#h3raud

"People don't much like to compromise. To compromise means to sacrifice, and how selfish we are..."

"By design, by nature... To sacrifice is to feel as if you're losing, no? To compromise is to lose, when we'd rather stand fast like the stubborn bastards we are."

A tilt of his head, the cigar smoke drifting away.

"But...not you. You are different."

Nerves  are  positively  alight  while  patiently  waiting  for  the  man  of  the  hour:  the  more  elusive  co-founder  of  Hextech.  Without  their  ingenious  makings,  Seraphine  feels  her  art  would  not  be  as  effective,  even  with  it's  charming  nature.  A  personalized  guitar  of  her  own  making  is  one  of  her  prized  possessions,  powered  by  the  sapphire  crystals  that  make  the  hues  of  musical  notes  all  the  more  vivid.

At  this  conference,  the  teen  attends  in  hopes  for  advice  given  from  —  oh  wait,  that's  him.  It's  definitely  him!  She  had  an  idea  of  what  he  looked  like  from  what  sparse  appearances  and  descriptions  in  articles  have  been  given  the  public.  Excitement  bubbles  as  she  takes  the  leap  to  approach  him  first,  but  does  not  stray  too  far  from  her  deactivated  platform.

It felt strange to be back here in this bizarre place, a place that he remembered in a way that might as well have been a fevered dream. A strange place... drastically different from most of Zaun; it was alive, even now, after everything that had happened. (And everything that he didn't know had happened.)

Vander remembered the greenhouse above all else. He remembered the clean water, the massive plants, the flowers and fresh fruit, the kindness shown to him amidst the greenery. The patience when tending to him. He also remembered something more -- something beyond words, of a voice reaching out to him again and again and again, trying to guide him through the darkness of his own tormented and anguished mind.

And then he emerged from amidst that dark nothingness, free from the coiling vines and tendrils that were Warwick, into the light of the world. Into the light of this very same greenhouse.

The voice startled the mountain of a man, enough so that he almost jolted where he stood. Instead, he swung around to see the speaker, and he too was familiar in the vaguest way; the heartbeat had changed, but the sense -- the scent -- was the same. Unmistakable, and it was strange to him.

But the reassurance of safety, of sanctuary, was more overwhelming than anything else.

“ viktor! ”   he  shouts  as  he  sprints  down  the  hall  of  the  academy,  his  breathing  heavy  with  exertion.  shoes  slide  slightly  as  he  rounds  a  corner,  almost  slipping  before  he  continues  to  run,  yelling  his  partner’s  name  yet  again.  his  voice  filled  with  excitement,  adrenaline.  only  as  he  busts  through  the  door  of  their  lab  and  sees  the  expression  on  viktor’s  face  does  it  register  what  he  might  look  like.  the  light  sheen  of  sweat  on  his  forehead,  his  messy  hair,  the  spark  in  his  eyes.  as  he  catches  his  breath  he  merely  holds  up  his  journal  and  leans  back  against  the  door  to  shut  it  behind  him.  a  smile  pulls  at  his  lips  as  he  holds  it  out  to  the  other.  “ i  think  i  figured  it  out. ”

perched  atop  what  may  be  a  workbench,  or  what  may've  once  been  a  dining  room  table,  the  spark  of  zaun  sits  with  one  knee  pulled  to  her  chest,  the  other  dangling  over  the  edge.  eyes  too  bright  in  the  dim  dark  trail  his  movements  through  invaded  space,  her  explanation  as  to  what  has  occurred  chipper  as  ever,  ❝  my  family  has  a  workshop,  dunno  if  you'd  know  about  it,  but  we  end  up  with  all  sorts  of  extra  parts  and  not  enough  space  for  them.  usually  there's  somebody  who  wants  them  but  this  time  around?   ❞  a  heavy  shrug.  maybe  they  know  where  they  came  from  —  destroyed  warehouses,  mining  tools  blasted  apart  —  and  fear  being  hunted  down  by  association.  ❝  nobody.  so  i  thought,  why  not  bring  it  to  you?  ❞  and  thus,  the  answer  to  what  the  meaning  of  the  crate  is:  filled  half  full  with  various  nuts,  bolts,  cuttings  of  metal with nowhere else to go.  ❝  hauling  it  over  here  was  not  easy  and  you  didn't  answer  but  i  wasn't  gonna  leave  it  outside.  thieves,  you  know?  so  i  just  helped  myself.  but  i  couldn't  find  any  paper.  ❞  which  is  to  say:  she  snooped  around.  just  a  little!  she  has  manners.  she  could  hear  her  father  chastising  her  for  being  rude  in  the  back  of  her  mind,  put  her  off. 

❝  figured  i'd  hang  around  until  you  showed  up  —  ❞ thank  you.  he's  grateful.  she  smiles  big  and  proud.  don't  do  that  again.  and  then  she's  frowning,  brows  knit  tight.  it's  gone  to  a  good  place  as  far  as  she's  concerned.  better  than  it  being  wasted  or  ending  up  right  back  where  it  started.  static  bristles  beneath  the  skin,  anything  that  escapes  caught  within  the  coils  of  her  sparkpack  which  chugs  almost  as  though  scoffing  for  her,  ❝  you're  always  such  a  downer.  is  it  because  your  stove  is  broken?  ❞  okay,  maybe  she  snooped  more  than  just  a  little.  sorry  dad.  ❝  ‘cause  i  can  fix  that.  can’t  do  anything  about  your  window  though.  that's  …  also  broken.  ❞  that  may've  been  her.  totally  on  accident  —  a  stray  spark  was  all  it  took  for  what  was  left  to  shatter  out  of  it's  frame,  old  unkempt  place.  guilt  prompts  quick  assertion,  ❝  but,  but!  i  know  somebody  that  can.  have  you  been  to  the  markets  lately?  guy  named  ezu  just  set  up  shop,  he  fixed  our  rolling  door  like  that.  ❞   a  bright  green  snap  to  signify  the  speed  she  speaks  of,  and  graciously,  a  hanging  pause.  still  with  her,  viktor?