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noxturnalmoth · 8 hours ago

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What Could Have Been

Silco, the Eye of Zaun, the Industrialist, was first and foremost a son of Zaun who wanted his motherland free. After an altercation in which his adopted daughter shot him in a fit of rage, he is left dying while the world goes on without him. His life's work and ideals soon trampled to nothing as his memory fades from the world. But what if he was saved?

Chapter 3: From Ruins

It was hard for Silco to not fidget and be uncomfortable at the prospect of letting his daughter and his old life go, it was understandable for the man who tried desperately to have it all to let go of all that he built. Of the one whom he loved. And he was cold, trying to find his way in the dark, walking way ahead of you so the light of your waning candle can't illuminate his way. In a way it was commendable, his determination in healing and rebuilding on his own, but it was also way too reminiscent of your own refusals at each and every proposals for help. You two were two sides of the same coins, one frigid and sharp, the other searing yet soft, and no matter how clipped his words could be the understanding you had of him only grew, and so did the care. At first it had been because he was a Zaunite, but as he shared your life it came to be because you genuinely wanted him to finally own something, build something, that would remain. Something that'd make him happy. Because underneath the wit, the short sentences, the cold shoulder, the narrowed eyes, the tense face and the semi permanent snarl, you could see a glimpse of the man he could be.

It was always for simple things like dinner ready for you after work, your appartment cleaned in your absence, a glass of alcohol and a cigarette set on the table on longer days, and when you woke up in the mornings your body was always covered in a blanket. You didn't know whether it was to appologize for his words and behavior, to show he did want to change or out of gratitude for you respecting his boundaries and saving him, but you'd wager it was a little bit of everything. So in kind, you'd take time to get his shimmer when it ran out, made him breakfast, always were patient when you saw him struggling with kindness, and always respected his need for a certain distance unless he approached you first. It was a song and dance you were used to in a way, most of the Undercity were hurt and fearful, and befriending any of them could prove complex, it was something you even did with yourself. Struggling to be kind, to rest, to respect and even appreciate yourself was a sad truth you had to live on the daily although you were more than happy to give that treatment to others, Silco struggled with both and so the dance was that much slower. More like careful steps approaching a small animal that a waltz.

But as the second month of his presence in your life passed, as his body was done healing, you found yourself not minding the pace. You didn't know whether you could earn his friendship or not, yet you knew that he was warming up to you from how he came downstairs to eat with you in the mornings and evenings instead of eating alone, because his voice echoed more often from within your quaint home. No matter if his tone was the same no nonsense drawl, he spoke more and it's all that mattered. But you could see that he was getting antsy, the books you had in your bookshelf almost all read, the appartment cleaned all too often and you found him switching from the armchairs to the couch, the kitchen, the bed and pace himself into the floor. So you decided that since he wished to stay you could introduce him to a more productive way to spend his days.

"Silco, I was thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself." His rumbling words make you scoff.

"Very funny mister One Eyed Wonder. Anyways, I've noticed you were going a bit stir crazy, so I was wondering if you'd like to come to work with me. An extra pair of hands would be more than welcome."

And it was true, having to prepare everything in advance all the time yet still have to move to get the necessary materials as you soldered, chiselled, hammered, smelted and more, was time consuming along with the deliveries and taking care of the counter. You knew about Silco being an ex miner from words on the streets as a child, describing the leaders of a new revolutionary movement as "diggers", yet one of them being as thin as a sheet of aluminum. As the movement grew and so did its influence, Silco was no longer seen as a "dirty little thing" but as a stubborn, determined, infinitely clever, agile, fast and deceptively strong man, using his body frame to overtake any enemy undermining him. You guessed that he should have retained a bit of his strength, if not from his past, to keep himself ready for a fight that could happen at any moment.

"And what would you have me do exactly?"

"Take orders, help me deliver them, look at the ledgers, it would help me to have all of my focus on smithing and i'd be able to make stuff quicker and better. At least consider it, it would do you good to get out of here and do something."

"You'd have me work with people? You do know that if anyone of my previous..." He pauses. " ...collegues..." The word is said with bitter disdain. "Discovers I'm here, they'll come to wreak havoc."

That was indeed a possibility, the Chem Barons sniffing his trail from a whisper in the street and coming to get him, for good this time. But if that happened you knew that their goons would have nothing against you, barely trained buffoons with an empty brain the lot of them, that much you knew from fighting them. And Zaunite pride, thank Janna for it, would prevent them from trying anything like mercenaries for someone like Silco. Because although he had lost his empire, he was still more astute and way more intelligent than them, and he was still strong, that much was guessed from his grabs on your throat and hands when he had first woken up, and that had been when he was at his weakest so you couldn't fathom your strength now. Plus your little hole in the wall community was loyal beyond expectation, you knew that they'd understand and welcome him if he pulled his weight.

"I know, but I also know that they'd still be too scared of you even after your fall from grace." You reach inside your pocket and pull an eyepatch, a leather triangle doubled with some soft fabric on the inside while one long string escaped its upper right side and the bottom angle to be tied around his head. "I'm no seamstress but I made you this at work during lunch"

He hums in surprise, this teal eye growing darker as his lid falls to cover half of it. He inspects it, hands brushing the leather and strings, caressing the inside of the eyepatch and bending the item to test its durability.

"Do you think me that unsightly?" His voice clips.

"No. I'm just scared the heat and fumes would make your eye hurt. I know you kept your eye out as a symbol and a method of intimidation but you have no need for it anymore, you can prioritise comfort over your façade Silco."

You sigh and lean yourself on your elbows and smile a little bit with a tilt of your head.

