deercountry | silco's bizarre adventures (open catchall)

Summary: Silco seeks knowledge in Cassandra, even though knowledge-seeking is blasphemous.
Content Warnings: Religion.

The city of Trench is a large one, though spread out horizontally rather than Piltover and Zaun's odd stack. Once Silco learns about lamp friends' function, he becomes determined to explore, to visit places he may need to return to later in much more of a hurry. Which is why he's travelled to Cassandra, breathing in the sweet smoke that he will soon come to associate with safety.

Once here, however, the very architecture holds his fascination. Raised in Zaun he'd had very little time for a higher power, and he wasn't unique in that. Here, statues and shrines and effigies seem to be everywhere his gaze rests, like this part of town is in itself a church.

Well, he can't fault them. Typically one to feel he has determined his own fate, the gods are much closer here, provable and, if what he's been told is right, appeasable. So it can't hurt to go around asking about that, can it?

For instance: "And what will you get for that?" he asks some fervent worshipper as she prays.

Or another time he approaches a garden of little statues closely, marking the differences in their creation and carving, asking the names of the deities.

As much as he's made use of science, he is not himself a scientist, but he is prone to asking questions to better understand what he can use as a tool. What better place to seek knowledge of the gods than godly Cassandra? But the more he questions, the more the locals start to look at him askance.

Cassandra isn't a place Chizuru visits too often. But sometimes she feels like actually wandering around town without using the lamps to get from point A to point B - and sightseeing isn't all that bad either during the months when the town doesn't seem to be increasingly violent.

Relatively speaking, anyway.

At first she doesn't pay much attention to Silco or what he's doing. But it's the looks from the locals that catch Chizuru's eye more than anything, especially when she realises they're all staring at him. It makes her try to pay a little bit more attention to the conversation, trying to catch parts of it from a distance..

.. she can't be sure, but the questions kind of make this person sound like he's new. Which means he might not be realising what he's making himself look like here.

Chizuru hesitates for a moment, kind of meek about jumping into a situation unless it's pressing.. but on the other hand, she doesn't want this poor guy to get into trouble when he's still new. So she sucks in a breath, gathers her courage, and approaches Silco and the local he's talking to.

"Um.. excuse me," the young woman says, trying to draw their attention. It's followed up by a polite bow on her end, mostly aimed at Silco. "Sir, could I maybe have a tiny moment of your time..?"

Look, she just doesn't think it's very tactful to say 'they're all giving you weird looks' right in front of some of the weird-look-givers.

Silco turns and considers her warily — she looks about the age of his daughter, who is more than capable of an unprompted violent attack, so to him it seems natural to have to consider if she may be a threat. But she's polite enough he dismisses that possibility immediately.

"Of course," he says in a low rasp, willing to extend the same politeness back to her even though they've never met. And to the man he was interrogating to the point of discomfort: "Excuse us." And he'll step away with her, whether she wants to find somewhere more private or simply away from the other Trenchies here.

There's relief in the fact that the other seems to go along with her request so easily. If not just for the fact that Chizuru really didn't want to make a big deal out of this in front of locals that were already starting to side-eye Silco.

So when he seems to follow her, Chizuru leads him away. Just a little bit, nothing too far - and certainly not anywhere that seems particularly shady, thankfully. They're still very much out in the open, standing in front of one of the many religious buildings in this part of town, just a little distance away from any of the Trenchies.

"Thank you," she says once they're standing there. The relief actually shows on the girl's face, like she wears her feelings right there on her sleeve. "I just wanted you to know.. um, maybe you already noticed it yourself." It's something she only seems to realise now, which is why she's quickly adding this caveat before he thinks she's assuming he's totally stupid. She sure wouldn't want to give off that impression! "But I think the people here were starting to think your questions were a little odd, and since they were very violent last month, I was a little worried they might get riled up.."

And the last thing Silco wants, Chizuru assumes, is having an angry mob coming after him so early on.

"They seem a lot more calm now! But.. still, you never know.."

Cassandra might have been one of the few places you would least expect to encounter Equius, but even he needed to deal business with this place from time to time. After a few of the incidents he'd experienced, he was definitely encountering an ever increasing need for incense, which meant dealing with the apostles and neophytes who venerated the local gods. The practice didn't particularly bother him. he just had very little time or interest in it. Gods were, and are, and he went about his day to day.

