#𓁿 through the lens ;; answer 𓁿

[zaunseye]

@ferinehuntress 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 :: ❝ unexpected guest = 𝐚𝐡𝐫𝐢 ❞

It was a late, cold night in Zaun. The skies were bitter with an oncoming storm, and the streets were filled with umbrellas and hoods. He had caught the beginnings of the drizzle outside, stepping into the Last Drop without a word to Thieram behind the bar. He was too tired to deal with his nervous stammer, today. He headed directly down into the residence below.

After a long and arduous day, he had expected to be able to come back to his private quarters, enter his bedroom, and simply fall against the bed. Perhaps fight off the nightmares for the night. That was not what happened. As soon as he cracked the door to his bedroom open, he spotted the tails slumped over the edge of the bed. Pushing the door open wider, he took in the sight of her nimble and soft frame resting against the surface of his mattress.

Then he noticed the blood and the dirt as he stepped into the room. Something had happened, and it had left her in an injured, weakened state. It was hard to imagine who could have gotten the upper hand over her, with the amount of raw power she had at the tips of her claws. Had it been a lucky shot, or perhaps there was a larger monster out there to look out for.

A strange sense of protectiveness tugged at his tired mind, and he silently closed the door behind him. With measured and careful steps, he walked to the wash basin by the window, taking up a cloth and dipping it into the water. Once it was damp, he turned around and approached the side of the bed.

Very carefully, he set himself down on the edge of the bed, reaching out with the cloth and gently pressing against a cut on her brow. "... What happened..?" he asked the kumiho, voice flat and untainted by emotion.

[zaunseye]

What’s your opinion of the mun’s fashion sense? (the clothes they like to wear)

"They drape themselves in mostly ill-fitting, oversized pajamas and lounge clothes. Hardly anything that makes an impression beyond 'lazy'." He shook his head with relative disinterest. "On the odd occasion, they might dress themselves in something proper -- something that shows their true and vibrant nature of neon green and violet purple, but they rarely find the motivation to do so. A pity."

He shrugged a shoulder while adjusting his own vest. "Give me an afternoon with them at the tailor's, and I could have them looking halfway decent."

[zaunseye]

💋: How easily are they tempted?

[morality meme -- ACCEPTING]

Silco is a very resolute man. The cause for freeing his homeland from the oppressive rule of Piltover is his main focus. Temptations of most varieties won't even effect him or get in the way of his goals.

He's especially hardened against romantic or sexual temptation, seeing as his previous experiences of it have been with Vander, where things ended particularly badly. He looks in the mirror every day and is reminded of why he no longer seeks such attachments. Becoming too intimately entangled with someone is always too big a risk to his plans.

[zaunseye]

🚪(from jinx :p)

[Send me 🚪  ( or ‘door’ )   and I’ll generate a number for my muse to show up on your muse’s doorstep ( a mix of angst, silliness, and fluff ) … -- ACCEPTING]

16. after having a nightmare

He was at the bridge, surrounded by smoke. Enforcers were approaching. She was in his arms, limp and cold. She was gone. Gone gone gone. He had been too late. Her glossy eyes stared up at nothing. He held her there, even though his men were desperately trying to pull him away.

Then, her foggy eyes focused on him. "Daddy..." With a gut-rolling crackle, her dead arm lifted to try and reach for his jaw, but before it made contact, it crumpled into ash. The rest of her body followed as he desperately tried to clutch onto her. Before he knew it, there was nothing left in his arms. He heard the ominous click of an Enforcer's rifle as it aimed at his head. Right as he looked up, the trigger was pulled.

A saturation of sweat and cold greeted him as he jumped upright from his slumber. It took some moments for reality to reassert itself in his mind, during which he spent trying to catch his breath. He ripped the eye patch from his face, tossing it aside to gain his full vision. Looking to the hammock in his bedroom, he saw it was empty, and a chill ran over his entire body.

He needed to see her, and now.

There was enough logic rattling in his sleep-deprived skull to reason out that the only other place she could be was her workshop, near by the factories. His feet could carry him fast enough. He threw on some clothes, not nearly as complex as his usual attire, and rushed to his carriage. Dustin was the one to drive him, being the only one sill awake and not as drunk as the others.

Dustin stayed with the carriage while Silco swiftly came to the entrance of the workshop. Banging his hand against the locked door, he waited. Those seconds were torture, waiting in a purgatory of his mind's making. "Come on..." he muttered to himself as he gripped his hands into fists. The tenser they were, the less he would feel them tremble.

