beauty in imperfections

Still, he listened, the weight of every word tamping down most reflexive responses. His clearest answer was a careful squeeze of his own to the other man's hand.

One mistake, ending in terrible tragedy. A miscalculation. It reminded Jayce of academy lessons about probability and chance, of butterfly wings and gales and what could be done about the aftermath. Just the sight of Silco smiling at him in sincerity made that aftermath feel a little less daunting. Though embarrassed heat crept up Jayce's neck at the older man's well-meaning insistences - about what he knew were simple things, but what eight interminable years had transformed into indulgences - he managed the small beginnings of a smile in return.

That smile wavered with a fresh sting of tears, which only shored up his embarrassment. Just as his expression crumbled and another drop escaped, Jayce bent closer to rest his forehead against Silco's shoulder, eyes squeezed shut while he bit his own lower lip again to muffle shuddering breaths. He still clung to the other's hand. "It's terrifying," Jayce admitted at length. "But... I-I want... I think I want to try."

"Sometimes, the kindness is too much, isn't it," he observed quietly, and he still struggled with it day to day. Silco was a man, after all, who had always thought the lowest of himself, and certainly someone who had done what he'd done would be undeserving of all that he had? But that was what he had those around him for, who loved him, who always stood to give differing words when his mind was so cruel.

And if they weren't enough, alcohol was enough to drown out his inner voice enough to allow him to breathe for a time.

Without releasing Jayce's hand, Silco slipped an arm around his waist, offering an embrace, and his head tilted just enough so that his cheek could rest against the younger man's head as it laid on his shoulder.

Jayce couldn't manage a reply to the other's quiet observation - not without it pulling ragged from his throat and welling fresh tears in his eyes - so he nodded. What could he even do with this much kindness, given so easily? He could've sworn he'd known once, maybe in the academy. Eight years... how did the words sound so small, when the hollow they'd carved yawned so deep in Jayce's chest? Not even a decade, yet enduring them seemed like an entire lifetime. Endless days of learning he was right to hate himself, until an offer that would surely sound simple to so many others felt like a rare mercy.

Jayce gripped the older man's palm a little tighter, his free hand's fingers daring to curl on the loosest part of Silco's shirtfront. He didn't want to cling, but still hoped he could bask in each gentle gesture for a few moments more. When Silco then offered to not only mend the clothes Jayce had, but also to lend money for new ones, the younger man was dumbstruck at first. He noticed the silent pause, and hurried to answer: "I-I mean, of course I will, yeah. If it's really okay. ...You, you don't have to mend what I've got, though. It's just my old academy uniform; doubt it's been the right sizes for years now."

Independent Arcane Silco roleplay blog, written by Kevin. Crossover friendly, mutuals only, sometimes spotty activity because life just be that way.

Partner in crime to @noescapingthepast, lover of dark jokes, all around menace to society and horrendous father whose day job is a robber baron who has deluded himself into thinking he's doing the right thing for Zaun.

He wished the tears would stop. They'd been absent for what was probably years by now, wrung out and dried up somewhere in the haze of fruitless calculations, endless thoughts, and blissfully numbing labor. Why return now, when he had no right to comfort from someone like Silco? The other spoke softly, but Jayce still heard past hitched and trembling breaths.

Was it selfish to not wish he was alone in knowing these feelings, for his racing heart to begin slowing from just those two words?

Jayce couldn't deny, the idea of his life never feeling normal again was a frightening one. A hint of that fear lingered in teary brown eyes, when he glanced over at last after unfolding himself enough. Still, he didn't shy away nor tip into utter despair. His mind instead held fast to Silco's small, understanding smile, to the unspoken depths of experience behind it. Curled fingers easing, though a few more tears seemed determined to well anew, Jayce tried to sound steady but only managed a whisper. "But you still found something. A family, a partner, a home..."

He wasn't arguing, really. He didn't even know what point he was trying to make, who he was trying to convince of what. Self-recriminations tore at him, bleeding endless apologies. Shame over his presence's demands on Silco's time and energy clashed with Jayce's urge to speak, to vent some of these thoughts lest they burst out crude and ill-formed. Only one question burned brighter and more complete than the rest.

What would happen if Jayce was left to fend for himself? He'd be killed, and would that make Violet's death better? No. Or he'd grow angry, and how would that be any better?

