Viktor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
techmaturgy) wrote2021-12-17 10:54 pm
techmaturgy) wrote2021-12-17 10:54 pm
OPEN POST
misc starters ⊛ meme continuations ⊛ overflow ⊛ i do not care just go wild
misc starters ⊛ meme continuations ⊛ overflow ⊛ i do not care just go wild
misc starters ⊛ meme continuations ⊛ overflow ⊛ i do not care just go wild
@sumpsnipe
It isn’t like he’s going to any of the parties anyway, so he makes his way back to the lab, intending to clear his head and maybe get some work done. That’s not exactly how things go.
He hears someone enter, and thinks maybe it’s Sky (best case scenario—if Jayce is coming back to the lab from the afterparty, Viktor doesn’t think he’s going to be able to have the conversation he wants to, so perhaps he should make himself scarce). When he calls out to tell her that it’s late, go home, and he doesn’t receive an answer, that’s when he knows something is wrong. It’s all very fast after that, to the point where he barely processes what happens before he hits the worktable and he’s out cold.
When he awakens, he immediately recognizes that he’s in the Undercity, but doesn’t recognize exactly where. It does look like a workshop, which of course he knows intimately, though there's nothing comforting or familiar about the neon graffiti and projects strewn everywhere. The sheer level of chaos is almost impressive, and perhaps he’d think further on it if he wasn’t coming to the distressing realization that he’s slumped over in a chair and was definitely brought here from the lab. When he instinctively reaches out in preparation to stand, there’s an empty space at arm’s length where his crutch should be. Not that he thinks he could get up either way—his head pounds, and when he tries to call out, all that escapes him is a protracted groan.
It sounds like this:]
Hhugnnhkk.
[About halfway through, it turns into a cough. Not exactly pleasant, but certainly enough to alert certain other parties to the fact that he's awake.]
lets gooo
And when the whole of Topside attention is split between the commotion of Progress Day and an explosion down below, its so terribly easy to slink on through the front door.
The door to the laboratory hadn’t been locked, which almost made her laugh, a tumble of something that bordered on manic delight at how much easier this was this time around, kept to herself with her bottom lip bitten between teeth and Powder could never, no, but Jinx could and can, bad luck only to everyone else and look Mylo —
There was a throw of dull, ambient light from the large windows and the open sky and the lights below (warm like fire, with voices barely able to carry so high up). It would be a playground for her, eyes widening at the blue glow of a gemstone, familiar and safe in it housing until —
— the voice that had broken through the stealthy quiet had startled her, mistaken identity and mistaken concern and how sweet and it’s adrenaline first that made her close the distance and drive a bony elbow into the side of his head. He’s out like a light, room around them cloaked in pin-drop silence as witness before a quick look over his shoulder determined the next, albeit improvised, course of action — he was coming with her. Express delivery, captain!
By the time they’re back in her workshop, its deep into the night, with Progress Day and some dead enforcers at their backs.
She’d deposited him into a rickety chair, not too far from her workdesk and not too far from the ledge just for subtle implication, and moved his crutch to lean against her table, far out of reach. Doesn’t bother with restraints in unclear oversight, mind focused on her material prize and she figures she got time to tie him up later anyway.
Her nails tap against the cover of a journal, gemstone rolled under the pad of her index finger along the neon-splattered desk. When she hears him stir, a cough amidst the stale air, she spins around on her stool. Head tilts, braids a tumble over scrawny shoulders as she peers at him over the side of the leather-bound book.] Wakey-wakey.
[ A scrape of wheels along the floor as she spins a foot closer. She’s got questions, starting with, ] Who signs every page of their diary, anyway?
no subject
Then, he sees the telltale blue glint rolling back and forth under her fingers and he feels panic rise in his throat as things fall into place. A stolen gemstone is bad--the fact that she's also paging through one of Jayce's notebooks is even worse. His only solace is that it's going to take more than a simple tinkerer to crack their tech. This is a workshop, but that doesn't necessarily mean the teenager who ostensibly owns it has any particular inclination towards understanding and harnessing the arcane.
Doesn't discount whoever she might be working for, but he doubts that will be made clear to him anytime soon.]
That doesn't belong to you.
[Despite being at the tail end of a coughing fit, Viktor manages to sound furious, and it seems like the only thing keeping him in the chair is the fact that he can practically feel his brain bouncing around inside his skull. He's not bound, which is kind of strange for a kidnapping, but maybe she saw the brace and figured he wouldn't be much of an issue in the fighting back department. Or the escaping department, not that he would know where to go. He scans the area anyway for anything that might be useful, calculating the distance between his chair and the workbench, gauging how many steps and whether or not he could manage them. Likely he wouldn't be fast enough either way, and a cursory glance over his shoulder reveals a precipitous drop, so he decides to stay put, for the time being.
