#𝙹𝙸𝙽𝚇𝙸𝙳      :      independent,      selective  𝙋𝙊𝙒𝘿𝙀𝙍  /  𝙅𝙄𝙉𝙓  of  arcane.     this  interpretation  is  exclusively  series-based.     triggering  content  guaranteed.     please  be  eighteen  plus  and  please  proceed  with  caution. 

' 𝚒  𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝     .  .  .     𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎  𝚢𝚘𝚞  𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍  𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎  𝚖𝚎  𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎  𝚢𝚘𝚞  𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍  𝚝𝚘.     𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗  𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑  𝚒'𝚖  𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝.     𝚋𝚞𝚝  𝚢𝚘𝚞  𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚍,      𝚝𝚘𝚘.  ’

                                                            💣   💣   💣  

𝙰  𝚂𝚃𝚄𝙳𝚈  𝙸𝙽       :      anger,     isolation,     fear of failure,     abandonment,     hauntings,     losing  control,     letting  go  of  the  past,     embracing  change

and  𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧'𝗦  the  scariest  thing  of  all     -—     isn’t  it?     scarier  than  any  monster,    than  any  memory,     than  any  phantom  in  the  dark     ...     jinx  doesn’t  turn.    her  posture  is  rigid,     her  jaw  clenched  tight.     she’s  sitting  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  with  her  back  to  indra,     arms  wrapped  around  her  midsection,    hunched  inwards  like  mean  stray.      𝘎𝘖  𝘈𝘞𝘈𝘠,     𝘎𝘖  𝘈𝘞𝘈𝘠,     𝘑𝘜𝘚𝘛  𝘎𝘖  𝘈𝘞𝘈𝘠!     she’s  supposed  to  be  unpredictable,    unintelligible,     unshakeable.     her  mind’s  a  fortress.     if  they  can’t  know  what  makes  you  tick,     what  makes  you  crack,     they  can’t  hurt  you.    people  try.     oh,     𝗕𝗢𝗬,    do  people   try.     but  nobody  gets  to  her.     𝘕𝘖𝘛  𝘈𝘕𝘠𝘔𝘖𝘙𝘌.

...     only  that  isn’t  true  anymore,     is  it?     you’re  getting  soft.    what  a  loser. 

it’s  not  her  fault.     indra  just  𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗪𝗦.     she  knows  all  her  little  tells,     all  her  best-kept  secrets.     sometimes,     she  thinks  indra  might  know  her  better  than  she  knows  herself.     jinx  tilts  her  head  back  and  sighs,     looking  up  at  the  ceiling.     her  eyes  are  dry.     that’s  good,     she  thinks.     she’s  in  a   crying  mood,     but  the  weight  of  her  exhaustion  won’t  allow  it.     in  the  silence,     she  can  hear  indra’s  breathing.     she  swears  she  can  hear  the  thrum  of  her  pulse,     too;     the  re-assurance  that  she’s  𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗟  and  𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗩𝗘     -—     that  they  both  are,     sort  of. 

“   It  looks  like  you’re  in  the  wrong  bar,   Little  Blue.   ”

Although  Caitlyn  doesn’t  make  a  single  move  to  stop  Jinx.   She’s  just  lazily  sitting  in  an  armchair  near  the  front  door.    Cigar  in  one  hand.   The  hand  with  the  tattoo  that  went  from  wrist  to  elbow,   loudly  flowers  and  vines,   quietly  the  vines  were  actually  made  of  firearms.   Black  tanktop,  simple  pair  of  pants,  untied  boots.  

Caitlyn  smiles. 

zaun!caitlyn  starters     »     @jinxid·    .

'  𝗬𝗘𝗔𝗛,     𝗬𝗘𝗔𝗛,  ’     jinx waves  a  dismissive  hand,    hopping  up  onto  the  barstool  and  spinning  it  around  a  couple  of  times.     the  birds  are  singing  somewhere,     the  sun  is  shining  probably     ...     she’s  in  a  𝘎𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘛  𝘔𝘖𝘖𝘋      -—     and  she’s  gonna  make  the  most  of  it!     no  party-poopers  allowed. 

