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"Leave a missive, but be brief about it."

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[The wound left on his soul by his own complicated relationship to his parents was still fresh and painful, that Richard very much preferred to move away from the topic of unwanted parenthood and toxic bonds of family. Besides, he believes that Silco had already offered him more than enough information about himself and his daughter. Family, even when founded on love, did mean happiness. And it did seem to be partially true on the man's case.

Richard pulls out another arrow from the quiver strapped against his hip. He draws the bow again, takes an aim and releases the arrow, this time taking considerably less time than before.]

Hm. Quite fantasy you have there. [He says flatly and turns to look over his shoulder. The horrors of the torture Silco had just described did not really impress him that much, having grown up hearing the terrors happening inside the dark depths of London Tower. If anything, his people were rather creative when it came to coming up ways to inflict pain on convicts, prolonging their suffering before miserable death. But there is something almost funny in how Silco just jumped on the violence with his answer. It reminded Richard a little of himself during his youth. Hot headed, only interested in spilling the blood left and right in order to spread glory of York.]

But unfortunately, rather dangerous approach. At the end of War of Roses me and my brothers had captured Henry Sixth, the ruling Lancaster King. His existence was clear danger to my brother's claim on throne and we we're left with dilemma what to do? If we killed the man it would not inspire trust nor loyalty on the new king, painting him as nothing but a violent usurper. [And yet, the solution to their situation had been an assassination. Ugly and hushed business, one that would be fatal to their reputation if it ever became public knowledge.]

Peasants can fight. And they will rebel and look to replace the false king with one they deem worthy, given a chance. It would be unwise of you to make yourself one.

[He was used to being disparaged for his ideas, fantasy or otherwise. History thus far had provided him the ego to know when he was right even if it didn't require the utmost of creativity. There was a point and a purpose, and while he had contingencies on what to do should someone with ambition arrive here - it was inevitable - his main concern was circumventing the Council and Jerry to expand his reach as far and wide as he could. They were the ones most at risk of interfering with him.

The Chosen were a mostly gamely lot that fought each other when push came to shove. They all had competing pathetic interests.

He was certain that no one in this place actually considered what he was capable of. Akechi actually might, but the hatred in the man blinded him from being too much of a real threat. Vi might have warned people about what he was capable of, but even she under-represented what he could do, what he had done, and what he was willing to do. Silco was being downright pleasant here, and sometimes it went against the grain of everything he was.]

Such a dilemma. Whatever to do with such a person... [Make them disappear. Create a narrative the people would accept or at least be too scared or indifferent to question.]

I wasn't seeking advice. [He replied coldly, his blue eye narrowing dangerously.] It may be unwise for you to look down your nose at the peasant. [Him.] I've told you what you need to know about finding accommodation.

[Anger stirred and while he had a firm grip of his temper so it would spill over, he lost the appeal of being out here. It was necessary for creating alliances, but in the end, it was best to keep things to business. Thankfully the bruises on his throat were little more than a dull yellowing, but he was still keenly aware of them. His collar and tie hide almost all of them. They reminded him that he had much work to do.]

[The tension around them has shifted, turning from previous casualness into something more tight and reserved. And like always, leave it to Whitey the Boar to pick up the subtle changes first before his master. Whitey had been sniffing on the grass and poking the dirt with his pink snout, perhaps in hopes of finding some hidden food and what not. And once the anger slips into Silco's words the pig reacts almost immediately, raising his head from the ground and letting out a nervous squeal. After that Whitey runs off, hiding somewhere in the bushes nearby as if fearing that something was going to happen.

Richard, in return, turned his attention briefly away from his practice to watch as Whitey disappeared behind the green leaves. Figures, he thinks to himself and turns his eyes back at Silco.]

I am not. The power of a king is measured by his people. They have power to take down those who they claim unworthy. [The irritation and displeasure were evident in Silco's voice and posture. Although Richard couldn't quite picture why. As far as he's concerned he's spoken no ill of those born into lesser ranks than what his own, having first hand experience in just how much power they possessed. At the end his ultimate opponent had been the hearts of peasants and his future subjects. If he could not make them believe that he was benevolent and just there would only had been another uprising as he sought to claim the throne.] And without God in this forsaken land I do not see much difference between us. We are all nothing but sinners.