Still, it was a restocking day when he happened to be in the vicinity of one of the statues. He was only looking at it idly as the person addressed him. He hadn't exactly been praying, but maybe it was possible to mistake it. Tilting his head, the horned youth glanced in Silco's direction. "Eh? Oh, commonly the practice is performed with the hopes of some manner of blessing from the erstwhile managers of the overarching facility. It likely behooves the local residents to keep the Pthumerian population at least placated if not extremely pleased at their residents. Prayers to the one called Mariana have been particularly pronounced this lunar cycle." He shrugged.

Summary: Silco gives blood.
Content Warnings: Blood, needles, eye injections and needles in eyes, Vileblood, potentially talk of drugs.

The Trench native he'd interrogated, not much older than a boy, had had a lot to say about blood. Nearing the strange house, Silco can see why. This whole area reeks of blood, as though the foliage itself is spreading that mist of iron and red.

He's come specifically to learn more about his own blood — and he's even brought his own syringe, a two-piece contraption made for the eye. The trade he wants to offer the blood ministers is this: teach him a little more how to use these gifts, draw him a vial of his own, and he will leave some with them for transfusion. What he doesn't know is how difficult his body is going to make getting that blood out: short of cutting him open like a wound, the only way into Silco's veins is through his ink black eye.

Who knows, perhaps it's worth the effort! And perhaps there's someone working there who thinks his Vileblood will serve some good.

Edited 2022-08-09 11:56 (UTC)

[ the fresh vials for transfusion already belong to someone. a young woman with a short bob cut and silvery hair stands by the door for collection, but refuses to immediately get a transfusion from any old pair of hands on her, for some reason. the reality of it had been that no one knew her anatomy better than 2B knew herself, despite a certain shroud of mystery and classified information on yoRHa units that androids wouldn’t dream of. no matter— she needs to take blood, either pale or vile, and transfuse herself.

she stands high, and does not question the ministers tending to silco; she’s done all the questioning necessary with viktor. now, she simply waits, and claims. some would say it would be wise to know who your donor would be. this one was right in front of her— so after silent contemplation, 2B steps forth on her clicking heels and swishing short-dress, but keeps an ample distance. ]

Your blood will go to me. [ . . . ] Thank you.

[ she’s learning. ]

[ silco is still a little shaken by the intensity of a needle in his eye, even though it's something that has happened so many times in his life before. it simply never grows commonplace. he always needs a moment, hands clenching and unclenching, wishing he could close it, could blink over that dark and staring bulb.

of course, his discomfort is only shown in minor ways; he doesn't trust anybody in this room. but it means he takes a moment to compose himself before replying with equal civility: ]

You're very welcome.

May I ask for what purpose?

[ since she's introduced herself, and he's curious if she means to use it, drink it, or something else. ]

[ for the most part, 2B seems to watch the procedure undaunted. she has most of her self control in place, but in tiny surges of twitches upon her features— she begins to grow uneasy. his discomfort becomes her’s, and more and more does it seem apparent that she cannot look upon his face as it happens.

the energy makes her shoulders tense. she uses every ounce of willpower to straighten her back into impeccable posture and mask the intensity of her newfound empathy. ]

For ailment. [ even though it doesn’t seem like it, since she does seem perfectly healthy— she cradled her right hand, gloved with thin black leather both as part of her hunter’s gown as it was to avoid physical contact. ] I’ve been told I need a transfusion.

It's not necessarily a strange thing for the ministers at the Lumenarium to need, for lack of a better term, a blood run. Blood stores run out! They spoil! On rare occasions they're even thieved, and that's unfortunate for a number of reasons, but still: not that strange. That said, it's also not anyone's priority right this second, with plenty of wounded from the monsters on the beach and the strange outbreak of... squid parts, and so it's left to Palamedes, as the resident Sleeper in this cohort of ministers, to go and pick up more blood at the bank. Because it's Sleeper blood, see—

Well, he doesn't mind the errand, and he doesn't need his fellow ministers' half-assed excuse to make him something of a coffee boy, so: off he goes to deal with the bank. He's put in the effort to not march across the district covered in viscera, but he's still easily identifiable as one of the blood ministers in, fundamentally, his scrubs.

