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Koby ([personal profile] kobes) wrote2024-06-09 04:14 pm

inbox for [community profile] saltburnt





WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK



USERNAME:
koby




text ❖ audio ❖ video

powerhungry: (pic#17699474)

[personal profile] powerhungry 2025-03-30 10:39 pm (UTC)(link)
[ 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. ]

—And how classified are these?
powerhungry: (pic#17695333)

[personal profile] powerhungry 2025-04-02 01:53 am (UTC)(link)
[ 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: ]

Who are you afraid might find this?
powerhungry: (pic#17695260)

[personal profile] powerhungry 2025-04-06 04:59 am (UTC)(link)
[ 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.

[ For now. ]
powerhungry: (pic#17699408)

🎀

[personal profile] powerhungry 2025-04-12 07:49 pm (UTC)(link)
As am I.

[ 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.