[Richard had sinned, gravely so, and flown too close to the sun. Only to have his wings torn off and thrown into this unknown, bizarre land of purgatory. It's something he believed that bound him, Silco and everyone else present together.] Take it, whether you seek for my council or not. As a friendly advice from one that is interested to see how will you use that power to shape this land into your image.

[Silco's eyes also moved to the pig when the creature squealed and headed for the underbrush. That two-hundred pound beast outweighed him and could very likely gore them both, and yet, it apparently felt the urge to run for hills. Well, that made him feel a momentary sense of gratification before it was wiped clear with his previous mood returning.]

How would you know? You aren't a king. [He had seen the man called a Duke, though how the hierarchy worked where Richard was from he didn't know. He had been treated as an inconvenience at best and an object to be hated, used and abused by those in the Uppercity when they wanted some fun. It was true that such treatment created revolutionaries, and he had all been about taking heads and instilling fear in those with power over them to force change.

But he'd been smarter than that. He had learned early that he had to have something more. Hextech had forced him to change his plans from all out war to a slow, insidious gathering of power to force change.]

Even with God or whoever you worship, we are all sinners. Sinning is what we were made to do, and being made to feel guilty for enjoying our nature is the greatest lie they will tie you up in.

[Silco wasn't interested in changing who he was, and he wasn't in the mood for advice. It was hard enough not being in his head being reminded of how he had ended up here in the first place.] Is that what it is about? Friendship? [He scoffed at the idea; he didn't have friends.] I don't care to shape it in my image; I'm not doing it for me.

[It might not matter in the end, of course. Perhaps this world along with their own should just burn.]

[The remark came out as a jab, maybe more than what Silco had originally intended. After all, the older man was not aware of true nature of Richard's ambitions and just what he had been doing in his world before arriving here. To knock down the divine and just, and place a demon on a throne. And he had came so close to achieve it. Coronation date set, people's favor obtained and all enemies defeated. But guess God was really determined from keeping him away from becoming a king and banish him from the paradise.]

No. But I am still a subject, aren't I? [The tone in his voice drops down a few notches down to the colder. He then turns around to shoot another arrow. Though, this time he does so more hastily, missing the mark just barely. Seems like the irritation in the air is contagious kind.] Call it whatever you want. [He scoffs back, taking out yet another arrow. He still has couple left to shoot. Richard wouldn't call them friends either. Acquaintances maybe? Allies of sorts? Who knows. But not friends.

He places arrow on its place and draws the bow. But before releasing the arrow he decides to go for it:] What are you angry about?

Perhaps. But you stand next to the seat of power, could probably warm it when your brother is indulging in his vices. [He had no doubt that Richard provided valuable contributions to the ruling bloodline, evidenced here by the fact that the younger man was out here practicing skills that Aldrip likely wouldn't put to use as readily as a King might.] You are to the peasants what God is to you perhaps, watching the scuttle of life below from an ivory tower.

[He noted the change in tone, and for all that they had had some positivity bizarre interactions compared to other people he met with, Silco was not upset to decrease the temperature in Richard's voice. If he was going to walk this path alone, he'd burn the forest around him his own way. Allies, perhaps, but even they needed to have that fear in them to not cross him. That's what this place was missing.

Yet, he stopped himself from simply walking away when it seemed the conversation had devolved when he was called out. Slowly, he turned his head to regard Richard standing with that bow ready to let fly. He realized that he was angry. Still in control but angry to cover over the complex emotions twisting him up internally. There were a rare few that would dare to nudge him: Sevika, the Doctor and neither of them here.]

A personal matter. [He stated it like he was talking about the weather, off-hand as he reigned himself in. Then he stood in silence and considered the value of divulging. No one had asked him that - maybe too scared to - and the one person who he had as a support walked out on him when he had needed her most.] I was killed in the Tower. My ally has ceased communication with me over the incident.

[The very, very abridged version of the nuanced complexities of decades of history crammed into a small iota of time. He lifted a hand and pulled down the collar of his shirt and tie to reveal more of the yellow bruising as the last indications of his throttling.]

[At first Richard believes the root of Silco's ire to be just that. Frustration over the differences of class and how being born in different societies has treated them. A ridiculous thing to get angry about, Richard thinks. Peasants are peasants, lords are lords. Both have essential part in creating a balance in world, there was no need to be upset about such fact. And besides. Had they not already admitted to one another, at least in some manner, that they were nothing but monsters seeking to destroy that balance.

