Silco opens his cigarette case again, offering it to you.
"Just take your time and use your head, is all I ask. Your journey would be pointless if you move here and get killed your first day here, when you could fight for us topside."
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As you tell her about your history, she pauses briefly when she catches sight of a canine poking out of the corner of your mouth. There's a bite to your laugh, but it somehow brings with it an authenticity that fits you well. When you take her box to discard, she thanks you quietly. She hugs her arms closer to her jacket when a cool gust of wind blows, and she feels her cheeks burn.
There isn't much she can say, nothing of substance anyhow, when she hears you talk about Zaun. She hasn't thought much of it before, about what your experience must have been like from the eyes of the Undercity. She is shocked, honestly, to hear how your own people treat you. You had to push against the current from both sides, and none of it felt fair. Don't they understand how hard you fight for them? She asks silently in frustration.
She looks up and sees you brush the tangled hair from your face, before looking away hastily. And when she notices the bridge just ahead, her heart skips. She doesn't want to go back.
Your candid request to think hard on her future elicits something from her. It's incredibly humbling. But is she capable enough, even if she tried to fight from Piltover? She rubs her eyes, hoping you'll assume that something in the wind caught in them, and not that her feelings on the matter are so glaringly obvious. She was never quite good at keeping her emotion in.
When she sees you offer a smoke, she pokes through the cigarette case clumsily and asks quietly for a match, before giving a modest 'thank you.'
When she takes the first hit, she erupts in an immediate coughing fit. At least seizing for breath is a good distraction from her thoughts. After her coughs settle, she fidgets slightly. She lets the cigarette burn in her hand, unsmoked.
Your words were right on the mark; the source of her guilt was something she always denied.
"I feel like there's a guilt that's always there, somewhere eating away at me. I shouldn't let the privilege I have go unused. Fighting for you, from Piltover, would be an honor." Her face grows red from her word choice; she still can't shake the formal vernacular from her time as an enforcer.
"I'm not sure where I would start, but if fighting from the Uppercity can help you and your people, that's all I could ever ask for. And I'd really be a wasted resource if I...didn't make it here in Zaun, before I could even leave a mark." And yet, she doesn't want to leave. But she bites her tongue.
"I know it may sound silly to say, but I'm grateful that I could meet you." Saying it out loud felt silly, indeed. Then she pauses, tracing over your words from earlier; on the notion of being important to somebody.
She thinks about the barkeep at the tavern. Even with her brief time there--admittedly while mostly passed out--it was apparent to her that the man treated you with great care. Surely you must realize that there are people out there who care about you.
"I know you said your father was the last you had. But the man who tended the bar...you seemed very important to him. I was certain you two were family."
Silco watches you cough through the puff of cigarette smoke and then neglect the cigarette in your hand. For a small moment, he ponders on why you'd accept the cigarette if you don't smoke, and if you don't realize how incredibly rude it is to waste something of someone else's - and then, with a bitter taste in his mouth, they realize that that's probably part of Piltovan manners. You people have so much that you'd perform politeness and waste something you have no use for, rather than offend the hospitality of someone else and let Silco keep a cigarette. No, she doesn't know how expensive this is.
They decide to let it go. You don't deserve a talking-to right now.
"I don't know how much I can help you with organizing topside. But, Janna give, there should be others who believe in our future, and whom you can help more easily."
Her steps slow as you approach the line separating the bridge from the rest of Zaun. For a moment, you both stand there, side by side. Silco calmly finishes xer cigarette, stamping it out under xer heavy boot.
"Family is... complicated, down here." From the slowness of his words, it's clear that talking about this is hard on him. Yet, he continues. "Perhaps one day, we could be, me and the barkeep. It's been difficult. I'm... difficult."
He turns to you, reaching inside his jacket. Between two long pale fingers, he pulls out your letter, slightly creased now.
"In here, you write of falling for me. I want to inform you that you didn't."
There is no hint of shame, or tact, when he speaks. His tone is neutral as if he spoke of the weather, and not of your most vulnerable and embarrassing feelings.
"You fell for what I do, or what you see me do. It's not the real me, and you wouldn't love the real me. In reality, I am an asshole. I've been called every name in the book, I've been spat on and beat, and I've spat and beaten back. I break plates when I fight my fiancé, I scream, I stab, I steal. I'm filth, and certainly not lovable. I am an awful partner to work with, I'm bossy, and I'm egocentric enough to always feel disrespected, no matter what."
He hands you your letter, gently pressing it against your chest, not looking you in the eye.
"What you fell for is the cause. If it softens the blow, I admire that; while I'm spoken for with regards to... romance, I am very pleased to learn of uppercity citizens loving my dream. I'm sorry about the circumstances of you coming here, but I'm glad I got to meet you, dear. You give me hope about my dream one day becoming reality.
If you want to, we can keep in touch. I'll be happy to receive more letters from you, with updates on your work; address them to the bar. Perhaps you might get to work with me yet."
Silco's smirk is playful and soft. After a bit, it droops, and his tired, sad eyes study your face. One of his hands reach up and you think he'll tuck your hair behind your ear, instead, it rests on the back of your head, and he tilts his head to yours, pressing your foreheads together.
With a stroke of a thumb against your scalp, he whispers.
"You'll be fine. I promise. We'll all be."
Then, the hand disappears, and when you open your eyes, Silco takes a few steps backwards before turning away and walking back.
The ringing in your ears is overtaken by the rush of the Pilt and the distant hum of factories.