"I found those things because I was able to accept that I'd made a mistake, and that there was nothing that I could do to undo that mistake. And when I needed it most, people saw that I was still a human being. No, it doesn't take anything back, I still killed people. Many people died because of one action that I and I alone took." The Councilor pressed his lips together in a firm line, and he scooted just that much closer, taking one of Jayce's hands in his.

"Those little girls, I killed their parents. I don't suppose you know much about the Day of Ash, do you? Or perhaps you're old enough to have learned about it... It was my fault. I threw a molotov, lit an Enforcer on fire, and as a result, they opened fire. Many people on both sides were lost, and Violet and Powder's parents were two of those people. People who believed in the idea that we down here in Zaun are just as good as those up there in Piltover." He went quiet for a moment, wondering if it was too much, wondering if spilling his life's story was too much.

Perhaps their similarities weren't as significant as he thought.

"Vander found me after I'd run away from the carnage. He was angry; we got into a fight. He...tried to kill me, tried to drown me in the polluted river, and I lost my eye, half of my face. But... Instead of letting me run off to lick my wounds, alone and abandoned, instead of chasing me away, instead of washing his hands of me for what I'd done, writing it off as something I deserved, a punishment, he showed me humanity. He showed me that he was sorry, that we all make mistakes, and sometimes... Yes, those mistakes kill people. Sometimes, they are heinous. But I didn't meant to set that Enforcer on fire. And you didn't mean to kill Violet." Did any of this make sense? He gave the young man's hand a gentle squeeze.

Then Silco smiled. A little crooked, a little lopsided, one corner of his mouth not quite able to lift with the other, scarred from a life that had been difficult at best. "First, I think you should start by enjoying yourself some stew. Then I think you should bathe, clean yourself up, and put on some proper clothes. You should get a decent night's sleep and awaken to a hot breakfast," he joked, though it was genuine. Silco meant every word of it.

Still, he listened, the weight of every word tamping down most reflexive responses. His clearest answer was a careful squeeze of his own to the other man's hand.

One mistake, ending in terrible tragedy. A miscalculation. It reminded Jayce of academy lessons about probability and chance, of butterfly wings and gales and what could be done about the aftermath. Just the sight of Silco smiling at him in sincerity made that aftermath feel a little less daunting. Though embarrassed heat crept up Jayce's neck at the older man's well-meaning insistences - about what he knew were simple things, but what eight interminable years had transformed into indulgences - he managed the small beginnings of a smile in return.

That smile wavered with a fresh sting of tears, which only shored up his embarrassment. Just as his expression crumbled and another drop escaped, Jayce bent closer to rest his forehead against Silco's shoulder, eyes squeezed shut while he bit his own lower lip again to muffle shuddering breaths. He still clung to the other's hand. "It's terrifying," Jayce admitted at length. "But... I-I want... I think I want to try."

It was that build of kindness upon kindness which cracked Jayce's composure: the beckon home, the easy frank conversations, the sparse yet gentle touches, the soft couch he sat on, the questions and sympathies and offers, the homemade food still warming his bones. It took serious effort not to crumble completely.

Especially when Silco sat a little closer and placed another tender weight atop all the rest.

Jayce set the stew down, careful but quick, fingers trembling as if they'd immediately chilled upon parting from the bowl. He raked them into his hair instead, heels of his palms pressed to his forehead and elbows propped on his knees, tears still falling freely. He didn't dare reach out, not even for the napkin Silco held. Unable to voice any words at first, Jayce's only sounds were shuddering breaths, quiet sniffs, and stifled sobs. His shoulders rose as he curled in on himself a little more. Dots of blue and streaks of pink swam in his watery vision, even lingered in the dark of tight-shut eyes. His fingers curled, not pulling but pressing blunt nails to scalp.

Now, here, with Jayce, he could see it. Not that he thought Jayce would ever have fallen over that edge. No, he didn't know him enough for that. But because he was of Zaun and they of Zaun helped one another regardless of what crime they may or may not have committed because...

No one else would. Even Jayce, they'd seemingly turned him loose without a plan, leaving a lost soul to find his place in a world that had changed while he'd been away.

Silco remained a quiet presence while the young man struggled, the napkin available but not thrust at him, his support there but not intrusive enough to cause the man to feel too stifled, too indebted; too much as if there were ulterior motives at play. There weren't. Silco simply knew how it felt to hit rock bottom, and he could imagine what it could be like with no one to reach out.