The door opened, and the instant that cobalt blue hair came into his view, he pushed past the door and took her by the shoulders. "You... You're here," he said, voice wavering despite his attempt to steady it. He checked her, looking her over for harm, but met her fuchsia gaze with his own, shimmering in the darkness of the corridor. She was there, whole and healthy. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her into a tight hug. His hand rested against the back of her head as he stared past her shoulder. "You weren't at the Last Drop. I was..." Worried? Could he even admit such a thing? He drew himself back, keeping a grasp of her shoulders. "But you're alright," he sighed out as security eased back into his psyche.

"Come, show me what you're working on, so late at night."

[zaunseye]

hc + 👻 for a headcanon about supernatural occurrences

[thematic headcanons - ACCEPTING]

Silco was once visited by the ghost of Vander during a near death experience. He had been stabbed with a poisoned blade, and was in the process of being saved by Singed. In his vision, Vander spoke to him about how he should have killed him in the River Pilt, but now that he hadn't he had to survive for Jinx's sake. Silco listened to him, fighting to make it through the procedure.

He's never mentioned this visit to anyone, not even Jinx. It has deeply contributed to his belief in the afterlife, and is also the reason why Silco still visits Vander's statue in the Lanes.

[zaunseye]

"Shit. Shit, that's a lot of blood." (Lets throw out Flux just to see lolll)

[dialogue prompts for ~injury~ -- ACCEPTING]

He had been in the middle of issuing his next orders when he heard a strangely out of place snap. When he paused and looked down, he spotted a smoking hole in the top of his desk. "What on..." He turned and looked over his shoulder, spotting a matching hole in the large window pane. A quietness hung in the air, finally broken by Flux.

"Shit. Shit, that's a lot of blood."

The words struck him as odd, making his features tense into a squint of confusion toward the younger man. That was until he felt the odd warm and wet sensation from his lower waist. A bloom of deep crimson saturated through his maroon clothing, creating an almost black shade of blood as it spread further and further along the weave of silk and cotton.

At first, he grasped at the hole in his waistcoat, pulling the fabric aside to curiously stare down a it. It didn't hurt nearly a much as his stab wound had. It felt more like an uncomfortable pressure in his abdomen. "A...sniper?" Then came the wave of dizziness, which wrangled him into a stumble toward the hardwood floor. As he fell, he grabbed the edge of his desk, trying desperately to slow his descent.

Making impact with the ground, his head smacked against the solid oak planks, giving another layer of disorientation as his hands limply slipped off the of the desk's wooden frame. It felt surreal, laying there, bleeding out on the floor. It hadn't even been as much of a struggle as his stabbing had been.

It was so simple. So clean.

He wasn't sure if Flux had come to his side yet. The world was consumed in a blurry fog that clouded his already imperfect vision. But when he felt himself jostled, he blearily reached up to try and grasp at a hand or shoulder. "Sev...Sevika. The doctor..."

[zaunseye]

Does the character have any deal-breakers or non-negotiables in a relationship?

[𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑. ♡ -- ACCEPTING]

Answered here, but there is more!

If you do not accept Jinx as his daughter, and promise to protect and aid her as he would, it's a deal-breaker. He's not going to waste time on someone who is not supportive of his only family, especially not if they plan on working with him. This was actually the reason he and a previous fling split when Jinx was only 14. This relationship had been so private that not even Jinx knew about it, yet.

Another deal breaker is cowardice. Silco favors only the strong, even in his love life. He prefers his partner to be tenacious and brave, not reserved or hesitant. If he senses something as useless as fear from his partner, he will try to fix it, and if he cannot, the relationship dissolves.

[zaunseye]

Does the character have any deal-breakers or non-negotiables in a relationship?

[𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑. ♡ -- ACCEPTING]

Immediately, first and foremost, there must be a loyalty to his vision. Silco will not feel love for someone who doesn't want independence for the nation of Zaun. He will expect his partner to be by his side and supportive of his work to dismantle the stranglehold Piltover has over his city. However, he is open to being challenged on his methods, if his partner has the merit to do so.

There are a number of deal breakers, one of which would most certainly be any sort of work with clean enforcers (enforcers not on his pay roll). Another would be misgendering him or deadnaming him, which would more than likely lead to more than just a break up. The partner in question would be killed for that.

[zaunseye]

doctor: how often does my muse visit the doctor? do they tend to go routinely, or only when something is wrong?

[all about health -- ACCEPTING]

Due to his unique condition, Silco has regular visits with Singed to check and monitor the health of his eye and adjust treatments as needed. They occur every month, and last about an hour each time.

During these visits, he and the doctor usually also check anything else that might be a problem, like his old stabbing injury, or his less-than-perfect left knee. Sometimes Singed will have to take a biopsy sample of Silco's eye tissue, which is possibly Silco's least favorite thing to do.

