Deal. I'll be at the table in the back corner. Look for the duck.
[because yes, there'll be a duck on the table, nestled soft and white into the folds of a cast-off jacket. that and the pink hair make koby an easily identifiable fixture of the library.]
[ Fifty minutes later, Silco stalks into the library, taking a minute of his allotted extra time to take a lap around the space — still not completely tidied after the events of the previous month — before zeroing in on the duck (not really difficult to notice, though he supposes that's half the point), and the mop of pink hair. ]
You must be Koby.
[ Spoken neutrally, the tenor of his voice balanced toward politeness.
His eyes, one sky-blue, the other molten orange, fall to the bird. An odd choice of pet — certainly more well-kept than any of the creatures he'd ever seen in the undercity — but perhaps fitting enough for one meant to be kept amongst a band of pirates. ]
[koby’s watching the front doors of the library, aware of every unfamiliar presence that enters, glancing up quick over the tops of his glasses each time he can’t immediately place the aura that passes into his field of perception. he sees the man, glances over the sight and marks him as possibly. if he’s jinx’s father (?), it makes sense that he’d be older, after all.
when silco approaches, koby’s making a studied attempt to appear deeply interested in his notes, trying to look appropriately surprised when he looks up, smiles, pushes his glasses up into his overgrown hair to keep it back.]
I am, yes. Mr. Silco, right? [all manners, koby stands, resisting the urge to salute or bow or – something, settling instead for a quick sort of respectful incline of his head.] It’s nice to meet you. Please, have a seat.
[the duck watches the exchange out of one bright, dark eye, before closing it and settling back down into her makeshift nest. koby smiles, his polite veneer slipping a touch, replaced with genuine fondness as he strokes along the sleek, snowy feathers.] Lincoln. She’s not much help with taking notes, but she’s very pleasant company.
[ If Silco notices the amount of effort Koby's exerting, he doesn't make any outward note of it; the boy's nod gets one in return, as well as a wave of one hand to invite Koby to sit again as he takes a seat of his own. He's certainly different from Nami – both of them strike Silco as earnest (as clever, more importantly), but in distinctly separate tenors. Nami has her restaurant, a focal point for those she considers her crew, while Koby has a stockpile meant for all, a brochure for any new arrivals, regardless of who they are or where they've come from. And that's leaving aside the way Koby had stood upon his approach, a habit Silco knows comes strict discipline.
Smoothly, as he settles into a chair: ] The pleasure's all mine.
[ It's an easy tit for tat, matching Koby's energy as opposed to fully exerting his own while he's still getting the lay of the land. And as for the duck — he lays his hand out on the desk, palm up, not exactly extended forward but available should the creature take an interest. ]
Did she arrive here with you?
[ A useless question, maybe, but the notes are right there, and it's not like this line of inquiry is going to change Koby's mind one way or another. ]
[the sense is one of a tightly-closed door, a locked file cabinet, everything swept under the rug and neatly tidied -- impossible to critique, nothing to catch the eye, deliberately unobtrusive. and that's exactly what draws koby's attention so keenly, because when people aren't watching everything they say and do, when they aren't measuring out every movement, every word, they tend to be messy. emotion, thought, sensation, it all bleeds out into that unseen ambient noise koby's become accustomed to over the last few months.
from silco, though -- nothing. no giveaways. the polar opposite of jinx's vivid, vibrant presence, like an explosion. it prompts more questions than it answers, seeing the man in person, watching him sit. koby's never been able to pass up that locked door, that closed cabinet, not when he could crouch and listen in, not when he could puzzle out the lock and fill his wondering, searching mind with answers.
there's a faint spark in his eyes that he hides by ducking his head, watching instead lincoln's subdued reaction to the offered hand -- a fowlish nibble at silco's palm, an unbothered wek, then settling back into her nest. koby huffs out a laugh, gathering together the neatly-typed notes, making sure the paper clips are still cleanly separating each appendix.]
