Chapter Text
He awoke to the sound of grief.
The industrialist knew it too well. Especially in Zaun. Grief was bound to surface out from the pores of chaos.
Chaos. Enforcers oppressing the Undercity. Mutation starting to slowly decay the community with Shimmer. Children dying. Parents dying.
Even Silco created sounds of grief, especially in his youth. In adulthood, he released these sounds in the vacuum of his own mind. A vacuum akin to the depths of an ocean, as the pressure comforts you below, to eventually be eaten alive by the fishes of the unknown self.
However, this sound he woke up to was new and continuous; short spurts of shrieks and sobs. Each moment filled with anguish. It made the man rise from his bed and stand in the darkness of his room before he realized;
It’s the girl.
Silco silently made his way out his bedroom door, down the hallways of his abode, up the stairs to the conspicuous clamor that woke him.
The crying was much more audible, now. It would stop and go into bizarre panting. More sounds. The clash of books from his study’s shelves being flung around in a fit of rage. More crying again, before an audible;
“I didn’t mean to… I didn’t…”
Her door was ajar. A sign from fate for Silco to look in, and check if the girl was hurt.
Through the crack, the man saw the girl surrounded by clutter, wiping her tears, hitting her head with clenched fists, then breathing out what she could no longer cry;
“Please forgive me… Don’t leave me… I’m sorry.”
The blue-haired child hugged her knees, hiding herself around the scattered books, paper, and pencils.
Silco’s heart was racing. Hearing those words shattered his very soul. In the girl, he saw his own visage. His younger self, waiting for the world to finally see him…to no avail. It was his dedication to prove that the world was wrong to doubt his capabilities that got him where he was today.
Through so much pain and agony.
Just like this girl.
Silco rubbed the scarred side of his face, quietly contemplating how to distract the kid from her suffering.
He’d been a crime lord for so long, what if he scared her trying to help? What if his kindness was seen as horrific due to his intimidating aura, or his physical attributes? Several kids of the undercity recoiled, seeing his broken eye in public. He was a monster to many.
But not to her. The way Powder embraced him, even when he held a blood-soaked dagger in hand days prior… seeking such sanctuary. He knew better than to doubt his skills as a guardian figure. That was what he wanted to be for Zaun, afterall. He tried to recollect good memories from his childhood to assist him through the current situation. He remembered when his mother would find him crying, she’d get him a glass of water. Maybe he could…
Creeeaak.
The subconscious shifting in his gait caused the floorboard to reveal his presence.
Powder looked at the door with terrified, wide, red eyes.
“…Hello?”
Her voice was raspy from crying. She had to clear her throat by coughing to speak again, in a shrill whisper.
“…Mylo?”
Silco sighed to himself and opened the door fully, confirming it was indeed not one of her dead friends.
“I’m afraid not, child.”
Powder stared down at the ground, panicking more as she realized the mess she had made during her meltdown.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to. I… I-” She frantically tried to pick up the mess, disappointment in her breath as she tried to stack up books and collect pencils.
“Powder,” Silco softly called, staring at her.
She stopped what she was doing, looking back at him. Her eyes were beginning to water again. He noticed how inflamed her cheeks were, and the red marks around her forehead from where she hit herself. Unchanging his expression, he looked at the room and sighed towards the environment.
“Tsk. You need something bigger than my study.”
Powder was now confused, rubbing the emotions off of her face. “What…? What do you mean?”
Silco gestured to the room again. “This is too small! You need a place where you can actually breathe. It was a mistake on my behalf, putting you in here.”
“I like this room,” Powder sniffed. “And the books. I didn’t mean to ruin them. I… I dunno.”
“These are books. They are replaceable. That head of yours, isn’t, though.”
“I know,” Powder fidgeted. “…I know.”
“Hm,” Silco thought, relieved to see her briefly distracted from her pain.
He kneeled down and grabbed one of the fallen books, which contained an illustration; a curious girl sitting with rather disgusting clothed rodents and outcasts, drinking tea. It amused the industrialist, and gave him a better idea than giving the kid a glass of water. He looked back to Powder, who was still clenching paper and pencils from the ground.
“Child. How do you feel about hypotheticals?”
Powder tilted her head, flustered. “Like… What-Ifs?”
Uh oh. What if she makes a What if the accident didn’t happen this week? What if she listened to her family and stayed home-
“…Yes! But… a little more imaginative - It would be in the form of a…”
She’s holding pencils and paper, Silco thought. She’s holding PENCILS and PAPER.
That was the first thing she asked for when she woke up the morning after Vander’s passing. Nothing else. It must have made her feel safe, right?
“… A drawing game.”
Powder’s eyes beamed. “A drawing game?”
Silco nodded. Yes. This is right.
“You draw your dream room. The world is your oyster on this, child. Anything you want, draw it.”
“Anything?”
“I’ll give you twenty minutes, and then I’ll be back to see.”
“That much time?!”
“Is that too short?”
“No! I can make more than one drawing, then.” The child bit a folded index finger in thought of all the possibilities. “Twenty minutes?”
She began collecting specific crayons and pencils from the ground that were in her palette preference, also eyeing for paper scraps that weren’t too torn or folded from the meltdown.