He paused, then, then allowed himself to lean in just enough so that their shoulders touch. Just the lightest touch, and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet as if he were confiding in Jayce some secret.

"I know." That was it, and he did know. He knew with all of his heart how Jayce felt. The circumstances were different, the scars were different, but the trauma, the fear, the overwhelming kindness when one had committed the most horrible act they could conceive of, at their base it was the same.

He wished the tears would stop. They'd been absent for what was probably years by now, wrung out and dried up somewhere in the haze of fruitless calculations, endless thoughts, and mercifully numbing labor. Why return now, when he had no right to comfort from someone like Silco? The other spoke softly, but Jayce still heard past hitched and trembling breaths.

Was it selfish to not wish he was alone in knowing these feelings, to feel his racing heart gradually slow from just those two words?

Jayce couldn't deny, the idea of his life never feeling normal again was a frightening one. A hint of that fear lingered in teary brown eyes, when he glanced over after unfolding himself enough. Still, he didn't shy away nor tip into despair. His mind instead held fast to Silco's understanding smile, to the depths of experience behind it. Clenched fingers easing, though a few more tears seemed determined to well anew, Jayce tried to sound steady but only managed a whisper. "But you still found something. A family, a partner, a home..."

He wasn't arguing, really. He didn't even know what point he was trying to make, who he was trying to convince of what. Self-recriminations tore at him, bleeding endless apologies. Shame over his presence's demands on Silco's time and energy clashed with Jayce's urge to speak, to vent some of these thoughts lest they burst out crude and ill-formed. Only one burned brighter and more complete than the rest.

He was glad Silco couldn't see him in the next moment, though, as his fingers fumbled with a buckle of his brace. The reflexive urge to insist there was no need for apology, even in sympathy, scraped reluctant down his throat as he swallowed it back. Fortunately, the older man saved him from having to piece together a response to that sentiment. Silco's question was only mildly less baffling, though - anything for his leg? Ah, maybe to find out if there might be extra expense. Jayce shook his head. "I... don't think so? I mean, I've been looking for some new brace parts lately, but I haven't needed medication or anything." The periodic aches, especially in cold or bad weather, had become a sort of recurring background noise in his life, only noticed once in a while and usually powered through.

Thoughts of medications and money and braces faded from the fore of his mind, as that mouthwatering scent grew clearer. When the tray was set on the table, Jayce tried to judge in a single long glance which bowl had less - but it seemed Silco had anticipated that in doling them out. Nonetheless, he waited until the older man returned with napkins before taking one and again murmuring, "Thank you."

Jayce could feel the stew's heat through the bowl, and in the fragrant steam rising from its surface. He tried not to think too long of when he'd last had a homemade meal. Eager to take a bite, he did at least cool his first spoonful with a few breaths. Rich seasoned broth, tender meat, softened vegetables... all of it, miles better than anything from Stillwater's kitchens. His second bite was scooped up when he was still swallowing his first. The warmth of even a couple mouthfuls spread from his throat and chest out through his body, like an embrace despite his hands kept strictly to himself. The spices and herbs deepening the flavor without anything overpowering, like the steady grind of his mother's molcajete and the sunset-orange centers of her tamales. Jayce swore he could taste the love and care in Vander's stew. Everything he didn't deserve. Everything he craved.

"Perhaps Ekko or Claggor can help you out with the parts you need." He'd have offered Powder--of the three children, she would have known more--but the loss of her sister still stung her a great deal. She had always been a sensitive child... Of course he would have a gentle discussion with her regarding Jayce's freedom, but more than that, he wouldn't push on her. Wherever she wanted to take it would be her choice, provided she not cause harm on anyone. "Or I'm sure Benzo might have something, though he tends to deal more in...rare and interesting items more than spare parts from this or that..." And Silco realized in a moment that he'd rambled. It happened from time to time. Sometimes his mind grasped on to a problem and ran away with it, taking his mouth with it, and the smile he offered was an apologetic one. "I apologize. I'm offering assistance to problems when you've never asked for it."

While the young man enjoyed his stew, Silco helped himself to one of the drinks. Water. Clean, drinkable water. Something he'd only dreamed of in his younger years, and now here he was, drinking what came freely instead of with a hefty price attached. Some days it was enough to make him swear off of alcohol and turn to water instead.