Not that it makes him any less angry.]
Who are you? What is this place?
no subject
It's a matter of argument or perspective, and the fact remains that now he was here. Fancy man from the fancy lab, and while it isn't his face plastered all across the oversized flags, he'll just have to do. Jinx might know a little something about being in the shadows too. Or had that been Powder, reminders thrown out as neon-bright strikes across the eyes of ghosts?
Really, she had a plan tonight. He hadn't been a part of it, no. But with a little bit of improv decisions, it was a matter of finding the right buttons to get people to talk, and they could usually be very helpful without even knowing it. Like Chuck!
By that look, honey-eyes all sharp and angry, this was going to be classic. Topsider versus Undercity. Would there be some fingerwagging too?
The journal is a very interesting read and she turns it in her hands, a different angle to a runic diagram, a scrawl of notes on its failures and successes. She’d need some more time on this for sure, but this had been exactly what she was looking for — except looks like its far less volatile than the childhood version. Her grin is serrated, Silco’s influence carved into the edges and glowing gem left strewn across the chaos of her workdesk amidst tiny, clockwork firelights and blueprints. She shrugs a bony shoulder, ] Finders keepers, silly.
[ She watches the anger, and the clear discomfort, and it’s true that she forgot to tie up the impromptu prisoner but, to state the obvious with little tact involved — he wasn’t going anywhere fast.
That’s a-okay. Not like little drowned Powder hadn’t understood the feeling of helplessness.
She leverages herself off her seat, journal closed with a finger jammed as bookmark. Sidesteps closer. ]
Jinx. [ Either people knew her, or they didn’t, and usually topsiders were of the latter category. A noncommittal wave around them, ] You’re the smart guy! I’m sure you can figure something out!
[ Hinges eye level with little regard for personal space, eyes narrowed with consideration. ] Hmmm — But you’re not the famous one though, are you?
[ Salt on a wound that may or may not be there? A reminder? ]
no subject
[Except, he has no idea about the state of the lab post-break in, and Viktor's thoughts spiral. How long will it take them to realize that something is wrong? He curses himself inwardly for leaving the way he did, because all he can think is that Jayce will assume he was angry about the Progress Day speech (well, he is) and took some time to himself, as he sometimes does. He finds himself wishing that he hadn't more-or-less stormed off without a word. When Jayce finds that one of the gemstones is missing, will he think that Viktor took it out of frustration? Well, he hopes Jayce won't think it, but it's not like the Council has ever been particularly fond of the fact that he exists--that Hextech exists because a Zaunite plugged in the last few equations. It wouldn't surprise him if they came to that conclusion. All he can really do at this point is hope that her break-in was as unsubtle as the state of her workshop.
Jinx doesn't ring any bells, but maybe it should. It just reminds him how far removed he really is from the Undercity, though the fact that she most assuredly thinks him a Topsider might afford him some advantage. He'll take what he can get.]
No, I'm the ugly one they keep hidden in the storage closet.
[Viktor says that with a roll of the eyes, exaggerated to make it clear he's completely unserious. He's never wanted fame, or any attention at all, really, and is generally perfectly content to let Jayce handle any and all public relations, preferring to focus singularly on the work, which is what really matters. Now, however, he wonders if he'd be in his current predicament if he'd allowed himself some time in the sun. If he could have steered the speech in a different direction by accepting Jayce's invitation to come up on stage.
Sitting here passively and thinking about what he should have done, however, will not get him out of this, nor will it keep the gemstone out of the wrong hands. He starts to formulate a plan--it's true that he won't be able to get himself out of here in short order, but if he can beat her to the work bench, somehow, maybe he can just fling everything into the pit. The first step will be keeping her in his personal space, within reach.]
If it's money you want, the Academy will pay. [Maybe.] I doubt you'll find much use for our half-baked experiments.
your honor i love this mess
You won’t get away with this! [ A finger wag of her own, voice dropped in poor attempt at impression. ] We’ll see. Won't we?
[ Man, his mind is going a mile a minute, isn’t it? Seems that way to her, anyway. Is he ruminating on all the could-beens? Is he plotting his dastardly escape? Thinking how to kill her, maybe? Whatever the case, it was fun to watch — until the response gets a rasp of a laugh out of her, a shake of her head. That was kind of funny, science man.