Somebody bringing their own syringe to the bank is a new sight, and so Palamedes does an almost comical double take as he glances at it in passing, continues towards the door, and then turns on his heel to come right back. Hello.

He says, "I don't know if they like it when you bring your own tools." Which is true, and, "I can put in a good word?"

Summary: Silco gets a drink in a bar that reminds him of home and tries not to feel a feeling.
Content Warnings: Alcohol. Tobacco smoking.

The man sitting at the bar has grey at his temples, sharp shoulders and chin, one ankle crossed over his knee. There's a glass of something viscous in front of him that he sips occasionally, unpeturbed by its likely origins in the bartender's secretions. If anything, that just makes it feel all the more like home.

Vander's bar had been a safe place to trade and chat. Silco had preferred something with more neon and smoke, louder music and dangerous patrons. But in his heart of hearts he would have enjoyed it if the Last Drop was something more like this.

There are only twelve cigars in the box he pulls out, and at least half a dozen he hopes to trade. But this first one, right now, as he unwraps the foil and snips the end, that can be a luxury just for him. Doesn't he deserve it?

His lighter clicks, and the tobacco hisses as he inhales. Smoke curls out of his scarred lips over his crooked teeth. Silco leans back to enjoy his vices, listen to the music and watch the other patrons, one eyelid hooded, the other the same as it always is, a black pool housing a distant cinder.

Savage didn't hate taverns, since they were a good place for information and to people watch. Humans generally looked the same just with different hair colours and sometimes facial hair if it suited them. He could tell something of a person by the way the Force moved around them too, and most were rather boring in that respect. He found sitting still and experiencing the Force like that was as close to mediation as he would bother.

Yet, the Force was different around one older human with a scarred up face. Tiny and seemingly breakable by his measure, there was a rigidity of strength that churned the Force. Interesting.

Scars made identifying humans easier. Normally he wasn't one to rouse himself and approach random humans, but he found enough curiosity of this one to stand up from the table in the corner he had been sitting at with his drink in his prosthetic hand and lumbered closer. He was so big (7'2") that he made no effort to hide his presence from the course he had chosen.

He set his drink down, nudging it at the bartender for a refill and his expression remained hard but curious. He snorted like a bull at the scent of smoke; why would anyone put such things in their lungs? No wonder bacta tanks and artificial lungs existed.

"What happened to your face to get those scars?" Direct and to the point. No need for introductions as far as he was concerned.

Unlike many other humans, Silco's world contains a fair few humanoid species within it, so while he's never seen anything like a dathomirian he also isn't immediately put off by seeing someone so different from himself. He turns his head to eye his new drinking companion, taking in his colour, height, horns.

Being asked about the scars is a stark reminder that he's far from home; in the undercity nobody would have dared, even if they looked the way Savage did. Still, Silco plays civil, expression neutral. "An old injury," he says, vague on the exact details. "It was infected by the water in my home city and... mutated." Thus that dark fish-like eye, the black streaks of discolouration that he hides with makeup.

Savage was from a place where scars were often a point of honour, and the grand stories of one's maiming were told loud and proudly. Up to a certain point. A Nightbrother whose scarring was so bad it left them weak were very little use unless they had another talent to rely upon. So there was a line in the sand for his species.

He tilted his head as he reached out to grasp his newly refilled drink to hand. "Ravaged by filth, and yet you survived." Maybe even on hate and vengeance. That would sound very much like his brother, and anyone who was anyone knew how he felt about his elder brother. "You smell new. What is it you do on your planet?"

"Rule," says Silco, and then chuckles very lightly to himself. He explains the joke: "I have lived and grown in a city divided. Those who live above in the clean air, and those who are forced to survive below in their runoff. And after a lifetime of work, the ruling class agreed to let me have these lower levels as a new nation of their own. But I'm here now, so I'll never truly enjoy that victory." He lifts his glass in an ironic little toast to the other. "So here is to that. What did you do on your planet? Something... dangerous, I imagine." Because he looks dangerous, not just in the racial features but the way he moves and speaks. Silco could very much use an ally like that, a dangerous one.

