[ Silco's eerie, dual-toned gaze looked down at the kid, but it was not with the same kind of care that Reigen looks on them with. Silco isn't that cruel, to lash out actively at children -- he has a line, after all -- but he doesn't Care about this child. This child hadn't survived betrayal, and being tossed aside for being inconvenient, or helping. This child wasn't perfect, or the embodiment of every wild and free virtue that Silco held as paramount.
Then again, no child could be Jinx. He only regarded the child with a cold eye, and then a slight uptick of his lip, a smirk that said -- I can hear you --
But he turned back to Reigen, his words hitting him with a particular accuracy.
Silco knows what it is to suffer for progress after all. What it is to toil away, scrabbling your fingers raw in mines and breathing air so poisonous that it wreaked havoc on one's lungs. He knew what it was, to try, so desperately to get out of that, and to try to make something better, only to find that dream dead, because progress always demanded sacrifice. ]
Then let me ask you a question, since you seem to know so much about the people you supposedly care enough to give your sand for.
Do you know what it is, to be one of those people forgotten for progress? What it requires of them? What bringing all of these people back will mean for them?
[ He looked them up and down, the whole lot of them. ]
How many of them are blighted, for example? Or how many of them will starve once we leave? When you leave, what will your effort have truly done for these people, beyond giving them false hope?
[ Give the people hope, and then take it away, when one doesn't have the stomach for what it required. Oh, Silco knew that, and it's on his face, how distasteful it was. ] Or will you come back, to make sure they're taken care of, once this is over with?
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Then again, no child could be Jinx. He only regarded the child with a cold eye, and then a slight uptick of his lip, a smirk that said -- I can hear you --
But he turned back to Reigen, his words hitting him with a particular accuracy.
Silco knows what it is to suffer for progress after all. What it is to toil away, scrabbling your fingers raw in mines and breathing air so poisonous that it wreaked havoc on one's lungs. He knew what it was, to try, so desperately to get out of that, and to try to make something better, only to find that dream dead, because progress always demanded sacrifice. ]
Then let me ask you a question, since you seem to know so much about the people you supposedly care enough to give your sand for.
Do you know what it is, to be one of those people forgotten for progress? What it requires of them? What bringing all of these people back will mean for them?
[ He looked them up and down, the whole lot of them. ]
How many of them are blighted, for example? Or how many of them will starve once we leave? When you leave, what will your effort have truly done for these people, beyond giving them false hope?
[ Give the people hope, and then take it away, when one doesn't have the stomach for what it required. Oh, Silco knew that, and it's on his face, how distasteful it was. ] Or will you come back, to make sure they're taken care of, once this is over with?