"Plus the eyepatch would make you look rugged in my opinion." You huff out a laugh. "Beware the tall blacksmith's assistant, they say if you take away the leather covering him, his gaze will steal your soul." You muse teasingly while wiggling your fingers, your first attempt at such a quip leaving you slightly nervous at how he would take it.

But instead of the scraping of the chair and his retreating form upstairs like you expected, you see silco put on the eyepatch, a scoff shaking his chest. And after properly tying the knot behind his face, he slides a hand through the crown of his head, placing strands that had fallen out of their usual slick back in their original place.

"Maybe so. But the grey flesh would still scare people away."

"I don't think so. Everyone's got scars here Silco, no matter how they look or if they're visible at all." You reassure softly, smile growing at seeing him don your contraption. "Plus makeup would melt in the heat, trust me I've tried. It would look patchy and horrible after a good half hour."

He nods, his hand brushing through his hair again. His good eye narrowing once more in thought. His old clothes had been discarded, the blood ruining them, he was wearing some clothes you that had been given by your landlord, his oldest son growing much taller than this before he moved out. They were simple and classic Zaunite fashion. High waisted black cargo pants with a thigh harness on his right leg, combat boots, a cropped maroon turtleneck sweater that missed its left sleeve and showed part of his stomach, a fingerless glove covering the rest of his arm up until half way through the bicep. The covered arm also harboring a fingerless glove yet only wrist high, his chest adorned with a harness that surrounded his ribs and upper stomach in two belts with a strap on each side stretched vertically to reach the lower belt behind him, passing through the upper one. He had a cropped leather jacket draped over the back of the chair he sat in, it closed with belts and the collar was a similar maroon to his shirt. All in all, he looked less like a Piltovan like before and more like a classic Zaunite, if anything the new clothes fit him even more, made him look younger. It was as if you had gotten a glimpse of Silco's younger self without needing to look into the past. Dark hair peppering with streaks of silver at the temples and a few on the crown of his head, the eyepatch hiding the fire and ash of his left eye, the few wrinkles, his eyebags and the marred side of his face in a discolored, fleshy gray were the only clue of his age being any different.

And they looked good on him if you said so yourself. And so you did.

"You don't look half bad for an old grump." At least in a way that wouldn't feel like pity or a slight to him.

"You're one to talk, you reek of sweat and look like a drowned Sump rat." You chuckle at that and tilt your head "touché" escaping your lips to agree with the man, but you feel your technique has worked. His shoulders were a little more relaxed, a little taller, as he crossed his legs, a cigarette now held between his lips as he slid the packet to you.

"So when would you have me come in?"

"When do you want to come?"

He hums pensively, lighter flicking to let the flame nip at the end of the cylinder held in his mouth, a deep inhale following as you take a cigarette of your own and light it aswell.

"Tomorrow?"

"It works for me." You exhale, a ring of smoke floating above you as you tilt your head back. "Thanks for the meal by the way."

He didn't seem like he ate much, but after two months together you realized that he probably didn't have much time for it aswell as sleep, and the meals and rest he got here were the best he had gotten in years. His natural coldness melting down to a simple façade and letting you think about the wonders of a stressless life. Now your own was not stress free at all, so many hurdles with orders, missing materials, broken equipment, plus the deliveries, rent, and people always asking for you to fix things at their homes and prices for materials always climbing. But you know that Silco had the weight of the entire city of Zaun on his back as the leader of the Chem Barons, but also of his own territory, and shimmer creation and export, aswell as god knows how many other schemes along with the constant target on his back and a child. He probably hadn't known a real meal or night of sleep since forever, and you're glad that the metaphorical new him indulged in those, enjoying larger meals and longer nights. And you don't know how or why, but he cooked pretty well for a cantankerous old man, but then again he did have a daughter. Which made you smile at the thought of him preparing meals for a small blue haired girl, the kid sitting near him and talking his ear off or humming as he cooked.

"What are you smiling about, pet?"

"Ew. Never call me that again." You make a face and snort out a laugh. "And nothing, just happy you're less of a grouchy fossil."

"I'll choke you in your sleep."

"That's underhanded." You lean forward on the table, eyes gleaming. "Coward."

"Pissant."

You act offended and look at his narrowed eye, shining in something you could almost call mirth. "I thought you were a gentleman!"

"We've both established that man is gone. Plus I'm just calling it how I see it." His lips stretch from their usual natural sneer, a small cocky smirk adorning his face. "You're a pissant, so I call you as such. What else should I refer you as?"

"Your hero, your knight in shining armor, the Sump queen..." You list jokingly and he rolls his eye, legs uncrossing as he stubs out his cigarette before he stands up, sauntering to the stairs as he always does when he goes to rest. "Night, Silco."

He hums back, a hand lifts in a lazy wave as he climbs up the stairs and you roll your shoulders, lazily smoking the remnant of your own tobacco, the taste and smell relaxing you. The rest of the night is a blur then, a shower, and throwing yourself on your couch, your back groaning aswell as the furniture, two months in a row of this sleeping arrangement was wrecking your back but the man did deserve rest. A revolutionary from his teens to his...how old even was he? "Maybe I'll ask him one day" you think to yourself, curling up on your side away from the window. You disliked sleep, you wished you didn't, but your nights were always filled with the smell, taste and sight of blood, the loud cheering, the monochrome colors cut by splatters of red. Your head was your own personal hell, custom made to welcome you in your sleep or whenever silence struck you, your mind slipping down the slippery slope. It was always an experience, falling asleep. Your apprehension kept you from sleeping, nerves thrumming with stress and fear yet your body sinking into whatever it was you were sleeping on because of exhaustion. Yet you needed to sleep, and you did, only a handful of hours, no more than five each night since as long as you could remember. You take a deep breath, sending the thoughts away, eyes now screwed shut to try to fall asleep as soon as you can.