She circles around the chair to prop an elbow on the backrest and lean over his shoulder. The journal flops open with a flick of her wrist, a waft of parchment and leather and chalk dust. She taps one one of the pages, peers at his profile. ] Actually, I’d say they’re better baked than that.
[ He’s trying to undersell. He’s trying and that’s pretty fair, she can’t exactly blame him for that. Can’t blame the defensiveness — people are really sensitive to being kidnapped, she supposes. Maybe he thinks he can convince her this isn’t worth it. Maybe he’s assuming she can’t figure it out. Maybe, maybe, maybe. She considers faking stupidity, but what comes out instead is brittle honestly masked in confidence. ] Definitely better baked than what it was years ago. Talk about a lightshow.
[ There’s a pantomime of an explosion with a wiggle of fingers, a soft boom of an exhale at his ear. Claggor’s dead eyes dance somewhere in the periphery, strikes of pink and white across them before it’s gone again. Hell of a blast, both times around.
it wasn't her fault, she was only trying to help. ]But you’re right. [ There’s a dramatic exhale. Defeatist, book shut closed right by his nose. ] Maybe they’ll pay. [ The thought hadn’t crossed her mind to ask for ransom, that felt more like Silco’s department. ] Or maybe they won’t. Maybe you’ll — [ a light poke, against his cheek. ] — be left behind. Forgotten, like everything else eventually is in a place like this.
i will make it Worse
The good news, he supposes, is that she hasn't threatened harm yet, or pulled a weapon, but then again, he hasn't done much but sit here. He needs to fix that--no wonder she hadn't tied him up.]
Then, this is your plan? Keep me in a chair forever?
[He gestures in the direction of his crutch, currently out of reach. So there's that.
She gets right up against his ear and he twists a little to lean away and fix her with an incredulous expression. With the notebook in his face it's hard not to quickly scan the pages she has open. Ah. Maybe this is worse than he thought (and it's already pretty bad). Not only does she call his bluff, she seems to be expressing some kind of familiarity with their work. It's very tempting, especially with her waving it around in his face, but he doesn't reach for the book, not wanting to blow what's likely his one chance to make a move. Let her get comfortable. He can wait.]
What do you mean, years ago?
oh how delightful
His question shouldn’t be a surprise. A logical follow up to an offered taunt. But it strikes at her anyway, makes her tense, crutch stilled in her hands, eyes wide. She wishes she could swallow that down faster, but its hollow, and she can’t. There’s another crooked smile as cover, a loose-shouldered shrug as the tinnitus in her ears grows louder. ]
Oh — haha — yeah, [ a smile, would be wistful if it wasn’t so serrated.
Jinx had never been terribly well equipped with facing recollection. Brittle facade to a bitter truth. ]
These things weren’t as stable first time around, huh. [ A glance at the unassuming, neat sphere of a gemstone. A distraction if the glow wasn't that same blue. ] Had to figure that out the hard way. Hell of a blast in that fancy apartment. Some collateral. You know how it is.
[ It is meant to be casual and mean, phantoms kept at bay by glibbness but instead she shies left because there’s voices in the dark, ringing in her ears reaching a crescendo, and there’s accusations and reminders that it was her fault. ] I didn't mean — [ If she never picked those gems up, never knocked anything over, never tried to help — Her voice wavers. ] It was an accident.
[ Jinx. Bad luck. Bad for everyone around. You’re a —
The clatter of the crutch to the ground snaps her back. She doesn’t seem to realize she’s curled inwards. Her laugh is strained, breaths shallow. Tries for advantage anyway. ] I was only trying to help — you can understand that, can't you?
also this https://twitter.com/kallielef/status/1475344850346295297
[Humiliating, more like--beyond all the general excitement and terrible dread of being kidnapped and held hostage by a teenaged girl, he's not even going to be able to cross to the workbench without significant effort. He leans forward a little, as if he half expects her to have a change of heart and hand over the crutch, but his question has had an unexpected effect. It gives him a moment of pause.
The implication here is...significant. Word got around about Jayce's apartment, yes, but the actual cause--the detonation of the crystals--was kept under wraps. The only reason he knew was because he was sent to clean up in the aftermath, and, well, the rest is history. Still, the exact circumstances shouldn't be common knowledge, much less known to some Undercity teenager. Unless...]
You're not...saying what I think you're saying.