No, though we have a den-den from home. Lincoln was a prize for a pumpkin hunt, back in the autumn. She's been a good friend. [a peek, sideways, watching silco with that same curious spark.] I'm not sure how much Jinx has told you, about the strange things that happen here? The -- different events and cyclical nature of the calendar?
[ By contrast, there's a brightness to Koby that Silco knows doesn't necessarily mean ease when it comes to being able to read him and his intentions, but at least gives any observant party a general sense as to which way the wind is blowing. He already knows that he's being watched, that an introduction is just as much information-gathering as anything else — hardly a surprise, considering the cache of notes he's here to see. The only thing left is to ensure that anything that ends up in there about him is what he wants recorded.
Lincoln's attention relinquished, Silco's fingers curl back into his palm, turning over into a loosely-closed fist on the surface of the table. ]
I'm told there's always something, [ he says, voice lilting wryly up. He's already experienced the will of the house, having been thrown into the hunt, but that's neither here nor there in terms of what he's willing to share. ] A pumpkin hunt, I gather, is on the more benign side of the scale.
[ For better or worse, he has looked over the network, and an entire month of autopsy reports is hardly encouraging, especially in comparison to the somewhat more mindless messages that populate it otherwise. ]
Your notes — do you have a contingency in place in the event you're unable to contribute to your daily log, or is the fact that they're a personal recollection more the point?
[it's a strange juxtaposition, silco's odd stillness, his watchfulness, when put side-by-side with jinx's bombastic, explosive presence. yet they're allies, attached the way koby and the straw hats and shanks are. perhaps they balance each other out. koby wants to know, and he's well-aware that interrogating and pushing will alienate silco -- and therefore jinx, which is the last thing he wants. she's been an ally, a friend, and he'll swallow his probing questions for the sake of that. for now.
still, the stack of notes he's gathered together are carefully curated all the same. he'll be kind, he'll be welcoming, but he won't place his unfiltered trust in a stranger. not just yet.]
That's perhaps the most simple explanation of this place I've yet heard. [a little smile, a glance over the tops of his glasses, because despite his caution, his wariness, koby also very much wants everyone he ever meets to like him. he wants to make a good impression.
so the question gets an honest answer, calm and matter-of-fact:] I've missed a couple months updating them day-to-day, but I have a good memory. If you mean in the event something happens to me, then yes, I have a letter with instructions on how to decode my more classified records. [it's a grim reality that koby's been prepared for nearly since he arrived -- certainly since he first started keeping his notes. he's outwardly quite pragmatic about the whole thing.]
[ As Koby speaks, Silco's eyes fall to the stack of notes. They — along with the boy's answer — conveniently provide answers not just to what's been asked but beyond. More classified records; the suggestion that there are things worth hiding, whether from the house, nebulous entity that it is, or from anyone outside their little crew. The neatly collated notes, the carefully placed paperclips — it'd be too generous to say that Silco thinks of himself, but they're signs of a more analytical mind, of skills cultivated in place of purely physical strength. Granted, that's a surface-level take — there's always the chance that his notes will be utter gibberish, and all of Silco's speculation will be rendered moot.
Lightly, simply: ] Good.
[ Approval — another thread pulled through the loom. Easier to do when approval is so sought after. ]
Though let's hope it doesn't come to that.
[ He nods, then, at the pile by Koby's elbow, eyebrows rising slightly. ]
[koby doesn’t mean to, his reaction thoroughly involuntary, but at the understated good, he sits a bit taller, shoulders squaring, ducks his head on a pleased smile. it’s embarrassing actually, how susceptible he is to even the slightest hint of praise.]