Faces flashing with cockiness, then fear, then horror, then nothing if a face was left at all, hands raw and stained with blood, your own or theirs you didn't know anymore, everybody looked the same on the inside after all. But sometimes you wondered if you did, or if a void was left behind, maybe everything was rotten? It would explain why you were such a mess inside. A sigh racks through you as you try to empty your mind again. Tomorrow you would bring Silco to the shop and he would help, that was something to look forward to. It meant there would be less silence, and more clients if you two worked well enough. It also meant Silco would be back out in the world, and maybe in danger, although you want to hope it wouldn't happen but you never know in Zaun. Would he like the people there? Would the people like him, forgive him for his past actions? They had taken you in, bloodied and frenzied, and gave you a home, but would they extend the same kindness to someone as infamous as him? Would they see he's trying?

As your thoughts spiral once again, you don't hear deliberate footsteps walking towards you, then there was a small sigh and warmth that ripped apart every thought swarming your head. And as silly as it was, that simple feeling, no matter what it was, brought enough calm to your mind for you to fall asleep. Later waking up with a startle, a gasp slicing through the silence like a cleaver through meat, you realize a blanket is layered on top of you, the neon lights of Zaun illuminating your living room slightly through the window alcove showing how neatly you were tucked in. You wrap the blanket around you and waddle to the kitchen, preparing coffee and taking the full pot with you to the pillowy seat nestled in the window's arch, a sort of couch that you used every morning when nightmares shook you awake. That's all you do each morning before Silco wakes up, it's all you've always done since you escaped really, forced to bear the heavy silence spurring on your thoughts, jumpstarting your spiralling as you tried and failed to keep yourself from disassociating.

"You're up early." You startle and almost punch Silco

"I always am." You sigh, looking one last time to the neon lit city and its claustrophobic rocky walls and ceiling before staring at the man behind you, turning as you do. "Coffee?" You point to the pot sitting with you in the alcove and he nods, leaving for the kitchen and coming back with a mug in hand. The same one he's been using since you two got into your new rhythm of life, which was about to change again today.

"Do you get any sleep at all?" He asks, nodding in thanks at his now full cup, your legs curling under me so he can sit down, you shrug, your heavy eyes finding his teal one, still covered in the eyepatch.

"Slept with it?"

"Yes, it's quite comfortable and it gives me more peace of mind knowing I won't scratch my eye with the pillow or sheets in my sleep."

You sigh in understanding. "I should've made it a long time ago then. Sorry Silco."

He hums, hand softly flicking the air in a lazy "don't worry" wave. He looks outside, his eye softening just a moment before he takes a sip of lukewarm coffee, sitting up and walking to the kitchen to get started on breakfast. You look at him confused, breakfast was usually the meal you prepared but he seemed almost adamant to make it as you shuffle to the kitchen.

"Silco, just go sit, breakfast's my turn."

"Not anymore. Go get ready, you look nothing short of dreary."

"Ouch." You mumble, bringing the blanket closer you you and narrowing your eyes at him before shuffling upstairs, changing into your clothes for the day, discarding your pyjamas in the bathroom as you brush your hair and splash some cold water on your face. Breakfast was ready by the time you came back to the living room, folding the blanket to put it over one of your armchairs before walking to the kitchen. Breakfast went by quickly and soon you were walking to the shop with Silco in tow, the man observing the houses, shops and alleys you passed, the few rare people out at that time nodding their greetings at you two, eyes narrowing inquisitively at Silco. You explain that you waking up this early was almost a blessing in your job, it left you time to get the hearth to the right temperature and check your tools and material in peace before the clients arrived. He quickly followed your orders, making lists of everything you pointed towards, carrying boxes back and forth in the shop, forge and in the back.

When the clock struck 8 a.m you opened the metallic blinds outside and flipped the little "open" sign, getting immediately back to work and working with metal and flames to create strong tools and appliances, fixing broken parts and objects. With Silco at the front you had to yell over the top of your incessant tinkering to explain that he was your new assistant, the man introducing himself politely to everyone in flurries of progressively more annoyed words.

"Good day sir/ma'am, I'm Silco. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Everytime the question of who he was resounded again you couldn't help but giggle at the tensing of his body before he took a deep breath and introduced himself yet again, the man glaring at you before going back to taking orders. You left him in the shop to buy your lunch, letting him get some alone time after a busy morning.

"You're a madwoman. Genuinely. Silco? I thought you were more clever than that." These words were repeated to you in every way, shape and form as you walked to your favourite stall while surrounded by a group of people, and sighing you turn to Oleg, a miner working in the deepest recesses of the fissures.

"Listen, I know it seems like a bad idea but he was a dying man, I saved him and told him that since he lost everything he might as well do something better of his life. And he is doing just that, so I don't get why you're getting on my case when all of you have done the same to me." The little crowd of clients following you stopped as you glare in their direction. You know it was somewhat different for Silco, yet it was the same. The only thing separating you was the fame you harbored when you started your new life. "You saw a girl with blood and flesh clinging to her hands like seafoam to the shore and you took her in with open arms. I'm not asking you to trust him immediately, it would be hypocritical knowing how infamous he was, but by Janna give him a chance like you did for me! He was who he was but he lost it all, he is the Eye of Zaun no more, he's just Silco and he's a Zaunite like all of us."

