#silas caecina

[onceuponaprime]

“We do it together!”

Though their ranks are thinned their resolve remains strong, and the remaining members of the Kingsglaive continue to work together through the long night as they await the return of the Chosen King.

[vvakarians]

Walk Tall

Because @onceuponaprime got me on a inspiration kick for my glaive bab. Featuring his Silas because I love him very much.

When the glaive wakes up there’s a horrible ringing in her ears, her head filled with a terrible mist that shrouded every thought; no matter how hard she tried her eyes wouldn’t focus, not even on the simplest piece of gravel beneath her fingertips. How did she get here? Why couldn’t she remember a blessed thing? There was only the pain and the mist.

Through the ringing in her ears she picked up the distinct sound of tires on dirt and the clamor of voices, if distorted. An ache in her ribs flared as she struggled to roll over and sit up, coughing as dust filled her lungs and stung her eyes. Blurred out figures climbed out of the vehicle that had stopped within feet of her, a stocky gentleman and a taller man, both wearing all black. As the taller broke into a run the glaive could make out a smattering of five o’clock shadow growing along his jaw and she felt a smile pull at her lips. Confusion followed by a brief flash of memory prompted her to sit a little more rigid, ribs screaming out in pain.

Silas, did you misplace your razor again?

A young man glanced up at her from his post, shocked at first that she had spoken but quickly grinned.

I’m trying out something new, don’t make fun of me okay?

Me? Wouldn’t dream of it. It looks very distinguished on you. Maybe you’ll finally get a date, huh?

The man named Silas chuckled, nearly doubling over.

If only. I see I’m not the only one who changed though, you going green now? It looks good on you.

A pang of sadness filled her chest as she remembers the emerald eyes that had looked back at her that day.

Yeah, I think I like it a lot. Green suits me I’m told.

The glaive was pulled out of her memory, breath hitching as she felt tears stinging her eyes. Silas. She remembered something, someone. A friend. Along with the physical ache, the glaive felt a warmth at seeing him again even if it confused her to no end. She felt a hand settle on her shoulder and even more warmth spread, as a curative spell mended the smaller wounds, easing the pain in her ribs. Indeed, it was Silas who knelt before her, concerned etched into his face.

“Tzipporah, can you hear me?”

Another wave of relief as the name struck home. That sounded right, Tzipporah. Yeah that was her.

“I can hear you, sorry, lots of overwhelming things right now. You’re..Silas right?”

The biggest smile lit up the other glaives face as he pulled Tzipporah to her feet, his hands comfortingly hot against her clammy skin.

“Yeah, I’m Silas”

[onceuponaprime]

Might of Magic

[onceuponaprime]

“Please don’t do this” FOR YOUR FFXV COMRADES BOY

Thank you for prompting me for my boy! He’s had a rough time. Someone really should have read the group email…And this is long? Did not think I was gonna keep going but I did.

I borrowed his buddies @drakochan‘s Irica and @stray-dog-strut‘s Lance briefly because Silas loves them. 

Silas had a bad feeling about this, and not just because Magitek gave him the heebie jeebies. There was a constant hum in the air as the airship’s engine moved them closer to Insomnia. It was all too convenient. Not a single glaive had been left behind for this mission, and for some reason Silas couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

“Do you get the feeling something’s off or is it just me?” The larger glaive he’d found himself patrolling with remains silent, but Silas was used to holding both ends of a conversation on patrol. “Because I got a bad feeling about all this.”

He leans up against the nearby railing and chances a glance down to the next level where two MTs patrol oblivious to their presence. Suddenly the ship shudders and shakes as if hitting some sort of turbulence and Silas stumbles, only keeping his footing thanks to his grip on the railing. He rights himself, keeping his weight low in a defensive stance so the movement of the ship won’t send him sprawling, and glances over at his fellow glaive, who has one of their kukris drawn and ready.

“What are you doing?” There’s no reply, but the glaive, still masked, looks at him for a heartbeat that seems to last forever, and then lunges at him.

It’s only his low posture and his hand still on the railing that gets him out of the way in time, using his grip on the rail to push himself away as the larger glaive comes down with a strike hard enough to cleave the metal. Shit shit shit.

“What the fuck! Are you trying to kill me?” As soon as he says it he stops, hands already grasping for his blades and freezing against them. “Holy shit, you’re trying to kill me.” There’s no answer, and Silas ducks and twists out of the way as the glaive, who he’s still trying to identify, rushes forward again.

