not in need of assistance, and might intermittently remind those especially helpful Etrayans of that fact. Those who wish to simply watch the construction may do so, but nothing especially interesting is going on beyond the mystery of what this these tracks and the station might be for. Besides a train, of course. After all, since when has there been any mention of a train? Asking the companion bots about it will yield little results. They won't be able to give any further details besides the obvious: when this is done, it will be for a train. It seems even they might not know the full extent of what this entails, or maybe they cannot say. Regardless the reason of their lack of explanation, it seems patience might be the key to the answer. ⏵ NOTES ⏴ Some may notice that in the area Gorgug's friend had gone exploring outside of the environmental bubble, there is a message written on a massive piece of fabric, which is tied to two large rebar poles. The message is in an alien language, but the earpiece will automatically translate it: DID YOU THINK YOU WERE THE ONLY ONES? On the bottom of the fabric are four vertical lines. Every Friday, a vertical line becomes crossed through with a horizontal one. For all questions relating to this log, please refer to the mod queries comment. All other questions can be directed to the FAQ. ⏵FULL NAVIGATION⏴

Comments

[zauneyete]

[ Anything to alleviate his guilt, huh? He can say that he wanted to heal him, keep him safe, but Silco knew the truth. There was no love lost between them anymore; that, too, had drifted to the bottom of the river Pilt, along with everything else he had been. Young, with promise, handsome and driven. He had been a different man, then. He'd believed in something, in their nation of Zaun, and that it could have been built on the backs of community, and care. Oh, Silco had always left the lot of it to Vander. He'd always been better with the reclusive arts, books and resources, human capital and attrition. Who died off, who remained, who believed and who didn't. Vander kept them around, but Silco directed them. Without Vander, he'd had to rely on money and addiction to keep people close. Strength to keep them in line, money to keep them happy, and addiction to keep them poor and dependent.

It was an art, actually. Vander couldn't appreciate it, because he'd always had other methods. Silco knew it for what it was. A delicate balance that required skill, and careful control. An art that the man would never appreciate.

So He would talk about toppling, talk about trying to apologize, try to guard that open wound by lashing out right back. He could see it for what it was. Silco knew the man, he knew him, because he knew what anger looked like, failure did.

He was trying to hurt Silco, and he was trying to do it without his hands, because he knew that the moment he actually tried to kill him, he would lose even the chance with Jinx. Oh, he could pretend all he wanted that he was trying for her. Trying to use her real name, trying to accept who she was, but he kept saying Powder, like she was still the hurt little girl she'd been. No, what happened at the Cannery was only a part of who she became. Silco had learned enough about her life before, the struggling, angry child who screamed, and lashed out, hit herself and others, raging and wailing, hurt and maddened by grief. He'd picked her up, all those broken little pieces, and he'd had to put her back together. Jagged, and broken, just like him. It would always be just them. That is how it had always been. The sister? She would leave her, he knew it. The wound of his death stung because he knew that it would happen, and Jinx would be devastated. Vander? Whatever he was — whether he was in there or not? Jinx hadn't been clear, but he didn't share that he knew that particular fact (and in fact, he continued to gloss over it, as if it was delusion) — would leave her too. They all would.

It was just them. Just the two of them. No, he tried to call her Powder, but Silco knew. She was Jinx, because reclaiming the weakness was what one had to do to survive. Like he had with his eye. It had hurt. It had been like losing a part of his mind when it happened, eating away at the flesh and skin, his entire body falling apart around him, gripping his hair that was too long — he'd cut it off in a fit — while his eye seeped pus and blood, and no matter how many bandages he'd put over it, it hadn't healed. It just kept chewing away. He'd eventually found Singed, and the man had done what he could. He'd had the key, but it had come with its own pain. It hurt. Every single day of his life hurt. There was not one that he went without the piercing, throbbing pain, but it was reduced to seconds instead of stretches of eternity.

Vander had done that.

Oh, he'd said he could ignore it, but he knew. It was a daily reminder of what he needed, though now he could feel it fading, the long efforts of shimmer use. He didn't know if he could beg the machine for it, and he didn't know if he wanted to, for it was pathetic to do so.

But every day he went without, the longer it felt like he would lose it.

His jaw clenched, his fingers tight. Vander was wrestling for control. He wouldn't let him. He couldn't, oh, but he was raging like a kettle, about to blow.

