HEART-BEAT. ⁽ ᵃᵖ ⁾

     “Oh, dear. Walking. That may prove to be too much,” Vladimir says, placing a hand upon his cheek as he begins to follow Michio down the path. “I should’ve brought the carriage.” 

     He throws forth his jokes and smiles, all lighthearted and docile. Even his steps seem airy, now, as though he walks on velvet carpet at home and not the dirty grime of Zaun’s cobblestones. Demeanor, all jovial and absent-minded, been his best buffer between the world and himself. It may distract from the ever-slight tensing of his fingertips, coiling his hands and arms like a waiting predator. His magic sings at the ready. 

     But not yet. Perhaps not even today. One hand rests at his side, while the other spins around the velvet coin pouch, as one may fiddle with a knife or pen. The hum of Michio’s blood is comforting to him, as it pulses through his body and in Vladimir’s mind. A reminder of power, and who holds it here. 

     The tunnel passage seems to him the most familiar out of everything he’s seen in Zaun. Rancid and terrible, its dark foreboding entrance reminds him dearly of home with its twisting labyrinths, and so Vladimir cannot help but smile a little at the commonality of it all. Across lands and cultures, there’s always secrecy in places like these. 

     “What’s at the end of this tunnel, I wonder?” Vladimir asks. “A great beast? A vault? I do hope it isn’t a dead end. I’ve come so far from home, and faced so many disappointments already.” 

                Another laugh left Michio in response to the count’s intentionally dramatic comment. The image of some opulent carriage being pulled through the crowded, smog ridden streets of Zaun and trying to fit down the back alleyways amused him. Truthfully, he could see some clueless Noxian noble attempting to do so. Michio quietly appreciated how easily the banter flowed between him and Vladimir, each jest met with another sarcastic response. It almost felt like a sort of dance, one that he was enjoying, but he tried to remind himself that this was strictly business. For a Noxian though, Michio liked him. 

                “I apologize my liege, but you’re not paying me to carry you, so you’ll have to walk,” he replied, leading Vladimir further down the tunnel. The various alcoves that Michio had built for himself for the sake of business dealings were spread out all across Zaun. The one he was taking Vladimir to been hidden within the walls of the alleyway, its ‘door’ completely hidden among the stonework and could not be opened by anyone but Michio himself. 

                                “Disappointments?” he asked as he came to a stop and turned to face Vladimir, a hand coming to rest daintily against his chest, again feigning shock and hurt. “Surely you don’t mean the elusive, gorgeous me, my dear count. There are people who would kill to see me, you know.” Or people who would just kill him. Michio bowed with another flourished gesture, arm outstretched while his other was bent in front of him. As he rose, one of his hands came to rest over one of the bricks where the robotics woven within his body hummed with energy, connecting with the sensors hidden within the stone. Slowly, the stone moved and gave way to a narrow opening and a colorfully lit room that hummed with electricity and energy, recently brought to life by the command of Michio’s cybernetic presence. 

     Oh, how quaint. Vladimir thinks he isn’t impressed, but at the very least, he is all-too entertained by Michio’s bravado. He bows with the motions of aristocracy and the energy of a mischievous youth, all wrapped up with a funny little confidence. Vladimir takes a reserved posture, a finger against his chin as though contemplating every little motion that he makes.

     “The pleasure is all mine,” says the count. “I’ll consider myself fortunate to keep your company, elusive as it is.” 

     There’s a smile in his voice, though his eyes remain untouched, simply watching. He doesn’t trust Zaun. The people here live a different world and walk different streets, and even if Noxus claims that their paths intercept, Vladimir doesn’t believe it. This chemical-ridden city and all its occupants exist in a neo-age, wrapped up in problems that Vladimir cares little about. 

     But he’s spent the last few centuries doing business with people he doesn’t trust. At the very least, he won’t be bored here in Zaun, with this theatrical golden boy. 

     Vladimir makes an airy gesture towards Michio. “By all means, lead the way,” he says, and begins to follow him casually and slowly. “Just don’t ask me to skitter up the buildings with you. These poor bones may not be able to handle that.” 

                 “Fortunate indeed,” Michio echoes, his grin and ego undeterred by the reserved demeanor of his new business partner. He follows it with a short wink, his posture relaxing as he leans back on his heels to observe the count in his own methodical way. That is the nature of business such as this; a flirtation with danger while continually picking apart the pieces of whatever someone showed like scavengers picking at bones— at least, that’s how business was in Zaun. Trust was not a wealthy resource in their culture, their culture was the desperation to survive.

                As he turns to begin leading Vladimir to where he intended to discuss business, a laugh leaves him as the Noxian references his preferred way of traveling Zaun. “Haven’t you heard that an old dog can still learn a new trick?” he asks, teasing the man slightly. “But don’t worry, I’ll be sure to keep things simple for those ‘poor bones’ of yours.” 

                Michio slips his hands in his pockets as he begins to lead his new business partner through an alley way with endlessly tall buildings flanking on each side. Zaun was endless steel upon steel, iron and smog, fog and dirty water dripping from pipes. His back is turned as they walk, but he is keenly aware of Vladimir behind him, of the steps in the building around them, every movement and noise. Even if he smiled and spoke with a silver tongue, Michio didn’t trust easily. The wires and chips he had stitched into his body like veins over the years made it so he would never be easily surprised. 

                Noxian architecture was… different. The place felt dark and forboding, the stone was dark and the designs were mostly Gothic in nature. Michio had no problem utilizing it, of course, in fact he found it quite nice for scaling and climbing, but the atmosphere was so much different than that of Zaun’s. The air was… lighter, though it could be argued whether or not Noxus’ back alleys and the streets of the poor districts were cleaner than Zaun. 

                It wasn’t unheard of for him to take jobs outside of Zaun, it was just not typical for him to leave the city itself. He was needed at the safe house, and Michio did not like to leave much of hands-on work to other people; he only trusted a very select few to help him carry out his work. Ultimately, though, a good impression ( and showing off ) was best done in person. Why was he in the Count’s home, though? Well, that was entirely because of his own love of mischief. 

                “You thought you’d only see my gorgeous face once?” Michio asks, a grin spread over his lips as he leaned against the wall. He folds his arms in front of his chest as well, crossing one ankle over the other while Vladimir keeps his back to him. The feather light hint of surprise in his tone fans the always present embers of ego that burn in the rebel. 

                “Hey, what can I say, we all like to flirt with danger a little,” he shrugs carelessly, lopsided grin spread wide over his lips as if the topic at hand was merely casual talk. Rebel was his title, his blood, his crown. Piltover’s greed fostered his deathbed and from it he came crawling back to drag them down with him. Rebel would be their word for him while he paved the streets of Zaun and fed her people. 

                He bows to the gentleman, hand outstretched, with a flair of grandiose one might find in fairytales about that old country who refused to move on with the rest of the world. At least they were good for laughs. “Now, if you’ll excuse me sir, I need to make an appointment to get that record for you.”