[ Jinx watches him recoil, watches as his body absorbs the shock of this blow; she has seen people lose body parts before, been the one helping them part ways with those limbs, too - but it was never like this. not Silco. it's never been Silco. it's... different, somehow. she doesn't really understand it, but she feels like it's important to keep her eyes on him, to see the consequences of her actions.
he looks like he's going to go down for a moment and she's ready to catch him and support his weight if he does, but Silco manages to hold onto consciousness. sure, maybe it's by the skin of his teeth... but he does. so she does not make light of his resolve nor his stubborn sort of strength, instead reaching out to tighten the make-shift tourniquet. ]
I got it. I got it; it's fine.
[ she's deceptively calm; it means she's a special sort of angry. livid, in fact - but it's the cold kind of anger, not the white-hot vitriol that usually sparks into flames and inevitably explodes. she wants to kill this thing. she wants to hear it scream. she wants to undo whatever the hell it is it did to them and she wants to make it suffer for this. the feeling of being backed into a corner is one she dislikes - and being made to give a piece of Silco like this?
...
but she doesn't waste any more time, aware of the rapid draining of color from her father's face; between the poison and the bloodloss, he isn't going to be in great shape to sit around and play audience. and it isn't like she's afraid of a little pain; no pain, no gain, right? seems like you always gotta bleed to anything good done.
she doesn't even realize she's been mumbling to herself under her breath, an airy, not-quite-right little monologue punctuated by a bitter, dry little laugh as she ties the belt around her own arm, pulling it taut with her teeth. her eyes have moved from Silco to the Dryad where it sits, an eerie, one-eyed knot in the vines and bark, and she stares at it.
we'll show them.
and with a vicious twist at her lips, she shifts her grip on the knife handle - maintains eye contact with that freakish, god damned face, and brings the blade down with an outcry. ]
daddy daughter bonding you love to see it, 🔪✋
he looks like he's going to go down for a moment and she's ready to catch him and support his weight if he does, but Silco manages to hold onto consciousness. sure, maybe it's by the skin of his teeth... but he does. so she does not make light of his resolve nor his stubborn sort of strength, instead reaching out to tighten the make-shift tourniquet. ]
I got it. I got it; it's fine.
[ she's deceptively calm; it means she's a special sort of angry. livid, in fact - but it's the cold kind of anger, not the white-hot vitriol that usually sparks into flames and inevitably explodes. she wants to kill this thing. she wants to hear it scream. she wants to undo whatever the hell it is it did to them and she wants to make it suffer for this. the feeling of being backed into a corner is one she dislikes - and being made to give a piece of Silco like this?
...
but she doesn't waste any more time, aware of the rapid draining of color from her father's face; between the poison and the bloodloss, he isn't going to be in great shape to sit around and play audience. and it isn't like she's afraid of a little pain; no pain, no gain, right? seems like you always gotta bleed to anything good done.
she doesn't even realize she's been mumbling to herself under her breath, an airy, not-quite-right little monologue punctuated by a bitter, dry little laugh as she ties the belt around her own arm, pulling it taut with her teeth. her eyes have moved from Silco to the Dryad where it sits, an eerie, one-eyed knot in the vines and bark, and she stares at it.
we'll show them.
and with a vicious twist at her lips, she shifts her grip on the knife handle - maintains eye contact with that freakish, god damned face, and brings the blade down with an outcry. ]