Well, whatever. If Silco truly was that thin skinned that he grew antsy over a simple fact of life then it was his loss.

He shoots the arrow through the air, aiming it on the target painted higher on the tree. And sure enough, it lands where it's supposed to. Only two more targets left. He makes a quiet "hm"-sound as a sign that he's indeed listening. Richard monetarily lowers his bow to take out another arrow, looking back at Silco mean time---

--Ah. That must have hurt, is the first thing he thinks as he lays his eyes down on the healing bruises around the man's neck and throat. Such unpleasant and painful way to go.

For a moment Richard doesn't say anything and just stares while keeping his facial expressions neutral. It's less the injury that has him nailed to the spot but the fact that Silco had truly died and came back. A dark resurrection back to their punishment. He had known the fact but it still was different to witness it.

Then, staying true to his fashion and continuing the odd tradition of their relationship, Richard moves closer and closes the gap between them so that he could reach with his free hand to place fingers over Silco's, carefully pulling the collar even further. The Tower had been a place of trials and tribulations. There was winners and losers...]

Was the price worth it?

[He could deal with the insinuation or overt discussion of his lack of birthright in most cases, though he wasn't above bringing a high born low either. They had their uses and much like the Undercity, they all had their price. It was a matter of discovering what sort of illicit activities they wanted and needed and providing an avenue. He didn't want a crown, didn't want to be king, and he certainly didn't normally care about receiving advice.

However, he was tired from a chronic lack of sleep, perhaps made worse by a diet of cigars and whiskey. He was continuing on in a way with business as usual on the outside, but he'd let the mask slip here.

He'd also definitely undersold the 'ally' portion of the tale of his death. After all, Jinx was his world, especially here, and he was building an empire to pass down to her whether she continued with its productivity or burned it to the ground. Certainly, he took pleasure in it, but Jinx having such a strong revulsion to his death - and he assumed the sister had actually died too but hadn't confirmed - had left a big hole where his attention and focus normally was. It wasn't as if he had friends, allies or even many enemies here; he was playing it safe because this place provided him an avenue to get what he wanted without the usual tactics.

He had reports of Jinx's activities, of course. She might not be speaking to him, but he made himself available and kept tabs on her. If this was a longer-than-usual-silent-treatment, he hadn't decided how he was going to focus himself. Currently, he apparently was out here watching Richard plug arrows into a tree. Better than contemplating both the trauma he was still grappling with and the temporary loss of his daughter.

He tugged the collar of his shirt back up over most of the bruising; he wondered if everyone showed injuries when they returned or if it was the place's special reminder to him alone. His attention shifted as the younger man approached as he straightened his tie again, pausing when he felt the warmth of Richard's fingers on his own nor how his collar was drawn back down.]

Is dying ever worth it? The only bright spot was making her pay with her own life. [He assumed.] I would have gone far in that tower if not for that one occupant. It's a moot point. I died and I still have the same question in my head: have I had enough?

["Victory or honorable death." That is the motto that Richard and others had stood behind during the War of Roses. Despite having gained more insight and grown out of naive fantasies of glory, he still believed that there were some things that were worthy enough for one to gamble their lives. Just like crown had been for Richard. He was very painfully aware that all it took was one small mistake and his body would find its way to the flames of stake, tortured and beaten.

Richard does not dare to extend his fingers to touch the skin in front of him. Instead settles with just observing the discoloration of the bruises marring the delicate area with keen eyes.]

Scars and bruises are lessons carved on our bodies. [He says, echoing Silco's own words from their prior meeting. Richard doesn't know the details of the circumstances or just what had went down in the tower, but he does feel like whatever it had been has brought Silco to crossroads of sorts. What was the lesson that this recent trauma left on the man. And was it enough to make him quit or would he continue.

Time to see just how strong and the monster truly was.]

And if you have what is the alternative for you?

[Silco did believe that there was a lesson to be learned from his death, even if it was the verify all those rumours about death not having permanence here for some. Perhaps in the Tower for him, but he knew the sister had returned as well so the pair of them had shown that this place hadn't seen fit to be rid of them at the moment, even if it had been an outward fear of Jinx's. In time, he would even come to understand more of the situation because of this he was certain of it.