Your hand rakes through your hair as you expell out a sigh, your words ringing through the now silent street. Your steps taking you away from the group as sound found its way back little by little, people nodding at you but what you saw wasn't a greeting, it was the subtle sign of respect accorded from one trencher to another when they did something right by the book. It was a symbol that had you preening as you went back to the shop with a warm bag in hand hanging from the crook of your elbow.

The bell rang as you entered, walking towards the back where Silco was, leaning his elbows on the table as he sat on a chair, one hand holding his hand up as his eyes looked over your ledger, his eyepatch discarded on the side.

"Food's here." His eyes drag lazily to you before closing the book, straightening up on his seat while you get to your own, placing the hot meal on the table. "How did the morning go, are you holding up alright?"

"It's more...social, than I'm used to." He sighs and thanks you for the meal, taking a couple of bites before his eyes drag back to you and his good eyebrow raises.

"Are you?" He must be referring to your thrumming body, shaken by your swiftly bouncing leg. "Sorry" is uttered softly and he shakes his head in dismissal.

"I'm f-" His eyes narrow and you huff, shovelling some food in your mouth to calm down, taking your time to chew. "Alright, alright don't get on my ass. Janna. Just a few people buzzing around me uncomfortably as I went to the market."

"It was about me wasn't it." His voice was softer, his eyes looking at you invitingly, coaxing an answer out of you as you nod. He looks to the side, his bites getting slower as he thinks. "If it's too much of a hass-"

"Shut it." His face snaps to you as if you'd slap him, face confused and nearly offended. "You're not a hassle Silco, I've made that clear. They've taken me in, of all people, so you shouldn't be that big of a deal either, infamous or not." Is mumbled before you knock back your drink, finishing the rest of your meal. "You're doing your best, that's all I'm asking. And if it ain't enough for them, then they'll have to wait. End of story."

He huffs, the closest thing you could get to a laugh from him as his eyes glimmer in the neon light, the teal ice melting and the orange flames flickering when he looked at you. A small smile grew on your face and your shoulders slumped after a deep breath, your eyes enough to tell Silco that it'd all be alright.

"We both knew people wouldn't necessarily accept you, I gave them a push towards the right way and now they're gonna have to see the truth for what it is. What use is there to dig a deeper grave for a dead man?" You add as you retrieve the containers, throwing them in the trash before washing your hands.

"And you'd let them think you a bad person just because you've taken me in? For as long as it takes for them to accept me if they even do?" His voice calls out from behind, getting closer as he leans on the small counter next to the sink, next to you.

You hum, nodding softly while you wipe your hands. "Who says I'm a good person Silco?" You pat him on the shoulder, the contact making his body stiff from tension as you walk back to the door, flipping the sign yet again to open for the afternoon.

The rest of the afternoon was spent similarly with Silco working up front with the customers and you slaving away in the forge, quipping in whenever you could. Silco didn't look quite as bothered to introduce himself as he was this morning, and although he was tense you could only guess it was from the amount of people he talked to. Your shop provided for anyone that needed it from miners to contractors, doctors, and even children and parents. Not only from your hole in the wall but from the surrounding neighborhoods aswell, people coming from near and afar for a good service at a reasonable price, your honesty and hard work earning you a loyal clientelle. And as days passed the tense looks and whispers exchanged at Silco's presence at the register, sat down pouring over orders and ledgers, finally starting to make space for longer greetings, a few "how are you"s and weather talks before getting to business. Your week being based off of the workers' schedules Sundays and Mondays were your days off, Tuesdays to Fridays were in the shop and Saturdays were delivery days. The first one Silco was a part of was barely spent explaining at all, the man knowing the Undercity's Entresol, Fringes and Sump levels quite well from his youth, albeit you did show him a few safe enough alleyways to cut through. When you had to deliver a couple of steel toe guards to the mines he did ask to be left out, and you complied, knowing better than to shove someone back in a place with so much meaning so early on in their healing process.

Silco's help in the shop reflected in the work you did, you could focus more on your craft and thus make and fix pieces faster and better than before, the man dealing with numbers and orders quite masterfully. Saturdays were spent split apart after the second week, delivering quicker and more efficiently so you could bow out earlier. The clients whether at the shop or in their own homes began warming up to him, striking up amicable conversations in the streets and at the shop; and he warmed up to them too his voice lacking the bite it had at first, the social situations no longer bothering him and even being welcomed by him. At home the rhythm was pretty much the same, you cooked in the mornings, he did at night, you'd share a smoke and a drink and then head to sleep after a shower. But it was comfortable, almost homely, and your talks now were more than a couple of exchanged sentences like they used to be but more like full fledged, hours long conversations. And so with the responsibilities shared between the both of you, you could finally plan your little sabotages again, taking infos as you passed in the streets with your ears focused on as many conversations as you could, same in the shop although the noise you made in the forge made it harder for you to listen in.

Shimmer production had been stopped, that much you knew, yet you heard Margot stormed the warehouses and started redistributing the liquid at the highest price, capitalizing on Silco's death. You would have bet on Smeegle doing that sort of thing, but he died. After the whole fiasco, the remaining four barons had fought over who would get which share of the pie; but Renni had die on a terrorist attempt at the newly made Councilor Memorial in Piltover and Smeech was apparently killed by Jinx, if what the rumors said was true. Which left only Margot and Chross from the old regime. Margot had apparently suffered great losses due to the grey appearing back in her HQ, but dealt with those losses quite well by balancing them with heavy profits at her brothels. Chross himself had been rather silent, you saw his men sometimes during deliveries, listening as you passed by. The man was rounding up troops to take as much of Zaun as he could before new Chem Barons could rise to the top, although it seems like a few already were making their way there. One in particular named Renata Glasc, one of the rare Zaunites to harbor a last name. While you couldn't do much to thwart Chross, especially since his men were one of your best sources of information, you definitely could for Margot and it would definitely help you for Silco's treatment.

