[ Now that he knows Jayce is here, that he isn't just a hallucination, Viktor does everything in his power to avoid him. He hides in the shadowy skeletons of buildings, never staying anywhere for too long, moving like a restless shark unable to pause for fear of dying. There's a secondary purpose apart from escaping discovery: motion keeps his body warm as the temperature begins to drop. The living metal is missing much of its vitality here, cut off from the arcane that once gave him power, energy, light spilling through the cracks. He's dark and dull now, and he worries that he may never move again if he lets himself succumb to the cold. It's hard to say what reason he has to continue on at all; perhaps it's simply the knowledge that an immobile body would not mean death. What a fitting end that would be, frozen in place much like the overgrown statue that Jayce had become in that nightmarish future, a warning and a threat to a man who only wanted to save the world.
Viktor hates that future version of himself. He hates every version of himself.
When he begins to feel a tug behind his ribs and a humming behind his eyes, he's careful to steer in the opposite direction. He'd communed with the goddess and knows this to be something to do with her, her domain and its strange magic. If she is a friend, she might attempt to bring him back together with Jayce in an attempt to soothe Viktor; as foe, she might do exactly the same to torture him. All he knows is that when he's struck with the urge to go right, he goes left, and when he feels to comfortable moving forward, he turns around and heads back where he'd come from.
He spends days doing this, haunting this empty city that reminds him too much of that wasted vision of Piltover, expecting to see ghostly version of his evolved ones around corners. The only solace he feels is that his legs work well enough to keep him moving, prowling like a tiger in an enclosure, like a predator with no prey.
Unbeknownst to him, the Murmur is working against him, using his paranoia and isolation to push him in the right direction by pretending to lead him the other way. He gets closer and closer to Jayce even as he fights to hard to run farther and farther away. ]
[ jayce walks so much and for days on end around the city in search of only two things: supplies, which included food, and viktor. the empire state building was the very last location he had gotten from the connection with his wayward partner, but other than that, he falls short of both a conclusive destination as well as concrete answers for anything happening here at all. anyone he's come across hasn't seen him, either— which is a massive pain and just another ache to add to the pile.
it brings him to narrowing his options of places viktor would investigate and hope their paths aligned on time. jayce has managed to keep slim, stale meals from the shopfronts salvaged, and a singular mutated squirrel that had landed in his trap to keep him fed for a day or two. meats are rationed and suplimented with canned corn, but his energy was not. it does not help the metal of his brace, meant for a battle-ready pinch now digging raw bites into his joints, poorly prepared for its user's comfort rather than practicality. the chaffing burns angry holes in his flesh, but he carries on. the bone and its shitty setting aches, but he continues with one goal above survival: find viktor. that's all he needed to do— find viktor and knock some damn sense into him.
he's found himself in an engineering university's research wing, plenty of rummaging through tour books and images to get some direction without necessarily needing to read the language. he's tried some things, based on the network and some clues his written down in a withered notebook puffed at the seams from humidity and mold. perhaps viktor would, or could, gravitate to his interests. shared interests, at that.
what jayce hadn't been counting on was the flooring. seemingly sturdy surfaces would betray his trek when he least expected it, beginning to moan under him just as he was enthralled in the advanced set of microscopes sitting like phantoms on top of a double desk. the files and binders remain untouched, damn it all that he can't read this—
the snapping choruses and piles until jayce gasps, pushes against it to move out of the way— but that's exactly what caves the floor under him. jayce yells on the sinister way down, his weight caving the rest of the brittle, rotting wood numbering each level. each one was a heftier impact, losing count in between the major scrapes and hits he suffers.
until he finally stops falling, lands dead set on flimsy metal shelvings back first, where those too cave beneath his weight. the back of his head ricochets from impact— and he blacks the fuck out. ]
[ when jayce comes to, it's painfully slow; the world spins and his head feels like it's going to split open despite not moving beyond lifting his hand to his head. with a hiss and the pads of leather brushing at his temple, the warm spring of blood being smeared dribbles to his beard. oh his head—
just where was he?
looking upwards offered a deathly familiar view of the world above him, shining under moonlight. when he doesn't immediately see an exit, he looks for another one. a second time, a third time, until his gut sinks the same way he plummeted. thank the gods nothing has freshly broken, but an attempt at rising has his brace giving way laterally— it has broken, snapped at the ankle. ]
No, [ he mutters to himself in this wreched containment, sensing nothing but the freezing temperatures and a dwindled supply. of tall walls and a ceiling that is too high, with nothing to climb out with. ] not again—
[ he moans when the pang hit the hardest, squeezing the sides of his temples and trying to situate himself— just what he needed, really, getting stuck in a hole and earning himself a concussion. now, jayce himself is a man of action; he knows he should (and does) look for every viable corner, where able— sometimes he needs to sit. he tries to find his mask, and realizes it has been left somewhere up high during his fall. he yells a singular time before his head feels like it's going to rip open. he tries to find supplies to burn, but there's nothing in this storage room, just— metal parts.
dangerously, jayce feels both nauseous and dizzy, being forced to curl into himself as the temperatures drop. as, perhaps, hours become days, or days become minutes. it' hard to tell when your body reacts to the harm done with a fever. he wants to scream for help again, but he's . . . unbelievably drowsy.
