[ The call was long coming. He had no idea whether or not That Thing was still alive in the body of the now captured Estinien Wyrmblood. He assumed it was dead, obliterated by the Regent and the Kenoma's power, though the call to execution certainly suggested otherwise. The call to arrive was a cause for celebration, for as much as Silco had been jubilant the day of -- in the end, it felt so terribly... anti-climactic, in the end.
The invitation to the execution seemed to light that spark back in Silco, a terribly exciting, gruesome end, for something to be killed before them. He'd taken the time to prepare, once he received word.
He'd arrived in his best, something he'd been reserving for another dinner with the Regent -- something he'd purchased specifically for the next event -- and what better event, than one where the Innocence would be entirely murdered? Unlike his usual attire -- often deep reds and golds, similar to the fashion he'd worn so long in Zaun -- he'd taken to black, and silver, something a bit more matching towards the Regent's own coloring, in their clothing, with filigree and fasteners that looked fine and sharp, small spikes or whorls that ended in sharp points. The coat, too, still large and with an oversized collar, had a rich purple lining -- almost shimmer bright in the light -- and of course, as he'd been taking to wearing these days, gloves. Makeup hiding that mottled scar, and a drawn-in eyebrow, the real sign of change was his eyes. Silco hadn't noticed it at first, but they were changing. The black pit of his eye was faded -- nearly purple now -- the iris turning white -- and his other, normally blue was shifting, that same purple color -- the occasional light revealed an undertone settling in, almost neon. He'd tried to will it back, but to no avail, and even that would not sour his mood.
Silco strode in with all of the presence of a man who had not aimed to hide. He hadn't lit a cigar yet, but his fingers itched every now and again for the inner pocket, and when he noted the Regent's drink, he did ask, and receive one for himself, and would tip it in greeting to those who noticed. Silco didn't hover invisibly, or hover at the edges this time. He had desperately hoped this would happen, and although the Regent had certainly not been lying when they said that It would be nigh impossible for one Aion to do -- When he looked, every now and again at the battered and bruised body of Estinien Wyrmblood, watched those injuries leak, and bubble with the essence of Kenoma... he wondered what would happen, if he got close. Would It recognize him? Would That Thing come back out, and try for him again? For Silco, it had always been personal, but he didn't dare get too close, lest it hear them.
He turned away from looking at it for the moment. This was a cause for celebration, and while he wanted to watch it writhe and die, until then, he didn't want to sully his good mood. And by the look on his face, not the usual sullen, dour look -- he had a sardonic, self-confident smirk, filled with all of the indulgence of someone who was ready to watch something that they hated die. ]
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The invitation to the execution seemed to light that spark back in Silco, a terribly exciting, gruesome end, for something to be killed before them. He'd taken the time to prepare, once he received word.
He'd arrived in his best, something he'd been reserving for another dinner with the Regent -- something he'd purchased specifically for the next event -- and what better event, than one where the Innocence would be entirely murdered? Unlike his usual attire -- often deep reds and golds, similar to the fashion he'd worn so long in Zaun -- he'd taken to black, and silver, something a bit more matching towards the Regent's own coloring, in their clothing, with filigree and fasteners that looked fine and sharp, small spikes or whorls that ended in sharp points. The coat, too, still large and with an oversized collar, had a rich purple lining -- almost shimmer bright in the light -- and of course, as he'd been taking to wearing these days, gloves. Makeup hiding that mottled scar, and a drawn-in eyebrow, the real sign of change was his eyes. Silco hadn't noticed it at first, but they were changing. The black pit of his eye was faded -- nearly purple now -- the iris turning white -- and his other, normally blue was shifting, that same purple color -- the occasional light revealed an undertone settling in, almost neon. He'd tried to will it back, but to no avail, and even that would not sour his mood.
Silco strode in with all of the presence of a man who had not aimed to hide. He hadn't lit a cigar yet, but his fingers itched every now and again for the inner pocket, and when he noted the Regent's drink, he did ask, and receive one for himself, and would tip it in greeting to those who noticed. Silco didn't hover invisibly, or hover at the edges this time. He had desperately hoped this would happen, and although the Regent had certainly not been lying when they said that It would be nigh impossible for one Aion to do -- When he looked, every now and again at the battered and bruised body of Estinien Wyrmblood, watched those injuries leak, and bubble with the essence of Kenoma... he wondered what would happen, if he got close. Would It recognize him? Would That Thing come back out, and try for him again? For Silco, it had always been personal, but he didn't dare get too close, lest it hear them.
He turned away from looking at it for the moment. This was a cause for celebration, and while he wanted to watch it writhe and die, until then, he didn't want to sully his good mood. And by the look on his face, not the usual sullen, dour look -- he had a sardonic, self-confident smirk, filled with all of the indulgence of someone who was ready to watch something that they hated die. ]