His voice hissed out, like one about to scream. ]

I died fighting for what was most important to me. Something I'd think you would have a touch more sympathy for, but I suppose you never were one to see others struggles, were you?

[ He could say he died being held by someone who loved him, but that was hardly the dig he thought it could be. No, he would remind him of who he was supposed to be, instead. ]

Lacking the grace that you held in life, too. Oh, how far you've fallen, hm? You want me to reckon with what went wrong with Zaun, too? Along with what happened? [ His death? He doesn't voice it. ] You weren't there. You've been given all the biased accounts from our world, but you refuse to ask for the truth.

So why would I bother? It's clearly of no real interest to you, other than as a weapon. How funny that you seek them out when they would have done you a world of good when you were alive.

[cantilevers]

Oh, I was never one to see other struggles? Are you actually accusing me of that?

[His temper instantly sparked at that accusation, a hot button of a mixture of guilt for not doing enough, willful stubbornness to pull people in who were struggling, and a long history of being the shoulder that wedge in on a situation that was spinning out of control to help 'the little guy'. He knew it wasn't true, but it was a slap of an insult that he couldn't help to rise to the bait about. He had spent a lifetime trying to make things better for people, and Silco knew that.

Silco had called him weak for it after the split. Silco had torn him down because he valued the struggles of others, his community, his kids, even those that opposed him.

Without warning, he took one step in and then snapped a fist out to try to punch Silco in the mouth. The little guy wanted to talk shit about what he had done with his life, fine, but people needed a reminder that there were consequences for that. No Sevika to take a punch for Silco this round.]

Oh please, Silco, regale me with the full laborious details of the truth by your account so that I can judge how much bullshit you've spun for yourself and everyone else. Come on then, tell me the trust. Inform me of everything that actually went on behind the scenes with your Shimmer, your Chem-Barons, your stealing Piltover tech and weaponizing it, and all the gritty details that I lack the insight on.

[He stepped closer, filling space and holding himself back from making any other physical overtures at Silco. This was exactly the point, twisted up and mutilated like the other man's face. Oh he knew there were truths in whatever Silco would talk about, but he had no doubt it was from such a skewed lens that the other man wasn't aware, didn't care or overlooked the falsehoods in the narratives.

Vander didn't care about the struggles of their people? Well, both of them were clearly damned for that then. Their efforts, their methods had balanced each other out, but that had been lost, and he could see now that they had both lost their way. There was no fixing this though, the love they had shared tainted and rotten from the tit-for-tat struggle they now endured from one another.

The only reason that they had to meet and even fake nice was Powder - Jinx - and he had given his word that he would try. She seemed to know they would run into each other and it would be messy, but neither did she insert herself. Maybe she figured holding them at their word was enough to keep the altercations minor enough by Zaun standards that she felt they might work it out between them or at least not kill each other outright.

His expression was hard and his eyes were flinty with anger.]

Yeah well... we all make mistakes, huh? At least some of us have enough insight to reflect on it now. Second chances and all.

[zauneyete]

[ He'd known that would make him angry, he'd known that the man would lash out. For all that he liked to pretend, for all that he wanted to be different, he wasn't. He was the same beast he always was, a monster, just one that had one target — him. Of course. That little sin, that reminder of how everything had gone awry. He'd never take it out on anyone else, would he? Only Silco could get under his skin like that, wasn't that right? He'd play the affable man, no fool, but certainly likable, but Silco knew where the truths lay.

Knew Vander well enough that the punch landed, he caught him in the jaw, in the teeth, a mark left on his knuckles in return as he moved with the punch — he knew better than to hold steadfast — a lob of spittle flying from his mouth and him bent over himself before he caught himself.

Oh, wasn't that just typical?

He laughed. It's not a pleasant laugh — did he even have a pleasant laugh anymore? Did he even know what it was to feel, humor that didn't come with pain and anger? His shoulders shook, and he tipped his head to look up at him with a two-toned, hateful stare. ]

There it is. Just like ever. You can't handle it, if someone sees you for what you are, can you?

[ His jaw would bruise, around his mouth. He had half a mind to not do anything about it. Jinx and Sevika would know. There was no hope for them to not guess where he'd gotten it. ]

How much did you ignore beyond the Lanes, Vander? Do you think shimmer became prevalent over time, or could it be that the people beyond the lanes — even those within — still lacked for legitimacy? For respect? Oh, those that were easy, of course, you could take care of them. The moment they became difficult, or easy to look beyond?