[ Prowling streets, head swimming with unfamiliar symbols that try to solidify meaning in his mind, Viktor is hit with a sudden feeling of vertigo despite standing on solid ground. Both of his legs buckle beneath him and send him crashing down to his knees, palms of his hands skidding across the pavement as he catches himself. Breathless, weak, and shaking from a cold that starts within. A second later and he cries out as pain blossoms at the back of his skull, blinding white and all-consuming for a second before it disappears. He's left panting on the sidewalk, fighting for breath he's not sure he needs through a mouth he cannot open. It's an instinctive reaction, just like the tears that leak from his eye and fall to the cracked concrete beneath him, just like the way he draws himself up tight, forehead to his knees and arms crossing above his head, defensive against the world as he processes the internal attack.
Jayce. There's no other answer, not when Viktor has tucked away his veil and cut himself off from the collective consciousness binding together the inhabitants of this ruined city. He's awake, too, as far as he can tell—has been since arriving here and being spoken to by Sleep herself—so there's no chance of dreamed oddities. Nothing else could affect him like Jayce could despite all of his attempts to severe their connection for his former-partner's safety. They were dangerous together, a pair entwined by a fate across time and space, a fate designed by a version of Viktor that he'll never become.
But the pain. The sensation of falling. He's unfolding his limbs from around himself and standing without thought, pivoting in place until he feels a pull in the right direction. He doesn't know what's happening or why, but he trusts it the same way he'd mistrusted it moments before, no longer avoiding the pull towards Jayce but giving himself up to it. His pace is frantic as he weaves through debris on the streets, pieces of crumbled buildings and decaying vehicles, and tries to keep to the more open areas where he's less likely to meet obstacles.
It's taking too long, he'd been too successful at putting space between himself and Jayce, and he doesn't even know if the feeling pulling him along will get him close enough to find Jayce if he's unable to hear him call out. There's no way of tracking him either—Viktor stops up short and claws the veil from where he'd tucked it inside his scarf, pulling it on and reaching out for Jayce with every ounce of concentration and intention he can muster. Nothing. It turns his stomach to ice, certain that if Jayce were able to answer, he would without hesitation. That means he's either separated from his mask, knocked out, or...
Viktor presses on, certain that he would have felt it if something fatal had occurred. The laws of this land are still such unknowns, but in his gut, his heart if he still had one, he knows that losing Jayce would have sent shockwaves through him greater than anything he's felt before. So he keeps going, moving almost without thought, until he stumbles upon an open set of double doors in a building that looks like it must have been some kind of school. The blackness of the entrance strikes him as significant, a yawning maw ready to swallow him whole, and he steps inside to begin his search. ]
Jayce! [ He can't even shout it, just push the name into the Murmur in hopes that he'll be heard. Night has fallen and with it, the temperature of the city. The interior of the building is pitch black, and without hesitation, Viktor reaches down for a broken piece of glass to carve a rune for light into his wrist. It bursts to life and provides a cold, blue glow for him to see by as he combs the main floor, looking for evidence of footsteps or recent disturbance of dust so he might find Jayce. ]
[ jayce fully awakens to the chattering of his own teeth another time, having not realized he'd blacked out again and was drifting, in, out, in, out— he whispers as only his half lidded eyes move across dusty tiled floors in the cold tomb of his fall, having dragged himself onto his side: where am . . . what was i . . . , only half formed thoughts coming and dispersing. he doesn't know where he is. he can't seem to remember what happened immediately, and his disorientation makes his mind a muddy viel to sift through, failing to grasp at anything worth while. he's cold. he's so damn cold that the tremors across the burn of his skin make his muscles ache. it's a violent short of shake he can't stop, but only curl into. the armor— the pauldron and arm guards are making him even colder.
jayce attempts to shed himself of his accessories, succeeds only half-way before his vision blurs and his stomach lurches. attempting to right himself is what does it— he expels bile, and is left another huffing mess right next to it, doing his best to at the very least turn away from the acrid stench of it. he's on his back, now. looks up, sees the fogged splinters of wood he fell through and feels the hot wetness of blood down the side of his face, the scrapes through his pants, and the rashes that have spotted his skin all over.
how long has he been here—?
jayce tries not to move during the first hour or so, but he does try to stay awake. he counts. loses count. counts backwards, stops at six. he awakens from another brief slumber with dust caking his lips, and goes right back to uncontrollable tremors. he tries to move another time— the pain spikes, he nearly vomits again, and decides he should keep still to avoid losing even more fluids. at least the rashes stopped itching (no, he's just shivering too much for minimal heat to even regard the prickling).
the cold crawls into his bones and makes nests in his marrow as an hour becomes far more. his blistered knuckles, open and wounded from his bouts of anger, burn angry with bright red frostnip, his fingers curl tight into his palms just as much as the rest of him curls to fight the temperature. at the very least, he attempts turning when the side against the floor numbs. i'm not going to die here, he tells himself as he pulls his battle jacket around his middle tighter, closing the straps and buckles despite the sweat damp scarf around his neck. he can't tell how much time it's been, only that he's certain he's blinked only a few times during, which meant its only been a few minutes— but that's wrong, and jayce clearly has lost all sense of tracking anything accurately at all when the later half of the day has grazed by. i've walked through worse. i'll be fine. i just need to . . . stop spinning. then i could look for a way out.
the conditions, including jayce's, worsen. the building's insulation could only stave hypothermia off an inert body for so long. it's been long enough that his body has diminished the wild quaking to keep warm— it's stopped trying by the time his sweat drenched frame has begun to feel too stiff, but it wasn't as if jayce had realized it.