An injection could only dampen the pain and stop the rotting for so long before the metabolism flushed it out, a day to be exact. So you would have to look into that, while you weren't a scientist, Samira could help and in exchange for new material and tools that you could provide. The shimmer shipments would come in the last part of your plan though, as you needed to set a few things up beforehand. Margot's manpower had been divided between the losses in the gang wars, the losses due to the grey, and the remainder of her people either working or moving said shipments. But you were only one woman, so everyday after Silco turned in for the night, you'd nurse another drink, smoke escaping your lips as you took a drag from yet another cigarette as you mulled over plans, the map of Zaun stretched before you and your unoccupied hand scribbling on a notebook. And every night you'd get little sleep, as much as when Silco was not present in your life, but you still woke up with a blanket laid on top of you while wondering how the man even did it everytime like clockwork.

You disliked having to hide it from him, priding yourself in honesty will do that to you, but you decided to keep up the lie just a bit longer as he got used to living here as his new self, refusing to burden him with your own fights. The first night you left, you had rushed through the sewer systems to listen in to a meeting, a smoke bomb covering sights as you took out each member present, taking the plans that were laid on the table. The second night was soon after, hurrying on the roofs to interrogate a handful of women that had been very cooperative once you had mentioned ruining their faces, the bread winner in women working in the environment they did. And slowly you made Margot panic, more members placed at what she thought were important outposts, until the shimmer warehouses were a reachable goal for a "one woman army" such as yourself, leading your revolution silently against those who didn't give a care about their fellow Zaunites.

"Where are you always going so late?" Makes you tense slightly, and as you turn towards Silco's voice you see him leaning against the table and you sigh.

"Don't sneak up on me, please." A hand is ran over your face tiredly.

"I wouldn't have to if you didn't keep things from me." He almost growls, his voice dark and so were his eyes. You knew it was because he felt betrayed, and you felt bad for lying to him, you really did. But he was a man who worked towards a revolution in his life only to have it be taken from his hands violently each time, you didn't want to worry him or bring back memories he's rather forget. It felt silly, protecting this battle hardened, intelligent veteran of a man from things that could hurt him in any way, but you couldn't help it. Just like you couldn't help yourself in trying to help Zaun in every small way you can, or even Silco by getting enough shimmer to last him longer and maybe even begin to try and find him an antidote. It was just hard to hide or to reveal because you both prized loyalty and honesty, but you also knew he would feel like you're taking pity on him and get angry whether at you or himself.

"I don't have much time for myself anymore, so I just take a walk. I can't sleep usually, so I thought that instead of being restless at home I could just tire myself out." You sit next to him. "I'm as used to this as you are Silco, but I wasn't given the time to breathe until now. Which is partly thanks to you and your hard work, thank you for that."

He tilts his head to look at you and nods, seemingly letting go of the subject. "Do you have a dagger?"

Your head turns, gaze catching his and a small smile softens your face as you shake your head and he sighs, reaching to the band on his thigh and retrieving his own.

"If you're going out, at least don't be stupid." That would be the closest to "stay safe" but you'd take it, the words dripping with much more care than you'd expect from him. But then again, in this new life of his that he is building up from ruins of his past, you were his only constant aswell as the one who saved him. Now whether he acted like this simply out of gratefulness or out of a true need to connect, you didn't know, and it was more than okay.

Weighing the dagger in your hand for a moment you pocket it with a small "thanks" and nudge Silco with your shoulder teasingly.

"I'll stay safe and sound, don't you worry. Don't sleep too late, okay?" You utter softly, beginning to walk towards the door.

"Hypocrite." He scoffs.

"Fossil." You throw back, looking over your shoulder as he scoffs, walking away from the table with a nonchalant wave as his goodnight.

And with that you were out, heading towards the warehouse where all the shimmer had been transferred, your little stunt making sure that they put all the stock in one place, the cold air of Zaun nipping at your skin as the neon lights provided ample lighting and enough shadows to hide. As you arrive you know that your preparation hasn't been in vain, there are much less goons than there should be in such an important spot. So silently you make your way around, analyzing the rounds they made, the unsuspecting women going down one by one, quickly and silently with each of your punches. Once the outside was cleared you dragged the bodies out of sight and slipped in, the inside was much more protected and it could be a problem. So you retrieve a bolt from your pocket, throwing it away from you in a blind spot that would allow you to take out some of the lackeys. Once they bite at the bait you slip between cases filled with shimmer containers and rid yourself of the handful of them. This warehouse was not a big one, enough to accomodate what was left of Silco's shimmer stocks after stopping production and destroying part of his supply, some of the rest having been pillaged in his absence. That meant that it was easier to take the goons down but also that there weren't many hiding spots or enough space to keep yourself safe in case you got ambushed or found out. You hide between cases as another group comes in to check on their comrades and make quick work of them too. Sliding behind a handful that was posted around an exit you catch one, dragging her back in the shadows as you constrict her throat, using the alert when her collegues couldn't find her to slip behind each of them and continue your silent takeover. No more groups were left, all the bodies now piled and hidden away in the shadows as you place small handmade bombs made of old metal sheets, nuts and bolts, and some explosives given to you by miners, around each corner. Around nine of them were now placed, the radius of one explosion being enough to detonate the ones next to it who would detonate the rest. But as you opened a crate, ready to pocket as much shimmer as you could before you ran you heard noises. Four last group of lackeys had remained, switching after a certain amount of time with one of those which you had beaten so they could rest. The calm contentment of a job well done replaced by panicked annoyance.

