The years we shared
"Can I sleep with you?"
It's an innocent question; simple.
Silco stares at her over his shoulder, watching her pale profile in the bedroom doorway.
She's picked the lock - again - and she looks at him with a fascinating desperation, equal to his own.
Outside, Zaun's celebration light up in green and gold – they are free now, after all.
Inside, however, there is no light to illuminate Jinx's haunted face, broken tears.
A guilt so desolating that it swallows every other word.
Silco pulls back the sheets, beckoning her to come closer - on his chest bullet holes already closed, still stained red.
Jinx hides her fears on the skin of the only person she's ever loved.
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Had another Arcane dream. This time a Soulsborne caption would pop up at random moments to describe a scene.
These are some that I vividly remember:
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Idk which is worse: Jinx cutting her own hair as a motive to let Silco go for good, or someone else cutting it—essentially ripping away the one proof that remains of their time together.
Other option: She HAD to cut it because the only person who braids it is gone.
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To others say she is just a loose cannon; a triggered bomb, a highly flammable and unstable chemical compound.
To Sevika she is a problem; a reflection of a city whose underbelly is now poisoned, toxic.
Silco observes her silence, the quiet composure with which she hands him a small red and gold package.
There is a poetic melancholy in Jinx; a vibration that few can detect beneath the cacophony of her gestures.
It is a thin rope, hard to grasp - the only thing in her that doesn't cut, and wound.
It is that moment between sleep and wakefulness - that breath that precedes the leap; that space between moments that tells of a lost child, an enemy of herself. Jinx bites her lower lip - a gesture she always makes when she is nervous - trying to pull the fingers of her right hand - another habit that betrays her agitation.
You'll hang yourself with that rope, his consciousness murmurs, but Silco ignores it, taking the package and sketching a smile just for her.
Intimate, private; in which affection mingles with a longing that has nothing paternal about it.
Bubblegum
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wip from the recent short clip because... ouch
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