King of Industry

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Hi. My name is Grim. I use whatever pronouns as long as they aren’t she/her. I am not female. I am 32 years old and have been rping for well over 18 years now. I enjoy plotting a great deal.

Thanks for Stopping By. I hope you enjoy your stay.

@baptismaleye​ asked "I know that you hate this place.“ (regular Silco or Kench, up to you)

“Why are we even here?” 

Jinx mutters, through the cacophony in her head. Memories fight for her attention, nightmares that she’d been the cause of. She looks up at the ruins of the old cannery. She can still smell it burning, still see Vander’s shimmer swollen body, hear Vi’s scream at her. 

Wow coming back to where you killed us. You’re brave, you gonna kill Silco too? 

“Shut up.” She waves a hand over her shoulder, brows knitted together in anger and frustration. Mylo’s leering face doesn’t leave though, its eating at her like a hungry pack of dogs. 

“Can we… just go? I’d really rather we go. Can’t Sevika do whatever we need to do? She’d do anything for you.” Nervous laughter bubbled from her throat, even though it didn’t match the almost terrified look in her eyes. She didn’t want to step any closer. 

They were close enough to the surface here, so much so that the stars could be seen through the cracks of the ruins that had once been his base of operations. The kingpin wrung his own hands together, massaging his palm with his fingers. He seemed distant here, as though the ghosts of what had happened still screamed within his ears. Perhaps, in a way, they did, but Silco did not place that back upon the shoulders of his daughter. Slowly, he turned to look over his shoulder at Jinx and he eyed her in a stern manner.

“I know Sevika would, but this is not fit for her shoulders.” Silco sighed as he took a step forward, letting the smoke damaged charcoal cast dust upwards into the air as he walked. “There are things here that were lost initially, though those from the surface hardly know where to look.”

‘The first of his type’. What an interesting accusation. Viktor never claimed to be unique to begin with. Zaun was filled with people that possessed genius intellect, but the unfortunate circumstances barely scratched the surface; it was unfortunate, and the scientist wondered quite often as to what the world would turn into were someone out there to enable them and bring out not only gifted in mind, but also the aspiring youth, the inspiring figures, the determined underdogs.

However, Silco’s words served as an evidence that he had often indulged in such philosophical discussions. A man such as himself had probably heard it all, seen people far more powerful and capable than Viktor on his doorstep. It only bid the question: what, exactly, was expected out of him? It did not really take that much of a brain power to deduce that this man hardly did anything without expecting something in return. Perhaps, staying there a moment too long, meant that he was already living on a borrowed time, and this was something that could be turned against him.

Ah, what a marvellous thing this was – human psychology. Truly, a grand playground.

“Reality is what we make of it,” Viktor concluded Silco’s dialogue. Unfortunate as it was, the kingpin’s words had merit; he was constantly being pushed to the edge, and he allowed his superiors to do so, but they were not the only ones that pushed him. Viktor was a perfectionist, constantly accompanied by not just dreams, but the determination to see them through. The drive was what held him in balance, kept him on a leash when someone else might have broken down, and as a result, he learned to practice impeccable control. For now. Just like with the rest of the world, it was only a matter of time when the pushing and pulling of forces would become far too much; as of such, it was inevitable for the object to plummet in the general direction of gravitational pull, but the question that remained then was this:’what would become of him and what effect would it have, if any at all?’

“You put ‘ravenous monster’ and ‘drive to discover’ on a same scale when addressing and comparing me to yourself, as if those two are adjectives that are capable of describing a human whereas they barely even scratch the surface. I will not claim that ‘monsters’ do not exist.” Viktor paused, his hazel eyes seeking out Silco’s reflection from the ghastly aquarium; he had seen what Shimmer could do to people, but unfortunately, there really was no other way to describe this achievement any differently – they were monstrosities, through and through, obedient only to their master. But for how long did they last? A week? A month or two at best before the drug would eat away their minds and leave nothing but an empty husk behind? Was that even a worthy tool? A good investment? Perhaps in Silco’s eyes. The drugged thugs were convenient, quick, and also a temporary solution, but was that even a problem when he had willing people, or sometimes unwilling, in hordes? “But monsters are often perceived as mutations of what strays from the norms of the society. Not every monstrous thing is ‘atrocious’ is natural or genetically engineered.” As ironic as it was, he too was a monster of sorts in the very city that fed of his labour.

Viktor turned himself, shifting the weight from one leg to another, and he leaned more onto his cane. This philosophical discussion, albeit interesting, was leading them nowhere. “Dreams and aspirations aside, why was I brought here? You speak in lengths of the results and efforts put into the drive, but was you, criticizing my ‘idealist and dreamer’s nature’ truly worth the trouble?” The scientist’s eyes ventured south for a moment, and he studied the floor as he gathered his thoughts and sought out the right words to approach the matter; he had made his own conclusions already, but it was best to hear any sort of affirmation or denial from Silco first:”As men of same heritage, I propose we shed this pretense and, for once, speak freely.”

Silco had learned an early, early lesson, living down in the streets near Pilt. Life was cruel and life did not care who or what it took, but sometimes there were those who simply had a better advantage in being able to fight off the disharmony that life threw at them. Death could come to any Piltie or Zaunite in the form of a heart attack, but to those from the Undercity it could be a fat rich diet while in the slums it was the exposure to toxic chemicals and waste in the water supply. Even in death, people had luxuries that others could not afford and in those long ago days, what felt like eternity, Silco had learned the hardest lesson of all was that life, in her neutrality, could also give opportunities if one was as willing to be as cruel as she.

