The Silvas Boys

Meet Adrian and Marcos, brothers in California 2026. Disliked on principal by both killjoys and civilians, the twins are registered neutrals in the depths of Neon Ghetto. Adrian hopes to gain citizenship someday, while Marcos has his gaze turned towards the desert - but for now, the eyes in the walls say play it safe and keep your head down.

[silvasboys]

gilt-cage

…Whatever. Clean the machines when you’re finished. I’m not the maid.

Yes ma’am~

[silvasboys]

gilt-cage

Are you going or not.

...

...I mean. I will if you want me to, but I wasn’t... actually, um... 

[silvasboys]

gilt-cage

Mm. Next time, don’t operate that machine by yourself. Tell… Marcos when you’ll be in and. Someone will help you.

Oh... um. Okay. If you’re sure.

[silvasboys]

gilt-cage

If you’ve got somewhere to be, then get out.

Yes ma’am. 

...

...it’s nice to meet you.

[silvasboys]

gilt-cage

Mm. I know you have a brother, too, identical. And if he wants to use the facilities, it’s fine by me, but he should at least think to bring a valid form of ID. Just in case.

...

Yes ma’am.

[silvasboys]

gilt-cage

…

Can I see some identification, Draculoid Silvas?

Here. You know me, though, I don’t know why you need it.

[silvasboys]

gilt-cage

  You’re going training, or you’re going home? What training can you do if you can’t do this? At three in the morning,

No, I mean, I’m going home now, because I’ve got to go to training later. So I need to, like, get ready. And stuff. I should really be sleeping, but it’s kinda too late for that, so,,,

[silvasboys]

gilt-cage

I want to know why you’re quitting after 10-pound weights.

…and if the inflammation is bad, I… can give you something. Let me see.

...thank you, but they’re fine. I’m really just tired, that’s all. And I should get going, I don’t want to be late to - training. I need to head home.

[silvasboys]

gilt-cage

Wh–

…

…Let me see your fingers.

....

Why.

[silvasboys]

gilt-cage

Right…

Well, I suppose we all have our slow days. Why’s this yours?

It’s, um. It was a long patrol. I couldn’t do my full reps yesterday, and I was up early, so I came in now. I think I’m gonna call it, though, I need to just wait until tomorrow.

[gilt-cage-blog]

Look alive, Silvas. I know it’s nearly to early to be counted as morning but–are there even any weights in that?

[silvasboys]

Y-uh. 

Yes ma’am. Just not a lot. I’m just, uh. Warming up.

[il--dottore]

Three’s A Crowd

[silvasboys]

il--dottore‌:

The urge to grab at Matthew was nearly overpowering. But Giovanni didn’t do that; he didn’t touch Matthew first. He never did that. But how much could he say here? What could he say to diffuse this situation? Matthew’s temper was unpredictable and capricious; at least it seemed so to Giovanni.

But he must be careful to avoid appearing soft.

“If you would like to discuss some dissatisfaction you may have,” Giovanni said in a tone that was carefully enunciated, warning, “then see me privately about it. In the meantime–”

Matthew rounded on him in a sudden movement which sent medical supplies showering to the cement floor in a deafening clatter. 

“DON’T–” Matthew’s hands froze, poised in the air as if in mid-reach for a strangle. “Start. Okay.”

“No, don’t you start with me.” Giovanni’s gaze flashed to Marcos’ wide eyes momentarily–they couldn’t do this here, right now, but– “I can’t read your fucking mind, Matthew, whatever miscommunication is happening here is your fault. How many times have I–”

Giovanni found himself looming over the shorter man–not too close, the phantom impressions of Matthew’s teeth stinging in his face–and the subtle expression of a cornered animal darkened Matthew’s pupils and quickened his breath. But he did not back off because he never did, in Giovanni’s memory. He had the look of a dog itching for a throat between its teeth. Regret and caution flooded Giovanni’s haphazard thoughts, but at the edges, there was a dark satisfaction, too. The moment hung suspended.

And then, suddenly, a form was interposed between them. Unnoticed by either, Marcos had jerked to his feet when Matthew spun around, and as Giovanni moved closer, all height and aggression, a protective surge rose up and managed to overwhelm even Marcos’ fear. Darting in front of Matthew, so close that his back pressed against the man’s chest, Marcos faced Giovanni with a pounding heart and shallow breath. His fists were raised, but held close in a gesture that was far more defensive than threatening, and though he had absolutely no plan besides perhaps to take a blow meant for Matthew, he stood now with a panicky defiance. “Don’t.”

[il--dottore]

Three’s A Crowd

[silvasboys]

some-bloody-saint‌:

il–dottore‌:

Giovanni watched as Matthew’s eyes flicked briefly to Marcos, with an almost detached sort of interest, as if he’d walked into a room with something unexciting playing on television. Then they were back on Giovanni, and they burned suddenly like acid.

“Shut up, Silvas. Callaghan, Leave.” Giovanni was immediately aware of how petulant it was, how Matthew would see through it, and he scowled at the involuntary redness which bloomed at the tips of his ears. How dare Matthew. How dare he pull this in front of Marcos, of all people, whose use to Giovanni hinged entirely on Giovanni’s ability to intimidate from a high, untouchable place.