There’s no time to really think, Silas just moves, his own blades now drawn as he does his best to deflect his sudden enemy’s attacks. This was really happening. Holy shit. Silas had never been the best with the standard kukris of the Kingsglaive, he’d lost count of the amount of times he’d been corrected for his lack of finesse, but he was trying desperately now. The one thing keeping him alive now was his quick reflexes and the fact that the glaive now trying to kill him was bigger and stronger, which really wouldn’t be good if they caught him. Magic had always been his strong suit, but the thought of unleashing it in such a tight space didn’t seem like such a good idea, so reflexes it was. At least until he could find a way out of this mess, even as he could hear fighting down below. Then the side of the ship explodes somewhere behind him and he stumbles, one of his kukris flying out of his hand and skidding across the floor as the ship slowly began to tip. He flails his arms desperately, trying to keep his balance, trying to keep hold of his last line of defense. Silas glances back for half a second to see the wind howling outside the chunk of missing airship, and his opponent lunges. He makes it half a step back, not far enough to avoid the full blow.

It hurts having a kukri halfway buried in your gut, thats the first thought he comes up with. The second thought is that he’s going to die. He lifts his eyes from the handle of the kukri, and meets cold green. With the hood blown back, Silas recognizes the glaive immediately and can’t hide his shock.

“Decima?” The woman huffs and pulls back, taking the kukri with her. Silas gasps and stumbles back, his free hand flying to the wound in a futile attempt to stem the bleeding, magic weakly leaching from his fingers by instinct.

“You always were so clueless,” she replies, blowing a strand of golden hair out of her face where it had come loose from the usual bun she wore in battle. Silas couldn’t tell what was putting him into shock faster, his wound or the sudden unexpected betrayal.

“Why?” She doesn’t look like she has any intention of responding, but pauses long enough to lift a finger to her earpiece, eyes never leaving him. It’s a brief contact and she returns her full attention to him.

“I don’t have time to explain this to you, chatterbox.” She steps forward, and the woman he once thought of as powerful and controlled becomes suddenly menacing, and Silas feels fear well in his chest.

“Please don’t do this!” He takes a step back, unsteady and wavering, trying to think up some fantastical scenario where he gets out of this alive. Decima doesn’t say anything, lifts her mask backup to cover her face as she approaches.

Suddenly the sound of the wind and humming engines is almost deafening, and the air wips at his face, he looks to his left, out the gaping hole in the side of the ship, and does the only thing he can think of. His left hand flicks out, a poor angle for a throw, and sends his kukri spinning out into open air. Decima’s eyes widen in disbelief, and before she can reach him he disappears, warping to the blade and dropping into freefall.

Somehow he manages to miss the crashing airships and debris hurtling through the air around him, spreading his arms and legs to give himself some control over his movement as he falls. He has a deathgrip on the handle of his remaining kukri, the only thing that will keep him from becoming paste on the forest floor below as long as he can nail one last throw. His heart thunders in his chest as the ground rushes up to meet him, a clearing in the trees the perfect target for a landing. Fighting the wind resistance, Silas adjusts his form, and throws the kukri with all that remains of his strength. It’s hard to see with the wind beating at his eyes, but there’s little time to wait now so he closes his eyes and warps.

His meeting with the ground is not gentle, all the air forced out of his lungs with the impact leaving him gasping as he rolls onto his back. He was alive. Holy shit he was alive! When he catches his breath he manages to painfully push himself into a sitting position, checking the damage Decima had left him. The magic had done the trick with the deeper part of the wound, but there was still a shallow stab wound in his abdomen, though the bleeding seemed to have stopped. By some miracle it wouldn’t kill him, and Silas lets himself breathe a sigh of relief before his brain catches up with his body.

Shit!” His hand flies to his earpiece and it does nothing but let out a harsh static. Silas pulls it out with a curse and tosses it away. “Okay calm down, Silas, just calm down.” Easier said than done. Decima had tried to kill him, and he was pretty sure she wasn’t the only backstabber in the bunch and he couldn’t even contact anyone. Damnit his friends were up there, his family, and he couldn’t do anything. Before his thoughts can derail further there’s another explosion from and airship above and Silas watches it fall with a lump in his throat before he sees where it’s headed. Which just happens to be straight for him.

His body moves, weak as he is he hauls ass for the nearest treeline, sheathing the blade still clenched in his fist with more force than necessary as he runs for his life. The initial impact shakes the ground, and the explosion sends him flying, fire hot against his back but not close enough to catch hold. Flying through the air for the third time that day Silas thinks that things couldn’t possibly be worse, and then he hits the ground, and doesn’t think of anything.