The one thing you wished would not happen, happened.

The ambushers were quick to recover from the shock of seeing you and rushed to you, possibilities of escape gone as you fight your way through a horde of very angry, leather clad women. Whips were flailing you, clawed fingers dug in your skin, but you fought back with punches and kicks strong enough to break bone and bites that had your jaw aching and their blood spilling. Your brutality was wore than they could handle, using their whips to drag them to you, their sharp nails digging into their own flesh after a well place attack. But no matter how strong you were, it was one woman against two dozen and the sheer number made up for their lack of battle intelligence. The last three pinning you to the ground by the legs and shoulders as one was straddling you, beating your face black and blue, letting the torture continue. As your vision darkens, blood filling your mouth and nose at the relentless assault, you remember the metal object in your pocket. So you act as if you were putting up a fight, fidgetting as your hand inched closer to your pocket, spotty vision getting spottier, breathing getting harder. But then your hand grazes the dagger and with a flick all was over. The woman above you choking on her blood as she held her neck, the one at your legs kicked after she releases her hold a bit out of surprise, and the one holding your shoulders stabbed in the head. Getting up you inch closer and drop to your knees, straddling the lackey left stunned, and run the dagger in the middle of her forehead, the poor girl twitching before everything goes silent. Ripping the weapon away from were the blade was currently stuck you fell backwards, wiping it on your jacket from all the blood before shoving it back in your pocket as you took deep gulps of air.

Your vision was coming back but you knew that you looked like a mess without even seeing it, expecting bruises, hand shaped marks, claw marks and whip burns aswell as a black eye. Your nose was definitely broken, but all your teeth seemed to be intact, even through your bloodied mouth, your tongue and cheeks were chewed and needed care though, just as the rest of your body did.

So with a groan you slowly got up, deciding not to overstay in case a new group of lackeys appeared out of nowhere. Pocketing as much shimmer as possible you shove some in your coat, in your pants, even in your shoes and shirt, before pulling the pin on the center bomb. After a good twenty seconds, you are close enough to hear the first explosion and all of those that followed but far enough to not get hit, the bright burning orange turning purple from the shimmer, ground rattling at the force. Your form retreating in the shadows of alleyways as voices shouted at the noise and burst of bright light, limping out of the area as fast as you can without hurting yourself more than necessary. Although it was hard when your whole body felt like it was drowning in a vat of acid and your spine was turned into powder, you still dragged yourself home, silently yet heavily climping up the stairs, walking drunk on pain as you fumble with your keys.

You close and lock the door as softly as possible and move to the table, taking out all the shimmer vials within your clothes, dropping your coat on the chair before you drag yourself to the bathroom for a very painful yet deserved shower. Barely standing up you look at your reflection on the condensation covered mirror. " I look like death" you think scoffing before putting on your underwear you reach for your kit, the same one that had helped you keep Silco alive four months ago. And coming out of the warm bathroom you begin to drag yourself to the alcove.

"I see your walk has gone well."

"Shit."

There he was on the couch to your left, arms draped over the back of the seat, his legs crossed, the orange eye glowing angrily in the dark just like the tip of the cigarette he took drags off ever so often. You sigh, continuing your walk there, tensing in pain at each step, each breath, a wheeze escaping you as you sit in the pillowy alcove, refusing to look at or talk to Silco out of shame. And just as you opened the heavy chest to begin treating your wounds, two frigid, porcelain like hands catch your wrists. Silco sat down next to you, back to the window and began perusing through your medical material, pulling out bandages, ointment, hydrogen peroxyde and a cloth.

"Don't move." He commands, calm yet louder than thunder, dark and gravelly. He moves to the kitchen where you see him prepare a basin, and boiling water, cutting it with cold water in the basin before taking it aswell as another cloth and walking back. The cloth was wrung and as you looked at him, tilting your head in confusion, he moved it to your face. You took the hint and closed your eyes, appreciating the very hot towel's feeling on your bloated and bruised face.

"It helps with bruising, stimulates blood flow." You nod, too ashamed to voice anything. Rustling is heard and your left forearm burns, he was caring for your wounds. "You lied."

"I did." You say finally, unable to appologize as you knew you probably broke what little trust he had towards you.

"Explain everything. Do not gloss over any detail." His voice is low, grip strong against your hurt body, but you nod. Explaining everything in great detail, from how you've started your acts of rebellion up until tonight. You wanted the old Silco dead, wanted the last of his empire to crumble so he could be free. You needed the shimmer to help soothe his pain, needed to thwart any Chem baron's plan to take over Zaun after his death. Your voice growing angry and frustrated as you get into a rant.

"They're self-righteous, narcissistic, power hungry freaks that just prove to the Pilties we are what they see us as. They steal from the mouths, hands and soils of their own people for Janna's sake! It's disgusting, and it is even more so because of how profitable it is to them. They do just like Piltovan nobles, councilors and scientists do to us, and because of them we're reduced to even less than we were before. So I fight, I fight against those who betrayed us, whether it is the city of progress or our own flesh and blood."

His grip got softer as you talked, the stinging of the hydrogen peroxide soothed by the slow gentleness of his touch.

