@infamouscabal (from here)

It wasn’t that he’d forgotten how tall Horst was, exactly; it was just easy not to notice it sometimes, especially if he was sitting and Silver was standing, as they had been before. So when Horst rose, rounding on him, Silver couldn’t help but take an instinctive step back, his stomach jolting. Horst was big. Silver had never seen him irritated before, and he hadn’t expected to see him that way now, after what he’d intended as a joke. There was something other about the way he’d rounded on Silver that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Men who were naturally angry were easy to deal with. Men who were pleasant and cheerful right up until they weren’t were a fucking nightmare.

“Not the type to get into a fight over looking a little untidy?” Silver asked, blinking innocently up at him. “You’re right. I’m not.” That wasn’t what Horst had meant and Silver knew it, but he smiled anyway, folding his arms. “Of all the sins I thought you’d be beholden to, I didn’t expect vanity to be one of them.”

"I am fluent in Latin, and I can tell you with great confidence that that is *not* what it says." Cabal said, irritated. He snatched the paper from Silver's hand. [because. ITS LATIN]

“Well, why don’t you enlighten me?” said Silver, seemingly unbothered by Cabal’s irritability - probably because he was more than used to it, at this point. That, and because butchering Latin (which he truly didn’t speak, but he knew enough not to mispronounce things that badly) had gotten him the exact result he’d wanted. 

He smiled at Cabal, folded his arms, and waited.

@poetrot​ liked for a starter for annika!

“ani!” marie hissed, waving her over as if is was some clandestine meeting and not gossip on the training grounds. “have you heard?” she said, voice hushed but nonetheless excited. “there’s word general kirigan has found a sun summoner!” she took the other girl’s hands in her own. “do you think they’ll bring them to train with us? do you think it’s an inferni?” marie couldn’t help the glee she felt at the idea. a sun summoner could mean an end to the shadow fold–– it could mean all kinds of changes for ravka, and as far as marie was concerned, that was the best news anyone could hope for.

Hidden in the shadows of a back alley, Horst embraced his chosen of the evening- his face buried against the curve of her neck. She looked /rapturous/ in her mezmerised state, a small sound escaping the woman as she clutched at Horst's jacked. Hearing a step behind him, Horst straightened abruptly. His lips and teeth red and wet. Looking directly at Silver- his eyes reflecting the dim light like a cats.

Oh, fuck.

He had witnessed something he wasn’t supposed to, he knew that immediately, even though the woman had sounded like she was in the throes of ecstasy. Electric fear shot up his spine: Silver stiffened, heart pounding as the--man?--turned towards him--fuck, why wasn’t he running, why was he just standing there, and--

It was Horst. 

It was fucking Horst.

Forgive me, Horst had said to him once, You know I’d never purposely do anything to hurt you...

Yeah, Silver had thought at the time, So you say now.

Their eyes locked only for seconds before Silver did the only sensible thing he could think of: he turned heel and ran, sprinting straight for the nearest tavern that might still be open at this hour. 

Horst's going to find out about you. Everyone always does. What then, Silver? Will you stab him in the back?

“I’m not quite sure what it is you think he’s going to find out about me,” Silver smiles. “That I like telling stories? That’s hardly incriminating. Certainly not enough to make him turn away from me. He’s grown rather fond of me. More to the point, I can’t think of why I’d need to ah, ‘stab him in the back’, as you say - I imagine there are only two outcomes if he ever does turn from me. Either he turns me out onto the street, or he kills me.”

"are you trying to make me angry?" -J @ Silver

“No, it’s just that you just exist in a permanent state of almost-anger, and it’s remarkably easy to tip you over the edge,” replied Silver, sounding irritated himself. He folded his arms, regarding Cabal with the wariness of an animal ready to run at the first sudden movement. “As a general rule I like to avoid pissing off anyone that might draw a pistol on me at the slightest offense.”

Slaps Silver in the face -- because they deserve it. (J's lost his already nominal patience.)

If you’d asked him whether he’d deserved it or not, Silver would have said--well. He probably would have said there was no need to slap him around, and that this entire ordeal would run a lot more smoothly if he didn’t need to add ‘Cabal losing his temper and smacking him again’ to his growing list of anxieties about the endeavour. 

It was talking, of course, that had gotten him slapped in the first place. Silver had supposedly never dealt with someone so thoroughly determined to despise him for - as far as Silver could see - no good reason. 