if there was a voice echoing from within the building, jayce only heard a muffled yawn of pressure against his ear drums. he's been hearing things as is— pops and ringing, buzzing noise that moved with the shadows. darkness moved at some point, too. he thought he saw a beast earlier, a giant lizard that just stared at him from the mounds of metal he'd fallen onto (no one is going to believe him when he says he saw a dragon. perfect!). heimerdinger and his stupid porro trudged around like penguins. looks like you're in a bit of a pickled plum, my boy. ugh. don't remind him. his mother bringing him tea and promising pastries later— he just needed to drink, and melt in her arms. if there was some sort of door, he couldn't get to it, and even if he could— it was locked. with his breathing beginning to slow and slim down the visible puffs of it, a faux heat seeps under his layers, has him peeling away at his scarf, opening his jacket and trying to shrug out of it with no complete success, tricks jayce into pulling away at his gloves too, where his fingers have gone numb underneathe.
jayce groans slurred words in the dark; his mother returns, with the promised pastries she'd got him for progress day and a kiss against his jeweled forehead, the only shimmer in the dark he couldn't even see. he felt like a boy again, floating on a cloud, in his bed. tea did the trick, mom. 'm burning up. ]
Edited (sorry i keep remembering things) 2025-07-19 13:32 (UTC)
[ jayce could not escape this. it seemed that no matter how safe he attempted to play things, or if he even ran from it, trouble would always find jayce in the deepest crevices. it would make him trip on his own two feet, fall down a cliff, break his leg— it would make him the cause of severe colateral damage, and run him into jinx with a gun. jinx, who wants his head. hypocrisy, really— but that girl would never give ear to reason. well, maybe he was lucky after all. as the blood moon turns an icy blue once more, it doesn't come to jayce's rushed, scattered attention as he spills through a pharmacy's devastated stock, that he dodged 3 out of 4 bullets. no bone feels like its shattered. no artery is spewing out of control. he's only . . . bleeding, but he's controlled it with a harsh fastening of the leather straps keeping his brace fastened. he'd screamed into a grind of his teeth when he'd done it, all before dragging himself to stand and using a mix of his staff and the wall to move. he barely could, but the path he'd manage to hop from point a to b was a staggering blur. it is of throbbing pain, in his ears, his head, his leg— the outside of his thigh is torn with both an entry and exit, good that it isn't lodged inside him still.
but gods, does it burn. does it hurt. despite his threshold for it it is searing more than hot iron. he finds a bottle that topples over with weight, and when opening the cap, he's greeted with the crisp, too-strong stench of rubbing alcohol. right. perfect. this is going to hurt, enough that he's sure to stuff his blood stained maw with the scarf he wears around his neck. no one needs to hear his screams, torn from him like smoke from a sudden fire once he's gathered the courage to pour. it seeps into his nerves, his muscle— white hot and unbearable until it is all but an aftershock that leaves him an exhausted, trembling mass of cold sweat and tears. ]
Ff— Shit. Fuck—
[ jayce knocks his head back against the wall and swallows his gasps. it's alarming that he can't hide it from viktor, even if he's safe, now. even if he's with his back against a counter and simply catching his breath. he's almost afraid to put his mask on by the time he thinks he could, and should. its practically radiating condemnation.
oh, hell. he puts it on. they've just gotten bacck together— he'd hate to give viktor a reason to to trust him to check in and follow his own damn advice of not hiding things from him. ]
[ No one hears the screams, but Viktor feels them like glass in his throat as if he's the one that's been screaming himself hoarse. This comes after a series of other sensations, a stab in his leg like branded with hot iron the first that knocked him off balance and the last a sting flooding through the same area like a wicked balm. He knows that Jayce is in trouble—again—long before he can feel a familiar consciousness reach out to him and call his name. ]
Please tell me you didn't fall down another hole. [ His tone contains feigned nonchalance only because he knows that Jayce is alive and alert enough to feel pain. He's been on the threshold of their hideout in the museum, waiting for a hint of Jayce's location if he needs to go collect him again. ] Do you need help?
[ the words squeeze through jayce's teeth— he's only now realized how much the graze cutting his cheek is bleeding— the rest burned too harshly for him to notice. even when he doesn't move it, hell. fucking hell. ]
If only—
[ he'd probably rather take another hole than a second run in with jinx feeling trigger happy. maybe. there's a beat, then three— jayce tips his head back and breathes heavy through his cold sweat. his intention had been to call for help, so. that stands, as much as he knows he's going to get scolded for it. ]
. . . I can't move anymore. Not on my own. [ jayce curses under his breath, and before long, the mutter becomes audible: ] I'm sorry.
[ Viktor can feel some of what Jayce leaves unspoken; pain, of course, but also guilt sitting sour beneath it. It's a step in the right direction that Jayce is asking him for help instead of insisting that he's some pillar of strength, the lone golden boy capable of shouldering the world and its problems. This feels closer to the days when they would work on problems together, puzzling through solutions in the lab, though it was usually Viktor's body on the proverbial table rather than the other way around. ]
Why are you sorry? [ Already on the move, he follows his faint understanding of Jayce's general location—something that he still doesn't understand but is thankful for at times. It's probably more of this world's strange magic that manifests so differently from the arcane of home while managing to be eerily familiar. ] And what is the closest landmark you can see?