When he regains consciousness sometime later with a splitting headache, he can’t remember how exactly he ended up sprawled out in the woods surrounded by the burning wreckage of a Nif airship. There’s a fuzziness in his head, dulling his senses. He remembers the mission, the fleet, the railing beneath his arms, pain, and then nothing. Part of him thinks it’s better that way, and the sinking dread in the pit of his stomach tells him he won’t like the answer. No matter what he has to make it back to Insomnia, battered and bloody as he is, he has to figure out what’s happening, because if he stays here Silas knows he’ll die. So he drags himself to his feet, and starts walking toward Insomnia, squinting at the sky in an attempt to have the Wall help guide him. No soft shimmer catches his eye, probably too messed up in the head to even see the damn thing as he trudges on. Nyx would probably be surprised he hadn’t tried to crack a joke, but he was so tired, body moving forward by sheer force of will. He’d be impressed though, Silas thinks, and maybe he could fill him in on whatever was going on. When he got back to Insomnia he’d have to buy the guy a beer, maybe open his damn mouth, do all the shit he should have done before. Thoughts of his friends keep his mind off the pain, and Silas finds it easy to imagine Irica taking one look at him and telling him he looked like shit. It brings a smile to his face, even though the movement hurts, pulls at a split lip he didn’t know he had and tugs on bruising he can definitely feel now. Lance would pat his back to be a dick but he’d be there to help patch him up with Irica and everything would be fine. Everything would be fine, he tells himself, a mantra in his head as he stumbles along, head throbbing. It’s a lie, part of him knows it, but he clings to it all the same and doesn’t let it go.

[onceuponaprime]

Silas Caecina

An orphan from Galahd who, like many others, joined the Kingsglaive after Niflheim took over his small village. With a sharp eye and a flare for theatrics Silas marked his place in the Kingsgliave as a loyal soldier with a knack for magic and a friendly disposition.

[onceuponaprime]

New outfit, perfect color scheme, and the tattoo I fell in love with during beta. Silas is really coming along with his new look.

[onceuponaprime]

The camera loves him~

[onceuponaprime]

Silas is an absolute disaster gay but lucky for him @drakochan‘s Irica is an A+ friend.  Just some shameless Glaive OC fic shenanigans. 

He had a headache, a hangover to be exact, and a miserable one at that. Silas groans, head pounding as he slowly returns to the land of the living from deep blissful slumber. There was a bad taste in his mouth and it felt like he’d gone one too many rounds against an MT. Maybe he could snag five more minutes of sleep, it was the weekend anyway, and he wouldn’t be due to check into HQ for his assignment until late afternoon. Convinced by his own genius line of thought Silas snuggles deeper into the soft sheets beneath him and breathes in the scent of definitely not his bed. His eyes shoot open in an instant, the soft sunlight filtering in through the blinds just enough to help him see without aggravating his hangover. And yep this definitely wasn’t his bed. Beside him a man mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep. Silas freezes, eyes glued to the back of the mystery man’s head, auburn hair the only thing visible from the nest of blankets. Shit he didn’t remember anything from the bar past Lance egging him on to do a line of shots. Asshole, he’d have to get his friend back later, now he had to figure out how to get out of this mess. Slowly, with all the grace of any glaive with a hangover from hell, he moves his leg, his very naked leg, in search for the edge of the bed. Of course his companion chooses that moment to roll onto his back, arm flopping against his shoulder as he snoozes away, dead to the world. The second he sees the face all to close to his, Silas feels his stomach drop. Tredd Furia. Had he seriously fucked Tredd fucking Furia. Oh this was bad, very bad.

Slowly, so as not to wake his strange bedfellow, Silas manages to slip himself out from under the covers and onto the cold floor. Luckily his clothes were bunched together in a graceless pile at the foot of the bed, except… yeah he was definitely missing a sock, but he doesn’t care enough to go looking. Tredd rolls towards his vacated side of the bed and grumbles again, face scrunching like he was about to wake up. Silas doesn’t stick around to find out, bolting for the door with his shoes in his hand, belt and jacket slung over his shoulder in his haste to get away. Out in the apartment hall, standing half dressed and staring down an old woman who was in no way attempting to hide her judgment, Silas realizes exactly how deep the hole he’s dug himself is.