Thank you. [still pleased, handing over the stack – binder-clipped together, with each month neatly paperclipped to keep it separate. every section contains a timeline of the month’s public events (the parties, the games, the trials), color-coded based on whether the driving force was the house, the balfours or the guests. then there are more in-depth notes, written meeting-minutes-style, an account of what koby personally witnessed, cross-coded with what was then said or done on the network. footnotes abound, references to various appendices, commentary added later – one note mentions some comment of bunny’s with an addendum “disproven by comment on 9/06”. there’s also a brief, impersonal list of all the house guests, their homes and approximate years of origin – silco himself is there, noted under the heading “march new arrivals”: silco, undercity, non-earth timeline. the last (and largest) section of paper details major earth events, bullet-point style, with markers inserted for various guest’s and their time points, so koby’s more aware of who’s experienced what world happenings prior to arrival, and who might need more context to function well in saltburnt.
koby busies himself with organizing other papers, mostly more current events, filling in the gaps in his earth timeline, so he doesn’t stare intently, waiting for silco’s reaction. at the question, though, he glances up over the tops of his glasses.]
I don’t go around handing it out to just anyone. [taptapping the papers on the table, eyes suddenly very intent, very focused on silco, the subtle, creeping, unseen sensation that the observation doesn’t only go skin-deep.] Jinx vouches for you, so I’ve given you more than most. [the information is comprehensive, but no private conversations are noted, nothing that didn’t occur in a public area, be it the network or the breakfast table. the value is in the organization, the cross-referencing that’s already been done, the awareness of what is lie and what is truth, based on the keen observations of someone who keeps his mouth shut and his ears open.]
[ As Koby reaches out with invisible fingers, what greets him is almost less an aura than it is a concentrated force — a jewel, what ought to be soft made solid and hard. The kind of blue that can be described as beautiful and cold at the same time, shot through with the sense of a wound scabbed over (or that never healed, like the orange eye set in scar tissue, unusually raw in comparison to the rest of him). It's an incursion that Silco can't sense, for better or worse — he sifts through the notes in front of him, none the wiser.
Still, the light tap of Koby's fingers is enough to get Silco to look up, his gaze — sharp, always sharp, no matter how he modulates the rest of his expression — meeting the young man's in an instant. ]
This is impressive work, Koby.
[ Another little sliver of praise, doled out in the only way Silco ever gives it — matter-of-fact, meant to be more significant for the fact that he never gives it idly. But it's as much an isolated thing as it is a treat, a sweet thing meant to cushion and soften the question he asks next, slow and light at the same time: ]
[by now, koby’s felt a wide array of consciousnesses, aura’s, minds in the unseen connection that haki gives him. he knows the radiant warmth of shanks’s, like the sun rising over a still sea, the sparking brilliance of quentin’s, the eclectic vibrancy of the crew. silco’s is unlike all of those, still and honed like a polished gem, every facet focused with keen precision. and though he’s worlds removed from the seas of home, though he wears a marine uniform and swears by a code of law that directly opposes such things, koby’s world is one of pirates, and there’s something in his blood and bone that sees a jewel and wants to reach out, touch it, feel it.
the question is careful, but logical, not overly prying, not invasive. koby doesn’t feel more than thoughtful curiosity at it being posed, though his own answer is still carefully measured in response.]
Other guests, the Balfours, anyone who might use it to hurt my crew. [and there’s a – shift, subtle, slight, a sharpening of koby’s wide-eyed gaze behind the round rims of his glasses.] Which doesn’t include you. Right? [and there’s a sense in the air, like the pressure spiking when a storm approaches, something tight and tensing and prepared, a thunderclap about to roll.]
[ For all that Silco has no mental defenses, no abilities that attune him to the timbre of the room or the people within it, he still senses the cloud, the shadow that it casts over their conversation. But he doesn't look away, doesn't flinch.
(It's painful, that Koby cares so much. His earnestness pierces through his expression like sunlight through a gap in the clouds. He'd been like that once, too, hadn't he?)
There's an honest answer, here — that all people are capable of hurting each other, regardless of connection or intention. That's not, he expects, the answer that Koby really wants to hear, so he lets it go, a glint of light against the hard edges of his mind. ]
Jinx has grown quite fond of you — all of you, [ he begins, each word measured. ] That's my only concern.