But water wouldn't save his sanity.

His mouth formed an 'O' at the sight of Jayce's tears, and his instinct was to rise and circle the table with a napkin for him. He took a seat next to Jayce--but not close enough to intrude into his space.

It was that build of kindness upon kindness which cracked Jayce's composure: the beckon home, the easy frank conversations, the sparse yet gentle touches, the soft couch he sat on, the questions and sympathies and offers, the homemade food still warming his bones. It took serious effort not to crumble completely.

Especially when Silco sat a little closer and placed another tender weight atop all the rest.

Jayce set the stew down, careful but quick, fingers trembling as if they'd immediately chilled upon parting from the bowl. He raked them into his hair instead, heels of his palms pressed to his forehead and elbows propped on his knees, tears still falling freely. He didn't dare reach out, not even for the napkin Silco held. Unable to voice any words at first, Jayce's only sounds were shuddering breaths, quiet sniffs, and stifled sobs. His shoulders rose as he curled in on himself a little more. Dots of blue and streaks of pink swam in his watery vision, even lingered in the dark of tight-shut eyes. His fingers curled, not pulling but pressing blunt nails to scalp.

Books. Silco seemed the type, though Jayce didn't say so aloud. Nor did he ask any of the questions on the tip of his tongue, about genres and favorites and where the older man's interest got started. He did miss his own book collection - a haphazard mix of adventure tales, engineering, mysteries, and physics - and wondered how many of them his mother might've sold. If any.

Easier to focus on the curious wind-up gadget Silco took from the table. The face scrawled on it suggested its maker was a bit eccentric, even for an engineer, and Jayce caught the temptation to smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

That urge faded as his gaze followed Silco to a photo on the shelf. Once more, pink and blue glared bright, as if highlighted by the same paint on the nearby gadget. It took a moment to let his focus shift to the other people in the photo - Violet's birth parents, most likely, and... maybe 'Powder' was the name of her younger sister. Don't ask. Don't stare. Don't. This isn't for you.

Silco's question from the kitchen tugged Jayce's attention away, and back to his brace. "I don't mind. A couple heavy fractures; they never healed right." He considered leaving it at that, but only for a moment. "Stillwater puts us to work. It's probably easier" - and cheaper - "than bringing someone over for every fix." Jayce finished tightening the knee hinge, and checked the attachments of each support post in turn. "Most of my twenty-fourth hours were spent repairing the plumbing, the lights, the lifts, pretty much everything. First fracture, my leg got caught in the cablecar winch mechanisms. Second one, somebody took a hammer to it for... for what happened to Violet."

And Silco's clothing, of course. Though still very visibly Zaun, the fabrics were nice, the clothing impeccably fitted and kept spotless. Not that he wouldn't get them dirty, oh no, but he did take pride in looking nice, as he took pride in his home also looking nice, if a bit messy from being lived in.

Silco doubted it was anything near the opulence Jayce might have been used to, the opulence Piltover was known for, and he sort of wondered just what Jayce might think of one of their own Councilmembers living in what was, compared to Piltover, squalor. Was there judgment? Did he think less of him, as they all did, without understanding that all of this was because he and Vander had worked hard to drag themselves out of the very bottom of society? They were thoughts better kept to himself, buried away along with the constant insecurity that came with being born in the deepest pits of the Sumps, to be covered by a constant mask only removed at night when it was only he and Vander.

In the kitchen, he was busy, though ever the master of multitasking, he kept his mind on the conversation at hand. And here, in this place that was his home, he relaxed, gathering bowls and cups--the nicer cups, glass, with the decorative rim usually found in the bar--on a tray. They would enjoy their meal in the coziness of space Jayce was now in, Silco decided, as opposed to the usual meal at the dining table. The coffee table would be good enough, as long as Powder never found out that the rules had been allowed to relax for their guest.

"Hmm," he hummed, mind already working its way ahead. Did he know of anyone who might be able to help Jayce with his leg? Perhaps help him with a new brace, or help him with the pain, or perhaps even to fix it? He might have to probe around, with Jayce's permission, of course. Or perhaps Jayce might need materials with which to make a more reliable brace...