He snorted softly when his words were about-faced on him, and he nodded his head slightly to acknowledge them.] And so they are. These will fade with time, but I will always remember the feel of those fingers around my throat and how consciousness was stolen from me. [He had fought, of course, and in a sense, he had also won that contest of tempers between them on some level. Even if she didn't die, she would be horribly injured and requiring extensive recovery.

He regarded Richard for a long quiet moment at the question, and at the end of it, he lifted a hand so he could use two fingers to tuck the ruff of dark hair back behind the younger man's ear.] If I have reached the end of my strength, then I have no point of being here. Retirement where I'm from is a permanent cessation. There is much for me to do, even if the one I am doing it for will punish me for as long as she sees fit.

[There is no reaction from him when the fingers reach out to brush his hair. The golden eye stares back the damaged red one in silence, listening to the words. A small smile appears on his lips. Silco is right, there is no stopping for men like them. Not as long as the breath runs in their lungs.]

Body and mind will remember. [He says in agreement and raises his other hand to place on top of Silco's fingers, the leather of glove concealing the ugly burnt underneath it. A small sign of comradery. ]

And what do you get out from doing this for her? Love? Gratitude? Salvation?

Body and mind will remember. Those memories will either break you or forge you to something stronger. [He liked to think that he would build stronger walls, prepare himself better so that there would never be a repeat performance. And even if there was, perhaps this place would see fit to keep him here given his dedication to making a life here. Isn't that what the Council and powers-that-be wanted?

His fingers twitched under the feel of Richard's, and he was aware of the warmth emanating even with that glove. He was reminded of the scars that Richard concealed with various tactics, and it was not uncommon. Silco did the same when it suited the narrative he needed.]

Legacy. [She would survive, and he hoped she would survive. She could hate him for the end of time - and such an outcome would wound him deeply - but he would continue.] She is perfect, and I would burn this world down if it meant she could continue as she wants to be. That is the sacrifice I make for legacy.

[Unlike Vander, there would be no proud statues honouring him. Perhaps he would be spoken of with fear and respect for a generation or two, but history was written by the victors and Zaun had yet to succeed.]

[Body will remember what mind does, and vice versa. Richard can agree with that. Though, he is not entirely convinced which effect the recent encounter and the marks left by it has had on Silco. They both know that there is no such thing as pulling back nor stopping for men like them. Giving up would equal death for them. And yet, he can see the traces of doubts wavering in the man's resolve.

Richard understands the meaning of legacy, better than most he assumes. The strength of a king is not only measured by the present but also the memory that he leaves behind. Their time on the earthly kingdom is only limited one, and once that time is up it's up to their legacy to keep their memories alive. To keep alive. A king without an heir is a dead one. But yet, the Silco's words make it seem like he is already looking into the time without him - unconcerned with his own life. It's like conversing with a ghost.

Richard, once again, finds himself from wondering what had truly been the reason why his own father had desired the crown for himself the first time. Why had he tried to grasp on the light of paradise. Had it been for himself? Or for his sons?]

I see. [Richard hums, letting go of Silco's hand and moves back, leaving the man's personal space. He takes few steps back but doesn't return back to his practice just yet.] And if she does not want your empire, what then?

[His fingers twitch where the warmth faded as Richard's grip released and the distance grew between them. It took him a moment to recognize the lurch on his gut as a sign of his discomfort to have lost Jinx for so long already. Was he using Richard to fill the gap that she left as he had nothing else by his empire of dirt? They had a strange manner when they were around each other, and no one else thus far had dared to come close to touching him with any kind of curiosity or familiarity.

Just Richard. Just Jinx.

Yet, it was the question that caused him to close his blue eye as he allowed the effect of it to wash over him. What then indeed. So far he had convinced Jinx to want what he wanted, but this wasn't Zaun. This place wasn't full of their struggling people, downtrodden and stepped on by the higher society. This was Aldrip, a pathetic illusion of what society was supposed to be and without any of the nuance entertainment of his own city.

He finally regarded Richard after an extended silence, and for just a moment his professional mask slipped to reveal the pain of the question and the loss of a daughter. Almost like he was grieving both.] Then it falls to the scavengers and everything I did was little more than a side-note in a history book. Assuming this place bothers with history... if not, then my life and goals equate to my death: a zero sum.

[He sighed and turned away.] Return to your practice. I need to return to work. [His empire of dirt.]

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just cw for everything tbh...

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