[ His laugh rasps out, bitter. ] Suddenly, they were beneath your gaze.

I don't need to explain to you anything. You aren't due it.

[ He meant that, too. He would never sell out Jinx, of course, and that meant the stolen Hextech was never going to be shred with him. The Barons and the Shimmer? What does he care about that? Vander would have looked them askance, if he'd even seen them at all, were they alive. They were the leaders of gangs one and all, of course, but what were Zaunites if not thugs? They solved their problems with violence and insults. Silco knew how to take a punch, so he didn't even whine about it, how many more had there been over the years? He wouldn't even complain (overtly) to the rest because Sevika would tell him he deserved it, and Jinx... no.

No, he could play it better than that. Smarter than that. His lips peeled back into a smile, and it's ugly on his face, his lip already swelling. ]

Talking about second chances, Vander? When you keep falling into the exact same habits? Please, tell me about reflections when you haven't once refrained from violence.

At least I have the decency to turn a blind eye and ignore you. [ Another bitter laugh. ] Oh, but don't let me stop you.

Go ahead, keep it up.

[ play into his hands. ]

[cantilevers]

[It felt good to punch Silco in the face. Those were the rules of the undercity; if someone disparaged one's reputation, they would clap back in the means deemed necessary. He didn't deny that Silco knew exactly how to push him, and he also didn't deny that the older man had the advantage of being on form for years whereas Vander was shaking off rust.

Normally, he wouldn't have to lift a hand himself because people in generally didn't push him beyond a certain point. Even Marcus had began down the path of pushing and would have eventually forced Vander to respond with more than an elevation of his stature and calling off his loyalists, but Marcus didn't know quite how to push him as Silco did. But the cannery had forced him to return slowly back to form, and it was added by the fact that he was woefully isolated whereas Silco had the advantage of Sevika and while Jinx didn't mean to take sides, she clearly settled more to Silco's side of an argument at this point.

He felt the impact on his knuckles, the cut of Silco's misaligned teeth. His knuckle began to bleed, and the satisfaction of the little man's bruising face was short lived with that laughter. He made a point not looking at his cut knuckle, though he was seriously considering knocking Silco on his ass.]

You wanted this, Silco. You've been wanting this for years, or else you wouldn't have made the offer in the first place. ["We can finally realize our dream, brother." They could make Piltover afraid again; Vander had seen what that looked like, the lives that would be lost.]

We supported each other, brothers and sisters, in the Lanes and as much beyond it as I could. We protected each other, and we respected each other. We didn't need your poison to hold the line. [Though Vander was forced to admit that he was taking too much time, floundering without the push back, without the push. Benzo was good but never snapping at his heels, shoving, kicking, biting to force him into motion.

If he lost them, if he became that man again...

He inhaled a breath and held it as he stared at Silco, his jaw working and blood dripping from the tip of knuckle to the grass below. There was always a duality to their arguments, the war of words because Silco couldn't war with fists against him and could never back down from a fight no matter how sensible it was to do so. Perhaps because Silco had a mild advantage here.]

You turn a blind eye? Well... [He made a point of lifting a hand to rub his chin.] I suppose you're right. You are going blind on the left side, and you want me to ignore you? Fine. [He'd tried that when he was high on Shimmer, and it had not worked out for him.

Still, he turned his back on Silco pointedly and walked back to the banner to regard it, crossing his arms over his chest as he tried to parse out the clue here. He listened to the translation again, closing his eyes so that he could consider the little he knew. If only he had someone to talk to about this... well, Accelerator was a smart mouth.]

[zauneyete]

[ His scoff escaped automatically. ] Up until it caused trouble for the lot of you. Protection only as good as it came with the blessings of the boot on our throat, isn't it?

[ He straightened, ran a hand through his hair to put it back in place. Silco only had words. Oh, Vander could punch him, but what good did that do him? It left him hating himself over the rush of violence, it left Silco with a clear and angry bruise on his face, a sign that he'd been assaulted. He'd done nothing, again. The man couldn't lie about it, either. He knew he couldn't.

Wasn't it fitting, he supposed, that Vander continued to lash out at him before anyone else? He could be angry, he could blame Silco all he wanted, but he was only a monster of his own making. Silco knew what he was — the representation of all the things Vander hated about himself. That he buried deep and hid. He couldn't handle who he was, but here was Silco, instead.