[ jayce doesn't know how he got here. rather, he doesn't quite remember if he just appeared or traveled on his own accord, as fickle as dreams are or could be. it didn't really matter, for by the time he was halfway down the dank corridors lit by golden candlelight, moans of every pitch he could think of rattled his innate curiosity and coaxed his steps forth. jayce hesitates at the threshold, fingers tightening on the frame he grazes past as his gaze adjusts to the amber-dark heat. shapes writhe in tangled rhythm beneath this honeyed light, slick skin catching against silk and shadow. the air is heavy, thick with sweat, sighs, and something sharp he can't name. he doesn't recognize anyone, only . . . blurs, shapes. masks he probably wouldn't remember. freezing after seeing three dream vessels go at it vigorously from the drape of a saten curtain only obscuring half a doorway, jayce finally manages to awkwardly scan the rest of the dream's lower level while caring for the pesky heat pooling in his pelvis. he pretends to focus on the architecture, averts his eyes elsewhere when the source of whimpers or cries don't quiet snatch his attention so much. he has no desire to participate, not when he didn't know a single soul to gravitate towards, to feel something with, although . . . these do bring more private matters to the forefront of his mind. of the past, of the present, perhaps of the future.
there is one person, though. jayce can't tell who he's looking at, what he sees as he scans the room aimlessly, really— only that this person magnetizes him from across the room. instantly. whether it be the stare, the poise or something else, jayce finds himself enraptured and disquisitive. he can't look anywhere else— and some hungry, alien part of him often buried hopes that he's noticed. that he's seen, in the way his chest puffs out, his back erects, and he pushes past anyone and anything in the way with forbidible focus. his heart skips, plunges, his pulse races as if at the very apex of a hunt, the scent of him alluring.
it's been so long since he's felt this, or rather, felt the liberty to allow himself the luxury. with broad shoulders and a friendly disposition, jayce stands in front of the masked figure and flashes and endearing, quick smile absolutely meant to charm. maybe the seductress of his dreams if everything he wants in a partner— delicate features, but sharp ones. beauty marks, even though he can't tell where they are (but he's always had a thing for those). a slim stature, curves where there needed to be, but best of all— the eyes. jayce could get lost in their clever pools of starlight. ]
[ Viktor finds the dreams to be both immensely disorienting and dangerously seductive. In this space, he can be something like what he once was—healthy, strong, powerful, and as close to beautiful as ever possible. There are no metal rods dotting his spine nor a brace turning his footsteps into an asymmetrical percussion, not even the bruises left behind by buckles and straps and crossbars rubbing against his skin all day. Here, there is what he believes he would look like at this age if disease and disability hadn't found him or if he could have escaped them without resorting to the Hexcore and its own vicious seduction.
The comfort he feels in his dream skins makes it easy to sink into the space. He doesn't have to worry about upsetting anyone with his broken, mechanical visage nor his monstrous proportions; he doesn't have to carve runes and symbols into his skin just to have enough light to see by, nor to help Jayce survive. The dreams is exactly that: an oasis after drowning. He vaguely remembers a lavish feast with enough food to make his stomach churn at the mere thought of indulging. No, his appetite is that of someone curious of their surroundings, and something pulls him down through the corridors of the strange palace to find the throbbing heart of it.
It's... well, it's an orgy. Such things aren't entirely unfamiliar to Viktor who had grown up in the Undercity where every street had a brothel where the workers would flaunt their wares just outside the door. He remembers sitting just outside because those buildings always had their lights on and were always the warmest to rest against, remembers coming of age and yet still not drawing the attention of anyone trying to entice a client for the night, remembers how long he'd considered spending his first paycheck on someone just so he could lose his virginity and be done with it. Sex isn't a mystery to him—he's studied human anatomy for so much of his life that he could probably name any body part someone pointed to, inside or out—but he's not experience in the least. That's probably why he finds a seat in a far corner, lounging in a pose that allows him to fully lavish in his lack of back pain, and watches. At least Sleep seems to have granted him appropriate attire for the evening, light and flowy so that he doesn't feel too hot among the humid weight of the air around him. His mask doesn't do much to hide his face, though he gets the feeling that there is magic at play for that purpose; he doesn't recognize anyone around him, so either they have very different dream selves from their appearances in reality, or everyone's anonymity is being protected.
He can't help wondering if Jayce is here, enjoying himself with some woman who doesn't know who he is or how lucky she is. It gets him hotter under the collar than anything he's seen down here, wishing he had a drink to cool himself off with but not entirely trusting whatever refreshments are being provided. With such wanton displays, it doesn't seem beyond reason to believe that anything imbibed would lower inhibitions. Viktor doesn't want to give up that control, doesn't want to risk letting his first time be a dream that becomes only half remembered upon waking.
The weight of a stare on him pulls him from his reverie, knowing he probably looks a little bored with how he's leaning to one side on a couch and keeping his head propped up on a gloved hand. Ready to reply that he's not interested, he stops short when he actually looks at the man before him. Tall thanks to long legs that meet at a small waist, body tapering back out to broad shoulders, skin sun-kissed and curly hair a beautiful chocolate brown. He's drawn to the eyes that don't waver from having their gaze met, and Viktor finds himself smiling behind the curtain of golden chains hanging from his mask. ]
[ the closer jayce comes to allow his eyes a more substancial rack up and down, the more jayce nearly feels this is perhaps way out of his league. perhaps this person wants nothing to do with him, although— maybe the borrowed attention is a sign of the opposite? jayce tries his utmost to keep his eyes up at the eyes and not the curve of the other's hips. thank god, it's actually hard to— the gold in them are striking. for a moment, jayce feels his mouth dry up, and his tongue falls hort of the words he was thinking of. oh, no. remember to act natural. earnest. jayce wasn't always one to take the lead in romance, but once he did— was there stopping him? ]
Lost depends on . . . Perspective, right?
