"Hm, then you likely wouldn't understand," he said, his tone a little terse.
There's something about hearing that people had a "wonderful life" that always seemed to annoy Silco. It's difficult for him to pick out that twisted knot of a feeling, and figure out what it was -- but on some level, it was perhaps, deep at its root: jealousy. What about this person made them better than him? More worthy?
Was it because he was Zaunite? A filthy sump-snipe that's good only as far as his worth to the topsiders? That's the only answer he has, because otherwise, it's left to chance, and why should chance dictate such a thing? How is it fair that this person has a "wonderful" life, and Silco's own was left carting through mines, breathing in toxins, and working away until he can't anymore? How is it fair that he had to turn to smuggling and revolution to have his fingers around a dream of something better, only to have it slip through his fingers as quick as sand? How is that fair?
"My life is not without its high points, mind, but I'm fortunate. I scrabbled my way to comfort, up from mines and starvation when I was a boy. You can see how our perspectives could be different."
Hands spread on the table now, it's almost magnanimous, but there's a tone in there. Silco's using his "talking to Pilties" voice, the one he used when they investigated him, or tried to convince him to share Zaun's abundant resources.
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There's something about hearing that people had a "wonderful life" that always seemed to annoy Silco. It's difficult for him to pick out that twisted knot of a feeling, and figure out what it was -- but on some level, it was perhaps, deep at its root: jealousy. What about this person made them better than him? More worthy?
Was it because he was Zaunite? A filthy sump-snipe that's good only as far as his worth to the topsiders? That's the only answer he has, because otherwise, it's left to chance, and why should chance dictate such a thing? How is it fair that this person has a "wonderful" life, and Silco's own was left carting through mines, breathing in toxins, and working away until he can't anymore? How is it fair that he had to turn to smuggling and revolution to have his fingers around a dream of something better, only to have it slip through his fingers as quick as sand? How is that fair?
"My life is not without its high points, mind, but I'm fortunate. I scrabbled my way to comfort, up from mines and starvation when I was a boy. You can see how our perspectives could be different."
Hands spread on the table now, it's almost magnanimous, but there's a tone in there. Silco's using his "talking to Pilties" voice, the one he used when they investigated him, or tried to convince him to share Zaun's abundant resources.