[ The sound of his voice drips away like the oil-tar-blood that seeps from his eye, the smoke-scent that comes off of it in sickening waves.
What he means to say is, you were good to me, when this happened last. And somewhere underneath, I don't want to be alone. Too vulnerable, too pathetic, but the flames that dance in the darkness of his vision are too much when taken in combination with the events of the past several months. He dreams of the flames even when his eye doesn't bleed. (His eye, which he now treats himself, his hands shaking as he holds the injector over his face.) He dreams of Jinx, pale and rotting, sneering as she casts off each token of affection he'd ever given her. ]
One of the empty bedrooms. The one near the Library.
[ He already knows, to an extent, that he's already overplayed his hand. Asked for a favor, with no concrete promise of how he'll repay it. But he needs someone, as much as he hates to admit it — and he chooses her. ]
[ Someone else might take advantage of that favor, squirreling it away into a back pocket for a later day with the full intent of preying upon it. There are guests consistently looking for how to one-up one another, pursuing social elevation and power to a degree only a closed society such as the one at Saltburnt could. It's a commune of its own, and they are all vying for prestige and control within it. Mithra slips the thought of it into a desk drawer, and mentally closes it with a snap. It's for later, to consider; once she's addressed the reason for his asking.
Her voice lifts with brief joy, though the response is measured, even. The casual and careful small talk of someone attempting to sweep tensions away like cobwebs: ] A bedroom has found its way near to the Library? How advantageous. I might borrow it once you conclude your residency. Permit me a moment to locate you.
[ That's where she goes, naturally. Testing the doorknob even as she knocks lightly upon the closed door, shave, and a—. Minding her tongue in the hall, lest she give away his vulnerability. ( What might he need? Silco is inscrutable and distinct from men she has known, not led by passions though he harbors few so immense and intense that they change the whole of his world. What service might she, of all people, be able to provide? )
She brings a little of everything, in a small pouch at her hip; spare handkerchiefs, a snuff box full of substance to soothe the mind, her cards, a vial of syrupy-silk liquid. Prepared. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ The sound of his voice drips away like the oil-tar-blood that seeps from his eye, the smoke-scent that comes off of it in sickening waves.
What he means to say is, you were good to me, when this happened last. And somewhere underneath, I don't want to be alone. Too vulnerable, too pathetic, but the flames that dance in the darkness of his vision are too much when taken in combination with the events of the past several months. He dreams of the flames even when his eye doesn't bleed. (His eye, which he now treats himself, his hands shaking as he holds the injector over his face.) He dreams of Jinx, pale and rotting, sneering as she casts off each token of affection he'd ever given her. ]
One of the empty bedrooms. The one near the Library.
[ He already knows, to an extent, that he's already overplayed his hand. Asked for a favor, with no concrete promise of how he'll repay it. But he needs someone, as much as he hates to admit it — and he chooses her. ]
Would you?
no subject
Her voice lifts with brief joy, though the response is measured, even. The casual and careful small talk of someone attempting to sweep tensions away like cobwebs: ] A bedroom has found its way near to the Library? How advantageous. I might borrow it once you conclude your residency. Permit me a moment to locate you.
[ That's where she goes, naturally. Testing the doorknob even as she knocks lightly upon the closed door, shave, and a—. Minding her tongue in the hall, lest she give away his vulnerability. ( What might he need? Silco is inscrutable and distinct from men she has known, not led by passions though he harbors few so immense and intense that they change the whole of his world. What service might she, of all people, be able to provide? )
She brings a little of everything, in a small pouch at her hip; spare handkerchiefs, a snuff box full of substance to soothe the mind, her cards, a vial of syrupy-silk liquid. Prepared. ]