The Industrialist

Here is where I would put my witty words of wisdom...if I had any.

Independent MCU Loki RP blog, canon divergent and written by Kevin.

“Do it. You won’t.”

“Why did you do this? Why?”

“Get back in here. Face this.”

“Get back here, I’m not done, yet!”

“You did this. Not me. You did this…”

“You’re a coward. Always have been.” 

“You can’t keep making me the bad guy.”

“Well, do it, then. Prove you’re no coward.”

“And here I thought I could finally trust you.”

“No, you did this. And you need to pay for it.”

“You won’t hurt me. You’re not capable of that.”

“I don’t know why I expected any better from you.”

“You really have the nerve to be offended by this?”

“You’re just gonna walk away, huh? Just like that?”

“You keep threatening to leave, but you’re still here.”

“Just take this and go. I’m done. I’m done with all of it.”

“Don’t pretend to be a saint. We both know you’re not.”

“I don’t want to fight. But, I can’t put up with this anymore.”

“I think you’re just scared to find out what this really means.”

“This isn’t going to just blow over. We need to talk about this.”

“We could have had something special, but, no… you ruined it.”

“You’re not a hero. I don’t know why I ever expected you to be.”

“Don’t act surprised. You knew this had to come sooner or later.”

“What, did you think there weren’t gonna be any consequences?”

“And how am I supposed to believe a single word you say, anymore?”

“You still act like such a hopeful child. Try again when you’ve finally grown up.”

“Eventually, this is going to catch up with you. I hope I’m there to laugh and point when it does.”

“You always act like you’re better than me. But, look at this. This proves you’re no different.”

The layers of human social hierarchy continued to baffle her, though Amalthea can grasp the want, or perhaps the need, to feel important. To have the desire to be known and make an impact on the world, on others, on history itself.

At least, she understood it from an outside perspective. Such a want had never been known to her personally. Unicorns were already beings revered, dreamed of and coveted. And yes, feared too, at times.

"Such places only exist because humans created them, thinking and asserting themselves better than their peers." A pause as she considers something, "I suppose it is not much different from how animals leave behind the weak and the sick." Maybe not exactly but the idea was there.

"And what can those born into such a system do? Either bow down to it or try to change it..." And he, himself, tries to change it...To varying degrees of success that were mostly failures blowing up in his face. "Humans are animals."

Silco looks up at Amalthea, thoughtful regarding the point she brings up. He is, for a short amount of time, quiet, pensive.

"I do feel as if I have no choice. My world, the world I've lived since I was a very young child, is a cruel and cold one. A dog-eat-dog one, to use a phrase..." he answers, then offers her a smile.

Of course she could be terrifying. She had slain dragons and gryphons, her shining had struck terror in the frail hearts of Men and they had fled from the lightning upon her brow. "I am not human, and that which is not human is often regarded with fear from those who are." Though she wore the likeness of one, with her clear, amaranthine eyes that reveal different.

Ah, and now they are to get philosophical...

"Being feared...It isn't such a terrible thing, really. Many men go their entire existences wishing to be feared and respected yet living their miserable lives relegated to the sewers of humanity." He speaks from experience.

Jayce couldn't quite manage a reply to the other's quiet observation - not without it pulling ragged from his throat and welling fresh tears in his eyes - so he nodded. What could he even do with this much kindness, given so easily? He could've sworn he'd known once, maybe in the academy. Eight years... how did the words sound so small, when the hollow they'd carved yawned so deep in Jayce's chest? Not even a decade, yet enduring them seemed like an entire lifetime. Endless days of learning he was right to hate himself, until an offer that would surely sound simple to so many others felt like a rare mercy.

Jayce gripped the older man's palm a little tighter, his free hand's fingers daring to curl on the loosest part of Silco's shirtfront. He didn't want to cling, but still hoped he could bask in each gentle gesture for a few moments more. When Silco then offered to not only mend the clothes Jayce had, but also to lend money for new ones, the younger man was dumbstruck at first. He noticed the silent pause, and hurried to answer: "I-I mean, of course I will, yeah. If it's really okay. ...You, you don't have to mend what I've got, though. It's just my old academy uniform; doubt it's been the right sizes for years now."

And he kept his hold on Jayce even as the younger man loosened his grip.

"And I will accept your thanks every time." Vander had learned the hard way that when Silco gave his thanks in sincerity, he wanted nothing but for his thanks to be accepted rather than brushed aside with a 'no problem'. Silco was, after all, a very straightforward man, one whose every small word or gesture counted for something in a world where lies and deceit often ruled over honesty.

"You can wear clothes that I've lent you, then, because everyone down here knows that uniform. And if you refuse, then I'll send you out there naked. I doubt you'd want to walk around feelin' the cold air against your ass while men and women catcall you."

Then he paused for a moment of thought, a light of teasing mischief in the one eye.

"Nonsense," says the apparently terrifying one.

"I think that you could be if you wanted to be terrifying, and I think that it would be terrifying if you were." For once, he is not trying to make a joke.