The slap had hurt, but it wasn’t the burning sting that made him finally keep his mouth shut. It wasn’t even the shock of the impact, or the annoyance at himself when the barest twitch of Cabal’s hand made him flinch again (he was only adjusting his gloves; he wasn’t lifting his hand to Silver at all). It was just that he needed a moment of silence to think about what he said next.

Silver’s head had snapped to the side when Cabal struck him, and it stayed that way for several seconds as he blinked in shock and thought hard about his next move. Cabal was taller. More accustomed to fighting than Silver, who preferred to run if given the chance, though at the moment he deeply wished he could punch Cabal in the mouth.

More importantly than that, Cabal had a gun that Silver was fairly certain couldn’t exist, or didn’t exist, or shouldn’t. 

“...Now that you’ve gotten that out of your system,” he said slowly, looking up at him again, his face carefully blank. Not for the first time since dealing with Cabal, a heavy edge of irritation crept into Silver’s usually-cheerful voice. “Need I remind you that I am the only reason you weren’t caught and killed aboard that ship? In fact - need I remind you I’m the only reason you were even able to board that ship, and escape whatever the fuck you were running from before? I didn’t fucking sign up for anything more than getting paid at the end of this, and I certainly don’t remember implying you’d be allowed to treat me however the fuck you saw fit at any point at the start of our arrangement,” Silver snapped. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself, unless you’d like to continue your journey alone.”

Horst was doing his best to catch the young man's eye from across the tavern. He winked. A moment later, one of the barmaids set a flagon down before Silver. "Th' Gent paid." She tells him.

He’d felt the eyes on him, of course. Silver had avoided them at first- there was always the chance it was some sneering bastard waiting to start a fight the moment he made eye contact- but after a while, he’d finally looked over, and. The stranger - a man - winked at him. 

Silver’s head tilted, ever so slightly. 

When the barmaid spoke to him, he looked up at her, deciding not to flicker his gaze back towards the stranger in the corner of his eye. “Well,” he said lightly, “Send him my thanks, I suppose.”

He almost left it at that: he could very easily decline the drink. Or drink it, and leave, rather than finding out why the man had apparently taken one look at him and decided to buy him a beverage.

But then he was lifting the drink to his lips - sniffing it inconspicuously in the few moments before he actually took a sip from it - and sliding his gaze towards the dark-haired stranger, and, well, it was rather too late to pretend this hadn’t happened, wasn’t it. 

He tipped his head, just-so, towards one of the chairs opposite himself. Come over, then.

Cabal was asleep, now that he no longer had to field endless questions. Arms crossed over his middle, the brim of his hat tucked down over his eyes. His Gladstone bag; unattended at his feet.

Silver could have slept, too. He could sleep anywhere, provided his back wasn’t turned. But although he hadn’t been waiting for this opportunity, the moment he foresaw its arrival, he simply couldn’t help himself: he had to know what was in the bag. Cabal had been protective of his things thus far. The cane, mostly, but Silver was confident of two things: that he would be protective of the bag too, and that that protection was not without good reason.

When Cabal is asleep (and Silver knows he is asleep, is certain he recognises a sleeping man’s breathing from a wakeful one’s), he reaches very carefully towards that bag. He’s careful not to move too quickly, or too slowly- a certain superstition of sorts tells him that if he moves at a snail’s pace whilst staring at what he can see of Cabal’s sleeping face, he’s sure to wake up. 

The first thing of note that he finds in the bag is a roll of what Silver thinks are surgical tools, and--

G-d, could he sell those? Who the fuck would buy them? And how would he get them without Cabal murdering him on the spot?

Experiments, Cabal had said to him once. Silver feels vaguely nauseous.

Vaguely nauseous right until his hand brushes across something cold and hard, with holes in it, and the feeling ramps up to definitely very sick because there’s a fucking human skull in that bag.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.

He pulls his hand out too quickly, prays he doesn’t make a noise as he hastily starts to close the bag again. Whatever else is in there, Silver well and truly does not want to know. 

At least, not until he has a chance of procuring anything useful from it.

★ to clap a hand over my muse’s mouth and drag them out of sight. Because he won't stop talking. Hanzie's annoyed.

Thanks, he hates it!

For a blood-chilling moment he expects the flash of a blade; the sudden plunge; at the very least, the press of it to his throat. But there’s only the press of the hand over his mouth and Cabal’s icy irritation, and Silver’s whole body is locked up in fright but he isn’t being stabbed for talking and he calls that a mercy. 

Both hands are half-raised placatingly, but one of them is pressed against Cabal’s shoulder, trying to urge him away without outright daring to push. Cabal seems like someone who could and might draw a blade in a half-second if he isn’t careful. 