Silco relies on Singed for all of his medical care, as he is one of the few physicians in Zaun, and more than likely the most skilled.

[zaunseye]

sleep: how many hours a night does my muse sleep? do they take naps? how restful is their sleep? do they experience nightmare? if so, how often? (from @restrainedhungr)

[all about health -- ACCEPTING]

Silco averages five hours of sleep a night, being a night owl. These hours vary depending on the work he has to do, but average around 4am-8 or 9am. He runs on little sleep, but his Vastayan heritage demands

He has been known to nap during times he's had to get less sleep than normal, using his couch as a resting spot. During these naps, no one except for Sevika or Jinx are allowed into his office.

Silco experiences nightmares, usually surrounding the two times he almost died, both by Vander's hands. These nightmares can be so intense that he stops breathing until being forced awake to gasp for air. These nightmares occur more often during times of stress in his life, but can also occur randomly.

[zaunseye]

Faint - Ahri

[“FAINT”  for my muse’s reaction to yours suddenly passing out in their arms! - ACCEPTING]

He crashed harshly to the ground, unaware of just what had happened until it was already too late. He saw her silhouette, consumed in blue light. Then, as the dust settled, he fought himself to his feet before his mind could process the ache in his body.

He lifted his head, seeing her still standing, but losing the war against gravity. He acted on impulse, diving over to catch her under her arms as she fell down. He scuffed his legs, tearing open the knee of one of his pant legs as he moved. She fell against him, her whole weight being forced upon his chest. He tumbled backward with her held tightly to him.

He sat back up fully, resting her upper half in his lap. "You did this...for me. Why?" he asked in a heavy rasp of an exhale. He pulled her closer, checking for breath by placing his ear near her mouth. A small gust assured him, and he raised his sharp gaze toward the source of the explosion. Logic began to parse through the sudden turn of events.

A trap had been set for him. An assassination attempt through some sort of arcane explosive. He felt a fury toward the would-be assassins, and a certain anger toward himself for putting such a rare life in harm's way, even inadvertently. He hooked his arm under the bend of her legs, hoisting her up. Standing was a struggle with his freshly scraped knee, but the pain meant little in comparison to her state.

"Don't worry. I'll see you fit again," he assured to her quietly as he turned away from the destruction. Essence. She would need essence, and he would find her some that was particularly delectable.

[zaunseye]

Everything will be alright.

[things meant to be sent anonymously -- ACCEPTING]

He looked...shocked. A little stunned. Words didn't come to him immediately as he stared at the greyface.

And then came a stoney mask to cover the glimpse of anything deeper -- anything vulnerable. "... And do I look like I need comforting? What would prompt you to say something so...assuring?" He furrows his brow with a smirk. "If things continue to go according to plan, of course it will be."

[zaunseye]

Does it still hurt?

[things meant to be sent anonymously -- ACCEPTING]

"Pain is often the strongest reminder of the fact that we are alive, or so I've been told." His fingers brushed against the obvious scarring on his face, nails trailing along the deeper, glowing gashes in his skin. It was more than just a stinging injury, refusing to be relieved after years upon years. It was a reminder of what had happened that night in the River Pilt, permanently etched into his reflection. "That pain will never go away, but I have conquered my fear of it."

[zaunseye]

"You never left that river." - Vander

[agitate my muse -- ACCEPTING]

Silco's face soured at the sound of his voice, and the scowl steepened when the words filtered through his mind. He turned to face Vander, or the shadow of the man that once was Vander, and stared daggers into his eyes. "You can't possibly imagine where I went after you put me under that water, lover. The things I saw. The whispers I heard. The gentle pull of death, welcoming me home."

"It was beautiful, for a moment. Dulcet tones of the unknown, slowly luring me into the depths." He ran his fingers along his scarring, staring past Vander with a hollow reverence. Flashes of memories played without permission within his mind. Cold. Wet. Burning. Can't breathe. He let none of it show on his face. "I was about to give in to it, you know. I was prepared to let you have me. To have the rebellion."

He clenched his open palm into a fist, pointing with the other hand. "But I walked away from that night. I walked away from you." He let out a tense, slow, and measured sigh. "I am not the weak man you killed. I am the monster you created."

He looked at his pointing hand, noticing that it was clutching his flask, now empty. He looked back to Vander, seeing the cast iron statue looking out and over him, its steel gaze aimed out toward the urban valleys of the Lanes. He lowered his hand as he realized what he'd been speaking to, and closed his eyes. Vander was gone. And Zaun needed his focus to be elsewhere. With slightly inebriated steps, he began to walk back toward the Last Drop.