[It had been a robbery, to start. She says accident, and that implies some kind of direct involvement, but they'd put someone away for the burglary, hadn't they? Talking about it seems to be distressing her, and for a moment he's not sure how to react. The plan had been, maybe, to catch her off-guard and beat her to the work bench, but she's suddenly vulnerable and it's increasingly clear that he isn't going to have a better chance. In the absence of his crutch, he twists a little uncomfortably and uses the back of the chair to push himself to his feet. He locks his right knee and takes a step forward, left foot first, pulling his mouth into a tight line when he has to put some weight on his bad leg.
Viktor knows this is probably not intimidating in the least, but the reminder of the explosion has her rattled and he'd be stupid not to take advantage of it, even as she attempts to play tough. He's faking it, too--the difference is that he's had many years of practice, when it comes to hiding pain. He stretches out a hand.]
Please give that to me.
ugh these assholes
It’s a domino effect for a moment, jagged memory stacked side by side and sent skittering across in flashes, a momentum she grapples at stopping, face in a grimace — a handful of gemstones warm in her pouch and a monkey toy and —
No. No, she’s not there and they’re dead and the gemstone on her work desk is for Silco and for proof and for her gadgetry. She’s Jinx now, not scared little Powder left all alone. Jinx is stronger in ways that girl couldn’t be…right? Hissed, barely a whisper as if she's not sure who she's trying to convince: ] I’m not weak.
[ He rises from his chair slowly and his silhouette is thrown in the neon lights behind him, outlined and angular. For a moment, she watches, eyes flicking between his leg and his face and the crutch on the ground.
She takes a deep breath, and wonders, for the first time in this whole conversation, if this might have been a mistake. She should have just knocked him out and left his ass back in the lab but something about bringing one of the masterminds of the unattainable Hextech back here made sense, in as much as anything did. More proof for Silco, maybe? A chance to pick his brain?
To show off? But it's not like he'd just tell her how to do this, and it's not like she couldn't figure it out. Especially not when Jayce Talis wrote out the step-by-step. Her foot hooks the cane's handle as she finally uncurls, and flips it off the ground into her hand.She doesn’t trust him, already feels like she’s slipped up too much as the alarm bells clamp back down, but still wonders if this can be used to her benefit, back to the desk where all the prizes now sit strewn about the rest. A part of her is curious, as she extends the crutch for him to take with a raised brow — what’s the next move? Slyly, ] Since you used the magic word.
no subject
[Robbing it. The incident was more than half a decade ago, at this point. She must have been so young, though Viktor knows more intimately than most how quickly the Undercity makes one grow up. There's a sudden well of sympathy in his chest, one that he has to actively tamp down as he reminds himself that he's currently a hostage and a potentially dangerous piece of technology sits on her workbench. Though he's still not sure of her technical ability, he's starting to think she might have a greater understanding of all this than he initially thought.
Despite the fact that he's pieced together her involvement (what a terrible coincidence), he gets the feeling they're talking about two separate things. He knows, of course, what it's like to have something to prove, but it's almost like something about all this has traumatized her.
Whatever it is, it's enough for her to hand over his crutch. Viktor reaches for it, slotting it back into place under his arm, expression relaxing a little now that he can shift his weight accordingly. He doesn't feel like it deserves a thank you, but he ventures another step forward, closing the distance a little more.]
I can't let you keep that. [He nods in the direction of the gemstone, but the truth is he has no idea how he's going to get it back. Operation 'throw it into the pit' still stands, but he's starting to think he can reason with her. If she works for someone, however, it might not matter.] So you need to decide what you're going to do with me.
no subject
He nods and she follows the motion, a look over her shoulder and a huff to get her hair out of her eyes. The chair wheels scrape along the floor as she pivots, reaches out to grab that glowing marble. Can't let her keep that, maybe, but that's not doing much in ways of convincing her, dubious look cast his way. But Viktor, she's holding onto it! right now! ] Mmm —
What am I going to do with you? [ Head canted left, a finger tapped to the cheek in exaggerated thought.
The journal is flipped back open, and she glances up at Viktor, seemingly unbothered by the edging forwards. ] See, prof, you’re stuck here. [ A nickname out of need to call him something and even though it lacks creativity, it settles well with her. ]
So you’re going to — [ A snap of fingers! ] — help me! [ Now, she's self-aware enough to know that's a tall ask but given the circumstance...well, maybe? She tosses out a crooked smile. ] I mean, all this math-y — magic-y crap's still sensitive, right?
[ More pages leafed through, attention almost fully turned to the book and away from Viktor himself. ] We wouldn’t want anything else to just blow up, would we? [ Never mind that the intention here was to build something for Silco, that would no doubt make one hell of a boom. All this was still to prove something.