"I apologize that that happened to you," he offered as he meticulously ladled soup into each bowl, making sure to fill them well. He was hungry, as hungry as he could guess that Jayce was, and there was nothing so good as a hearty stew made by Vander. "Do you need anything for it?" The cups were filled with water and added to the tray with the bowls and spoons, then the entire dinner was carried out of the kitchen to be set down on the coffee table in front of Jayce and the couch.

Silco only vanished again to fetch napkins before he settled himself in a rather-oversized chair that dwarfed his slim frame.

He was glad Silco couldn't see him in the next moment, though, as his fingers fumbled with a buckle of his brace. The reflexive urge to insist there was no need for apology, even in sympathy, scraped reluctant down his throat as he swallowed it back. Fortunately, the older man saved him from having to piece together a response to that sentiment. Silco's question was only mildly less baffling, though - anything for his leg? Ah, maybe to find out if there might be extra expense. Jayce shook his head. "I... don't think so? I mean, I've been looking for some new brace parts lately, but I haven't needed medication or anything." The periodic aches, especially in cold or bad weather, had become a sort of recurring background noise in his life, only noticed once in a while and usually powered through.

Thoughts of medications and money and braces faded from the fore of his mind, as that mouthwatering scent grew clearer. When the tray was set on the table, Jayce tried to judge in a single long glance which bowl had less - but it seemed Silco had anticipated that in doling them out. Nonetheless, he waited until the older man returned with napkins before taking one and again murmuring, "Thank you."

Jayce could feel the stew's heat through the bowl, and in the fragrant steam rising from its surface. He tried not to think too long of when he'd last had a homemade meal. Eager to take a bite, he did at least cool his first spoonful with a few breaths. Rich seasoned broth, tender meat, softened vegetables... all of it, miles better than anything from Stillwater's kitchens. His second bite was scooped up when he was still swallowing his first. The warmth of even a couple mouthfuls spread from his throat and chest out through his body, like an embrace despite his hands kept strictly to himself. The spices and herbs deepening the flavor without anything overpowering, like the steady grind of his mother's molcajete and the sunset-orange centers of her tamales. Jayce swore he could taste the love and care in Vander's stew. Everything he didn't deserve. Everything he craved.

Instead, he listened to Silco's sincere understanding and watched the older man glance toward the deeper levels. Jayce had only heard stories that were probably half-rumor - if not entirely made up - about the depths of the undercity. Still, even if none of them were true, he doubted it was an easy place to live. Jayce wasn't familiar with the names mentioned as they turned away from the tram tracks, but already he was wondering how to repay either or both of those people, as well as Silco, for helping him find clothes. He didn't say so aloud, though, not wanting it to be shot down. What he did wonder, then, was what lay at the end of that 'perhaps'. Someone else, or some other option, that'd been dismissed for some reason. Probably better not to push.

An outright surprise, as they left the tram station and headed straight for a bar at the end of the street, was Silco's next question. Jayce's answer stumbled at first: "W-Well, uh, I... Yeah, but... Yeah, I do. My mom. She runs a bakery, in the Crafting District west of the bridge." He just hoped Silco didn't plan on reuniting them. Not now, not yet. He wasn't sure he could handle learning what she thought of him.

Jayce missed the light pressure of the older man's arm as soon as it was gone, but made no attempt to cross that gap himself. Maybe it was just as well, with how his uneven steps turned halting as soon as he crossed the threshold of the home behind the bar. Every inch looked comfortable, lived-in, inviting - as if so much familial love had seeped into this place that it spread the light further.

I can't be here. I don't deserve to.

Yet Silco's easy beckon kept Jayce's feet rooted in place, much as the fatherly pride in the other's voice sharpened the pangs in his chest. Would it insult Silco if Jayce fled to the familiar cold and solitude outside? Probably. And though the treatment that might come after would be more familiar, he still felt the pull of the warmth all around him.

Though Silco did hope that the younger man would follow him.

As of yet, his thought was not on reuniting the young man with his mother. He'd only considered the idea of sending her a message, letting her know that her boy was safe, freed from Stillwater. Surely any mother would want to know such a thing, regardless of what her child had done. It was, Silco assumed, a mother's way; he'd have felt the same way if any of his were in Jayce's position and he were in Jayce's mother's position.

But that would be for another time, when the dust had settled and Jayce had been properly looked after for the moment. There were far more interesting matters at hand, such as Jayce's comfort. As the Councilor slipped his coat off and hung it on a coat rack near the door, a watchful eye was kept on his guest for any signs of discomfort or fear.