Savage sipped at his drink as he listened to the job description, thinking this man sounded a little like his first Master. There was an air of self confidence that he appreciated. "So you likely will make sure to see that victory in a place like this, I expect." So potential direct competition with his brother, something worth keeping an eye on at least. "Served," he remarked in a similar fashion to this man's explanation. "I am a warrior of my village chosen to explore the galaxies with my brother so see his success come to reality anyway he chooses." A pause as he tipped his drink back as a toast. "I killed whoever stood in his way as needed."

After another rough case, the demon seeks new sites to investigate. Going to a bar is the last among his interests. However, once the demons receives intel about the one in question, he approaches the Cellar Door with a curious gleam.

He cringes at the sight of people. Perhaps...I should try elsewhere. Despite himself, the demon continues. He glances around for anyone interesting...anyone who might know who is is searching for.

When he sees the smoke rising, the demon follows its source. He tilts his head to the side to observe the unfamiliar face.

"Hello," he greets while placing a hand above his chest. "Who might you be?"

Silco looks at the man upon being greeted. He's a little surprised by it, too used to a life where his entourage of thugs would have moved along someone disturbing his quiet moment listening to the music of the worm. Still, he hasn't always been king of the undercity, and he's hardly a snob.

"Silco," he says. "My name is Silco." He looks the man (the demon, though he doesn't know it) up and down, considering him, his strange dark eye gleaming like a flame in the distance.

Without skipping a beat, the demon bows slightly. He rises to greet the new acquaintance at eye level.

"I'm Min," he replies with a smile. "May I?"

He indicates with a wave of his hand to take an open seat. Despite the surrounding noise, Min is able to focus his hearing at the conversation of interest. With an eager curiosity, the demon proceeds to ask...

"Have you been here long?"

Summary: August plot: WE GLOW SO DIM. Silco dives down to the wreckage with his octopus-shaped Omen, and has a minor panic attack on the way.
Content Warnings: Deep diving, fear of drowning, remembering past near-drowning, panic attack, tentactles.

It's his Omen's companionship that is truly helping Silco adjust to a world where he doesn't have a group of loyal people at his beck and call. Though Melita has, without speaking a word aloud, made it very clear that she will not answer to Sevika, or to any other name Silco tries to give her. She seems to be doing well enough out of water, propelling herself through the air like it's ocean with movements that make something primal in his new blood ache, but still, when he finally returns to the ocean to follow up a rumour about the glimmering ocean she seems happy to be swimming again. If he's honest, so is he.

Silco has spent plenty of time in rooms beneath the water, in the undercity where the buildings go deep beneath the canals, deep enough he could watch the sharks outside his window like an aquarium. But he's only been submerged like this a fee times: once recently, beaching himself and being woken (back?) to human form. And once a long time before that, held under the toxic water to choke and drown. As much as he tells himself that it was the best thing that ever happened to him, he can't deny that not all the feelings being underwater stirs up are pleasant.

He dives through the gleaming phospherance, lead by his Omen, bright as a lamplight herself, drawn by the possibility of finding some sort of treasure that will start him off on the right foot here. And when he inhales his lungs breathe the water like air, and yet somehow as he gets deeper they burn, and his chest squeezes tight, and his limbs feel weak in the cold water as it presses around him. There's so much of it, and he's too far down to hold his breath all the way back to the surface.

A comforting tentacle wraps around his wrist, and then another, Melita growing to blanket him like she can somehow save him from drowning. He thrashes against her mindlessly a moment but she's stronger than he is, and no threat besides, so once the brief madness passes he goes limp in her embrace. Panting into the water.

He's close enough to the wreck that he'll be able to explore it soon: perhaps there is already another down there taking stock of these strange ships. Though it might also be worth checking that he's okay after he emerges, wet, since for a moment he seemed to be struggling - with his Omen, with the water, with himself.

Hector has no real interest in the ships. He has no real interest in the magic ocean, either, except for how it makes it easier for him to do what he's out here to do: find, come hell or high water, the creature he'd brought back to fight its fellows for him days before on this beach. Some pushy woman with a talking box and a sword had dragged him away from the lumbering sea beasts, which he'll acknowledge was a nice gesture that probably saved his life— but still. His creature is out there somewhere, and he's responsible for it.

So he takes to the sea. He doesn't swim all the way down to the ships at first, rather loiters up and down the shining path and squints into the darker waters beyond, trying to catch sight of either the bright blue glow of his magic out there, or- or a familiar lumpy beast corpse. Either way.