And yet, and yet, somewhere in the very back of her mind there's a tiny little hope of a voice, something that gets giddy at the idea of talking to someone who can tinker with stuff. They might be at odds, but the fact still remains that for a tiny moment, she's not all alone in a workshop. She doesn't tamp that thought down as quickly as she should. A finger taps on a page with runes elegantly notated across it. That looks promising, grin wider. ] Have you been through those Hexgates before? Gone to the realm of — [ a squint, at the scribbles. ] — heebie-jeebies?
no subject
No, I can't help you. Why would I?
[He highly doubts she burglarized their lab for altruistic reasons, and as it turns out, this is just the latest in what could be a lengthy string of tech robberies. Viktor is still under the impression that she's working for someone, some Chem-Baron, maybe, and he doubts they have anything benevolent in mind, when it comes to reverse-engineering Hextech.
Viktor is almost daring, when he says it. If he's going to be stuck in a hostage situation for the time being, he's a little morbidly curious about the lengths she'll go to when she realizes he is very serious about being uncooperative. About the Hexgates, he shakes his head. When testing the smaller-scale prototypes, yes, but it isn't as though he has much of an excuse to leave Piltover.]
It's more-or-less instantaneous. There are no, uh. Heebie-jeebies.
[Throwing up in the aftermath, however? Probably. He may have done that once or twice.]
no subject
Bee-cause you have nothing better to do right now? [ Not quite disheartened yet, even if he’s being so obstinate. That’s the whole problem with the Pilitie types — they forget to live on the edge, just a little! He’s hovering over the workspace and she doesn’t seem to care, whether in over-confidence or challenge in response to the one shoved into his refusal, like a little game. Tit for tat. It’s like he’s testing the waters. He doesn’t know her, no knowledge of an otherwise unpredictable reputation, so this promises to be fun regardless.
Jinx might be aware that he’s looking at stuff in passing: filigree metal butterflies, scraphead metal heads etched in cartoonish marker, half-finished wiring and tiny vials of green chemtech. Notes so messy they’re barely discernible, all unrefined chaos.
An acknowledging hum, a nod. No heebie-jeebies. Got it! Another page turned - ] That's gotta feel weird.
And this little guy powers it up. [ Gemstone rolled around once more, bottom lip bitten in between teeth, before she seems to set metal cup over it, like getting ready for a magic trick.
Well, if he’s just going to be standing around, she’ll just have to get to work! Maybe if she finds a way to play on his anxieties enough, he'll jump right in? Push comes to shove, she can always just - tie him up to the chair or something. She’s reaching for some supplies, heedless of grabbing a tool by the sharp end and fully intending on starting to jerry-rig a new coil. ] Mind the elbow, prof!
no subject
[Obviously. He could go on.
He hasn't exactly been in any hostage situations before, but he has to admit this is an incredibly strange one. She's just letting him look at all her stuff, which is helpful in the sense that it lets him gauge her ability, but not exactly comforting, when it comes to what she might be using the gemstone for. What he sees is impressive, if not disquieting. She's clearly self-taught, but so was he, once, and he recognizes the sort of scrappy ingenuity that's a hallmark of the Undercity. He hates to see it wasted on destructive technology, but he also knows that not many people here have the luxury of that choice.
When she reaches past him, he recoils a little, but otherwise he does not move from his spot leaning against the work table.]
You're making weapons. Why do you think I would tell you how it works?
[Viktor is practically daring her to threaten him, at this point, if only to see what kind of person she really is. If she's confident that she can figure it all out herself, there's no reason to keep him around, so he continues to test the waters--see how far she's willing to go to gain his cooperation.]
no subject
[ He keeps that tone, that demand and that push implied in the question’s end, and she tilts her head, brow raised. A small smirk — Sevika liked pushing buttons too, so its easy (if not childish) to find patience in pettiness.
There’s a part she won’t admit, as she starts to fiddle. Not easily, because admitting it would make her weak. Which she isn’t! But there’s a spike of fear in the undercurrent of her intent.
An imprint of bright and volatile blue, what-ifs that churn like overwhelming shadows. There’s a half-dome dropped onto the table surface, metal ringing, copper wires dragged towards her.
She tries to think like Silco. Make them fear you, he’d said. Show them all, he’d said. Had she messed up, bringing the inventor here?
But he hasn’t tried to do anything himself, yet — it’s why she’s not tried anything in retaliation. More and more some twisted game of cat and mouse. Who’ll snap first?