[ oof, his little smile. that was awful, wasn't it? but jayce still tries to amp up the charm. part of jayce wonders why he's even doing this. he doesn't need this. he'd rather be somewhere else, certainly, he'd rather be with viktor. but he'd also rather be doing quite a few things he wouldn't be admitting to any time, soon and . . .
there is familiarity in the shape that part of him would rather cling to, for now. a small reprive, a little solace for his growing aches born from the heart. aches became viscious wants. and now? every part of him was hungry, and every part of him that would deny this eases back and lets go. for so long, he's had to keep a certain poise, for so long he's wanted to do . . . this. it helps distract him from the fact that maybe viktor— yeah. he's not going to think about that. jayce, after a moment of endearing quiet, gestures to the couch with a small lean sideways of his entire body, his arms behind his back. ]
Hm, I suppose it does. Perspective, and what your destination is.
[ The man smiles beneath his mask and there's something so warm about it, coy and inviting but just a bit innocent and humble, too. It reminds Viktor a little too much of Jayce, of the way it felt to have his chipped grin shine only for him, to know that he was the cause of it thanks to a breakthrough or a joke or a fresh cup of coffee brought unbidden. The smoldering fire in the pit of his stomach makes him sick, eager to quench its flames because there's no way to stoke it higher. Maybe a distraction is worth his time, maybe the company will help him forget for a while. ]
Bring me a drink first. [ Tilting his head to one side, golden curtain shifting to drape against his shoulder, he smiles beneath his own mask. He could be a little more polite, posing a question rather than leveling a demand, but there's a wickedness lying in wait within him that's scratching to get out. ] Then, if you're good, you may join me.
Viktor, [ through the murmur, jayce's voice pushes through, gentle but a little urgent— and a constant of his name until he gets the hunch to find his viel, should he not be wearing it, ] I've got some company.
[ ... and, ]
Is that alright with you?
[ he's asking in earnest; the museum is big enough, he could go wherever he wanted if he'd prefer not to be seen. part of jayce wishes for him to be present, a hopeful string of silver surrounding the question itself. not entirely pushy, just . . . hopeful. respectful, if it doesn't get picked up, even though jayce would silently dislike the fact. ]
[ Even without his veil on, Viktor hears the soft murmuring of his name, Jayce's voice as familiar as Viktor's own in his head. He dons his mask all the same, for ease and comfort—being able to communicate too easily without it means more possibilities for accidentally sharing thoughts better left private. ]
Jayce. [ Mentally, his voice is just as accented though less metallic and hollow. ]
Company? [ It reminds him uncomfortably of the few times Jayce had brought investors to the lab, Viktor and all their work on display. There's nothing secret here, nothing besides the rekindled friendship and partnership that still feels fragile compared to what it had been. ] What kind of company?
[ If Jayce has found time for romance, Viktor may disappear after a polite introduction. ]</small
Edited (dang mobile tagging) 2025-10-29 22:40 (UTC)
[ there is a certain . . . weighing, he's feeling, so jayce immediately sets the cards out as soon as he's told to. ]
It's a boy I met, and his friend. Ready to walk right into the subway . . . . [ jayce had just barely managed to reel them in before they went any deeper. if viktor had felt some sort of disturbance earlier, but nothing jayce couldn't handle on his own— that was jayce. frightened, for a good minute. and how do they look like— well, jayce tries to relay it over through his mind's eye. a white haired boy and a black haired boy, both in their teens. ] For food. They're hungry.
[ and after a beat, jayce mentally sighs. in the end he just couldn't bring himself to send them on their way. it was hard enough to survive. from they dressed, even the way they presented themselves— they weren't ready for impromptu survival either. ]
[ Viktor's caution lessens significantly at that, but doesn't entirely disappear. Though he's collaborated with a couple other people here and there, he's largely kept to himself since arriving—looking like he might be one of the local monsters made it difficult to socialize. Plus, he'd spent his first month on the move trying not to be spotted by Jayce or anyone else. ]
You have enough to share, for now. [ One benefit of two people looking for supplies but only one needing them.
Seeing the "company" through Jayce's eyes, it's easy to tell that they really are just a couple of boys, still school age by Piltover standards. They're lucky to have run into Jayce before getting themselves into trouble going underground or somewhere similarly dangerous. ] You should warn them about... well, how I look.
[ Jayce remembers telling Mel this, in his scorching time inside the forge to hammer away his quandaries: Viktor's disappeared. He does that sometimes, to Jayce's mild distaste of the fact. He thought, with a burst of innocence, that things would be different succeeding their agreement to be honest with each other, and quite clear with their intentions— especially to avoid misunderstandings that could further sow any fractures in their reconciling trust as is. Knowing both Jayce and Viktor, there was bound to be a slight misstep, even with the brightest conations . . . At least Jayce thinks, he's been trying rather adamantly in not keeping things from his partner.
There's just one thing, involving courtship— but that's less a secret and more a work in progress at this point.
Speaking of works in progress—
That may have been the reason Jayce was occupied throughout most of the day to question Viktor's curt explanation of his . . . activities, though he doesn't push because of privacy and presumed innocence; he tends to the boys in the meantime, with food, attention and lessons, tuning his crutch and walking around outside with them to overlook their scavenging. Then came the forge, where Jayce had been glad to teach them how the tools, prepping the fire, and the beginners guide of molding metal works. After that— Jayce focused on what he did best: creating.
