[ His wrist cracked with an audible crack -- ironic that this is not the first time that wrist was injured in this tree. The knife dropped from his fingers, predictably. The first time he'd been here, he'd been forced to cut that limb off -- his daughter had done it for him -- and the spike of anger in his eyes was more for that than the pain. Oh, it hurt, but so did having one's eye blossom with pain and infection to the point that it looked like it did. The sweat didn't even make the eye blink, and the makeup that covered his scar started to smear it, leaving the dark mass of corrupted, infected skin beneath peek through. ]

You've clearly never fought in the wars I have. [ He said, his tone sharp. It was still brawling, when you were fighting Enforcers, after all, when they hit you with the butt of their rifles and tried to kill you and yours -- and succeeded with many.

Silco had all but started to ignore Voryn, and instead, placed his left hand to his mouth, and tugged the glove free with his teeth. With the skin free, he slammed his hand to Ocelot's wrist and smiled, aiming for skin-to-skin contact. The back of his hand bore a tattoo of raised skin, that didn't look like any normal tattoo. That hateful face is angry, of course, one of his eyebrows drew in, one eye narrowed, while the other, unblinking, was ensconced in scars. His smile was mean, as he spoke. ]

I wonder if you know what it's like to be so desperate that you lose control?

[ His shimmer dose was... particular. He'd found he could modulate it, after all. None of the strength, none of the speed, all of the mental effects, the haze of shimmer's high without the reason people took it. ]