Jinx, it’s always her. ] Oh, ‘course, these things are meant to be — [ a metal part wretched apart, quick work, ] —absolutely — [ another pieced together, a bit forcefully. ] - harmless, right?Never meant to be a weapon, right? Piltover's just a pinnacle of good! [ a screwdriver is twirled around, in his general direction. She didn't have the luxury of considering making anything other than destructive tools - guns, explosives. When you are a catalyst of ruin, why would you capitalize on anything else? ]
hi sorry for the delay i was /gestures at abraxas
In the meantime, he keeps his eye on the blue glow of the gemstone, still calculating whether or not he should reach for it.]
It's meant to be, yes.
[That had been why they'd stabilized the crystals in the first place, to make Hextech accessible to the public, not just a cadre of wealthy traders. Now, he's wondering if Heimerdinger hadn't been right--if they shouldn't have spent more time ensuring that the gemstones wouldn't be usable in nefarious hands. Viktor tells himself, however, that this is the risk he took, and that it's a necessary one, given the fact that he doesn't have the luxury of a slow, cautious approach to scientific progress. Saying it out loud now, though, sounds terribly naïve.
He feels that pang of sympathy again, watching her hands unfasten scrap metal and bolt it back together, seemingly intent on pressing forward with or without this input. No, Piltover is not a pinnacle of good. That's the whole point.]
I'm sure they'd make weapons if they could. Or had reason to. [Implying that Jinx making a weapon first, would certainly give them reason to.] I've spent a significant amount of time and energy preventing that. That's not what this technology is for.
((ALSO!!! I meant to say if u wanted to be plurk buddies or anything feel free to hit me up at
LIKEWISE PLEASE FORGIV
[ She doesn't need his input, can do it herself. Except —] The runes are important. Is their order important? [ Almost unclear if she's asking him or asking the journal or asking herself before moving sharply on. A dangerous question to push to the side, perhaps.
It might be stabilized, won't crack if she drops it and what a luxury that might be! But even the notes say that there's 'powerful potential', or something equally verbose and clear in the implication. Even this guy is saying so! But, he also says something else. Something that pulls her attention away. Hands stop their current motion, some half-finished rigging, a piece of metal wire snagged between pliers. ] You have? [ Yikes @ her. ]
Well, what's it meant to be for, then? [ When she casts a glance back at him, brows knit, the question sounds surprisingly genuine and honestly curious, without a tongue ready for ridicule. Eyes dart between his face and the gem, sitting quietly in a cup. It's as if this thought hadn't occurred to her at all, so used to chaos that anything else seemed intangible. ]
no subject
And also everyone else, probably. Still, he seems to get her attention. Viktor increasingly feels like he might have a chance, if he says the right things.]
Why do you sound surprised?
[That's a rhetorical question. Viktor knows exactly why--down here, you're not offered the luxury of a choice, most of the time. She assumes that Hextech is for weaponry because that's all she's ever understood.]
It's to help people. Improve lives. [Even as he says it, though, it rings hollow. He's spent all this time topside, and what does he have to show for it? Fancy teleportation gates that have only enriched Piltover's elite. He'd hoped, maybe, that tonight would change something, but Viktor has ended up disappointed once again. It inclines him a little more to make his allegiance clear.] I'm not from Piltover, you know.
misc starters lets goo.
i chose the nebulous post-act i time but if you want something more angsty/dramatic just lmk
The good news is that Jayce is just as passionate as the trial had led Viktor to believe, and incredibly smart on top of that--their conversations are intellectually stimulating in a way he hasn't experienced in quite some time, and it's refreshing to finally find someone who can keep up with him. That said, he knows this goes both ways, and Viktor is well aware that he is probably not what Jayce was expecting, at least insofar as his tolerance for property damage and general risk-taking is concerned. Now that there's funding, and Council buy-in, and he's not an assistant anymore, what's to stop him from going a little wild?
Nothing, that's what. Viktor is occupying one corner of the lab, his rig for testing various runes sprawling across the floor, a crystal poised carefully in the middle, two thick, ominous cables in each hand, a matching set of plugs.
The good news is that he's wearing goggles.]
You might want to stand back.