"Goodbye, Vander."

[zaunseye]

Jinx smacked her lips together in confusion. Puckering her mouth, the Loose Canon shook herself. She then pointed at the small cut on Silco's hand, over which she had just licked, and asked: "Why are you spicy?"

[context]

He hadn't actually been looking when she licked the cut, and the strange sensation gave him a moment's pause, mid sentence with Dustin. Silco lifted his hand, examining the freshly licked wound on his hand. "Lucky for you, your spit isn't an anticoagulant," he commented, then addressed her question with a shrug of his shoulder. "Perhaps it's the river toxins, still flowing in my blood." He said it with an obviously dramatized tone, "Or something I ate this morning," he added more matter-of-factly. "The sardines were exceptionally spiced."

[zaunseye]

ACHIEVED

[GLIMPSES OF THE PAST:a headcanon / prompt collection - ACCEPTING]

for a scene from my muse's past in which they completed / achieved something they were proud of

Stitch by challenging stitch and piece by precious piece, he had assembled a pair of pants from scraps of fabric left over from old dresses and jackets. He'd worked hard to make sure none of the original form of the dresses remained, using the silks and cottons as pure squares of cloth. Pieces of brass he'd collected from discarded hardware made for makeshift buttons for his fly, and twine had to serve as thread for some of the panels. It wasn't 'pretty', but it was finished. Now he just had to try them on.

He was certain his father was out of the house, no doubt making deals amongst the Topsiders for the minerals and metals gathered from the Silco mines. He wouldn't be back for at least an hour.

Slipping off his house dress, he tossed the garment aside like it was refuse. It hit the wall and slid down to the floor of his bedroom. He pulled the pants up his legs, being careful not to pull them too harshly for fear that a stitch or two may not have been his best work. They fit, though not in any sort of tailored fashion. The legs were just the right length, with the cuffs of the pants resting over his ankles.

The moment of truth came when he pulled the fly shut with four buttons. It secured over his waist, snug but not suffocating like the bodices he'd been forced into. He turned for the mirror in his room, cracked and fractured from a kick he'd given it years ago. Through his somewhat distorted reflection, he saw himself. Chest exposed, wearing masculine fitting pants, and with his long black hair tied into a loose ponytail. He looked practically virile.

He admired himself, running his fingers along the waistband of the pants. The way it draped off of his nimble hips then cinched in around his calves accentuated his masculine frame, complimenting his thin-boned body. If only he had a shirt ready, he would have gone out then and there. Unconsciously, a satisfied smile found its way onto his face.

He looked like himself, not like his father's creation.

This was the first step toward his freedom.

The sound of the front door opening and closing made his heart leap in his chest, and he quickly propped a chair up against his door. As he was desperately undressing and grasping for his house dress, he could hear his father approaching the door. His heart raced as he threw the makeshift pants into an old dress box, then stuffed it into the bottom of his chest. He tossed several dresses and petticoats on top of it, then shut the chest. It snapped shut over the webbing of his palm.

With a hiss, he whipped his hand in the air to shake the pain off. His father jostled the handle, then banged on the door with his brutish fist. "L̶̮̃̅ā̶̢́ú̵̠̹̉r̶̲͓̈́̏e̶̼͑̌l̸͇͂? L̸̳̇a̷̲͛ư̸̝r̵͉̕e̷̦̚l̵̝͘!" he shouted through the wood.

"I'm not decent!" he shouted back, tugging the uncomfortable dress over his shoulders and shimmying his way through it until it draped over his legs like a curtain.

"What's got the door blocked!? What are you doing indecent in the first place?"

"Just a minute!!" he insisted, voice cracking under the stress. He finally got the dress straightened out, and pulled his hair loose from the ponytail. It hung over his shoulders and face in a mess that he quickly attempted to fix while unblocking the door.

As soon as he did, his father pushed it open, nearly hitting him in the head with its edge. "Silly cow!" his father chided as he burst in. "I swear, every time I leave you alone it's something new! You had better not have been--"

"I was simply changing my under clothes," he was hasty to offer as an explanation, "It was sweltering, and I didn't feel fresh."

Sullivan Silco was not a stupid man, but at the same time he was not an inquisitive one. He furrowed his brow with suspicion, but then released it and took him by the wrist. "Come on, then. I have someone for you to meet."

Oh, good. He'd brought home another unwilling suitor. No doubt a Topsider desperate for a young wife. As he was pulled away, he looked over his shoulder at the chest. His accomplishment was within, hidden and safe. Soon enough, he would be able to test it out in the open.