[ He has very, very carefully avoided that. You see, Silco is angry, he's always angry about that, but he's kept it relatively under control. He's managed to lob a barb out, over and over again, because it is the easy one. The one that they both acknowledge. The one that he knows that Vander regretted, or at least said he did. The admission of guilt leaves it as an open wound for him to poke and force to fester.
The other one... that is a wound that cuts only to him. It is what makes him rage, that rot that could fill and swallow him whole. Oh, he still was angry with Vander for the first, but the second made him rage, violent and angry. It's that open festering wound that he even now shields to protect β he can never actually shield it, it's worn on his face β the murder attempt was only part of it. The second was that it was him who he tried to kill, while the people who did the deed were rewarded.
Could he not see it? The stain of it? How that one choice would infect every high-minded ideal he had? He didn't want to fight? Fine. Let someone else do it for him. It was the fact that he used them, the very people who beat them down, kept them down, forced them into this very position β had killed her β Oh...
He doesn't even blink. Doesn't wince. He presses the cigarette to his neck, and Silco's already too angry to even feel it. It's in his eyes, it's in the way his lips peel back around chipped teeth, and the way his fingers very nearly snap his cigar in half. ]
Oh, you want me to bring up your real crime, do you? [ It's taut, like a tightrope. The control, that careful, oh so careful control is there. He's been obfuscating. Throwing that old chestnut about murder around because it is the easy answer. The one everyone can understand, without being given a lesson in history, in what it meant, the significance of it. He'd not thrown it at Vander, because he didn't feel he needed to. Not right now, not until he was ready. He wants to drag it out, does he? He wants honesty? Well. Perhaps he could have it.
He didn't care that he took the man's life β he asserts to himself β that was his due. He didn't kill his children β that was Jinx β and yes, perhaps he would have put them in his factories, or even kept them separate, as long as they complied. He didn't care about them, that replacement family that he'd used to fill the hole left by losing part of the one he'd had before, and throwing away the other one. ]
You want me to remind you that the very people who beat us, kept us in those mines, who wanted nothing more than an excuse to mow us all down like animals β those people β were the reasonable ones that you thought were worth dealing with?
[ Oh no, this is too close. This has the danger of being too honest. There's a spark of it, somewhere beneath the rage β and oh there is so much rage β like looking down and seeing the barest flash of something else amid the shadows hidden by murky water. This time, he reaches out with his cigar, and starts to press the cherry against his exposed collarbone, pushing it. Putting it out.
There's the smell of burning flesh. His nostrils flare. ]
You want honesty, do you? Very well. [ His lips peel back. He turns his back on the real truth, as if by even brushing it, he turns it aside. Unwilling to examine it further. There is a part of that he cannot, will not hold in hand. It is too dangerous, too fragile, and far too much like handing Vander the handful of broken pieces he'd already taken off of him when he'd done what he did. He holds those back, and buries them back down. Forces them deeper into the water. ]
Here is something honest. I hate you.
You are like a ghost that will not leave. If you would do the decency to extricate yourself from my presence, I would be all the more satisfied, but you simply cannot handle that, can you? You want to insert yourself into my business? My family? [ It is just them. It's all he has. ] By all means, I know you will. But I will make you pay tenfold for each and every offense.
That is a promise, and a truth. If that does not satisfy this thing, then go around the corner and stay there until it leaves, and don't force me to deal with you this close again. I will weather Jinx's distaste if you do not leave, and I am forced to make you.
man idek what these two are doing don't fuckin look in here cw more abuse i guess Β―\_(γ)_/Β―
The other one... that is a wound that cuts only to him. It is what makes him rage, that rot that could fill and swallow him whole. Oh, he still was angry with Vander for the first, but the second made him rage, violent and angry. It's that open festering wound that he even now shields to protect β he can never actually shield it, it's worn on his face β the murder attempt was only part of it. The second was that it was him who he tried to kill, while the people who did the deed were rewarded.
Could he not see it? The stain of it? How that one choice would infect every high-minded ideal he had? He didn't want to fight? Fine. Let someone else do it for him. It was the fact that he used them, the very people who beat them down, kept them down, forced them into this very position β had killed her β Oh...
He doesn't even blink. Doesn't wince. He presses the cigarette to his neck, and Silco's already too angry to even feel it. It's in his eyes, it's in the way his lips peel back around chipped teeth, and the way his fingers very nearly snap his cigar in half. ]
Oh, you want me to bring up your real crime, do you? [ It's taut, like a tightrope. The control, that careful, oh so careful control is there. He's been obfuscating. Throwing that old chestnut about murder around because it is the easy answer. The one everyone can understand, without being given a lesson in history, in what it meant, the significance of it. He'd not thrown it at Vander, because he didn't feel he needed to. Not right now, not until he was ready. He wants to drag it out, does he? He wants honesty? Well. Perhaps he could have it.
He didn't care that he took the man's life β he asserts to himself β that was his due. He didn't kill his children β that was Jinx β and yes, perhaps he would have put them in his factories, or even kept them separate, as long as they complied. He didn't care about them, that replacement family that he'd used to fill the hole left by losing part of the one he'd had before, and throwing away the other one. ]
You want me to remind you that the very people who beat us, kept us in those mines, who wanted nothing more than an excuse to mow us all down like animals β those people β were the reasonable ones that you thought were worth dealing with?
[ Oh no, this is too close. This has the danger of being too honest. There's a spark of it, somewhere beneath the rage β and oh there is so much rage β like looking down and seeing the barest flash of something else amid the shadows hidden by murky water. This time, he reaches out with his cigar, and starts to press the cherry against his exposed collarbone, pushing it. Putting it out.
There's the smell of burning flesh. His nostrils flare. ]
You want honesty, do you? Very well. [ His lips peel back. He turns his back on the real truth, as if by even brushing it, he turns it aside. Unwilling to examine it further. There is a part of that he cannot, will not hold in hand. It is too dangerous, too fragile, and far too much like handing Vander the handful of broken pieces he'd already taken off of him when he'd done what he did. He holds those back, and buries them back down. Forces them deeper into the water. ]
Here is something honest. I hate you.
You are like a ghost that will not leave. If you would do the decency to extricate yourself from my presence, I would be all the more satisfied, but you simply cannot handle that, can you? You want to insert yourself into my business? My family? [ It is just them. It's all he has. ] By all means, I know you will. But I will make you pay tenfold for each and every offense.
That is a promise, and a truth. If that does not satisfy this thing, then go around the corner and stay there until it leaves, and don't force me to deal with you this close again. I will weather Jinx's distaste if you do not leave, and I am forced to make you.