[Jayce is working on some separate task, and Viktor can only assume he is wholly unprepared for what is about to transpire on his side of the room. The warning is a courtesy.]
no subject
jayce supposes he should be more concerned about what could go wrong. supposes he should be worried about the risks.
or he could simply accept this for what it was. a chance. an ally. someone who believed. something good.
and yes, alright, sure, there were some additional perks that jayce was more than willing to accept (and even enjoy) as they came across them. things like how viktor didn't think he was insane for half the ideas that came out of his mouth, or how they both had the tendency to hyperfocus for hours (sometimes days) on end given the project, and how viktor just seemed to. get it. whether it was conversations, or the sheer joy of a successful step completed, or the general understanding of working in a lab with someone who had the same level of drive, the same level of intellect, who just got it. and maybe this was just part of that accepting the good. maybe this could actually work.
because it has been working - like that night, where viktor's been over on his part of the lab, with his new rig in motion and had been planning on a couple of tests with the crystals, and jayce was over at his desk in the lab, trying to figure out why his plans for this particular device weren't translating from his blueprints to the actual device itself, when viktor's voice rang out. you might want to stand back. ]
Yeah, okay- [ jayce response automatically, because it's not the first time they'd called out those warnings for each other (something they'd both had to learn to do, after a disastrous attempt or two, before they were really used to sharing a space).
but then jayce thought about the warning, thought about what it was viktor had mentioned he was working on. ] Wait. [ a blink, a lift of his head. ] What? [ he steps back from his project, whatever steps he was completing now forgotten in favor of whatever it is he's been warned away from, as his attention turns towards viktor. ]
Why? What are you doing?
[ only jayce talis would be told to stand back, and then immediately step closer.
at least his has his own goggles? ]
sometimes i keep my word (pictures for starters)
hee hee hee hoo hoo
This party is particularly terrible because it's a party purely for the sake of having a party, some kind of Academy-adjacent thing, with a theme, and despite the fact that he feels very little of this is actually relevant to him, they’re finally at a point in the construction of the Hexgates where Viktor’s absence will be conspicuous at best, a slight at worst, so at practically everyone's insistence (read: Heimerdinger's) he has to go.
(He wonders what the masks are supposed to be about, like that's somehow going to disguise Jayce's broad shoulders or perfectly styled hair or his, well, everything. Just another inscrutable and frankly unnecessary Piltie social convention, one he would rather not entertain, but does, anyway, mostly because Jayce asked him to. Begged him, practically. Maybe that had been a little satisfying.)
The good news is that they have not been pulled in different directions, not yet. Viktor is doing what he always does at these things, on the rare occasions where he goes—taking advantage of all of the free food, despite the fact that it all seems to be in miniature.]
Hold this.
[Viktor offers no before he passes Jayce the tiny plate of even tinier sandwiches, freeing up his hand so that he can grab an indiscriminate but fancy little cocktail from a passing tray. Perhaps he purposefully waits for said passing tray to fully pass before he turns back to Jayce, lips parted a little as if he's suddenly remembering something that he forgot.]
Oh. Sorry. Did you want one?
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Almost instantly upon turning up the lights he knows Jinx has already been here: the room is not as he left it. Everything she's stolen is here on his desk, and while he's proud of her for bringing him this technology, the fact that it seems to have come with several other objects, a pile of notes, and the research scientist is going to be a headache.
Silco examines the man who has been strung up, bound and gagged and adorned with splashes of pink and blue — not the chiselled jaw and broad shoulders of the Progress Day golden boy, which is a relief. Still, if someone's spoiled little Piltie son has gone missing there might be even more of a furore than over the hextech below him. On the other hand, his presence here means he may have seen Jinx, can directly connect Silco to the theft...
He sighs a beleaguered sigh, approaching the desk with a quick glance up to the rafters, half expecting Jinx to drop down. Instead when he gets close enough and reaches for the box, it explodes a little gust of blue and pink confetti. HAPPY PROGRESS DAY she's written across the desk, with a smiley face. Luckily he worked out the exact chemical combination needed to get her paint off his furniture years ago. A puff of breath blows away some confetti trying to stick to his lips — little does he know another piece has already found purchase on the greasepaint concealing the scars around his eye socket, a flutter of blue stuck to his drawn-in eyebrow. It probably ruins the effect a little bit when he pulls off Viktor's gag with a menacing expression.
"Don't bother screaming," he says, low and hoarse and tired. "Nobody will hear."
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He remembers an intruder but not much after that. His head pounds, and when he tries to call out, all that escapes him is a protracted groan, muffled by a gag.
His first thought is that this is some kind of mistake, or if it is, somehow, purposeful--if they're intending to ransom him, maybe. If that's the case, however, Viktor is under no illusions about who, of the two inventors of Hextech, most people might consider more valuable (not him), so the apparent effort exerted in order to bring him here doesn't make much sense. Perhaps he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Collateral damage. Silco removes the gag and he sucks in air, unable to
"I'm not going to scream." It seems pointless to, really. He doesn't know where he is or if anyone even knows he's gone. Maybe once he has a better idea of the situation he's in, he'll scream--but at this moment, it's likely counterproductive. "What is this?"