The man with the stain of his sins, who'd made him realize all of it. He could play at how he wanted to heal him all he wanted, but in the end, what did he do, the moment Silco was inconvenient? The moment Silco wasn't merely letting him feel good about his actions? He lashed out.

An inconvenience. Nothing better than the waste that rotted their very river.

He felt the rage bubble, that old thing that settled in the back of his mind. Heated and angry. He makes a dig at his eye of all things. That he was losing sight.

It was true, how did he know?

His fingers tighten into a fist.

He refuses to let him goad him. No, he has the upper hand, he has the words. Vander can lash out, but when had Silco not been able to take a punch. ]

If you were so close in the Lanes, then why did everyone fall right in line, as soon as I made my way through? If they were willing to protect each other, then why were so many left to rot?

I can tell you why, Vander. It is because the Lanes was built on a poor foundation. Oh, we'd always wished to build it bigger, and stronger, but Zaun was always meant to be more than the Lanes. You let them relax into their false sense of security, safe and comfortable only under your watchful gaze. Everything else? Those touched and affected by the gangs, the drugs, the violence, the factories — [ He hissed it out, angry now. Slowly losing it, angry for Zaun, for that missed opportunity.

He'd had it so close in hand. He would have given it all for Jinx. He would have willingly gone to war for her. For all of them. His was a greedy maw, he wanted it all. The world had stifled him, but he wanted for everything. ]

They were ignored. Sick. The discarded. They were the bodies and foundation you let the Lanes rest on.

Is it so surprising, that your efforts fell short?

[cantilevers]

This is the same argument we've been having for years, Silco. It's the same gripe, over and over. So let me break it down for you, again:

[So much for ignoring the other man. It was hard when Silco was battering against him, clamoring for his attention like a starved child and flinging anything at the wall to needle, prod and poke at him. He was no better he had the good sense to recognize, how they provoked each other, how the cannery had split open all the old wounds inflicted on one another over the years.

He slowly turned again, looking at Silco from the relatively safe distance between them. He made no motion to close it again.]

Yes, I made a deal with the Sheriff of the Enforcers. No, no one outside of Benzo and a select few knew about it. Yes, the whispers were abound with the idea of. We stay out of Piltover's business and she keeps the Enforcers strictly to investigating crimes that can't be overlooked. [He closed his eyes. Grace hadn't... deserved the fate she suffered.] It bought us time because I'm sure you could guess the alternative after the Day of Ash. It was a good deal, the best we were going to get with a pile of dead Enforcers.

[That wasn't counting their own dead, the lost souls left behind who had to pick up the pieces. People had wanted to fight, and Vander had made it clear that they had been given concessions. Things in certain industries had improved, the mines where he knew the conditions were the worst. It was progress that stalled out, but his goal, his talks, his nudges were all to protect their people. It's all he ever wanted: a better life.

He reached up, pushing his fingers through his hair, and his eyes dropped away again as he glanced at the banner. The translation sounded in his ear. That was enough of that; there would be no solving this and no discussion about it with someone who might actually be more insightful than he was. No, it was just Silco hissing and spitting nearby, and Vander had had enough to trying to divide his attention for his own sanity.

Silco was the larger threat. So, that's where he finally decided to settle his attention for the moment. He knew it was best to walk away, to be called a coward because to stay was to be called a violent brute. No win situation.

Yet, Vander shrugged his shoulders at Silco's little tirade about the Lanes. He stared at the other man, studying the deep lines on the left side of his face, the glaring orange iris that was all accusation regardless of where it was pointed. He set his hands on his hips and kicked a stone half hidden in the grass.]

You're right. We didn't do enough. The undercity united for a single fraction of a moment in our history once, and when the losses piled up, they went back to the abuses that you and I and everyone else we championed couldn't solve. The slums grew, kids starved in the streets, people died at work or coming home from it. I still can smell in incense to chase away the smell of death and rot.

[He set his jaw as he stared at Silco.]

The Lanes and the undercity under your rule I can't comment about. I wasn't there, but I expect people just wanted to live, to have a better life. Just as we promised. Clean air, a family, hope for the future. Did you provide that to them, Silco? Did you provide every day workers, labours, children, and the slums that? Tell me you did all of that.

[In his mind's eye, he could still see the Zaun he and Silco dreamed about. The smog of industry gone, the levels of the undercity illuminated and thriving with actual greenery. Businesses opening, gangs still around but offering community protection, education, life skills, not just recruitment for a strength of numbers. People wanting to be in the streets, celebrating, being a part of an ongoing solution and not the problems. People living, not just surviving.]

