[ Silco had taken to lurking in the Gallery after some time. It was to be expected. Although he had little interest in the worlds of others -- beyond what he could use -- he wasn't keen on spending much time looking at the paintings. What good did it do, to reflect on what one didn't have, and never would? Silco did not desire for the things he had missed out -- these scenes of idyllic childhoods, families at their tables... it only filled him with that sense of disgust, anger.
Some lingered at the paintings -- one he recognized.
He'd thought to leave it, but no, Silco was... feeling spicy these days. Dying had certainly made him bolder, and the blonde man staring at the paintings certainly... had a particular subject, he'd noticed. Silco slinked up from behind, soft footsteps on the ground, when he finally spoke up. ]
Interesting choice.
[ He said, and just managed to keep the disdain from his voice. ]
I
Some lingered at the paintings -- one he recognized.
He'd thought to leave it, but no, Silco was... feeling spicy these days. Dying had certainly made him bolder, and the blonde man staring at the paintings certainly... had a particular subject, he'd noticed. Silco slinked up from behind, soft footsteps on the ground, when he finally spoke up. ]
Interesting choice.
[ He said, and just managed to keep the disdain from his voice. ]