His efforts have birthed a gift he's been working on for some time, now. With utilities made, Jayce crafted something for Viktor to be used, worn— and he'd been rather excited for Viktor's return to give it to him. He'd practice in the mean time, but . . . Soon, the sun would set. Sundowning would itch at his nape and Viktor would not arrive. He'd try to reach out and there would be nothing bouncing back to him. Worry begins to escalate, and what's more— a possessive irkedness would form at the bolt bobbing at the root of his chest that coils the longer it takes for Viktor to give return.
The only thing stopping him from leaving their home in the museum altogether was the lack of pain, alarms, panic— but was it any better? The boys are probably resting by now, in their quarters, and Jayce waits outside in the shadows of the structure's grand entry pillars, lips pulled thin and brows slanted cross as he ruminates in his own simmering annoyance. ]
[ Viktor hadn't intended to be gone for so much of the day, but he'd made one grave miscalculation in the plan: not asking where he would have to walk to, a distance that proved to be far greater than he'd anticipated. In Piltover, he had been somewhat spoiled by public transportation, and in Zaun, rickshaws that were as much a scam as a convenience for someone who couldn't walk long distances. This city, obviously, has neither amenity and so Viktor had found himself making a two hour trip both ways. Along with that was the fact that his accomplice had been injured during the blood moon and Viktor, as antsy as he was, had insisted on taking breaks as to not exacerbate any wounds. The result is that he leaves the hotel as the sun is starting to set and the need to tether is itching at the back of his neck, creeping along his shoulders like the ghost of a large hand with callused fingers lingering longer than was totally acceptable.
He should have planned better. He should have worn something other than just his usual tatter shawl, though the thought of taking it off pains him greatly at the moment. With a bundle tucked under one arm and footsteps heavy with fatigue, he makes it back to the museum just as the last of the light is disappearing from the sky above. He's a fool to think that Jayce won't be waiting for him, that he will have accepted his missing partner for such a length of time, but Viktor is still hoping to at least make it inside, maybe even all the way to bed, before he's caught.
Viktor has never been a lucky man. ]
Jayce! [ Sudden awareness of his presence surprises Viktor as their tether snaps tight between and he can practically feel it vibrate with Jayce's displeasure. Shifting the wrapped up secret to his other arm, the one a slightly greater distance from where Jayce is leaning, Viktor aims to hide it with his own slender frame. Luckily, if he tilts it at the correct angle, it's long and thin enough to perhaps disappear between him and the trailing ends of his blanket-cum-scarf. ] It's getting cold out, you should be inside.
[ He feels his presence returning to the vicinity almost as soon as Jayce could smell it. Smell him, gods, the blanket and the hair and the metal getting closer with each prevailing step closer, and it has Jayce licking his lips and clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth insistently, not even to make much of a sound— every time he does so it feels more prominent and he just can't dang help himself to it, it makes him want to disperse the pent up energy and pace like an animal, even if his leg is in disagreement. The loop of chronic pain just ends up souring his mood all the more, putting kinks in his features, from the bridge of his nose to the curve of his nostril. His tail keeps throwing his balance off, but he's gotten a little better at sending the extra weight to the side that would most gain from it.
In an abundance of furs to keep warmer than anyone in their building, Jayce waits at the edge of the stairs once crisp raptor vision catches Viktor's slender frame approaching, for only a few moments before bringing his gait to the entire length of the landing, back and forth. Until he can't fucking wait anymore and snarls his way down the first few steps to meet his partner halfway, crutch first. His scales are alight, like angry bruises in their sharp brightness, his breath coming in visible puffs as he scuttles down and drags his tail behind him. Jayce's end of their Tether flurries with emotion, from relief to worry to more severe sentiments. The former takes the wheel and bursts with Viktor's remark, to which Jayce pauses, lips agape with incredulence and brow pulling his squint sharp. He points to himself with escalating, perhaps even dramatic conotation, but that in itself is deliberate to express his annoyance. ]
I should be inside? [ With a huff, Jayce's free arm smacks his side as it drops from pointing at his own layers, ] What else should I be doing?
[ Jayce appearing from the shadows to confront him should have Viktor's blood running cold, metaphorically. He's at least taken care to keep himself warm, something that's become more of a chore since his transformation—testing his blood temperature strikes Viktor as yet another experiment to run, but right now is not the time to bring it up. There's something about seeing his partner, a person he's known longer than almost anyone else, a constant for so many years until he was not, standing before him changed that brings Viktor a sense of awe. He had felt it in the few moments between opening his eyes to see him at the commune and Jayce forcing those same eyes shut—something had been capable of altering the immutable Jayce Talis. Then again, both of them went through plenty of sudden changes over the course of a few months.
Seeing him limp is what ultimately makes the guilt settle in the cage of Viktor's chest. Furs and crutch aside, Jayce's leg has been bothering him more and more thanks to the toil for survival as well as the changes to his body. If that hadn't been enough to warn Viktor that he was in trouble, the tension in their tether would have sealed his fate. He probably shouldn't have started the conversation the way he did, but in his surprise, he hadn't prepared anything better to say. ]
Sitting, probably. [ The second word holds a wince; Viktor knows how much it smarts to be told one's own limits. ] I didn't expect to be back so late, the day got away from me.
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and I'm whole again
Viktor hates that future version of himself. He hates every version of himself.
When he begins to feel a tug behind his ribs and a humming behind his eyes, he's careful to steer in the opposite direction. He'd communed with the goddess and knows this to be something to do with her, her domain and its strange magic. If she is a friend, she might attempt to bring him back together with Jayce in an attempt to soothe Viktor; as foe, she might do exactly the same to torture him. All he knows is that when he's struck with the urge to go right, he goes left, and when he feels to comfortable moving forward, he turns around and heads back where he'd come from.