He'd leave the door unlocked, just in case Jayce wanted to leave.

"You aren't wrong. Even when I was younger, living on my own, my rooms never quite felt real until I'd filled them with the chaos of a collection of books," he agreed, sweeping one of the gadgets off of the table as he passed on his way to the kitchen. It was a little can-shaped thing, a face doodled on it, with feet and a key to wind it.

Powder's favorite, and he set it down on a shelf alongside an award from a previous expo.

"They are. It isn't something I could claim to have had any hand in, of course. Powder gets it from her mother." His gaze paused on a photograph of a woman, a man, and two girls; one girl recognizable as Vi. The other with a mining helmet on her head could only have been Powder. "You should see their lair. Perhaps they might give you a tour, if you'd like."

And he disappeared into the kitchen, where the smell of the stew was the strongest.

Books. Silco seemed the type, though Jayce didn't say so aloud. Nor did he ask any of the questions on the tip of his tongue, about genres and favorites and where the older man's interest got started. He did miss his own book collection - a haphazard mix of adventure tales, engineering, mysteries, and physics - and wondered how many of them his mother might've sold. If any.

Easier to focus on the curious wind-up gadget Silco took from the table. The face scrawled on it suggested its maker was a bit eccentric, even for an engineer, and Jayce caught the temptation to smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

That urge faded as his gaze followed Silco to a photo on the shelf. Once more, pink and blue glared bright, as if highlighted by the same paint on the nearby gadget. It took a moment to let his focus shift to the other people in the photo - Violet's birth parents, most likely, and... maybe 'Powder' was the name of her younger sister. Don't ask. Don't stare. Don't. This isn't for you.

Silco's question from the kitchen tugged Jayce's attention away, and back to his brace. "I don't mind. A couple heavy fractures; they never healed right." He considered leaving it at that, but only for a moment. "Stillwater puts us to work. It's probably easier" - and cheaper - "than bringing someone over for every fix." Jayce finished tightening the knee hinge, and checked the attachments of each support post in turn. "Most of my twenty-fourth hours were spent repairing the plumbing, the lights, the lifts, pretty much everything. First fracture, my leg got caught in the cablecar winch mechanisms. Second one, somebody took a hammer to it for... for what happened to Violet."

He wanted to argue against the idea of Vander not taking issue with him, but held his tongue there as well. True, he could only imagine being met with cold words or violence, both justified. But Silco knew Vander better than Jayce did. Offering a silent, thoughtful nod in response, he nonetheless wasn't sure whether such compassion would leave him wistful or terrified. Maybe both.

So Silco's next questions were the last things he expected.

A muddle of guilt, shame, and worry drenched Jayce's expression, while his own hand loosed from the overhead handle. He bit the inside of his lip briefly, to steady himself. Despite the topic, he still stuck close to Silco. "Every day," Jayce admitted, just above a whisper. "Ever since the explosion. At first, it was just when I slept, but..." He paused, one hand's fingers curling as he tried to do a mental count of meal trays. "Sixty...? A month in, I think, she started showing up all the time. She was my only company in that cell; always stood in the back right corner."

A mistake that had cost lives. Lives that had been important to someone somewhere. How did one live with that?

Even now, so many years after Silco's own tragedy, he didn't know.

There was a moment of contemplation regarding his next move; Silco had never been the sort of man who was warm and comforting. However, he was also the sort of man who knew himself, and he knew what he had needed so long ago. Kindness. Warmth. Gentleness. And he had received it. And it had made living with what he had done just that little bit easier. So he took a gamble, reached out when he might not otherwise. It was hesitant, but he slipped an arm around Jayce in a meager offer of comfort as he guided him off of the tram. Awkward, but Jayce seemed as if he needed it.

They were all Piltover's garbage. It was best that they look after one another. The way of Zaun.

"They never truly leave us, whether we knew them or not. Their echoes remain, reminding us that they once existed and that they no longer exist because of us. Whether they're real, or only in our minds, does that truly matter? They're real enough to us." His words made it clear that he understood, that he had his own echoes that followed him. Echoes related to the girl that now followed Jayce.