It's fundamentally a useless search, being confined to this path, and he gets tired of it after long enough and sloughs himself the rest of the way down to the ships. That's where he is now, picking around the sunken wrecks with, honestly? Disinterest. There's nothing for him down here, he has no interest in rusty old relics and barnacled trinkets, unless—

Unless he happened to find the similarly barnacled remains of a drowned crewmember down here, and happened to bring with him a set of rough-hewn silver coins, which still spark alive with blue magic when struck together down here under the water. It's not done anything yet, but at the sight of a shadow falling over his shoulder from the doorway he turns and raises an eyebrow, waiting to see if this exhausted-looking fellow is going to make this weird or just let him do his thing.

It's an awkward length of a pause before he speaks, still pretty water-distorted in the magic breathing water, "The treasures are in the other cabin."

Perhaps so, but Silco gets the gist. Still, he neither turns to go nor makes this weird, just sort of lounges water-weightless in the askew door, feet not quite touching the barnacled floor but brushing the algae that stretches up from it, waving in the microcurrents their presence causes. His eye is bright underwater, the mutation not giving him any particular benefit to his sight but somehow more tolerable down here, which he didn't expect. It's fixed on Hector, curious about what he's doing with the corpse, but hardly seeming upset. Mostly he seems to expect a show, and if the pause goes too long he will gesture for the man to continue.

Oh, so he's just going to linger, alright. Hector gives him a long look before he sighs, a thing that is desperately uncomfortable underwater, and waves a hand at him dismissively before he turns back to his work. Whatever, if he wants to watch, he can watch.

So, here's the work: it's Hector striking these coins together, each time sparking a blue light that arcs higher around his hands and the barnacled mass of dead sailor in front of him, until it finally seems to travel into the thing. An eye socket lights up, and slowly, haltingly, the corpse pries itself off the floor. It loses its other eye socket to the sea growths in the process, and a few of its fingers, but sure enough, there's an undead rattling upright in this cabin now, making a low sucking sound that would be a growl above water. Hector stands with it, silently putting a hand on its cheek-barnacles in a way that seems to calm it, and then he looks over his shoulder at his audience.

Just waiting for the vibe here, more or less.

The waters here were weird. Sometimes, breathing them in, he feels strange and disoriented. Sometimes he feels wary knowing if he runs into any strange creatures out here, there are very few Sleepers who would be able to get out here and find him. On this occasion, however, the water feels welcoming.

Still, the sea was his home, so it's only natural that he explores the strange sea that exists here. When Luca finds the ship his curiosity grows and he swims out to explore. Once he gets close to the rotten boards of the deck he summons his omen, the small hermit crab skittering and exploring the surface of the ship alongside him.

Then he hears a sound above him and, looking up, he sees what appears to be a person struggling. Darting up through the water in the way only a sea creature can, Luca investigates to see if this person is all right.

Edited 2022-08-15 19:06 (UTC)

It's not difficult to track him down, Viktor the scientist. It turns out more than a few people know of him, can direct Silco to his offices at Sanctuary.

Silco is far better dressed since their last meeting, traded whatever he found in the ocean's depths to have things like boots, and a shirt with cuffs and buttons, a waistcoat like a corset, a long sharp-tailed coat. He looks more like Silco the Industrialist now, has even covered the dark blotches of his scarred face with makeup once more.

It doesn't speak well to new beginnings.

Nor does the habitual way he seeks Viktor out. Not Singed, but close enough that it seems normal to simply barge into his working place, unbuttoning his sleeve and rolling it up to expose where the first black patches are beginning to appear on his forearms.

"What is this," he says, keeping the fear out of his voice (the fear that his eye has not been healed by this blood magic but is instead somehow getting worse, and he doesn't have enough medicine to keep it at bay.) Thrusts the disease at Viktor like, come on, fix it.

Luckily for Silco Viktor knows very little about the industrialist mask, so turning to see him speaks of someone settling in rather than anything else. Technically the office is for corruption research rather than simply being his but Viktor's presence is all over the area- a half finished cup of tea, a blackboard with notes scribbled in a spindly hand, the large pink lizard thing napping on the couch. Rio opens her eyes to regard him with a cock of her massive head as Viktor turns fully in his chair.