“Crude, but effective.” The masked girl remarked to herself, chucking a burnt-out container onto the floor near her latest victim. It wasn’t anything personal; she needed to try out her latest prototype. And it just so happened that someone was VERY displeased with this one; so displeased, in fact, that they were willing to pay the Ionian to handle it. Jhin calmly snapped in a new cylinder, observing the pistol tremor before steading. This prototype was lasting longer than the last one; she could progress designs based on this one. Holstering the pistol on the inside of her worn coat, she left the area, heading through various alleyways to disappear from the scene. Thankful that the undercity was built the way it was to allow her to easily disappear without leaving a trace. Since she could not afford to discard her mask, she could not blend in with a crowd and simply had to make herself scarce. So long as she didn’t speak she fit in with all the other youth down here. Ragged jeans, a jacket/shirt combo with the hood pulled up. A plain but dirtied white mask with only a single eye-hole, revealing a sharp purple hue. Just another kid in the undercity, what better disguise could one ask for? While mentally gloating she was caught unaware when metal and stone collided, ripping free her pistol while pressing her back firmly against the wall. Peering around the corner of yet another alley. Spotting a girl, a little younger than herself throwing a massive fit. Initially, Jhin wanted to move on, but when she spotted the state the poor thing was in, she decided against it, holstering the pistol once more before hesitantly entering the alleyway. At the same time, it seemed her presence was noticed- or acknowledged-  either one. Once more she hesitates. Pondering on how to handle the situation before moving forward with her usual swagger, her voice confident yet broken through a thick accent. “Me? Nothing.” She approaches calmly, slowly. It wasn’t her intention to start something. Gloved hands held up to show she was unarmed before tucking them in her pockets, keeping a distance from the girl. Allowing her to get a better look at the other. “I saw a little flower hurting herself, and my mother has always told me that flowers should not be harmed. So I wanted to, object.” Jhin paused, tilting her head slightly. “No, not object. I meant ‘intervene.’” “What has upset you, little flower?” Slowly she pulled up one hand, then reached into her coat pocket to procure a pink handkerchief. It was clean, as clean as something could be down there, a fabric foreign to the undercity. A memento from home. She brought it up in a bid to wipe away the other’s tears, but stopped, instead offering it to her. “If you want, I can listen. Anonymous. You are little flower. I am big flower. No names necessary. Shall this big flower listen to what troubles you?”

little  flower.     it’s  so     ...     gentle.     powder’s  brow  creases  and  her  words  catch  in  her  throat.     who  are  you?     why  are  you  being  so  nice  to  me?     don’t  you  know  what  a  total  screw-up  i  am?     she  feels  like  crying.     she  feels     ...     weirdly  like  smiling,     too.     she’s  on  a  roof’s  edge;     walking  a  tight-rope  between  two  feelings.     if  she  were  to  try  to  draw  them,    her  emotions  would  be  one  big,     messed  up  squiggle.    pink  for  happy,     blue  for  sad.      other  colours  for  the  stuff  she  can’t  make  sense  of  yet;     green    ...    yellow     ...    purple     ...    red     ... 

𝘓𝘐𝘛𝘛𝘓𝘌 𝘍𝘓𝘖𝘞𝘌𝘙.

she  looks  at  the  handkerchief  with  wide,     watery  eyes.      you  don’t  just  trust  people,     stupid,     especially  not  random  strangers  you  meet  in  the  streets.     what  the  hell  is  wrong  with  you,     huh?     they’re  right.     she  shouldn’t  take  it     ...     but  she  wants  to.     she  doesn’t  remember  the  last  time  𝘈𝘕𝘠𝘉𝘖𝘋𝘠   spoke  to  her  like  this     -—     with  patience  and  understanding.     vi  does,     sure,     but  vi  doesn’t  get  it   no  matter  how  much  she  wants  to.     no  matter  how  𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗗  she  tries.      and  besides,    vi  is  her  𝗦𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥;     her  cooler,    better,     older  sister  who’s  heard  her  excuses  a  thousand  times  over.     stupid  powder  and  her  stupid  mistakes.     the  idea  of  being  anonymous,     of  being  someone  unknown  and  unknowable     ...     it’s  tempting.     it’s  beyond  tempting.     𝘚𝘏𝘌  𝘑𝘜𝘚𝘛  𝘞𝘈𝘕𝘛𝘚  𝘛𝘖  𝘉𝘌  𝘚𝘖𝘔𝘌𝘖𝘕𝘌  𝘌𝘓𝘚𝘌  𝘍𝘖𝘙  𝘈  𝘚𝘌𝘊𝘖𝘕𝘋     -—     𝘐𝘚 𝘛𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘚𝘖 𝘉𝘈𝘋? 

she  takes  the  handkerchief,     sniffles  again,     and  dabs  her  cheeks  with  it.     

