#askthereveredinventor

Gone were the stringent sobriety tests endemic to a demolition dean’s station, replaced now with the comfort that a cup at The Last Drop could offer — if the brutish company of the tavern didn’t scratch that itch.

Ziggs had found that it didn’t, of course. He drank for no deeper reason, opting not to sob into his cups or drown his sorrows in an ale that bit one of his stature twice as quick. No, Ziggs drank because he was bored. It’s why he claws himself out of the Zaunite slums and treks up streets until the pavement underfoot levels out with each teetering step. Must’ve been nice, he thinks. To never worry about chem spills or potholes.

His feet find the stoop he knows best, and when his hand falls against the door, heavy and still-clad in his work leathers, the yordle’s voice is a groggy boom of a sound, demanding the attention of the domicile’s long suffering resident.

“Hey brainiac! Open up, will ya?”

{⚙️}: When Viktor had returned to Piltover, back to his dorm after his chance meeting with the yordle Professor, he was in good spirits. He went about doing exactly what he had said he would; preparing himself for the next day, the start of his job as Heimerdinger’s assistant. He went over and gathered up as many of his own notes as he could, laundered his uniform, bathed, and made his way to the Academy’s library, where he remained long into the night, reading up on some of the Professor’s more prominent papers and publishings.

Sure, it may not have been needed, but he felt it best to be as prepared as possible. That way, should something come up, he would be ready. Ready, and hopefully, able to impress his new superior. This really might be exactly what he needed, he thought. Exactly what he needed to move forward, put his ideas into motion. With someone as influential as Heimerdinger behind him, surely anything was possible!

When the next day arrived, Viktor was awake bright and early, grabbing an apple on his way out in the morning— two, actually. Wasn’t it a traditional sign of respect to bring a teacher an apple? He had a bag slung over his shoulder, full of notebooks— both completed and not—, pens, pencils, papers, anything he felt he might need. Of course, after he got used to the job, he would most likely cut down on the amount of items he brought along, but one could never be too prepared on the first day! Right?

//Thank you so much!!! ❤️ I still have yet to see Arcane, but I’d love to try and plot something with you!

"Ah--" Cecil looks stricken when Ziggs snaps at him. His mind races faster and faster. Of course he knows what this is about. Of course. This is not a time when he likes to be right, but it's nothing compared to how used Ziggs must feel. Must have felt.

A feeling that Cecil had only helped to foster. And now we've come to the tipping point. His brows furrow, he shakes his head quickly. "No, no, no ... I ..."

Why won't the words come? The smaller yordle can barely find his voice, genuinely terrified, though on the outside he just looks ... lost. "I'm not pretending, Zigmund."

Though he wielded bombs and hexplosives on a daily basis, Ziggs has never looked more ready to play the part of a destructive dean as he glares down at the professor before him. It’s evident he’d been soured to the turn their little conversation had taken — Cecil can see it in how his ears pin and his tail lashes.

Ziggs had learned not to dwell. A city of gilt scholars and humdrum-rules was enough to drive him mad without the reality of all he’d faced — near-expulsion before he was even so much as given a chance, academic exploitation, and complete and utter refusal to listen to him before that fateful Progress Day.

So of course he’d bristle once Cecil dared to imply he saw Ziggs as more than what he really was: a weapon.

{⚙️}: Runeterra’s sun hung at its highest peak, casting shadows of the fissures over the oil-laden lake of Zaun. It was no doubt hot in the city above, but here, shaded by high rock outcroppings, the Undercity was cool, even in the midst of Summer. In the mouth of a large wall, overlooking the water and his old place of birth, a young inventor, in only his early twenties, sat. His expression was solemn, contemplative, as he stared out at the water that had carried many a toy boat down its quick currents, never to be seen again.

Today, most of Viktor’s peers would be gathered for the unveiling of a statue. A statue for his own mentor, Professor Stanwick Padidly, the man who had invited him to step out of the shadow of Zaun, and into the light of Piltover. Viktor had graduated from the Academy that very same year, and had been certain that he was destined for great things, destined to continue his efforts to help those in need. But when he returned from a trip back to Zaun, he found that the project he had worked tirelessly alongside, his custom-built golem, Blitzcrank, had been presented as the Professor’s own, without Viktor there to contest the claim. He had tried to do just that upon his return, to no avail. What was his word, a simple student from Zaun, against the word of a known Academy Professor?

Jinx groaned as she threw her head back. Those stupid thugs were fighting! Again! ❝ Oh yeah, totally. You should see them on Saturdays. ❞ She glanced over at the person who’d spoken, only to find her gaze dropping much lower than she had expected it to.