There's a desk behind him, with vials of blood, blood stones, a microscope. Jars of little orbs of light line the shelves next to books. There's at least two odd machines on tables that look like they could be hextech, only instead powered by bloodstones.

Viktor's brow quirks at his new guest, though guest is a strong word. He considers mocking him for it but ultimately lets it go. This area isn't private anyway, and he doesn't care enough about niceties to shame someone for them.

Besides, those patches are familiar. "Ah, have you been in the sea?" He gestures at a coule relics nearby, carefully under glass. He also rolls his chair a little closer to get a better look, nodding as he says, "It's a... curse, they call it. Infecting your blood. Let me take a sample to be sure, but you'll need a complete transfusion. Do you know your blood type- sleeper blood type, that is?"

Really, Viktor is just rewarding his bad behaviour and assumptions by immediately knowing both the answer and the solution. The mention of a transfusion doesn't even make Silco flinch.

"Vileblood," he spits, because he still thinks that sounds as inherently discriminatory as trencher. He lets Viktor examine his arm, held out loosely for him as he stands as though separate from it, now taking the time to glance around the office. "And yes, I visited the wrecks. Is that where I caught this?" He should have known. Water can't be trusted.

Vileblood, that makes things easier. The tone to it isn't lost on Viktor though, and neither is several implications people could make. "Good, Vilebloods can take any blood in a transfusion. Only palebloods can take vileblood though." He rolls back to pull a little contraption out of his desk, something not unlike a chem injector only with the purpose of taking little vials of blood from the source. Complicated but necessarily so, given how finicky sleeper blood was.

"Apparently, either that or you caught it from someone who was cursed." Rather than immediately put the needle to Silco he does to himself, filling a vial with a blood that again goes from red to milky once the glow of lunar orbs around the room hit it. He might as well offer to do the transfusion himself, though he'd first need to check he hasn't been infected himself. Silco was small enough, of a similar enough make, that Viktor likely had enough blood to spare.

The vial goes to the side for now, the needle changed out and Silco given an expectant look to offer his arm with a gesture.

Silco does offer his arm again, rolling his sleeve up further and flexing slightly to pop the vein, apparently familiar enough with giving blood. Once he was powerful enough he had people to provide for Singed's experiments, but at the very start when he was in recovery there had been a lot of simply this.

But the process apparently won't go as smoothly as it once did. His skin is already rubbery in places from this water disease, but even the sallow human skin of his arm has gone tough, and his veins themselves seem to come alive, twitching aside at even a brush. Silco doesn't seem to be aware of his body's treachery, still just occupying his mind with cataloguing the office, making a list of things to ask about, now or later.

"Do this a lot?" he does murmur, almost smalltalk.

"Depends on what 'this' means," Viktor answers, stopping just to put on some gloves in hopes of not catching the curse. Examining Silco's arm makes him frown a little, especially when a vein seems to actively avoid him. "Help deal with whatever new nonsense this place has turned up? Yes. This sort of work is usually done in the infirmary though."

Pal's area of expertise really, or any other blood minister, but a focus on biological engineering for a time gave Viktor enough to be able to help with lighter cases like this. After another moment of examination he decides to just try and at least do the injection, not particularly caring if it's unpleasant for Silco.

He's less surprised than he should be when the needle just breaks when he presses the trigger. He pulls it back with a sigh. "Well, this is new. I may need you to just cut your thumb or the like." Not to mention how the hell he was going to do the transfusion. They'd get there. Hopefully.

"Give me that," Silco says testily, snatching the contraption from Viktor. He intends to do it himself, studies the thing a moment and plunges it once or twice with its broken needle to get a feel for it, before inserting a new needle.

Which also simply breaks.

That has Silco reach for the satchel case at his hip, the one that contains his most important possessions since he arrived here. He has a small, thin blade weaved into the top, easy to hand should he ever need to get somebody to back off in a hurry. More than once he's found it valuable to be able to reach a weapon easily (twice to sink into Vander) and he draws it now.

"I suppose it's fitting that the first blood this tastes will be my own," he says, slicing his thumb open without so much as a wince, offering it dripping with oily green-tinted dark that curls down his thumb and around the webbing to follow the lines of his palm.

Viktor rolls his eyes but doesn't fight it, just sitting back to watch him see for himself. "I hope you were this impatient with the doctor- Singed. At least that's amusing to imagine."