You don't sound surprised. I suppose I'm not either. The dream only seemed to work when we laboured at it together.

[He said the last sentence automatically, like it was a thought he'd been having yet had previously had no intention of voicing.]

[zauneyete]

It was better.

[ He hissed, automatically. ] We had breathable air.

[ Thanks to the councilor, but Silco had been forced to concede that it was something. He'd allowed them in, allowed the scrubbers to start working. He knew how to control them, of course, nobody could put something into the undercity without his ok. ]

We had industry that didn't kill us. We had a thriving culture, just gestating. In only a scant few years, I pushed us closer than you did with all of your time. The enforcers could be controlled. They didn't patrol the streets, and we policed our own.

[ Marcus answered to the council, but he could be manipulated. Sevika led security, and made sure problems didn't arise. Oh, there were always going to be murders. But the truly dangerous things. Those were handled and eliminated immediately. ] You would have hated it.

[ More honesty, maybe, but it's said with a sharp, and biting laugh. Meant to dig in. ] You would have hated knowing it was me who did it, and you had no input whatsoever.

[ Oh, it was still sick. Silco was under no delusion. Zaun had become like a puffed up beast, all veneer, feathers and fur so bright to distract from the starving ribs and sick people down in the sump. There were still kids in the factories and mines, even Chem-Barons put their kids down in there. There would always be those things, but Zaun was free, and wild and untamed. It was a place where the strongest could truly thrive. No limits. No hesitations.

Silco had changed in his dream, from what they'd made together. He'd dreamt of a Zaun that could rival any great nation.

They just needed freedom from Piltover's boot to finally get there. ]

I didn't need you. [ Sharper. Like a surgeons's scalpel. ] The greatest favor you did me was to teach me that.

[cantilevers]

[Vander did honestly try to imagine it. The factory smog was always bad in the evenings and the mornings before it burned off in the Lanes. The lower levels couldn't say the same and there were some areas considered death zones. The ventilation systems were good, but it required Piltover to improve them.

His battle had been food and water, honestly. He'd worked harder to push for better water filtration systems, to remove as much of the toxins from their drinking water, to provide a better nutrition for the population. That came with significant costs, many of which people couldn't afford and he couldn't leverage on his own even with the backing that he had.]

We've always had a thriving culture. Breaking things to build them better and more efficiently. [The art, the architecture, even the plants and their faith was an eclectic part of what it was to be of the undercity. They lived on pride, on being oneness against the world beyond the deep spirally levels digging ever deeper into the earth.] I've heard, yeah. You did more than anyone on the strength of your unwillingness to back down. [It had been confirmed to him even by Piltover, so he had to acknowledge it. He wasn't ashamed or bitter enough to refuse that.] You brought us to the precipice of independence.

[Vander considered for a long quiet moment. It seemed to him that Silco had forgotten that his ego wasn't nearly as large as most. His entire person had dedicated itself to his kids and improving lives. If that was done, well, it benefitted all.] No, I don't think I would have hated it. But how you and your Chem-Barons treated our most vulnerable might have garnered disagreement.

[The corner of his lips curled in a superior smile at Silco's claims.] You clearly don't know me well enough if you think I'd hated it based on you being involved. I think you're also wrong that I had no input. I am the shadow hanging over you, over your endeavors because you were so determined to prove me wrong. So, in a way, I was with you ever step of the way...

[His smile only grew until it actually reached his eyes, and he had a soft laugh as he shook his head. Oh Silco. The man never changed, only sank further into the sharp familiarities he knew so well.]

Keep telling yourself that, Slugger. Maybe someday you'll even delusion yourself into believing it.

[zauneyete]

[ The longer he goes on, the angrier he gets.

Silco lives on spite. On proving everyone else wrong. They all doubted them, first their gang, then the revolution, the nation of Zaun, and then Vander had gone and done what he did — he'd proved him wrong again. He was always making those that looked down on them, whether they were Pilties, Lanes residents, anyone else, that he was doing more for them than anyone had bothered to do before. Oh, the most vulnerable, he would agree, had little hope, but it was better to fight for the cause than it was to die for nothing.

Worthy sacrifices towards a worthy cause. People who had to die, or become subsumed by shimmer, or any number of reasons. He didn't mind that Vander disagreed, in fact, he knew he would. He didn't even have to say it.