He spends days doing this, haunting this empty city that reminds him too much of that wasted vision of Piltover, expecting to see ghostly version of his evolved ones around corners. The only solace he feels is that his legs work well enough to keep him moving, prowling like a tiger in an enclosure, like a predator with no prey.
Unbeknownst to him, the Murmur is working against him, using his paranoia and isolation to push him in the right direction by pretending to lead him the other way. He gets closer and closer to Jayce even as he fights to hard to run farther and farther away. ]
for just a moment
it brings him to narrowing his options of places viktor would investigate and hope their paths aligned on time. jayce has managed to keep slim, stale meals from the shopfronts salvaged, and a singular mutated squirrel that had landed in his trap to keep him fed for a day or two. meats are rationed and suplimented with canned corn, but his energy was not. it does not help the metal of his brace, meant for a battle-ready pinch now digging raw bites into his joints, poorly prepared for its user's comfort rather than practicality. the chaffing burns angry holes in his flesh, but he carries on. the bone and its shitty setting aches, but he continues with one goal above survival: find viktor. that's all he needed to do— find viktor and knock some damn sense into him.
he's found himself in an engineering university's research wing, plenty of rummaging through tour books and images to get some direction without necessarily needing to read the language. he's tried some things, based on the network and some clues his written down in a withered notebook puffed at the seams from humidity and mold. perhaps viktor would, or could, gravitate to his interests. shared interests, at that.
what jayce hadn't been counting on was the flooring. seemingly sturdy surfaces would betray his trek when he least expected it, beginning to moan under him just as he was enthralled in the advanced set of microscopes sitting like phantoms on top of a double desk. the files and binders remain untouched, damn it all that he can't read this—
the snapping choruses and piles until jayce gasps, pushes against it to move out of the way— but that's exactly what caves the floor under him. jayce yells on the sinister way down, his weight caving the rest of the brittle, rotting wood numbering each level. each one was a heftier impact, losing count in between the major scrapes and hits he suffers.
until he finally stops falling, lands dead set on flimsy metal shelvings back first, where those too cave beneath his weight. the back of his head ricochets from impact— and he blacks the fuck out. ]
'till the morning comes
just where was he?
looking upwards offered a deathly familiar view of the world above him, shining under moonlight. when he doesn't immediately see an exit, he looks for another one. a second time, a third time, until his gut sinks the same way he plummeted. thank the gods nothing has freshly broken, but an attempt at rising has his brace giving way laterally— it has broken, snapped at the ankle. ]
No, [ he mutters to himself in this wreched containment, sensing nothing but the freezing temperatures and a dwindled supply. of tall walls and a ceiling that is too high, with nothing to climb out with. ] not again—
[ he moans when the pang hit the hardest, squeezing the sides of his temples and trying to situate himself— just what he needed, really, getting stuck in a hole and earning himself a concussion. now, jayce himself is a man of action; he knows he should (and does) look for every viable corner, where able— sometimes he needs to sit. he tries to find his mask, and realizes it has been left somewhere up high during his fall. he yells a singular time before his head feels like it's going to rip open. he tries to find supplies to burn, but there's nothing in this storage room, just— metal parts.
dangerously, jayce feels both nauseous and dizzy, being forced to curl into himself as the temperatures drop. as, perhaps, hours become days, or days become minutes. it' hard to tell when your body reacts to the harm done with a fever. he wants to scream for help again, but he's . . . unbelievably drowsy.
what a package. ]
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Jayce. There's no other answer, not when Viktor has tucked away his veil and cut himself off from the collective consciousness binding together the inhabitants of this ruined city. He's awake, too, as far as he can tell—has been since arriving here and being spoken to by Sleep herself—so there's no chance of dreamed oddities. Nothing else could affect him like Jayce could despite all of his attempts to severe their connection for his former-partner's safety. They were dangerous together, a pair entwined by a fate across time and space, a fate designed by a version of Viktor that he'll never become.
But the pain. The sensation of falling. He's unfolding his limbs from around himself and standing without thought, pivoting in place until he feels a pull in the right direction. He doesn't know what's happening or why, but he trusts it the same way he'd mistrusted it moments before, no longer avoiding the pull towards Jayce but giving himself up to it. His pace is frantic as he weaves through debris on the streets, pieces of crumbled buildings and decaying vehicles, and tries to keep to the more open areas where he's less likely to meet obstacles.
It's taking too long, he'd been too successful at putting space between himself and Jayce, and he doesn't even know if the feeling pulling him along will get him close enough to find Jayce if he's unable to hear him call out. There's no way of tracking him either—Viktor stops up short and claws the veil from where he'd tucked it inside his scarf, pulling it on and reaching out for Jayce with every ounce of concentration and intention he can muster. Nothing. It turns his stomach to ice, certain that if Jayce were able to answer, he would without hesitation. That means he's either separated from his mask, knocked out, or...