[ For better or worse, that's honest, too; clear in a way that a simpering of course it doesn't isn't. And the implication is obvious enough — anyone who holds her favor holds his, or at least the impression of it, and anyone who'd dare to hurt her will answer to him. Unusually honest, for him, but it's an equivalent exchange, in his eyes, as well as a measure of gaining the boy's trust. ]
And besides, we guests all share the same plight. Best not to turn ourselves against each other.
[had there be a lie, here – a soothing, fawning sort of reply, overly magnanimous and dripping with solicitation – koby would’ve immediately distrusted it, even without his mental spyglass aimed directly at the glinting, muted hardness of silco’s thoughts. that sort of reply, which might’ve once calmed a boy who took everything at face value, would deeply unsettle the young man koby’s become.
so the carefully-worded truth is, oddly, more reassuring – silco has no quarrel with anyone who’s become important to jinx, and has no intention (at the moment) of endangering that connection. whether there’s one of his own beyond for jinx herself is negligible – the regard she holds for the straw hats will suffice to protect them.
it’s not a direct announcement of alliance, but it’ll do. the oppressive, unseen tension in the air dissipates, replaced with koby’s pleasant, satisfied smile as he reaches out and taps a wayward paper clip back into place on the stack silco holds.] My crew and I are very fond of her as well. Nami and Sanji especially. [still leaning forward, he looks up, over the tops of his glasses, eyes bright and blue and unflinching. turnabout is fair play – if silco betrays that trust the crew has in him by proxy, if they’re endangered by his actions, the fondness between them and jinx will be superceded by the need to even the scales again.]
[ No hard feelings, then, if push comes to shove, with an eye for an eye as an accepted ultimatum. Surprisingly cold terms, for a boy so pink, but better he learn how to properly navigate the world (to survive) now rather than later. That politeness — mister, sweet on his lips — won't mean too much, in the end.
He can't help that it makes him smile. ]
Thank you.
[ His gaze falls, finally, the thread breaking along with the heavy mood. The papers rustle slightly as his long fingers find their edges, nudging them all into alignment before he picks the entire pile off of the table, getting to his feet in the same motion. ]
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no subject
The library's best. The big one. I'm usually there.
Whenever is convenient for you, of course.
no subject
no subject
[because yes, there'll be a duck on the table, nestled soft and white into the folds of a cast-off jacket. that and the pink hair make koby an easily identifiable fixture of the library.]
→ 🎬
You must be Koby.
[ Spoken neutrally, the tenor of his voice balanced toward politeness.
His eyes, one sky-blue, the other molten orange, fall to the bird. An odd choice of pet — certainly more well-kept than any of the creatures he'd ever seen in the undercity — but perhaps fitting enough for one meant to be kept amongst a band of pirates. ]
And who's your feathered friend?
no subject
when silco approaches, koby’s making a studied attempt to appear deeply interested in his notes, trying to look appropriately surprised when he looks up, smiles, pushes his glasses up into his overgrown hair to keep it back.]
I am, yes. Mr. Silco, right? [all manners, koby stands, resisting the urge to salute or bow or – something, settling instead for a quick sort of respectful incline of his head.] It’s nice to meet you. Please, have a seat.
[the duck watches the exchange out of one bright, dark eye, before closing it and settling back down into her makeshift nest. koby smiles, his polite veneer slipping a touch, replaced with genuine fondness as he strokes along the sleek, snowy feathers.] Lincoln. She’s not much help with taking notes, but she’s very pleasant company.
no subject
Smoothly, as he settles into a chair: ] The pleasure's all mine.
[ It's an easy tit for tat, matching Koby's energy as opposed to fully exerting his own while he's still getting the lay of the land. And as for the duck — he lays his hand out on the desk, palm up, not exactly extended forward but available should the creature take an interest. ]
Did she arrive here with you?
