The responsibility of being the representative for Zaun upon its independence gave little time to actually revisit the familiarity of what he considers to be home. Taking up a chair within the Council, held in the similar calibre to that of a Piltovan, in spite of the poorly concealed leering directed towards him when certain, arrogant fools assume he isn't looking — or perhaps cannot, given the visual impairment carved into the left portion of his face.

Silco doesn't allow that fact to dictate the confidence in his voice; with each strategic plan presented at the polished, marble table, with each legislation passed where Zaun and its children are finally, finally provided the chance to seize the birthright to be recognised as a people of equal necessity, of significance and not as a mere extension of resources for the benefit of Piltover. The air feels different up there — thinner, cleaner,带着上层社会虚伪的甜味，与祖安空气中那熟悉的金属和化学气味形成鲜明对比。

Today was a moment of rarity, where Silco could afford to step down from the pristine air of Piltover and the enclosure of white-collared nobility. The opportunity to venture along the streets of cobblestone and towering glass and metal Silco has long since memorised to an intimate extent — the surroundings, however, have changed. A far cry from the thicket of industrial toxicity which once towered over this beautiful city for as long as he could remember. The air is lighter now, but still distinguishable in comparison to the City of Progress.

It is warm inside the space of the bedroom, just a floor above the well-refined bar that was the Last Drop. This was a shared place of personal comfort between him and his husbands — Vander and you. The former currently tending to the final hours of the establishment's availability while the latter had last been seen in your study, engaged with the financial evaluations of the business.

The room hadn't changed at all, really, since the last time he'd been here. The place as tidy as it can be kept in Silco's absence. Which isn't by much, unsurprising to him, but it is met with exception. A hushed chuckle builds up in his throat at the thought, as he holds the small tube of the eyedropper above the exposure of his blind eye, gently squeezing the bulb to allow few droplets of the solution to lubricate the surface of his optic with a tender wheeze.

Powder took the role of giving him his eyedrops before his departure as a Councillor, and she was always careful and considerate with the distribution. He was more than capable of administering the solution himself but Silco has never had the heart to reject his daughter and her advances. He almost wishes she could be here to do it for him now that he's visiting, but of course, she was growing older — preoccupied with her own projects and interests, and Benzo's boy, Ekko —

The resonance of deliberately heavy footsteps announce themselves against the wooden floorboards, the sound initially causing a sense of apprehension to erect the small hairs on the back of his neck, before it is quickly filtered out with recognition to the gesture. Vander and you have taken the habit to make themselves known as either make an approach so as to not startle Silco — an act which has been in play ever since his return. The entrance to the confinement is held ajar and it reveals the sight of one of his husbands. You.

The small quirk to the corner of his thin lips cannot be withheld as the singular orb of his teal eye traces the imagery of your physique from the reflective expanse of the mirror. "Good evening, my love."