cane turned crutch turned weapon, years long gone spreading in falling hourglass of despair and madness, the noise taps across cobblestone ground. he shouldn’t be here, knows better that he knows not how he will react upon reunion so bitter. once blessed name falling from useless chem-baron’s mouth was all it took to abandon plans in blaze of bloodshed and seek out that archaic figure. enforcers coming down to the undercity were unsurprising and unworthy of his attention, but piltover’s brightest himself making an appearance was all it took to bring spoken boogeyman out of evil lair. or so the children whispered about him.
he makes his way into the old factory, abandoned years before their time, considers briefly the potential this has to be a trap before waving it away. old friend is too headstrong for such methods. he’d far sooner come slamming down his door than attempt something requiring patience.
yellow eyes behind mask catch on silhouette standing beneath broken metal beams and old machinery. he doesn’t belong here. never would, too blinding, too clean amongst all this wreckage and shadow.
❝am i interrupting?❞ familiar words, once lifesaving words, leave mouth before mind makes up whether or not to stop them, but how different do they sound, those same syllables; once they were soft, caressing man on edge and in return being caressed. now they come out harsh, reverberating against metal insides to escape, harsh electronic.
but there’s an effort there that the other will never know, to make those words soft again. just this once.