When the hand lowers (and with it, Silver’s wild urge to bite and scrabble at it until he’s free vanishes), Silver bristles, hissing at him in a loud, near-frantic whisper: “Would you not fucking do that?! Jesus!”

@infamouscabalbrothers (from here)

Silver’s expression falters. For the briefest of moments there is something anxious and uneasy in his eyes, a heartbeat of silence passing between them- and then his smile returns to him. As usual, it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

There is--a lot to unpack in those few words of Cabal’s. But of the many questions arising in his mind, Silver chooses this one:

“I’m sorry - experiment, did you say?” 

❝ Don’t touch me ever again. ❞ (idk context but make it hurt pls)

“–I’m sorry.” The apology is pulled from him almost against his will, some unnamed sickness tugging at his gut as he stares wide-eyed back at her. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. This time the false lilt in his voice is nearly gone. “I won’t. You have my word.” 

It had only been a touch to the arm, to get her attention as he approached- but Silver knows this reaction, knows that it isn’t only anything, for some people. He’s seen this kind of thing before but sometimes he, too, finds himse–

Quieter, and with the air of someone uncertain of the consequences, Silver says: “I’ll… wait outside.”

[dominant meme.] "Nein." Cabal placed his hand on his skull headed cane before Silver can touch it- moving it beyond his reach.

He may not speak the language, but he knows a No when he hears it. Silver doesn’t snatch his hand back- doesn’t even withdraw, really. He just pauses, eyes flickering between the odd top of the cane and Cabal’s face, scrutinizing him. “Why do you carry it?”

👖 -H

SAUCY SYMBOL MEME. (accepting!) // 👖 - …unbutton my muse’s pants unlace my muse’s breeches, rather

Fuck knows why it felt like a good idea. Silver never bothers to know someone - especially not a man, with whom he might be caught - without a good reason, and for the most part, ‘felt like getting off with a charming stranger at arse o’clock at night’ doesn’t count. But they’re here anyway, secluded in a dingy little room above the tavern that Silver had all but dragged him to, continuing to chatter and joke with him all the while because truly, John Silver’s mouth never stops. 

The second the door closes behind them Silver is pressing him back against it, curling a hand in Horst’s shirt, dragging him down to kiss him (correction: John Silver’s mouth does stop, but only when otherwise occupied). It’s only when he feels hands at the front of his breeches that Silver pauses, breaking the kiss to look up at the other man. Whatever momentary hesitation that flickers through him fades swiftly, replaced by the former look of unrepentant desire and black, blown pupils.

“Just so you know,” he says, almost casually, the hand fisted in Horst’s shirt now smoothing firmly against his chest, “those are staying on.” He doesn’t elaborate as to why. But he does grip Horst’s wrist, firmly, in case he mistakes it for an outright rejection and takes his hand away entirely. Silver presses his hips forwards, mouth curling up at the corners, and murmurs: “But you can touch.” 

“You wouldn’t hurt me. You can’t.” (baby jane after she's told silver literally everything she's scared of)

when he is eighteen years old he is not yet john silver. he is not who he had been before, either: this identity is as new and formless as the next and last, and every bit as fleeting. for now, it sticks. he grafts himself onto it easily. 

for a long time john silver (not yet john silver) sits there, and his expression is empathetic, and when jane tells him this horrible untruth that she thinks is real all he can do is smile. 

he says, through that smile: “well,” (his smile is a nervous dog’s grin, but he’s working on perfecting it into something bright and easy) “i’ll try my best not to disappoint.”

HEADCANON. // do n o t r/b (or more of a head’s up for my pre-series characterisation, really)

tw: brief mentions of consent issues?? sex work briefly implied?? who knows

SO since I’ve actually been writing pre-series Silver with a couple of people lately, I figure it’s a good idea to warn people that like... He isn’t flirtatious, exactly - though it can appear that way, because when it comes down to it a) there’s no set definition for what flirtation even is, so it’s all down to interpretation and b) in the end Silver’s goal at all times is to be liked and sometimes that will involve being Very Complimentary Or Nice To People pre-series and c) we’ve all heard his weird canonical persuasive lilt, alright, the man always just Sounds Like That. 

What the fuck was I saying. RIGHT NO YEAH he’s not flirtatious, but he Keeps His Options Open in case that’s ever an avenue he needs to take with someone. HENCE, there might be some sort of dodgy-sounding responses from him in pre-series verses regarding certain things, but it absolutely does not mean I’m trying to push a ship or that Silver even has any desire to fuck around with someone, etc etc.