Admittedly Singed didn't give a shit about most things, so his apathy probably carried him. Regardless he watches the man take to his own knife, hidden and not even remotely surprising. To be fair Viktor had one in his cane's handle. He'd imagine Vi would have one if she didn't speak with her fists.

But he collects the blood, gathering as much as he can in a little vial before taking it to put in a slide. "That is going to make a transfusion complicated, so you know. We may need to cut you open and wrestle with injecting a vein that way." Fun and gross. He puts the slide under his microscope, a hum as he finds exactly what he expects.

"Is it impatience to expect competence from those around me?" Silco asks dryly. (Yes, Silco, it is.)

Regardless, Viktor seems otherwise at home with the slide of blood and the microscope. Silco sucks his own thumb, teeth going gory, and he knows the taste of his own blood intimately but here he's having to learn it anew, since it's — not disgusting, not to him, not his own. But different. Inhuman.

The cut bleeds profusely but heals quickly, scabbing over with more of that blubbery squid skin, a seam of it threatening to spread even further. Silco sighs as he looks at it: that will be tough to cut. Fortunately he has two thumbs.

Transfusion, however... he goes for his bag again, pulling out the injector and disassembling it with familiar movements. The vial of roiling purple-pink, recorked, is returned to his belongings, leaving just the two pieces of the device. "This might work. With some ... adjustments." Or a lot of little vials. "It allows fluid to be injected into and withdrawn... ocularly."

He pointedly doesn't touch his face, doesn't call attention to it, looks Viktor dead in the eye just daring him to ask about it.

"The way you do it? Yes, it is," Viktor informs. He feels a lot more comfortable in his own office, being in some way asked for assistance than he did in that dark cavern, feeling out just how careful he needed to be.

The next slide is his own blood, checked and clean, just in time to glance up and see the injector. It's an interesting little machine, though that familiar vial catches his eye first. He school his expression as it's put away, a little surprised if he's being honest. Didn't the smart chemdealers know better than to sample their own products? Then again, shimmer was complicated, nuanced, even in his limited understanding.

He banishes the thoughts for now, reaching to pick up the two pieces and examine them. It's nostalgic, the metal and workings so familiar to the brand of gadget seen in the undercity- in Zaun, even. He resists the urge to glance at Silco's eye, though he makes a mental note that it seems to require some consistent medical attention.

"Hm, a full transfusion this way, if it worked, would be incredibly unpleasant I imagine. I'm willing to try and adapt this for the purpose, if you'd like, and see what we can get done, but I can also call for a blood minister. I know one who is eh... has certain magic he can use to manipulate flesh and may be able to help make your skin and vein condition more workable." Now he finally glances back up. Not asking about it, yet, but seeing where the man leans here.

Silco considers his options. "That sounds experimental," he says, and for a man who has been absurdly placid so far he sounds surprisingly disapproving. Experiments are to be done on subjects, victims, not him.

"I've been injecting my own eye nearly as long as you've been alive," he says bluntly, almost a touch cantankerous. He really is getting old. "I can handle it." Put a tube in his face what could go wrong.

"It is. I cannot promise good results either way, but it's better than waiting to turn to a mindless monster," Viktor shrugs. Frankly he doesn't see the problem with experimentation, but to each their own. If he could afford the time to test it all it's be preferable, but ah well.

Now that's the closest Silco has ever sounded to Heimendinger, though the latter usually said as much cheerfully. He wisely decides to keep that observation to himself, turning back to his desk with the pieces. "Let me figure out how to modify this and then we'll head to the infirmary here. You can sit- oh, Rio."

He turns his head to regard the creature taking up the entire couch, a small staring contest before she slides off to go sit next to him with a resounding thump and sigh. "There. I'd say you can take a walk but Vi comes by here often and I'd rather spare her the stress." The stress being Silco, sorry Silco.

There's a lot Silco could say to all of that, but instead he stops Viktor with a hand on the bicep before he can reach the workbench. "No permanent changes to the device," he says, tone as firm as his grip. "I'd rather not have to try and commission a new one." And he may be doing well enough without his medicine now, but who knows how long that will last? His infection progressed deep into the tissue over the years, there may still be side effects to come, Sleeper blood or no.

