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His alarm hasn't gone off yet when Silco opens his eye. He's instead woken up by distant laughter outside. Heavy burgundy curtains keep the room pleasantly dark--a paramount feature necessary for Silco to fall asleep in the first place--but it's still bright enough to roughly make out the shape sleeping next to him. A small, tired smile tugs at the corner of his mouth while he watches her breathe evenly. He turns and scoots closer, his arms slowly coming around a shapely waist, pulling himself flush against her. His lips--languid and slow in their movements--find her shoulder and plant a small trail of kisses up towards her neck. Yet, she doesn't wake up. Silco then nuzzles against the nape of her neck, breathing in the scent that was unmistakably hers. He sighs. He knew she was tired. Their son's been with them for a couple of months now and as lovely as he was, he kept them both up at night. Her more frequently than him. Silco often volunteered to try and put the baby back to sleep, but as soon as the boy was hungry, there wasn't much he could do but wake her up.
Ultimately deciding to let her sleep he rolls over and sits up. Quietly slipping into his scuffs and dressing gown he walks over to the window and reaches for the curtain to peek outside. Condensed water collects around the edges of the windowpane. A tell-tale sign that it's cold out; has been for months now. Unfiltered sunlight rarely reaches the fissures this time of year and everything is dipped in a muted teal haze. A slight breeze carries snowflakes, though small and weak, through the streets. He yawns quietly, fogging up the window with his breath.
Topsiders call it the 'Time of Giving', but Fissurefolk aren't so enthusiastic about something as plain and simple as the change of season. Not when it “gives” undue hardship. There is never enough to go around within the Undercity and wintertide makes everything that much harder. Foods and weathertight clothing become short of supply yet high in demand. People scraping together every last coin for essentials; anything else is an unaffordable luxury until Piltovan fields can be cultivated and trade can pick up again.
The City of Progress thrives, whilst the Fissures shrivel.
But regardless of these tribulations, an air of festivity manifests throughout the Sumps each year. Accumulated gases and fumes keep the lower levels insulated and makes it just warm enough for snow to last barely a few hours, but watching green shimmering snowflakes flurry through the air can put even the grumpiest Zaunite in a wistful mood. With snow comes quiet. It urges people to slow down. To contemplate and realise what matters most. It keeps unnecessary trade off the streets and instead fills them with children trying to catch flakes mid-air or look at their intricate patterns before they melt between barely gloved fingers.
With businesses gradually going into hibernation, The Last Drop's sales inevitably drop as well; it seems even Shimmer addicts could prioritise in these harsh times. Fewer patrons frequent the bar and a sobering amount of beers are pulled each night. And while this would be a financial catastrophe for most, Silco views this as a welcome change of pace to be with his own family. Being the head of the chem-barons and de facto leader of the Undercity with an enterprise so vast he doesn't have to worry about the cash flow ever running dry. However, Silco isn't someone to ever partake in Topside's tradition of holiday consumerism. No decorations appear in or outside his club. The music within doesn't change either. Gifts are something given whenever he sees fit throughout the year, not when tradition dictates it. What he does indulge in, is spending these quieter moments to enjoy something he's barely known for the majority of his life: quality time with his family.
Soft cooing pulls him out of his thoughts. Stepping away from the window, he walks to the cradle standing near their bed. He leans over it, reaches down, and carefully lifts his son up into his arms.
Silco nuzzles into his cherubic cheek and whispers, "Shall we give her some rest?"
A faint gurgling noise is his answer and he nods in affirmation.
"Very well."
With one last glance over to the bed, he leaves the bedroom and quietly makes his way downstairs. He readjusts the small blanket to wrap it more firmly around his son. Silco isn't bothered by the slight draught that persists through the entirety of the building but he doesn't want to risk his child catching a cold whilst in such a vulnerable state.
Softly rocking him with one arm as he comes to the door leading to his office, Silco hears clattering sounds from the other side, making him pause. Brows furrowing, he instinctively angles his body so his son won't be in the immediate line of sight. Pressing him closer to his chest, he pushes the handle down and squints through the door crack. What he sees makes his hairs stand on end.
Jinx is balancing on the backrest of his desk chair trying to reach towards the rafters, a peculiar contraption clutched in her hands. The chair lurches dangerously to and fro with her movements.