"I want Zaun to belong to the Zaunites. The ones that die for simply existing here, the ones that work their ass off to provide for their families and themselves while the sycophantic, self-absorbed, self-important monstrous Barons and Piltovans profit off of their suffering. But I'm only one woman, so I plan and I plan to create small annoyances that could or could not be great setbacks in their plans. I do that because I believe in the dream you once had, but I don't believe in the violence and manipulation you used to get to the point you were at before. So I fight like a Zaunite, I think like a Zaunite, I follow the Zaunite code and I help my people day in and day out no matter in how, no matter what. And their gratefulness is why I still fight even if things seem impossible."

You take a deep breath, shaking as tears escape your eyes from beneath the hot towel.

"Janna, I just want to be free! You leave a prison to get in a bigger and crueller one, it's not fair! And no matter how much you crawl and grovel, no matter how much you climb and fight, you always end up at the same spot because of those disgusting...fucking monsters! And it's all a goddamn game of monopoly to them as if we weren't the ones paying the price of their foolishness." Your breath is heavy, chest moving up and down in anger before the cloth is ripped from your eyes, face held between long fingers by the chin.

"And yet you still fight?" You nod, your eyes finding his and not finding them angry, it was something deeper, sadder. He was looking both at you and through you, like a ghost of the past was breathing down your neck. "And do you think what you're doing is good?"

"I told you, I'm not a good person."

"That wasn't what I asked." His grip on your chin tightens momentarily to bring you out of your spiral.

"I do what I believe is good." You sigh deeply, back relaxing against the alcove. "I know the lackeys are most likely people doing this to save themselves or their families. It doesn't feel any better to kill them, even if it gets easier. But they work for someone evil, and by proxy they do evil things, so I get rid of them. I do the same with enforcers. I know I can't save Zaun, even if I desperately wish I could. I just help provide our people respite, and that's all that matters to me."

He nods pensively, hand leaving your chin to continue wrapping you up. Dipping the towel in the hot water again before placing it on your face.

"You say you aren't a good person, but your morals are more sound than mine have been in over a decade. There is no pure good in this world, and although there is some evil most of what exists is colored in shades of grey."

His hands brush against your clavicle, a silent question. You nod and stinging begins from your chest at is ministrations.

"I had forgotten that the normalcy of these shades of grey didn't make you any more righteous. And from someone like you, I became who I am...who I was. Blinded by rage at the world against what they did to our people, and to me. Your kindness is a form of rebellion in itself in a world where many end up like me." His voice is soft, almost barely a whisper as pain surges from your stomach area, the stinging from hydrogen peroxide burning your flesh. "The people here like you, you're honest, you work hard, you're gentle. That's more than what any of us are usually given. Revolution is never done without blood, even if you feel guilty remember that, at the very least, you care for the other trenchers unless proven unworthy and never hurt an innocent."

Your fists clench and so does your jaw, lips pulled downward in a weak snear.

"You don't know that."

"Did you want to?" You shake your head, leaning backwards after because of the searing migraine crushing your head. "Were you forced to?" You hesitate, yet nod slowly, the hands wrapping up your middle tucking the bandage neatly. "Many of us end up killing at least once out of necessity. If you were forced into a cycle of violence where that necessity became a daily occurence, who can fault you for fighting for your life? You did not chose to be there, your opponents most likely did. They lost, you lived. That's all there is to it."

His hands touch your waist and twist softly, you obey his silent demand, your back now facing him.

"Where are you from?"

"The Sump." What the rough mumble you managed to let out.

"Keradon?" The name of your old handler had you grabbing your crossed legs, nodding grimly. "Were you the one who killed the poor bastard?" Another nod, one of your hand picking the towel on your face and throwing it in the basin, rubbing your face afterwards. "He organized fights to the deaths, and you were just a kid, you had no say in this. You're no monster, look behind you and you'll see what a true monster is."

You shiver, exhaustion and anguish eating away at the last of your energy as pain rattled your body, delicately manipulated in Silco's hands.

"You did good tonight. Just like it seems you've done good in the past decade. You're strong, and what you do is good, but do not play the hero."

"You were one, once."

"We both know that time has passed long ago." The last of your wounds are covered and cared for and after feeling a shift behind you, you're suddenly lifted, the blanket from your armchair wrapped around you as Silco carries you up the stairs. Careful as he places you on the bed, he goes to leave afterwards before your hands grab at his, his teal eye widening in confusion as his eyebrow furrows.

"Not to me."

His head tilts in question, his body coming to sit next to your laying form.

"I think you're still a hero." Your eyes find his, blurry gaze drowned in teal currents before being consumed by orange flames as you smile as much as your bruised cheeks allowed you to.

"Everyone gets lost at some point, the most important is that you come back home."

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Taglist: @vicurious28 @midromiell @zorosleftmantit101 @anthy-j-ander @agathasslutt

#arcane #arcane x reader #arcane x female reader #silco #arcane silco #silco arcane #silco x reader #silco x you #teacher x student #league of legends #silco league of legends #disabled reader #fluff #silco fluff #smut #silco smut #whatcouldhavebeen

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longagoitwastuesday · 2 years ago

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I keep thinking of that reply in my Odysseus/Agamemnon post about how I regard differently Odysseus' and Agamemnon's actions, while acknowledging that at times Agamemnon is written as a sweet man and Odysseus is always straight up shitty, and how it was taken as some sort of defense for Agamemnon and as a form of pointing out the double standard; and that wasn't at all what the post was about for me, even though I can see where they were coming from. To be honest, given I didn't imagine it would spread anywhere other than my own blog, I didn't explain myself very well (or at all).