For a moment, he paused, looking almost wistfully toward the way that would have taken them deeper into Zaun; that had been his home, the mazes of catwalks and streets deep where the sun hardly shined, where the air was thick and poisonous and the people were rough. They had moved further from their roots, but his roots were always the roots of a sump rat.

"I imagine you'll need proper clothes. I'll ask around. Perhaps Claggor or Benzo might be of help." He wouldn't suggest Vander; Vander had already provided their meals, and he felt that to suggest Jayce borrow some of Vander's clothes might be a bit too uncomfortable.

"Or perhaps..." He shook his head, dismissing both the thought and the bit of homesickness so that he could get the both of them home.

"Do you have friends, family, in Piltover?" he asked once he could see the humble bar looming into view, cozy with the lights on in the living space upstairs waiting for them. The bar itself would be open, though Silco knew that it was not Vander behind the bar. Vander had gone with the children to an expo. It was an opportunity to stave off any uncomfortable meetings for the time being.

He only released his hold on Jayce once they reached the back entrance to the stairs that would take them up to the warmth of the living space, humble and comfortable, adorned with the artwork of children on the walls and Powder's gadgets lying about. It smelled of the musky cologne of two men, of coffee and a hearty stew on the stove.

Instead, he listened to Silco's sincere understanding and watched the older man glance toward the deeper levels. Jayce had only heard stories that were probably half-rumor - if not entirely made up - about the depths of the undercity. Still, even if none of them were true, he doubted it was an easy place to live. Jayce wasn't familiar with the names mentioned as they turned away from the tram tracks, but already he was wondering how to repay either or both of those people, as well as Silco, for helping him find clothes. He didn't say so aloud, though, not wanting it to be shot down. What he did wonder, then, was what lay at the end of that 'perhaps'. Someone else, or some other option, that'd been dismissed for some reason. Probably better not to push.

An outright surprise, as they left the tram station and headed straight for a bar at the end of the street, was Silco's next question. Jayce's answer stumbled at first: "W-Well, uh, I... Yeah, but... Yeah, I do. My mom. She runs a bakery, in the Crafting District west of the bridge." He just hoped Silco didn't plan on reuniting them. Not now, not yet. He wasn't sure he could handle learning what she thought of him.

Jayce missed the light pressure of the older man's arm as soon as it was gone, but made no attempt to cross that gap himself. Maybe it was just as well, with how his uneven steps turned halting as soon as he crossed the threshold of the home behind the bar. Every inch looked comfortable, lived-in, inviting - as if so much familial love had seeped into this place that it spread the light further.

I can't be here. I don't deserve to.

Yet Silco's easy beckon kept Jayce's feet rooted in place, much as the fatherly pride in the other's voice sharpened the pangs in his chest. Would it insult Silco if Jayce fled to the familiar cold and solitude outside? Probably. And though the treatment that might come after would be more familiar, he still felt the pull of the warmth all around him.

He'd made lots of promises.

This one he'd keep. He had to.

Finding his way out of the power core and into Zaun hadn't been... too hard. He knew where to find Viktor, so he could— Almost everytime Jayce thought of what he had to do, flashes of where he'd been plagued his mind. White and gold, faceless, remnants of individual people squeezed and crushed and molded into sterile frigid perfection. Husks of those who tried to flee or fight, hollow, captured forever in their last moments, coated in dust and wrapped in the spiderwebbing oil-slick of the Anomaly. The utter oppressive silence...

It couldn't happen again. Not here. He had to do this. Salo's blood still coated one head of his new hammer.

Then there was someone in front of him. Cloaked - but not Viktor, neither his Viktor nor the mage behind so much. No, it was... Silco? How? Did it matter, at the moment? The man was trying to stop him, without knowing what he planned to do or why. Might Silco understand? The man had seemed so loyal to Zaun when they'd last met, though loyal to Jinx as well. This was for Zaun's sake, and he supposed for Jinx's too, alongside the entirety of Runeterra.

But then again, did Silco know anything of the Hexcore, of the Anomaly born from it? Piltover had been— Overrun, white and gold machines crawling across hollowed dead, staring and staring- staring-! —No, they'd been more antagonistic toward Zaun, and he had no idea where Heimerdinger or Ekko were thrown. Could he risk telling the truth? Jayce hated lying, but...

In comparison to their last meeting, Jayce appeared disheveled. Fancier clothing aside, he would fit in so easily with those like him who inhabited Zaun. He appeared like a madman, even. And it was clear something had happened to him. Enough to drive him to use his weapon.