[ A useless question, maybe, but the notes are right there, and it's not like this line of inquiry is going to change Koby's mind one way or another. ]
no subject
from silco, though -- nothing. no giveaways. the polar opposite of jinx's vivid, vibrant presence, like an explosion. it prompts more questions than it answers, seeing the man in person, watching him sit. koby's never been able to pass up that locked door, that closed cabinet, not when he could crouch and listen in, not when he could puzzle out the lock and fill his wondering, searching mind with answers.
there's a faint spark in his eyes that he hides by ducking his head, watching instead lincoln's subdued reaction to the offered hand -- a fowlish nibble at silco's palm, an unbothered wek, then settling back into her nest. koby huffs out a laugh, gathering together the neatly-typed notes, making sure the paper clips are still cleanly separating each appendix.]
No, though we have a den-den from home. Lincoln was a prize for a pumpkin hunt, back in the autumn. She's been a good friend. [a peek, sideways, watching silco with that same curious spark.] I'm not sure how much Jinx has told you, about the strange things that happen here? The -- different events and cyclical nature of the calendar?
no subject
Lincoln's attention relinquished, Silco's fingers curl back into his palm, turning over into a loosely-closed fist on the surface of the table. ]
I'm told there's always something, [ he says, voice lilting wryly up. He's already experienced the will of the house, having been thrown into the hunt, but that's neither here nor there in terms of what he's willing to share. ] A pumpkin hunt, I gather, is on the more benign side of the scale.
[ For better or worse, he has looked over the network, and an entire month of autopsy reports is hardly encouraging, especially in comparison to the somewhat more mindless messages that populate it otherwise. ]
Your notes — do you have a contingency in place in the event you're unable to contribute to your daily log, or is the fact that they're a personal recollection more the point?
no subject
still, the stack of notes he's gathered together are carefully curated all the same. he'll be kind, he'll be welcoming, but he won't place his unfiltered trust in a stranger. not just yet.]
That's perhaps the most simple explanation of this place I've yet heard. [a little smile, a glance over the tops of his glasses, because despite his caution, his wariness, koby also very much wants everyone he ever meets to like him. he wants to make a good impression.
so the question gets an honest answer, calm and matter-of-fact:] I've missed a couple months updating them day-to-day, but I have a good memory. If you mean in the event something happens to me, then yes, I have a letter with instructions on how to decode my more classified records. [it's a grim reality that koby's been prepared for nearly since he arrived -- certainly since he first started keeping his notes. he's outwardly quite pragmatic about the whole thing.]
no subject
Lightly, simply: ] Good.
[ Approval — another thread pulled through the loom. Easier to do when approval is so sought after. ]
Though let's hope it doesn't come to that.
[ He nods, then, at the pile by Koby's elbow, eyebrows rising slightly. ]
—And how classified are these?
no subject
Thank you. [still pleased, handing over the stack – binder-clipped together, with each month neatly paperclipped to keep it separate. every section contains a timeline of the month’s public events (the parties, the games, the trials), color-coded based on whether the driving force was the house, the balfours or the guests. then there are more in-depth notes, written meeting-minutes-style, an account of what koby personally witnessed, cross-coded with what was then said or done on the network. footnotes abound, references to various appendices, commentary added later – one note mentions some comment of bunny’s with an addendum “disproven by comment on 9/06”. there’s also a brief, impersonal list of all the house guests, their homes and approximate years of origin – silco himself is there, noted under the heading “march new arrivals”: silco, undercity, non-earth timeline. the last (and largest) section of paper details major earth events, bullet-point style, with markers inserted for various guest’s and their time points, so koby’s more aware of who’s experienced what world happenings prior to arrival, and who might need more context to function well in saltburnt.
koby busies himself with organizing other papers, mostly more current events, filling in the gaps in his earth timeline, so he doesn’t stare intently, waiting for silco’s reaction. at the question, though, he glances up over the tops of his glasses.]