The fact is that when I talked about Odysseus not caring about hurting someone else's child to start and end a war I was indeed comparing his actions to Agamemnon's, but my words about supporting Odysseus' wrongs and cheering him in his terrible actions, while in a joking tone, weren't entirely a joke. I do think that Odysseus does some very shitty acts, and some quite terrible ones depending on the sources. That's a fact, that he does is at the core of his characterisation and it's what makes him so much fun; but not even when he is at his most cruel does he harm his family, his own son. Agamemnon, while sweet and loving at times in some texts, at his worst is willing to sacrifice Iphigenia. When readers regard with more sympathy Odysseus over Agamemnon despite both being responsible for children dying, I don't think there's a double standard in this aspect at all considering it's never his own kid Odysseus harms. And that's the key, I think.

Odysseus and Agamemnon have very different priorities, a very different view on loyalty and duty. It could be said that Agamemnon acts out of selfishness, but it could also be read in a kinder light, saying that Agamemnon is ruled by the gods first, and by his role as head of the achaeans; Agamemnon is not entirely himself. In opposition we see Odysseus acting perhaps mainly for himself and his own family and men; yes, he is a king, but he has not the role Agamemnon has. As a consequence, Agamemnon submits his family's wellbeing to the war, to the gods, while Odysseus stops the plow before hurting Telemachus but is (depending on the source) the cause of Iphigenia's sacrifice and Astyanax's death.

Both Odysseus and Agamemnon have reasons to support their actions, and both can be sympathised with; it's fiction after all. When it comes to fiction, at the end of the day which character a reader is drawn to or sympathises with is mainly an issue of personal taste, but I suppose it also implies a certain level of one's own views or preferences on morals, what makes us find certain actions more justifiable, or tasteful (perhaps that's a more accurate word), than others. Agamemnon sacrificing his daughter, no matter how sympathetic or understandable the reason, generally sits worse on people than Odysseus doing the same with someone else's kids, because they're someone else's. This different emotional reaction they provoke has place not just metanarratively, but also inside the very story; it is narratively significant, given it determines how their arrival home plays out, how their wives react to them, and thus their futures. Ultimately it determines whether they live or die.

I think both terrible acts go in line wonderfully with each characterisation, showcasing the role they hold in their world, what they value, what they care for, what they're willing to sacrifice for themselves and the others, how much of their own they're willing to give and bend. While looking at the wider picture it could perhaps be drawn that Agamemnon is the better person out of the two, but Odysseus' selfish actions are perhaps easier to empathise with, especially from a modern viewpoint. Odysseus is treacherous and prone to betrayal, but not against his own; Agamemnon follows the rules of the gods. How fitting in that context that Odysseus doesn't die at the end of his story, that he cheats the death heroes so often are fated to, almost as if cheating the narrative itself, bending the rules of the world he is ascribed to; how fitting in the context of those texts that point towards Sisyphus being his father. But that's another topic, and I've already talked a lot.

#Don't get me wrong. Odysseus is super shitty and this is a 'pick your poison' kind of situation #But I don't really think there's a double standard when it comes to the kids situation given that Odysseus doesn't sacrifice his own kid #I really think that's what lies at the core of this. Does that make him shittier and more selfish and a worse person? Actually yeah perhaps #But we are no kings with thousands of people depending on our decision yet cringe at the idea of hurting people close to us #It feels like betrayal. And this is where the moral preference takes the role. Which do you prefer? The one that would betray their family #for the greater good or the one who'd sell the world for their family and themselves? It's interesting because #while in fiction the first option is often the most frown upon while selfish actions for the beloved are easy to sympathise with‚#in reality these are usually worse regarded. I didn't want to go there because I already wrote so much it didn't fit in the tags #but I actually think the same thing happens with Galahad/Lancelot. Heathcliff/Edgar I'd say has a somewhat similar situation going on #There are many many examples but mainly I was thinking of Galahad and Lancelot #So this is not an 'Odysseus did nothing wrong'. This is an 'Odysseus did many things very wrong but he didn't kill his son #so while both him and Agamemnon were the cause of death of kids‚ their action are not the same so there's no double standard regarding #the particular action of sacrificing Iphigenia. In fiction that kind of betrayal makes characters often unlikeable'#I guess that action 'stains' the view under which Agamemnon's actions are seen and so his character is often seen under a darker light #He is presented a bit as an antagonistic presence opposed to Achilles who is very popular so I guess that also influences this?#Anyway I've been elated by the musical causing Odysseus art and posts but I do have noticed that he is very goodified in it and that #it has influenced how he is being regarded around here (the way it happened with The Song of Achilles as well I suppose)#And I must say I like that less. He is shitty in a fun way but not in a light way. He is very shitty #Definitely not better than Agamemnon depending on the perspective you take. I can't believe I'm 'defending' Agamemnon #He is not my thing at all I'm all for selfish actions for oneself and the loved ones through manipulation‚#lies and scams and letting the world drown if needed. In fiction Lancelot's‚ Odysseus' and Heathcliff's actions are a lot more preferible #to me than Galahad's‚ Agamemnon's and Edgar's. But yeah #I ALSO didn't want to go there because again it would have take me forever and I would run out of tags (yet here I am)#but there's also a Priam/Hector/Paris comparison in how they act and how they're regarded to be drawn here #Agamemnon/Iphigenia‚ Priam/Hector/Paris‚ Odysseus/Telemachus. And that is not even including everything with Elektra/Clytemnestra/Orestes #or Oedipus and his own family for that matter #But yes. I'll better shut up already. I'm talking a lot more than I intended #I just found that discussion super enthralling and I couldn't stop thinking about it. I still can't #I talk too much #I should probably delete this later

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