But now he was angry that Matthew was doing this, angry that Matthew had been playing him all day, angry that Matthew had clearly decided to punish him for some imagined slight which Giovanni hadn’t the foggiest idea of. He’d had the nerve to be worried, enough to put Matthew on this team when he had no such qualifications, just to see him and be close to him.

“Go wait in the hall, if you’re so impatient. That’s an order.” It was almost worth it, seeing the angry flush spread over Matthew’s face.

“Oh fuck off.” The venom tasted good in his mouth. Matthew began to cross the room to Marcos, Giovanni a vibrating, fiery beacon in the peripheral of his awareness (always), an anxious pit in his stomach, but belated fury sizzled around it. He positioned himself between the Exterminator and Marcos. His back felt naked.

Matthew’s fingers fumbled numbly with the clasp of his satchel. He could feel Giovanni’s eyes on him, though no retort was forthcoming; he was no doubt deliberating between embarrassing himself further and some other unknowable plot. Don’t always have a comeback, now, do you.

“Let me see it,” Matthew muttered, this time to Marcos, though the wound danced red-hot in front of his eyes. He blinked, frowned down into the contents of his kit.

“Matthew-” Marcos reached up and grabbed the man’s wrist as he tore open an alcohol wipe and raised it towards Marcos’ face. At first his grip was light, but when Giovanni shifted slightly in the background and Marcos refocused on him, his hand clenched around Matthew’s wrist and then abruptly released him. The utter disregard and disrespect Matthew exhibited was only matched in discomfort with the strangely convoluted anger now radiating off the Exterminator. Knowing he was repeating himself and already positive that it would make no difference, he whispered urgently, “Matthew please, just wait in the hall? I’ll be out in like five minutes, please-” 

[il--dottore]

Three’s A Crowd

[some-bloody-saint]

il–dottore‌:

“Overall… good work.”

The Exterminator’s delivery was indistinguishable from a reaction of displeasure or neutrality, but several sets of shoulders sagged minutely. The small debriefing room was silent despite the dozen or so huddled people inside it, every pair of eyes trained on the clear authority figure. Giovanni sighed silently, post-mission exhaustion creeping into his limbs and eyes, though invisible in his posture.

“Dismissed. Except you,” he pointed to Marcos Silvas, who concealed his disappointment well enough. The room burst into motion as the remainder of the team shuffled all too readily out the door, waiting until they were well down the hall to begin talking amongst themselves. Their voices faded quickly and Giovanni was glad to have shed his audience–well. 

He felt no surprise when he turned to see that Matthew Callaghan, the team medic for this particular outing, had not moved from his spot against a wall. No surprise, only a heavier exhaustion. Irritation, perhaps. Matthew had dodged all of Giovanni’s attempts at meeting outside of work for the last week and some, and over the course of the day had been blandly (pointedly) professional. He stared at Giovanni now with the same mild look which belied a challenge.

“Dismissed.” Giovanni repeated, sharper.

Matthew did not flinch outwardly, aside from a blink which seemed casual enough. He nodded at Marcos.

“I’d like to treat his head wound before I leave. Sir.”

Indeed, a stream of blood had caked over the side of Marcos’ face from a minor cut; minor, but still made by a dirty blade. It was true that Matthew wanted to treat it as soon as possible; true, even, that he felt somewhat defensive of Marcos, having spent the day working well with him despite Giovanni’s best efforts to keep them separated. But the real truth, the uglier one, was that he didn’t want to leave them alone; didn’t trust th–Giovanni. Didn’t trust Giovanni.

[silvasboys]

Marcos’ eyes flicked over to Matthew, though he barely turned his head. He’d stayed seated when the others were dismissed, but was beginning to wish he’d been standing. It was true that the mission had gone well, and he’d enjoyed - if you could use that word in the context of a mission under BLI orders - the chance to work with Matthew. It was rare for Marcos to see Matthew in a professional setting, which was perhaps explained in part by the way the Exterminator had repeatedly assigned them to opposite locations in the party’s radius. It was nice to have a friend on the job. 

Now, though, he was reminded of the last time he and Matthew had spoken of Giovanni, and he was not at all confident in how, exactly, Matthew would behave. Trying to catch the medic’s eye, he said, “I think I’m okay. It barely stings. I can meet you out in the hall in a few.” He just seems tired. I’ll be fine, whatever he wants to tell me shouldn’t take long. Let’s just get out of here as soon as possible and go get food.

[silvasboys]

some-bloody-saint

What…? What–which friend?

Ludovico. You might want to check on him. I don’t know where the rest of his team is but he sounds like he could use a hand getting home before he bothers the wrong person.

[silvasboys]

@some-bloody-saint

Matthew. Your friend is being stupid.

[silvasboys]

some-bloody-saint

Oh. I mean–right.

I’ll call you, then. Or I’ll see you. Or–one o’ those. If anything happens. When–when somethin’ happens.

Okay. 

...night, then.