“Morning,” he greets with a little wave and a winning smile. The old woman scoffs and continues on her way, an armful of groceries far more important than his embarrassment. When she’s around the corner he hurriedly throws his shoes down and gets them on, not even bothering to tie the laces before he’s putting on the rest of his clothes. His belt ends up missing half the loops, but he hardly cares as he puts on his jacket and tries not to race down the hall in a blind attempt to find the stairs, or elevator, anything to get him the fuck out of here as fast as possible. Lucky for him his phone is where he left it in the back pocket of his jeans, and he fishes it out with impressively steady fingers and dials the only number he can. It rings once, twice, and on the third that familiar exasperated voice comes over the speaker.

“Next time you forget to text me that you’re alright I’m gonna put a GPS tracker in your phone.” Silas sighs in relief, phone pressed close to his ear as he makes his way down the flight of stairs as fast as his feet will carry him.

“Hey, Irica, hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“It’s 11AM of course you didn’t wake me up. Where are you?”

“Uh, funny story, just a sec,” he pulls his phone away from his ear as he hits the apartment building's lobby and slips out the door before he can be noticed, shielding his eyes from the sun as best he can. His head throbs, but he’s able to make out the name of the apartments and the nearby street sign. Huh, it was a nice place, actually near a street with cars and not the lower drugeges of the refugee district. Not bad, Furia, he thinks before he remembers that Irica is waiting and he definitely should not be complimenting the guy right now. “I’m at the Outward Bound apartment building off Rogue Avenue.”

“Stay put, I’ll be there in ten.” The call ends abruptly, and Silas shifts from foot to foot before spotting a bench near the street corner and taking a seat. For good measure he pulls his hood up, partly to save his headache from the cruel sun and partly to make himself as hard to recognize as possible if Tredd leaves his building.

Irica pulls up nine minutes later in her old beat up clunker, the only glaive he knew who was savvy enough with city living to not only afford her own car but drive it sensibly through city traffic. It was different than the vans and war convoys the Kingsglaive used on missions, and Silas knew she was proud of the old thing. All in all he was pretty lucky to have a friend who actually had their life put together outside of work, unlike him.

“So are you going to tell me how you ended up here?” Irica starts once he’s buckled into the passenger seat and she’s pulled back into traffic.

“Don’t remember,” he replies with a shrug. “Big surprise right.” Irica sighs.

“You know I’m not judging you, I’m just worried.”

“Yeah, I know.” He watches the city pass them by, the little side streets and- “You know you just passed the way to my place?”

“Already taken care of. Back seat.” Silas looks back to find his duffle bag on the seat. “No walk of shame for you, can’t save you from a Drautos lecture if you’re taking an hour to get ready.”

“You’re the best!” He wastes no time pulling the bag into his lap, fishing out the standard Kingsglaive undershirt and swapping it with the one he’s wearing with unfortunately practiced eased, giving anyone in the next car over an eyeful as he changes haphazardly in the front seat.

“I know,” Irica replies with a grin, and then her face falls back to something more serious. “You’ll still need to shower once we get to HQ though. So,” she starts up again as they come to a stop at the next intersection. “You get a good look at the guy?”

“Unfortunately.” Irica casts him a concerned sidelong glance and he sighs. “Funny enough of all the glaives I never expected to wake up next to Furia.” Irica gapes at him before regaining her composure.

“Tredd?!” A honk sounds behind them as if to emphasize the absurdity and Irica, without breaking eye contact, flips off the driver behind her and hits the gas through the green light. Focus back on the road a few minutes later she chances a look at him again. “Shit, Silas.”

“Trust me, I know. When I realized who it was I booked it, lost one of my lucky socks too.”

“The blue ones?”

“Nah, the green.”

“Tragic,” Irica replies flatly. “Well, don’t worry I guess, if you guys went home together you weren’t the only one drunk off your ass. Hopefully the asshole doesn’t remember shit.”

“I could only be so lucky.” Last thing he needed was Tredd opening his mouth. Like his reputation outside of work wasn’t bad enough.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just act like nothing happened and if he brings anything up I’ll kick his ass.” Silas can’t help but laugh, a sudden wave of comfort washing over him.

“Thanks, Irica.”

“Any time.”

The rest of the ride is spent in amiable silence, both content to enjoy the radio as they go. And much to Silas’s benefit, Tredd doesn’t remember a damn thing from last night, but hearing himself get talked about as Tredd’s mystery lay with the great ass still makes him want to sink into the floor.