I don’t go around handing it out to just anyone. [taptapping the papers on the table, eyes suddenly very intent, very focused on silco, the subtle, creeping, unseen sensation that the observation doesn’t only go skin-deep.] Jinx vouches for you, so I’ve given you more than most. [the information is comprehensive, but no private conversations are noted, nothing that didn’t occur in a public area, be it the network or the breakfast table. the value is in the organization, the cross-referencing that’s already been done, the awareness of what is lie and what is truth, based on the keen observations of someone who keeps his mouth shut and his ears open.]
no subject
Still, the light tap of Koby's fingers is enough to get Silco to look up, his gaze — sharp, always sharp, no matter how he modulates the rest of his expression — meeting the young man's in an instant. ]
This is impressive work, Koby.
[ Another little sliver of praise, doled out in the only way Silco ever gives it — matter-of-fact, meant to be more significant for the fact that he never gives it idly. But it's as much an isolated thing as it is a treat, a sweet thing meant to cushion and soften the question he asks next, slow and light at the same time: ]
Who are you afraid might find this?
no subject
the question is careful, but logical, not overly prying, not invasive. koby doesn’t feel more than thoughtful curiosity at it being posed, though his own answer is still carefully measured in response.]
Other guests, the Balfours, anyone who might use it to hurt my crew. [and there’s a – shift, subtle, slight, a sharpening of koby’s wide-eyed gaze behind the round rims of his glasses.] Which doesn’t include you. Right? [and there’s a sense in the air, like the pressure spiking when a storm approaches, something tight and tensing and prepared, a thunderclap about to roll.]
no subject
(It's painful, that Koby cares so much. His earnestness pierces through his expression like sunlight through a gap in the clouds. He'd been like that once, too, hadn't he?)
There's an honest answer, here — that all people are capable of hurting each other, regardless of connection or intention. That's not, he expects, the answer that Koby really wants to hear, so he lets it go, a glint of light against the hard edges of his mind. ]
Jinx has grown quite fond of you — all of you, [ he begins, each word measured. ] That's my only concern.
[ For better or worse, that's honest, too; clear in a way that a simpering of course it doesn't isn't. And the implication is obvious enough — anyone who holds her favor holds his, or at least the impression of it, and anyone who'd dare to hurt her will answer to him. Unusually honest, for him, but it's an equivalent exchange, in his eyes, as well as a measure of gaining the boy's trust. ]
And besides, we guests all share the same plight. Best not to turn ourselves against each other.
[ For now. ]
no subject
so the carefully-worded truth is, oddly, more reassuring – silco has no quarrel with anyone who’s become important to jinx, and has no intention (at the moment) of endangering that connection. whether there’s one of his own beyond for jinx herself is negligible – the regard she holds for the straw hats will suffice to protect them.
it’s not a direct announcement of alliance, but it’ll do. the oppressive, unseen tension in the air dissipates, replaced with koby’s pleasant, satisfied smile as he reaches out and taps a wayward paper clip back into place on the stack silco holds.] My crew and I are very fond of her as well. Nami and Sanji especially. [still leaning forward, he looks up, over the tops of his glasses, eyes bright and blue and unflinching. turnabout is fair play – if silco betrays that trust the crew has in him by proxy, if they’re endangered by his actions, the fondness between them and jinx will be superceded by the need to even the scales again.]
I’m glad we’re in agreement, Mr. Silco.
🎀
[ No hard feelings, then, if push comes to shove, with an eye for an eye as an accepted ultimatum. Surprisingly cold terms, for a boy so pink, but better he learn how to properly navigate the world (to survive) now rather than later. That politeness — mister, sweet on his lips — won't mean too much, in the end.
He can't help that it makes him smile. ]
Thank you.
[ His gaze falls, finally, the thread breaking along with the heavy mood. The papers rustle slightly as his long fingers find their edges, nudging them all into alignment before he picks the entire pile off of the table, getting to his feet in the same motion. ]
I'll have these back to you on the morrow.