[ It's lucky that she does not do so, given that Silco is who he is. He's never been one to accept such fleeting gestures -- well at least since... -- and he radiates a hostility that she's clearly picked up on. It's likely for the best, but that doesn't mean that he notices the effort, and with the way his head tipped, up, almost a little petulant like a ghost of that street kid who'd so often fought and scrabbled so hard for something -- anything -- better than what he had. ]

According to the Topsiders, we were just the Undercity -- or if you wanted to insult us, the Trenches -- but we dreamed of something more, of being a Nation of Zaun.

[ He doesn't hide it, that fervent, almost revnant tone. There was, of course, something to be said, from those who had lived there, for how he managed it, for his vision of the city, and what it would mean. Silco dreamed of it being the same hard, desperate place, a place for the powerful to seize what they desired, where the strong could find their place over the weak, and where the destitute and desperate would either struggle, or survive.

Though, Silco was a man defined by struggle, so it should not surprise that his entire worldview, his entire vision focused on it.

His lips curled into a smile, a ghost of it, before it passed, yet again. ]

We were a city unlike any here -- even Kowloon, as similar as it is, struggles to compare.