[ Silco needs Set right now, more than he needs the demon that he'd strangled in his office earlier, more than he needs Yima's cold guidance or gifts. He never truly wanted, or needed those, but a part of him still feels as if it wants to gravitate toward the matron's influence, to embrace that chill darkness further. He doesn't, for Silco has often been staunchly independent, striving to not rely on anyone. Set is... different for that.
That promise between them felt stronger than anything he had in this moment. A day ago, he would have said the contract with Sebastian another, his soul at the end of his life for... everything he could have wanted. How could he have known? How could he have known? So filled with rage, so angry, pulled this way and that, every plan, time his daughter had reappeared, only to vanish, leaving him broken and angrier. Caught between forces that he struggled to understand with his self-taught skills and humble origins. He had seized power, the thing Silco always did. The thing he had always strove to do, it was in his nature, how could he do anything less.
He doesn't even step away, at first. Not from Set. The only thing here that would protect what Silco could not.
Where they arrived was... plain.
A small room outside of a foyer. Dark walls, fine finishing, but none of it had... personality. It was all empty, and dark, and so cold. Highstorm's chill was biting, but for a small, modest home where there had been no heat on in probably over a week, it was like the home was just as cold as the outdoors. Silco's breath showed, when he breathed out, a cloud of condensation almost as thick as the cigar smoke, and his body did not so much tremble as shrink in on itself, slightly. Not pulling away from Set, but... dipping under his weight. ]
This is β
[ He said, broaching the subject delicately. Carefully. ]
β A safehouse. I need to show you where I keep her.
[ Like a dying man, giving away his most prized possessions. Putting his affairs in order. He says safehouse, but it's clearly in Highstorm, it's clearly Silco's. It may be plain, and spartan, but it is a home. It reeks of cigars and blood, and though there are no splatters of mess on any of the rugs placed over hard wooden floors, it permeates the space. A great deal of bloodletting has happened here, and none of it the small man dwarfed under Set's head. ]
no subject
That promise between them felt stronger than anything he had in this moment. A day ago, he would have said the contract with Sebastian another, his soul at the end of his life for... everything he could have wanted. How could he have known? How could he have known? So filled with rage, so angry, pulled this way and that, every plan, time his daughter had reappeared, only to vanish, leaving him broken and angrier. Caught between forces that he struggled to understand with his self-taught skills and humble origins. He had seized power, the thing Silco always did. The thing he had always strove to do, it was in his nature, how could he do anything less.
He doesn't even step away, at first. Not from Set. The only thing here that would protect what Silco could not.
Where they arrived was... plain.
A small room outside of a foyer. Dark walls, fine finishing, but none of it had... personality. It was all empty, and dark, and so cold. Highstorm's chill was biting, but for a small, modest home where there had been no heat on in probably over a week, it was like the home was just as cold as the outdoors. Silco's breath showed, when he breathed out, a cloud of condensation almost as thick as the cigar smoke, and his body did not so much tremble as shrink in on itself, slightly. Not pulling away from Set, but... dipping under his weight. ]
This is β
[ He said, broaching the subject delicately. Carefully. ]
β A safehouse. I need to show you where I keep her.
[ Like a dying man, giving away his most prized possessions. Putting his affairs in order. He says safehouse, but it's clearly in Highstorm, it's clearly Silco's. It may be plain, and spartan, but it is a home. It reeks of cigars and blood, and though there are no splatters of mess on any of the rugs placed over hard wooden floors, it permeates the space. A great deal of bloodletting has happened here, and none of it the small man dwarfed under Set's head. ]