[ It's getting colder, the chill sets into ones bones, and though it has been said that Highstorm should be getting warmer during this time of the year, what some call unseasonably cold weather seems like more of the same, at least to Silco. That is, until it gets colder, and colder. There are patches, within the city where it becomes brittle, and too cold. Near those roots that spread from the trees -- odd, detestable things, being someone from the fissures, Silco's often uncomfortable with this much verdant life -- and though he avoids them... the amount of people sitting near them, staring up at the flowers with single-minded adulation is odd. He doesn't mean to pass by a person, but he had been walking near one of those odd roots, the burning cherry at the end of his cigar flickering and near-dim from the chill.

Nearing a person, crouched in the cold, wearing nothing that actually protected them from the cold, Silco narrowed one eye at the person. They were entranced with the flower, and he was pretty sure that these were blighted. Though he had no love for anyone here, he didn't want the Blight to take hold before they had a chance to -- actually achieve their goal -- then what was the point of letting them rot away? Well, they could, for all he cared, but the Blight will affect them, before too long, won't they? He clamped the cigar between his teeth, before he clapped his hands together, trying to catch their attention. ]

Hey. You're in the way.

[ Discounting the fact that there was plenty of street if not sidewalk that he could sidestep them.

The individual... someone who looked frail, and small, in the cold, turned their head toward Silco, as if he had interrupted their period of supplication before the glowing, pulsing blossom. He sneered down at them, and gestured, as if to say: "well?" before the person lifted their two hands, and held a finger up, and then --

Rapidly -- firmly grasped it, and --

Snap! It didn't just break, and there was no blood or gore, the piece of flesh cracked and broke, but the piece came off cleanly, somewhere in between stone and flesh. He watched as the piece of finger fell to the ground, the edges of it crumbled like soft rock, and they turned back to their adulation, and outright ignored him. Ignored! Him! ]

Don't you ignore me -- [ He said -- a touch petulant -- and someone might want to stop him, before he kicks them in the arm, breaking off more of them. ]

[ He should have been paying closer attention.

The odd... blur was the first sign that something was wrong. He tried to catch sight of it, and disseminate what it was. As far as he could tell, it had been -- Something? Huamn-shaped, perhaps, but that was all. His fingers slipped into his pocket, to find the blade he kept in a small pocket -- the one Sebastian had manifested for him in Highstorm so long ago, with the inscription: "Che la mia ferita sia mortale". He flicked the blade open, and slowed his step. Perhaps he should have used his invisibility, but this was Highstorm, and he felt less need to hide here, like he did if he traveled to Springstar. For no reason whatsoever.

The next time he saw a blur, he reached out, to try and catch it. It did little good, and he didn't catch it, but the further he went, the more of them they were. It isn't until he starts to notice that they aren't... really blurs, is when he starts to pay attention more. Tried to net what it was he was seeing -- but it's hard to nail it down. Was it multiple realities? Different people? They moved fast and slow, all at the same time, they moved backwards, and it's with a frustrated grunt of annoyance that he tried to stop looking at what was before him, and start trying to get away from it. Wouldn't it be easier, to leave this to the types that liked to get involved? This wasn't a place for a man like him, who did better down in the dark caves in Kowloon than he could out here --

But there's something off further that caught his eye. Down the street, a little off, that caught the light of the twin moons, though he moves at the same pace he always did -- slow but purposeful -- but the closer he gets, the more confusing it gets. One hand on a knife, the other pulled out a cigar, and he snapped the end off with a swipe of the knife, before he lit it, and closed in on the thing before him. A mirror?

It was solitary, in the middle of a roundabout in an otherwise innocuous Highstorm street. Nothing to set it apart from anything else other than the oddity of it. Was it junk? If he were in Kowloon, he'd suspect so, but that it's in Highstorm which feels closer to Piltover, than it does to a location in Kenos. As he approached, his steps slow, though they're silent on cobblestone streets, and he took another long inhale of the cigar, before he blew it out at his reflection. It stared back at him, just as he did it. He blinked a single eye, it did the same. He shrugged (and it shrugged) and it's with another tip of his head that he finally reached out, intending to rap at it, as if it would unlock something. ]

This is a waste of time.

[ He murmured -- he clearly has no clue what's going on. ]