Though Jayce’s words sparked curiosity, and simultaneously, worry. Whatever it was, Jayce made it seem like Zaun was in trouble. However, instead of just simply letting him pass by, it only made him want answers. And so Silco did not move from his spot, stood more firmly even as his brows furrowed.

“Do you know what it’s like? To watch the world move around you while they believe you dead?” He finally spoke, more calmly than he would if he’d still been the same man he was back then. To some extent he still was, however solitude had a habit of humbling some. “I’ve had a chance to see my home from a different light now, both the good and the bad. Observing everything and I couldn’t but notice someone new staking their claim here.”

Viktor, he believed the man’s name was. An old subject of singed who had once retreated to Piltover.

“He was a boy when I first met him. However, since his arrival I noticed a great deal of changes. You were his partner before, and you've come to see him, haven't you?" Silco pointed to the hammer in his hands and shook his head. "Violence won't do you any good. All that will do is put the lives of others in danger. Do you really think we need that with the noxian threat looming around?"

Jayce tensed his jaw when he was only answered with more, half-rhetorical questions. But then, wait... Silco mentioned noticing someone new. So Viktor was here in Zaun after all, and the other man might even know exactly where. How to find out? Jayce's most preferred method - asking outright - didn't seem likely to work, given the way Silco was talking. But even after peace had been fractured and bloodied before it began, Jayce didn't want to hurt the other if he didn't have to.

I have to. 'Violence won't do you any good'. What else can stop this? All he had to do was... for the sake of his dearest friend, to make up for the promise he'd broken, he had to...

"This is bigger than that. Zaun, Piltover, Noxus... all of Runeterra is at risk if I don't do this." Another hesitation; how much should he give away? What might make Silco step aside? "I've seen the end of Viktor's goal. His, or the Hexcore's," - was there a difference anymore? he hoped so, but feared not - "their perfection will kill everything. Everyone. I still have a chance to stop that from happening again. So I have to."

So he'd rather think about the people, his parents and his neighbors, who often didn't have much opportunity to speak or change things either. He'd rather think about cooking, about giving even a little back where and when he could.

That Silco seemed open to the idea helped too, even if it still baffled Jayce to imagine the other associating with him beyond today. But then he heard mention of Vander, and he struggled to register the rest. Once again, glassy powder-blue eyes burned into him out of an ashen face and framed by choppy pink hair, nearly out of view and gone in his next blink. Another blink, then his thoughts hurried to catch up before he was staring in silence too long.

They cared only for optics. Even the trial had been put forth as mostly a sham, a display that painted them as reasonable people who wanted justice, but what justice was there for a girl they never even mentioned the name of? A girl they had now forgotten?

Silco put a hand on Jayce's arm; he could see the trouble, could hear it in his voice.

"No. It isn't too much. He may not have had you in mind, however, he also knows that I have a habit of bringing home strays who might need a warm meal," he answered. "And I truly doubt he would take issue with you. Though he looks rough, his heart is good." The tram rumbled to a stop, devoured in the shadows of below, and Silco released both the hand on Jayce's arm and his hold on the handle.

He wanted to argue against the idea of Vander not taking issue with him, but held his tongue there as well. True, he could only imagine being met with cold words or violence, both justified. But Silco knew Vander better than Jayce did. Offering a silent, thoughtful nod in response, he nonetheless wasn't sure whether such compassion would leave him wistful or terrified. Maybe both.

So Silco's next questions were the last things he expected.

A muddle of guilt, shame, and worry drenched Jayce's expression, while he too let go of the overhead handle. He bit the inside of his lip briefly, to steady himself. Despite the topic, he still stuck close to Silco. "Every day," Jayce admitted, just above a whisper. "Ever since the explosion. At first, it was just when I slept, but..." He paused, one hand's fingers curling as he tried to do a mental count of meal trays. "Sixty...? A month in, I think, she started showing up all the time. She was my only company in that cell; always stood in the back right corner."

Independent roleplay blog for Vander from the Arcane: League of Legends series. Canon-divergent; multiverse, multiship, crossover-friendly. All interactions welcomed!

Written by Vonny. She/They, 30+

Affiliated with: @zaunitesnake | @zaunitespride | @hexfist

Graphic credit: @saviourofzaun