Once he's made that clear he steps back, gives Rio an obscure look (prettier out of the tank, yes, but also a potential source of more Shimmer, perhaps?) and retreats to the sofa. Sits in the centre of its long seat, one arm spreading over the back, ankle crossing over his knee, for all the world a little king surveying his domain. The other hand fishes for a cigar — he's been given the impression that he may, if he runs out, have to switch to some sort of incense if he wants to blow smoke rings, but for now it's good Runeterra tobacco, imported into Piltover by the Hexgates, and somehow here. It's a thick, rich smell and it soothes his illness-jangled nerves and a little of the sharpness the nearby artefacts had awoken.

Viktor eyes him warily, though the instruction is simple enough he allows himself to ease, if only in his mind. "Fair enough. If it needs permanent changes to work I'll just make something from scratch." He resists the urge to point out as much to Silco, as though he couldn't just make the man another of these without much trouble at all, child's play, really. Maybe that's his pride talking, so he lets it rest, glad to be released to his work.

It'd be easier in his real lab but he has enough tools around to work with, keeping his promise of only making something that could be easily attached and removed. Rio goes back to sleep and it's quiet tinkering until the smell hits Viktor like a shock. He glances over, swears for a moment he was in some Piltover smoking room or one of the cleaner Zaun bars. "You're not what I expected," he finds himself saying, blunt and perhaps coaxed by the little relics from under the sea. Then, dry but also true, "I thought you would be taller."

That makes Silco snort, and exhale cigar smoke from his nose like the twin coils of a dragon. His left eye sparks like a distant star in the night. "I'm taller than you," he points out acerbically, the foot that dangles in the air swishing in mild agitation. He spent a great deal of his early years insecure about his smallness, especially when his peers were men like Vander and Benzo. It's the sort of remark that, in the height of his power, he would have had punished, and he seems to be considering if it's worth asserting himself now.

No. The insecure, Napoleonic urge to flex his power in response to a critique of his height would just give away how it bothered him. Better to dismiss the remark, draw another lungful of smoke.

Viktor can't help a snort back, glancing to his work. "Most are. I suppose it's less about height and more about presence." Then again, it's entirely possible Piltover ruined his ideas of that, so many flashy, demanding personalities, even the well meaning.

"You remind me of Singed, I suppose." Maybe that's what it comes down to, and he shakes his head to shove aside the idle and pointless conversation, reaching for his cane to stand. Not even sure how, maybe it's the level of intensity without the booming force, the clutter.

That makes Silco's brows raise, laughter dancing in his eyes. "I would say the same of you," he tells Viktor. Sitting and watching him move around the space while he works has evoked a strong nostalgia in Silco. He takes another long draw of his cigar, blows a smoke ring.

That makes Viktor chuckle despite himself, and he thinks he should likely be horrified or insulted. "He was my first mentor, he taught me most of my lab habits that stuck, much to the distaste of many Academy professors." He moves to a cabinet, finds a few things including some long tubing. "Hm, just as relentless as you, but he's far more patient. Outwardly, at least."

That makes Silco's eyes narrow. "I have patience," he says, taking another pointed draw of his cigar. "If fatherhood has taught me one thing, it's patience." He's sitting here waiting for his disease to be cured, isn't he?

"Did you work with him on any of his projects? The axolotl, of course." He glances at Rio, alive and well and out of a big freaky tank. "And Shimmer?"

"I wouldn't have expected you to be a father." There's a blunt statement, one he might have made regardless.

Singed's projects almost make him pause his collection, glad to be turned away and not show the grimace that flickers across his features. "If you can call the help a child can offer 'working with him' then yes, with Rio for a time. Until I found his methods too-" Cruel. Horrifying. "- unpleasant.

"Frankly I am shocked he spoke of me at all. Regardless, I suspect his work with Rio was a prelude to Shimmer, though I imagine you would know better than I. I've been told that is your empire." That is not a tone that thinks that 'empire' is a good one, shockingly.

silco's bizarre adventures (open catchall)

OPEN - Trench exploration: Cassandra

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OPEN - Trench exploration: Lumenwood

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OPEN - Trench Exploration: Cellar Door

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Re: OPEN - Trench Exploration: Cellar Door

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OPEN - We Glow So Dim

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CLOSED: Viktor.

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cw; just eye fuckery and needles for the rest of the thread probably

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