JAYCE   IS   NOT   A   GOOD   LIAR.         for   someone   who   works   in   the   world   in   which   he   does,   employed   by   silco   and   his   empire   in   the   undercity,   you   would   think   he’d   be   better   at   deceit   by   now.      but   he   never   has   been   .   .   .      and   he’s   really   bad   at   it   when   it   comes   to   people   he   loves.      and   he   does   love   jinx.      he’s   known   her   for   years   now      —      grows   up   with   her,   though   he’s   older   than   she   is   by   a   bit.      they   come   to   silco   around   the   same   time,   and   they   bond   through   the   wild   harshness   and   pain   of   the   world   they’re   thrust   into.      she   is   brilliant   and   funny,   and   she’s   got   a   good   heart   deep   down   .   .   .      it’s   just   clouded   over   with   the   smog   of   everything   else.      and   that’s   not   her   fault      —      jayce   knows   that   it   isn’t.      but   .   .   .      it   still   exists      —      it’s   still   there.  

but   with   all   that,   he   wonders   if   he   should   have   tried   to   lie   about   piltover      —      about   leaving   zaun   from   time   to   time.      she   is   still   the   only   one   who   knows   down   here      —      down   in   their   world.      and   he’s   sure   he   can   count   on   her   not   to   rat   him   out,   but   he   still   glances   around   the   workshop   nervously   when   she   brings   it   up.      silco   won’t   take   kindly   to   jayce   gallivanting   around   topside   without   his   permission      —      without   a   purpose   that   will   support   silco’s   plans   for   this   place.  

he   clenches   and   unclenches   his   right   hand   at   his   side.      nerves      —      he   always   fidgets   when   they   act   up.            “      it’s   just   for   science,   jinx,      ”            he   replies.            “      it’s   just   .   .   .      business.      ”            he   thinks   of   viktor      —      thinks   of   his   long   fingers   and   soft   hair   and   golden   eyes   .   .   .            “      it’s   just   what   i   have   to   do   to   get   up   there,   okay?      you   know   what   i   want      —      what   i’ve   always   wanted.      science   is   meant   to   help   people      —      help   the   undercity.      that’s   what   i’m   doing.      or   .   .   .      what   i’m   trying   to   do.      ”  

he   can   no   longer   convince   himself   that’s   what   he’s   doing   with   silco      —      not   with   the   hundreds   of   addicted,   dead   eyes   that   greet   him   on   the   streets   of   zaun.      not   with   .   .   .      what   he   sees   when   he   looks   at   jinx   as   the   years   go   by.  

it’s  just  for  science,     jinx.     it’s  just  what  i  have  to  do.     it’s  meant  to  help.     𝗟𝗜𝗔𝗥.     her  gaze  flickers,     eyes  dark  and  unexpressive.     they’re  blank.     she’s  blank.     she’s  so  tired  of  being  played  with     -—     of  people  thinking  they  can  just  𝘚𝘈𝘠  𝘞𝘏𝘈𝘛𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘙  𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘠  𝘕𝘌𝘌𝘋  𝘛𝘖  𝘚𝘈𝘠  instead  of  saying  what’s  true.     slowly,     pointedly,     she  averts  her  gaze  down  to his  hands.     clenching,     unclenching,     clenching,     unclenching.     he’s  nervous.     he’s  guilty.     he’s  scared  she’s  gonna  figure  him  out  and  totally  lose  her  shit  about  it. 

too late

she  knows  his  game.     she’s  seen  him  up  there.     she  hooks  her  heels  against  the  edge  of  the  table  and  drags  herself  forward  ‘til  they’re  a  meagre  breath  apart.     her  head  tilts  left     ...     then  right     ...      he’s  got  guts,     she’ll  give  him  that,     but  does  he  have  the  nerve  to  take  it  all  the  way?     is  he  gonna  𝘊𝘙𝘈𝘊𝘒?     spill  all  his  secrets?     tell  her  about  the  pretty-boy  with  the  cane?     𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚-𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚-𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚!     breakfast is  ready;     a  load  of  total  bullshit  and  lies,     sunny-side-up.     

jinx  cuts  her  a  quick,     incredulous  glance.     ‘  uh,     yeah?  ’     𝗗𝗨𝗛.     she  snorts  and  throws  an  arm  wide  in  a  vague,     exasperated  gesture.       ‘  last  i  checked,     there’s  no  age  cap  on  deserving  the  bird.  ’     especially  not  in  this  economy    ...