➥ How Do You Do, Fellow Meridian? (Springstar)
[ The sun is high overhead. It beats down and burns like a spotlight cast from above. It's too hot, and there is little reprieve from it, especially for someone like Silco, who spends most of his time even here underground, if he can. He's squinting against the too-bright light, his now dual-dark sclera blinking against the too-bright sun as he moves to the next space in the sun-soaked paths of Springstar. He is, after all, "helping", and Set has done his part to remind Meridian that he's not an enemy. Look, his hands are even gloved, he can't do anything to harm anyone here.

Though, if he encounters a "fellow" Meridian, his smile is sharp, a touch too knowing, as he approaches, a tip of his head as he turned his head away from the sun to look at a new "companion" in refuge. ]

You don't need any help, do you? [ A beat, and then: ] That's what I'm here for, you know. To help.

[ Is he actually helping? Not really. He's just. Mostly looking for supplies, moving, and staying out of the sun as best he can, though he doesn't linger in shadow for long. He even leaned slightly forward and lowered his voice. ] I saw some supplies back in a storehouse. Perhaps you should find them before some... [ A laugh. ] Nasty little Zenite takes them, hm?

[ See? He's helping! Why are both of his eyes black? Don't worry about it. Set made a good deal, is what his tone suggests, though it is Silco. The supplies are rotten, so buyer -- dumpster diver -- beware. ]

➥ Black Hole Sun (Either City)
[ Not content to stay in the sun (ugh), Silco tries to find solace in some of the darker spaces, cloaked in shadow and outside of the oppressive reach of the sun. He hates it, being under it, but at the same time, the too-low, overly hot orb hovering in the sky makes Silco feel... not happy, no, but... anticipatory in a way he cannot describe. The promise of destruction -- even though his connection to Zenith feels strained and just out of reach -- it doesn't keep Silco from wanting to see it all burn still. He wants it, Craves it, because -- because it would be the end, and then --

In the shadow, Silco pats at his coat, but there's nothing in there that he's looking for. His fingers shake, but he tucks in to find a cigar, and a lighter he rarely uses, but he doesn't even get it lit before the cigar fell to the ground, and he started to...

He wheezes, trying to breathe but getting nowhere, almost asphyxiated from the feeling of ever-present eyes on him, and he stumbled out from the shade, and into the blinding sun -- does he run into someone? Does it matter? His eyes are wide and crazed, and if he looks around for a key insight to his location, as if he's searching for something with his two black eyes, it's probably fine. What is there to rush with here? ]

Out of my way --

[ He bit out, trying to shove whoever he had run into, as his feet stumble, and he's trying to escape the ever-present sun, the atmosphere of Springstar, even, as he tries to find the closest cornerstone.

➥ Haunted (Yima's Manor)
[ It's a promise that he's looking for supplies to Set, but it's a lie. It's nothing of the sort, and though Silco will be happy to provide them if he finds any on his way, he's quick to locate a cornerstone and teleport his way to Yima's manor in a way that can only be called desperate, if one knew Silco. As it is, the man strode, hands in his pockets, a cigar burning to a crisp under the too-hot sun clamped in his teeth. He doesn't even acknowledge anyone, either someone nearby or someone who followed, it can only be called a single-minded purpose that the crimelord very nearly booked it to the place that would allow him to find his way to the manor.

The tree, of course, overhead, looks sick, rotting. He wants it to, wants it to burn for taking someone away from him -- was it actually the tree's fault? Did it matter? -- but Silco doesn't spare it a glance, as soon as he's near the manor, within range, he closed a single eye, and focused, before he realized that he wasn't moving -- his powers sputtered and failed, as they were starting to do with more frequency -- before he only had a frustrated grunt, and with a look around -- as if he were suspicious, looking to make sure that nobody was watching (though it didn't stop him, even if he saw someone) he tore off, not running, but perhaps an old-man power walk would be more sufficient an explanation.

He has a place he is going to in the manor, clearly. A path he knows well, but it's wordless, his path. There's something he's looking for, though it's not obvious -- whether you followed him, or you meet him in the halls. If you're Meridian, it isn't clear where he's going, but if you're a Zenite, it's obvious, even if one doesn't know where his rooms are, he's clearly going for something in the shard-bearer quarters. ]

➥ Delving
[ Silco is one of the last to arrive down beneath the tree. It is intentional, and though it hurts to do so -- that pang that feels somewhere between pain and longing, it's an antithesis to everything he is, and everything he stands for. Silco is a man alone, always holding far and away from others, in every way, and being pulled toward something brings out a part of him that wants to be contrary, he wants to fight it, and he does for a time. He doesn't trust Aetós either, despite knowing the time mage better than...most. (Which really, isn't saying much) Though his distaste for the tree keeps him topside far longer until his search for other things forces him to abandon it, and he made his way down.

