[ Silco's face morphs into something angry, and hateful in that moment β but it masks the very real, momentary fear that flickers behind all of it, when the man zeroes in so close β the flash of memory that brings along that old friend, an acrid spike of fear that makes him sick to his stomach, but he girds himself, and covers it with that old hate, and anger.
Vander lights his cigarette against his, and he very nearly pulls his cigar out of his mouth, and jams it into his eye. A nice nasty one, to match his. His lips twitch, his fingers twitch, Vander can read him well enough that he can see the consideration of violence, the way it flickers to life before it's doused by something more careful, like a Spider at the center of the web almost lunging, before the bug is even caught in it.
He stops, he halts, and finally he takes a long drag of his cigar, holding the smoke in his mouth, before he lets it drift out with his words. ]
You should do that. Die of it.
[ He hissed out, looking every bit like a nasty little creature breathing out smoke with his words. He doesn't struggle, or try to push him off (he literally cannot) but the calm is all affect. It's fake, just like everything about the man, down to the way makeup covers the scar, and the way his eyebrow drawn in is all artifice. ]
Do me the one favor that you could possibly do, and die already.
[ He hisses it out, like Vander's little more than a ghost still haunting him. Like there hasn't been a specter looming over his every step, decision, and action since the night he'd killed him. (Thought he'd killed him.) ]
I already killed you once. Do you think I want to spend any more time than necessary around you? Since you're incapable of dying, you should do me the decency of staying out of my sight.
[ It's tight, and it is controlled. He's talking around it. That Messy Thing that was a mangle of history and old wounds and anger that Silco had crafted into something to flagellate himself when he lost sight of his goal.
The thing he couldn't even use in those last moments.
He's tired of Vander's ghost lingering over his head. He wants to excise it. ]
no subject
Vander lights his cigarette against his, and he very nearly pulls his cigar out of his mouth, and jams it into his eye. A nice nasty one, to match his. His lips twitch, his fingers twitch, Vander can read him well enough that he can see the consideration of violence, the way it flickers to life before it's doused by something more careful, like a Spider at the center of the web almost lunging, before the bug is even caught in it.
He stops, he halts, and finally he takes a long drag of his cigar, holding the smoke in his mouth, before he lets it drift out with his words. ]
You should do that. Die of it.
[ He hissed out, looking every bit like a nasty little creature breathing out smoke with his words. He doesn't struggle, or try to push him off (he literally cannot) but the calm is all affect. It's fake, just like everything about the man, down to the way makeup covers the scar, and the way his eyebrow drawn in is all artifice. ]
Do me the one favor that you could possibly do, and die already.
[ He hisses it out, like Vander's little more than a ghost still haunting him. Like there hasn't been a specter looming over his every step, decision, and action since the night he'd killed him. (Thought he'd killed him.) ]
I already killed you once. Do you think I want to spend any more time than necessary around you? Since you're incapable of dying, you should do me the decency of staying out of my sight.
[ It's tight, and it is controlled. He's talking around it. That Messy Thing that was a mangle of history and old wounds and anger that Silco had crafted into something to flagellate himself when he lost sight of his goal.
The thing he couldn't even use in those last moments.
He's tired of Vander's ghost lingering over his head. He wants to excise it. ]