It didn't matter. Revolution was messy. It consumed. It chewed people up and spit out the remains. It was a truth he knew, that Vander had never truly understood. That there was no easy, gentle way to what they wanted. They could not "be nice" and find their way into independence. The Topsiders thought with their pocketbooks and their "principles" that did not include them. It never had, it never would They were not of their concern. They were not really their constituents, merely little more than the hired help.

Worth pennies on the coin, and all.

Vander doesn't accept that. Silco doesn't care.

Vander wants to say he's the Ghost at his feet, and Silco doesn't care. It's untrue, of course but to let himself be taken by the anger again (And again, and again, and again) he can't. He refuses. Jinx asked him not to escalate it.

He's only using words. But Vander aims to cut back.

Silco's lips peel into a sharp smile, and he blinked, just for good measure. ]

Oh no, Vander. I don't think about you at all.

[ It's a lie, but he doesn't care. He wants to hurt. ]

You have greatly oversold your importance to me. I have more important things to think about, after all. Since I somehow managed to balance raising a child and achieving our independence, after all.

[ He turned. He intends to leave. Leave him with that. Let it lie. ]

I suppose that means you simply weren't up to snuff after all, doesn't it?

[cantilevers]

[Vander knew what Silco was about, how the smaller man had crafted an identity struggling out from under the implications that he was some shameful creature. He'd never treated Silco that way - except that one time looking for a fight - and he knew that the identity, the goal, the sharp edges were all built around that one needling insecurity.

Now Silco wielded it with spite, like a weapon to turn on anyone and everyone. It came under the guise of revolution, under each biting phrase, and even in the other man's body language. He could read it plain as daylight on Silco, and it did seem like no matter how much time passed that there were some aspects of a person that would never change.

To that end, Silco would go to any length. It didn't matter the people that the other man would have to step on, how much of the revolution Silco carried on those narrow shoulders, how the means would always justify the end. Everyone else saw a snide mean little man; Vander saw a deep scarred, flawed and driven person who laboured to escape from a titled laid upon him since birth, since the notion could be perceived.

And even now, turned words to weapons, Vander read the truth under the malice. He knew the lie as it passed beyond Silco's misaligned teeth.]

I bet you lay awake at night with all your plans, papers and dreams and a shadow of what we once had drives you forward each day. No, not a day goes by that you don't think about me. [He didn't make a motion to follow this time.] I know that because the reverse was true.

[And if anyone knew Vander better than himself, it was Silco. The verse was true.]

You mean the child that accidentally killed you? Sometimes dying for the future is worth not being the one to achieve it yourself. I've made my peace with Vi eclipsing me; have you made peace with Jinx eclipsing you?

[zauneyete]

[ Vander had always been good at finishing fights. Most of the time it was with his fists, yes, but he could always take a beating — physical or psychological — and then finish it with a swing.

Silco sees this punch coming from behind. He doesn't block it (can't) and though it's with words, it strikes just as well as any solid punch. It hits him in the back, his shoulders rise, and his fists clench at his sides. The thrum of anger makes him want to turn around. Vander was good at being earnest, and honest. Once, he'd thought that was endearing, someone who was such an oaf, so open with their emotions no matter where they took him. Until, of course, they were turned on him.

Ah, that was the lesson he learned, wasn't it? That there was nobody in this world that he could trust. It's something he'd always known, really. He was a Zaunite, and that was the way of things. Maybe he'd wanted to believe differently enough that he'd convinced himself that they could all be different, their little gang of misfits, driven to look for something better. Like with all things they had, it was ripped away by someone bigger, and stronger.

It was why Silco was all jagged edges and sharp corners, why he looked over his shoulder at him with that pitch black eye, a molten prick of hate that burns outward in the center. He refuses to give, he refuses to simply take the verbal punch. Vander has no power over him. He lost that ability on the same day he disfigured him, the same day he escaped with just his life. It makes him too bold, maybe, but Silco doesn't fear death. He's experienced it twice. Once, he was reborn from the water into this new man, and once he was reborn into this new world. Death could not keep him, could it? It didn't want him, and thus, he would remind everyone as to why that was. ]

You're right, Vander. Some days, I wake up and have to convince myself that I can still breathe. So I suppose there is still a shadow there. Not that you need proof that you've left your mark — [ He reached up, and tapped the skin under his blackened eye. ] — now do you?

Enjoy your mystery. I have more important things to attend to, than entertaining you.

[ He most pointedly, will not talk about his feelings about being killed by Jinx. ]