"Come ooon! Just a bit more--"
"Jinx!"
The girl yelps and loses her balance. Silco's stomach drops as he moves instinctively. A moment before the chair topples over, his right arm snakes around her midriff and pulls her away.
The chair loudly bangs against the desk and his startled son's hiccups hint that he's on the verge of crying. Jinx wiggles out of his grasp, puffing while doing so.
"No! Let me go, I can do this!"
"What were you thinking?!" he hisses, though with no bite to his voice. He rocks his son slowly--eventually lulling him back to sleep--but never takes his eyes off the little girl standing before him now, trying to stare holes into the ground.
"...I-I was trying to put this up," she explains, nodding towards whatever she's holding in her small hands.
Silco takes a deep breath. He decides to indulge her. After holding out his hand for a few moments, she places what appears to be a metal frog made out of toy rockets into his palm. Half-dry glue and glitter cover nearly every visible surface. His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek before he speaks.
"What is this?"
"Missile Toad."
Silco does a double-take, "A what?"
Jinx puts her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes as if nothing could be more obvious than what she tells him right now.
"I heard about it in the bar. When two people meet under it they have to give each other a kiss!"
The silence stretches while Silco's eyebrow raises ever higher.
"Mistletoe, child. It's a Topside plant."
"That--"
Jinx's arms fall and her eyes grow wide. It takes her a moment to think about it before her mouth forms a silent 'O'.
"--makes so much more sense."
Silco huffs out a chuckle and finally settles on the couch near the wall, taking the amphibian artillery with him. After setting it down he looks at Jinx but she isn't following him. His head tilts. He's been with her for long enough and knows by how she's fidgeting with her pyjama sleeves that there's still something on her mind. His eyes flick to the frog again before holding it out to her. Once her gaze settles on her latest creation, he speaks.
"Why did you want to put it here?"
Jinx bites her lip and her eyes look everywhere but at him. Knowing she's preparing what to say, he doesn't rush her.
"I don't see you anymore. You're too busy."
Silco's grip on the frog tightens.
"You're always working, always"--she pointedly looks at the bundle within his arms--"with him."
Her voice is shaky. She starts to ramble.
"You don't even eat with us most nights. S-so I thought if you don't want to come to me--I'd come to you. And with the missil-the mistletoe, you'd just have to--"
Seeing how Jinx works herself up to the point where she starts pulling on her hangnails, Silco clicks his tongue and interrupts her. Her erratic movements cease immediately. She stares at him, a myriad of worries clearly written across her face.
A heavy feeling settles in Silco’s stomach as he starts to understand. Both his work and his son caused him to neglect his daughter and he only realises after she tells him. How can he, the man who tracks anything and everything within the nation he calls his home, completely miss something so obvious? He hums in thought, drumming his fingers against his knee in a steady pattern. With a jerk, he turns around and looks up. His face softens and the hint of a smile plays around his lips.
Silco stands up, always careful not to wake his still sleeping son and takes hold of the picture frame hanging behind the couch. With one swift movement, he lifts it away from the wall and puts it on his desk. He's aware of Jinx watching him as he holds up the 'mistletoe' by its string and ties it around the now available nail. After turning it so the entity of glitter, glue and misunderstood tradition looks into the room, he sits back down again. Readjusting his hold on the boy, his free arm rises in an inviting gesture, beckoning her forth.
"Come here, child."
Jinx's eyes can't decide if they should look at the toad or at him as she shuffles over to him, hopping onto the couch and crawling on Silco's lap. His arm comes up to keep her steady and pull her closer. Her frown melts away as he gives her a short but soft peck on the cheek.
"I'm not angry at him," she says all the while motioning to her little brother. "...'m not angry at you either. Just--" Another kiss on her forehead breaks her off. Chilly fingers stroke her cheek and then run gently through her hair.
"I know, Jinx. I'll be better."
Jinx hums and her body relaxes. She settles against him, nestling her head beneath his chin. Minutes tick by as they sit in silence, soaking up each other's presence.
Silco is about to doze off when her small voice pipes up once more.
"You can put the picture back, you know?"
His hand slowly strokes her back as he sinks further into the couch, not opening his eye.
"Never."