Silco considered how late it was in the night. “…Is that too long?”
“It’s perfect,” Powder smiled, then gawked, mind blank. She quickly reconnected, staring at the man. “…Twenty minutes?”
“Mm-hm,” Silco stood up, rustling the kid’s shaggy blue hair before leaving.
A sound came out of her - the complete opposite of grief this time; glee.
He walked down the stairs, noticing the imposing figure at the bottom of them. She was still recovering from the bomb blast, blue fragments still reflecting against her cheek in the dark.
“The brat wrecked your study, didn’t she?”
“Lower your voice,” Silco hissed, rolling his eyes. “If she was a brat, she’d be dead.”
Sevika chuckled, leaning on the stair ramp. There was a grunt as she adjusted what barely remained of her left arm. “Would you prefer I call her a rascal? Or even better, ‘maniac’?”
“I’d prefer you to shut your mouth, but… I know the world doesn’t cater to the needs of a struggling man.”
“Hey,” Sevika relaxed, becoming more grounded. “You got her to calm down, Silco. I’ve been trying, but I think I just made things worse these last few days. She looks at me like I’m going to eat her. Like I’m some kind of ogre.”
“…” Silco scowled at her. “Just what she needs. A person she can see as a brute sister figure. The timing is great.”
“I was thinking I could be a mean aunt, actually,” Sevika smugly grinned, biting one of the fingernails on her remaining hand, then spitting it onto the floor.
“You? Wanting to help? Hah. Hah. Hah.”
“What was that? Was that you laughing?” Sevika grimaced. “Seriously, was it?”
Silco ignored the question. Of course it wasn’t his real laugh - but the reality that such a stale one was believable, when put against his image, made him want Sevika to think it was indeed his Real Laugh.
“Need a smoke, Silco?”
“Later. I need something else. It does involve helping me out with… this.”
Sevika turned to look at her boss.
“I was kidding about the aunt thing. I don’t want to help that little shit.”
“One more word like that out of your ogre mouth, and I’m docking your pay.”
She grabbed her wounded side in instinctive response, protecting herself from the fresh memory of what that child did to her dominant arm. If Singed hadn’t situated her, she would be bed-ridden for weeks, months, even. Such assistance was only possible due to the Eye of Zaun, Silco. Sevika flared her nostrils and groaned in annoyance. “What do you want me to help you with, then?”
“I’ll double your pay if you help me out with a…erm.”
Silco tried to gesture out the words. He didn't know how to say it without looking further foolish. He pantomimed drinking out of a cup, holding a tiny plate for it as well.
“Tea?” Sevika asked, puzzled. “You don’t know how to make-”
“I know how to!” Silco barked, quieting the volume so he wouldn’t disturb the child. “...What’s fun for kids that isn’t filled with caffeine, but you can still pour it out of a teapot, or something… Adjacent?”
“Don’t ask me. I started drinking from a flask when I was twelve.”
“I can’t say I don’t relate,” Silco shrugged, rubbing his neck.
Sevika could now see how truly exhausted he was. The usual baggage he carried under his eyes was twice as dark, and his ‘lucky’ eye even more hollow-feeling this night. Silco had been trying to avenge his past self, destroying what he had once loved most - his former brother in friendship, Vander. The man was now dead. Years of planning and arranging, mentally preparing, now for the next steps of Zaun to roll in...
Until this girl. She must have meant something to him, if he spared her life that day.
This rare occasion, Sevika sympathized with Silco.
“…If you give me some money, I can go to the market with the other misfits and find something.”
“It’s past midnight. Nothing will be open.”
“Not with that attitude.”
“…Alright. Wait here.” Silco walked out into his safe room.
It was now when Sevika realized her boss was in a cotton shirt and boxers. Barefoot. No slippers. Not even a robe. He had to have a robe, at least...
The crime lord yawned back into the room, his feet faintly pitter-pattering on the floor. In his hand contained a small, yet fat coin pouch. He tossed it to his henchwoman, rubbing his hands up and down his arms to warm himself up.
“This should be more than enough. Find whatever looks fun and safe, edible. …Should be enough to get yourself something, too. Hmph. It will be dawn by the time this is over.”
“Do you want anything for yourself?” Sevika scrunched up her fingers on her one hand, and finessed it inside the pouch, spreading it open to see what was inside. It was indeed more than enough.
“I don’t care. Go out with the others and let them carry what you find. Just have it look nice,” Silco breathed, face in his hands.
He briefly began to regret the idea. Why couldn’t he wait until the morning to do it? Maybe the girl actually liked tea… but the type that was sold locally tasted like dried-up lawn trimmings. It was nothing compared to the stuff on sea level and above. Coffee was easier to buy, but Silco hated the idea of giving such to an anxious kid.
Sevika placed the pouch in her pocket, stopping before she left to yank the rest of the Zaunite’s cronies with her through the city. “What is this for, exactly?”
Silco pursed his lips. What was he so worried about? He was a vengeful, powerful figure in the world. Hungry for justice of Zaun. No harm in him saying…
“...A tea party.”
this is what he looks like in silk-co pjs. get it?11/?!