He knew what people needed. He knew how to toss out the gold coins and pour the right booze for the right lord. He knew when to step on the throat or to offer the handshake. Experience came at him fast and he had learned that one could either win, or they could learn. Life was a fascinating teacher and Silco was her student.

He would become just as cruel as her and toss aside those in favor for himself. The bodies that littered under his feet were necessary so as the children of Zaun might someday breath clean air. The day Zaun was a nation of itself, Silco felt that perhaps he could finally, really rest from his endeavors. He would allow himself to feel guilty then.

The discussion about monsters only drew a snort from Silco, his hands turning to rest on angular hips as he looked down his gaze as Viktor. The young man was smart, smarter than many in fact, and Silco could appreciate that. This man was not one of those thugs who he could shoot full of Shimmer and send them on their way. No, this young man proved formidable already.

“Your observation alone already marks you as above merit for why you’re here.” Silco stated, lilt rolling off his tongue in a well-spoken manner. “I had you brought here because I know that things up there are already starting to fall around you. There are morals up top that I think hinder your ability to grow. You have a helpful mind, my friend, one that wants to see prosperity. I also have the same dreams, be it in less--” he gestured near his face, as though trying to find the best words to articulate.

         “-- well, let’s just say I’m not afraid of showing the world what I am making.”

A long finger pointed towards Viktor and the kingpin hummed. He did not smile, but there was a hint of something warmer in his good eye. Something that did not trigger the sense he was a dog ready to bare his teeth into the younger man’s throat.

“Ey! Whats this? Little shit– The men are fighting get lost before you get hurt!”

The thug barks, swinging wide trying to scare Silco off. The ring of observers hoots as someone else jumps in, encourages and cheers. More money passes hands as suddenly the bets change.

❛ You hear him, squirt? Us men are fightin’. And he’s sitting here pissin’ himself cause he’s lost his back up! ❜

Vander barks back, motioning and mocking the guy for diverting his attention, encouraging Silco to jump in. This guy is the biggest out of the four there were. The strongest. But he’s not a fighter. But they are in a fight, and Vander is fast to remind him of that as he throws his weight, charges.

His shoulder connects to the man’s gut– bowling the win out of him, before his fist comes up to under his jaw. The crack of bone is audible as spittle and blood go in a short burst spray. It leaves the thug choking and coughing as Vander re-guards with his arms and slowly backs up, moving to place himself opposite of Silco. His eyes dart to the other, locking in for a moment with his gaze before making a micro gesture towards the recovering thug. They both know Vander’s the bigger target, the obvious one. And He’s signaling for Silco to take any chance he gets.

The thug wheels, blood running from his nose down his chin. And he’s angry. The look of wild rage in his eyes. Brutish in his fury, he screams and charges back at Vander. Vander braces, doubling down with a heavy stamp of his feet, and they get caught in a struggling lock of blows. Testing each others raw strength.

And thats when Vander realizes something is wrong. The too-sadistic grin in the upclose ruined features of the brute. The glint of a blade in his wrist bracer, loaded on a mechanism that was slowly being angled at Vander’s face and then turned away like a flickering compass needle as they struggled against each other.

❛ NOW NOW FOR FUCKS SAKE– ❜

Silco spat again as he was waved aside, as though he wasn’t a threat. The young man moved to wrap his coat against his stomach, exposing his middrift but giving him better momentum. He smoothed his sweat stained hair back against his hair, tugging it up into a bun before he smears it against his lower lip. “Fuck that and FUCK YOU!” He stated, attempting to move into his own fighting stance.

He follow Vander well enough, as years of zig zagging through hurtles and mine shafts had made him quick to be able to read a gesture. One didn’t survive down here without all of their senses being the strongest they can be. When he saw the chance, he took it, diving forward to jam his own fists into the larger thug’s stomach--short jabs and to the point. In the detail of the fight, they wouldn’t do much, but in the long term and with the added force Vander was shooting, could combine into something that could topple the brute.

As quickly as he was out, Silco had darted backwards, skidding away before bringing himself up into a fighting stance again. He watches as Vander takes the blows and gives them back, two titans facing off in the ring. He was still looking for his chance to dive in and take his mark when he, too, noticed the flash of the weapon. Green eyes widened, but he should have expected this. Brutes like this never played fair.

[[ @baptismaleye ]]

The siren glares at the river demon. He hated him, but they had a deal. Rufus could live again…. but he had to pay his dues. 

He wishes he hadn’t been so desperate, so vague with his request. But drowning men make desperate requests when their lungs are filling once again with too much toxic water. 

“….I always mean to ask…. Did you have any hand in the river trying to claim me back when I was 10?” 

He knew the over sized tadpole most likely did, and if not… 

Well the water had more desire then the small human part of him was comfortable with. 

“There’s little in the water I don’t know about, boy.” The demon stated as he stood in the water, letting it lick halfway up his legs as his fingertips shift through the waves. “Everything that falls in, and everyone, gets assessed. The river claims what it wants and I’m it’s king, after all. You’re all tribute, every single one of you that falls in passed these waves is a tribute to the water and we take what we want. You weren’t ready yet.”