[ Silco's expression soured momentarily -- a flash of rage -- when he stepped into his line of sight. Silco had considered side-stepping over there, just to give his old friend -- old enemy -- a taste of what he'd learned, but Vander had, as always, anticipated his moves, even without thinking about it. Even without knowing. He likely thought Silco would have stabbed the man, or used him as a human shield -- although he supposed that was one version of what he would have done.
He ran a hand through his hair, instead, as if that would calm that sharp, cold rage that filled him. It felt chilled -- almost painful -- and he would have thought it was centered in his collarbone, where his shard lay. Like ice filling his chest, and lungs -- his breath sharpened, burned all the way down, like it always had from their shared history of working their way out of those mines, and into something greater.
He flicked the knife in his hand again, experimentally. ]
Been talking to the Enforcer, have you? [ The sneer filled his voice, derisive, angry. Oh, he hated her, not nearly as much as Vander, but... she'd been with him in Horos for six entire months. Long enough that he'd had to weather her "disdain" at how he did things, listen to her lies -- something about dying -- and how she'd looked at him like he was nothing. Typical Piltie. ] Some upper-crust Councilor's child, playing at being useful?
[ His shoulders heaving, angry. If Vander wanted this too -- wanted to die, oh, he'd make it happen. His free hand at his side, his thumb and forefinger rubbed together, an acrid zing, he wasn't using it on himself -- wouldn't, but... ]
Come on, Vander. I knew you went soft, but taking so long to make the first move? You're insulting me.
[ Baiting, goading. His tone was sharp, like a lance, trying to bait him in, make him go for it. His feet were no longer idle, casual, coiled like a spring, he'd never been one for brawling, but he'd been a boy on the streets once, he knew what to do, if he lunged. ]
no subject
He ran a hand through his hair, instead, as if that would calm that sharp, cold rage that filled him. It felt chilled -- almost painful -- and he would have thought it was centered in his collarbone, where his shard lay. Like ice filling his chest, and lungs -- his breath sharpened, burned all the way down, like it always had from their shared history of working their way out of those mines, and into something greater.
He flicked the knife in his hand again, experimentally. ]
Been talking to the Enforcer, have you? [ The sneer filled his voice, derisive, angry. Oh, he hated her, not nearly as much as Vander, but... she'd been with him in Horos for six entire months. Long enough that he'd had to weather her "disdain" at how he did things, listen to her lies -- something about dying -- and how she'd looked at him like he was nothing. Typical Piltie. ] Some upper-crust Councilor's child, playing at being useful?
[ His shoulders heaving, angry. If Vander wanted this too -- wanted to die, oh, he'd make it happen. His free hand at his side, his thumb and forefinger rubbed together, an acrid zing, he wasn't using it on himself -- wouldn't, but... ]
Come on, Vander. I knew you went soft, but taking so long to make the first move? You're insulting me.
[ Baiting, goading. His tone was sharp, like a lance, trying to bait him in, make him go for it. His feet were no longer idle, casual, coiled like a spring, he'd never been one for brawling, but he'd been a boy on the streets once, he knew what to do, if he lunged. ]