[ There is nothing Silco dislikes more than the feeling of being out of control, on the back foot, and even the peace and acceptance that comes with this new cycle of life can't change that. Perhaps if he had been greeted with polite professionalism that discomfort would have waned, but instead, he's born anew into the care of her.
First things first: catching the robe out of the air and pulling it over his head, fingers still clumsy, sure that they should be a squid's tendrils instead. Nudity that had felt right and complete just moments ago in the ocean now feels stark and vulnerable, and even once the fabric covers him he misses the poised restriction of his suits and vows to find something better as soon as possible.
When he stands it has nothing to do with Vi's command, and he takes his time with it, making sure he doesnt stumble or waver despite how his limbs have turned coltish. Just comes to his feet like unfolded origami, toes curling bare in the sand, the dark toxins that mar his face stark against his sallow skin with no makeup to hide them. His hair is still damp. His good eye glitters with contempt. ]
Here we are again.
[ Slow, rasped, but attempting wry poise. The last thing he remembers of her is the two of them at Jinx's tea party. Perhaps if he's very lucky, her presence here is because Jinx shot her too. That at least he could make peace with, be proud of. ]
Though where is here, I wonder.
[ A beach. A new life. The urge towards cameraderie, to let the hatred that scars the very air between them go inert, to leave it as irrelevant. But Silco has never been a man to forgive and forget, and from the looks of it Violet has no intention of either. He steels his jaw, anticipating a fight, though he isn't sure he's got much movement in him and there are no sneaky little knives in his belt, up his sleeve. He glances her over for weapons he might take, considers his options, weighs what else he might use to stall or provoke her.]
no subject
First things first: catching the robe out of the air and pulling it over his head, fingers still clumsy, sure that they should be a squid's tendrils instead. Nudity that had felt right and complete just moments ago in the ocean now feels stark and vulnerable, and even once the fabric covers him he misses the poised restriction of his suits and vows to find something better as soon as possible.
When he stands it has nothing to do with Vi's command, and he takes his time with it, making sure he doesnt stumble or waver despite how his limbs have turned coltish. Just comes to his feet like unfolded origami, toes curling bare in the sand, the dark toxins that mar his face stark against his sallow skin with no makeup to hide them. His hair is still damp. His good eye glitters with contempt. ]
Here we are again.
[ Slow, rasped, but attempting wry poise. The last thing he remembers of her is the two of them at Jinx's tea party. Perhaps if he's very lucky, her presence here is because Jinx shot her too. That at least he could make peace with, be proud of. ]
Though where is here, I wonder.
[ A beach. A new life. The urge towards cameraderie, to let the hatred that scars the very air between them go inert, to leave it as irrelevant. But Silco has never been a man to forgive and forget, and from the looks of it Violet has no intention of either. He steels his jaw, anticipating a fight, though he isn't sure he's got much movement in him and there are no sneaky little knives in his belt, up his sleeve. He glances her over for weapons he might take, considers his options, weighs what else he might use to stall or provoke her.]