This, vaguely. All of it. The confetti, especially.
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No. And in the box in Silco's hands, beneath the puff of confetti, is a little blue gem of the exact sort he's interested in. Happy progress day indeed, Jinx has given him exactly what he wanted - something that will give the undercity leverage against Piltover, that could realize his dreams of Zaun. The same blue potential he'd seen in the explosion at the warehouse that had given him Jinx in the first place. He lifts it, considers it between two fingers, distracted from Viktor for the moment.
"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you," he says absently, though it's not really a consideration since Jinx obviously thought this man would be valuable in conjunction with the work. He's mostly interested in what the man thinks his value here is, how involved he was in the Hextech's creation... or if he's missing the obvious and there's some other reason. "Without begging, if you will."
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The glint of the gem is unmistakable, and panic rises in his throat, his only solace is that it's going to take more than a simple tinkerer to crack their tech. That doesn’t mean any of this is good—-the fact that it’s here, in the Undercity, in the hands of someone he assumes to be a Chem-Baron, is possibly the worst thing that could happen, even if he has no idea what it is or what it does.
Viktor resolves to keep his cool, even as the conversation immediately escalates to murder.
“If it’s money you want, the Academy will pay.” That’s the first thing that comes to mind, even if he doesn’t really know if it’s true. How long will it take them to realize that something is wrong? He curses himself inwardly for leaving the way he did, because all he can think is that Jayce will assume he was angry about the Progress Day speech (well, he is) and took some time to himself, as he sometimes does. He finds himself wishing that he hadn't more-or-less stormed off without a word. When Jayce finds that one of the gemstones is missing, will he think that Viktor took it out of frustration? Well, he hopes Jayce won't think it, but it's not like the Council has ever been particularly fond of the fact that he exists--that Hextech exists because a Zaunite plugged in the last few equations. It wouldn't surprise him if they came to that conclusion. “I doubt you’ll find much use for that otherwise.”
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Viktor isn’t stupid—-he understands the implication of what’s being asked, and he almost wishes he did have a house to speak of, if only because it would guarantee that someone might be looking for him, sooner rather than later. Jayce will likely wait a few days, thinking that Viktor is off on one of his usual errands, not wanting to be bothered. Even that short amount of time might mean it’s too late.
“It’s Viktor,” he replies finally, figuring that he’s not in position to withhold information. “I’m a researcher.”
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A pause, and a heavy sigh. Leaving off his family name seems like a deliberate, desperate omission to Silco, unless Viktor truly has no parents? But it's reached the point where he cannot take this conversation seriously with Viktor still wrapped up for him like a lovely gift.
He doubts Jinx would have let the man keep any weapons, so he says, "I'm going to let you down. Perhaps, if you behave yourself, you'll live long enough to be ransomed back." If nothing else perhaps he can use Viktor the way he does Marcus, as a go between - in this case to get in touch with the council and present his demands directly. He's spinning half a dozen possibilities even as he unties the initial knots with deft hands, lowering Viktor's feet first and letting him get his balance somewhat, then the rest.
He should call a flunky in here, have someone do this for him. It would likely make the menacing more effective. But it's late, and he's tired, and there's still confetti in his hair. One skinny scientist does not pose a threat.
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He will, however, be glad to get down, though once his feet are on the ground, it becomes clear just how unsteady he is. His right leg is encased in metal and leather, and lacking his crutch, he instinctively reaches out for something to balance against.
It's not really a position he wants to be in, and he finds himself scanning the room, just in case his captor decided to mercifully bring it along.
"You could always cut me loose into the Undercity." A bit of reverse psychology. "I doubt I'd make it very far."
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"No," he says to that briar patch request, continuing with the last of the knots. "I don't want you dead. I barely care for a ransom. I have money." Though that much is hard to tell in this dingy little office, the overhead fan pushing around stale air, the furniture beaten up and occasionally graffitied, the lights an ugly fluorescent and a faint hint of old cigars and ozone Shimmer in the air.
"All I care about," Silco continues in his low rasp, "Is that Zaun can defend itself from your little research projects when the time comes to turn it on them."
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"It isn't a weapon--" Silco's hand touches his arm and Viktor instinctively jerks away, which only serves to unbalance him further. He reaches out to brace against the nearest piece of furniture, recoiling like he's been burned. Viktor's metal boot scrapes against the floor as he tries to stabilize himself--it's more than just momentary unsteadiness.
"I would never make something like that." He wants to help people--help the Undercity. The implication that this would be anything but that is almost unconscionable to him.