His powers sputter, and then die, the deeper he goes, and though he's angry -- furious for a reason that doesn't make sense to those that don't know that Silco hates this thing. The tree. Others can coddle and care for it all they want. Silco hates it, he wants it to burn -- and seeing it die had filled him with a vindictive thrill that he can no longer feel, as he found himself descending underneath the tree.

He tried to leave, of course. Of course he did. he tried to leave because he wanted to get out of here, but his feet find themselves walking back within. He finds himself settled close to the only ones he knows will not destroy him in his weakened state -- Sebastian and Set. He settled in for a long and arduous few days, though in the beginning, he only stares out at others, his twin-blackened eyes are angry, and hateful. He does not want to be here, and yet he has... no choice. ]

➥ Tlatlacolli
[ His eye... doesn't burn. It's an unusual effect that has persisted since he'd murdered the god, and her blood had splashed into his ever-open, lidless eye. He's used to the pain, and it's been gone for long enough that Silco worries that something is wrong. Truly wrong. It's not like he doesn't hear other shard bearers whispering, or talking to themselves or invisible voices, but Silco can feel the presence of something -- someone behind him, hovering over his shoulder -- asking him why he was giving up on her? Why was he Abandoning his own daughter for an empty promise? Silco's eyes turned behind him, over and over, as if he thinks he could see her, but there was never anyone there.

But why does he feel a phantom presence, hovering over his head? The pressure of eyes watching him, a voice promising over and over that he was just giving up, and through communion, there's not just agitation, not just anger, there's uncontrolled disgust -- uncertainty -- as if there's a doubt in there that he can't quite shake. It's slaking off from the man in waves, and he hates it, even while the scars on his face look more and more wooden the longer the hours pass, like carved and rotted wood that makeup can't hope to cover. He can't help but clutch at his knees, staring out, anger the only reaction he has to what can only be called hope trying to blossom -- forced from something alien that leaves Silco feeling raw and disgusted. What hope was there for someone like him? For he and his people? They had nothing, they came from nothing -- dirty little things -- they called them, and whatever it was that tried to tug him toward something else sickened him, the longer it persisted. ]

It will not find such easy prey. [ He promised, his tone biting, perhaps to nobody in particular. ] Waste your effort all you want, but pray I do not find you.

[ He promised to the air, promising retribution for even daring to try to sway his steps -- if it is someone or something he could take revenge on. ]

[ It all goes the same way, and Silco's hate propels him more than anything. He needs It out of him, this simpering questioning force that threatens to haunt him with visions and promises of something hovering at the edge of his vision. He needs it out desperately that Silco, who has rarely been seen without full clothing and gloves, tugs off his left glove, because there will be only one way to rid himself of this.

And he needs it gone. He needs it, and he will approach, whether you are familiar or a stranger, he seeks to do one of two things. Either he will trade forces with you, or, he will corrupt, though it's difficult to tell as he nears. He looks wooden and stiff, still filled with sap and the scar across his eye -- normally covered by makeup -- looks like it is fully just wood surrounding a black pit of an eye that glitters like a gemstone in the dim light. He crouched, though his knees practically creak when he does so, as he says: ]

Do you feel it? We must be near the end.

[ He says, with a placid, fake smile that's too stiff and too uncomfortable. He wars with himself. He both wants to embrace the end of it all, but there's something that... lingers, and fights him at every turn. He wants it out, he hates it with a fire that burned in his still glassy and blackened eyes. Even with the stiff and uncomfortable smile, it does little to mask the hate that burns there. There's something in this that he refuses, and the longer it settles in his bones, the longer he hears those whispers and questions, the more he hates the unbidden and altogether... uncharacteristic emotions like guilt and disgust that bubble and cascade off of him in waves. There was no room for lack of conviction in this man, and the experience of it is worn on him like a poorly-fitted suit. Too bulky and uncomfortable, like there's something about it that simply rankles.

Though at least he has enough presence of mind even now not to threaten his way into just taking what he wants. It is tempting, though, and Silco was not a man who took no for an answer lightly. ]

Perhaps it is fitting, that we rot alongside this disgusting thing, hm?