Viktor presses on, certain that he would have felt it if something fatal had occurred. The laws of this land are still such unknowns, but in his gut, his heart if he still had one, he knows that losing Jayce would have sent shockwaves through him greater than anything he's felt before. So he keeps going, moving almost without thought, until he stumbles upon an open set of double doors in a building that looks like it must have been some kind of school. The blackness of the entrance strikes him as significant, a yawning maw ready to swallow him whole, and he steps inside to begin his search. ]
Jayce! [ He can't even shout it, just push the name into the Murmur in hopes that he'll be heard. Night has fallen and with it, the temperature of the city. The interior of the building is pitch black, and without hesitation, Viktor reaches down for a broken piece of glass to carve a rune for light into his wrist. It bursts to life and provides a cold, blue glow for him to see by as he combs the main floor, looking for evidence of footsteps or recent disturbance of dust so he might find Jayce. ]
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jayce attempts to shed himself of his accessories, succeeds only half-way before his vision blurs and his stomach lurches. attempting to right himself is what does it— he expels bile, and is left another huffing mess right next to it, doing his best to at the very least turn away from the acrid stench of it. he's on his back, now. looks up, sees the fogged splinters of wood he fell through and feels the hot wetness of blood down the side of his face, the scrapes through his pants, and the rashes that have spotted his skin all over.
how long has he been here—?
jayce tries not to move during the first hour or so, but he does try to stay awake. he counts. loses count. counts backwards, stops at six. he awakens from another brief slumber with dust caking his lips, and goes right back to uncontrollable tremors. he tries to move another time— the pain spikes, he nearly vomits again, and decides he should keep still to avoid losing even more fluids. at least the rashes stopped itching (no, he's just shivering too much for minimal heat to even regard the prickling).
the cold crawls into his bones and makes nests in his marrow as an hour becomes far more. his blistered knuckles, open and wounded from his bouts of anger, burn angry with bright red frostnip, his fingers curl tight into his palms just as much as the rest of him curls to fight the temperature. at the very least, he attempts turning when the side against the floor numbs. i'm not going to die here, he tells himself as he pulls his battle jacket around his middle tighter, closing the straps and buckles despite the sweat damp scarf around his neck. he can't tell how much time it's been, only that he's certain he's blinked only a few times during, which meant its only been a few minutes— but that's wrong, and jayce clearly has lost all sense of tracking anything accurately at all when the later half of the day has grazed by. i've walked through worse. i'll be fine. i just need to . . . stop spinning. then i could look for a way out.
the conditions, including jayce's, worsen. the building's insulation could only stave hypothermia off an inert body for so long. it's been long enough that his body has diminished the wild quaking to keep warm— it's stopped trying by the time his sweat drenched frame has begun to feel too stiff, but it wasn't as if jayce had realized it.
if there was a voice echoing from within the building, jayce only heard a muffled yawn of pressure against his ear drums. he's been hearing things as is— pops and ringing, buzzing noise that moved with the shadows. darkness moved at some point, too. he thought he saw a beast earlier, a giant lizard that just stared at him from the mounds of metal he'd fallen onto (no one is going to believe him when he says he saw a dragon. perfect!). heimerdinger and his stupid porro trudged around like penguins. looks like you're in a bit of a pickled plum, my boy. ugh. don't remind him. his mother bringing him tea and promising pastries later— he just needed to drink, and melt in her arms. if there was some sort of door, he couldn't get to it, and even if he could— it was locked. with his breathing beginning to slow and slim down the visible puffs of it, a faux heat seeps under his layers, has him peeling away at his scarf, opening his jacket and trying to shrug out of it with no complete success, tricks jayce into pulling away at his gloves too, where his fingers have gone numb underneathe.
jayce groans slurred words in the dark; his mother returns, with the promised pastries she'd got him for progress day and a kiss against his jeweled forehead, the only shimmer in the dark he couldn't even see. he felt like a boy again, floating on a cloud, in his bed. tea did the trick, mom. 'm burning up. ]
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cw: past si
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cw: emeto
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cw: suicide mention
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shakes my fists WHERE not HERE
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tonight you'll have the answer
but gods, does it burn. does it hurt. despite his threshold for it it is searing more than hot iron. he finds a bottle that topples over with weight, and when opening the cap, he's greeted with the crisp, too-strong stench of rubbing alcohol. right. perfect. this is going to hurt, enough that he's sure to stuff his blood stained maw with the scarf he wears around his neck. no one needs to hear his screams, torn from him like smoke from a sudden fire once he's gathered the courage to pour. it seeps into his nerves, his muscle— white hot and unbearable until it is all but an aftershock that leaves him an exhausted, trembling mass of cold sweat and tears. ]
Ff— Shit. Fuck—
[ jayce knocks his head back against the wall and swallows his gasps. it's alarming that he can't hide it from viktor, even if he's safe, now. even if he's with his back against a counter and simply catching his breath. he's almost afraid to put his mask on by the time he thinks he could, and should. its practically radiating condemnation.
oh, hell. he puts it on. they've just gotten bacck together— he'd hate to give viktor a reason to to trust him to check in and follow his own damn advice of not hiding things from him. ]
Viktor—?
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Please tell me you didn't fall down another hole. [ His tone contains feigned nonchalance only because he knows that Jayce is alive and alert enough to feel pain. He's been on the threshold of their hideout in the museum, waiting for a hint of Jayce's location if he needs to go collect him again. ] Do you need help?
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If only—
[ he'd probably rather take another hole than a second run in with jinx feeling trigger happy. maybe. there's a beat, then three— jayce tips his head back and breathes heavy through his cold sweat. his intention had been to call for help, so. that stands, as much as he knows he's going to get scolded for it. ]
. . . I can't move anymore. Not on my own. [ jayce curses under his breath, and before long, the mutter becomes audible: ] I'm sorry.
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Why are you sorry? [ Already on the move, he follows his faint understanding of Jayce's general location—something that he still doesn't understand but is thankful for at times. It's probably more of this world's strange magic that manifests so differently from the arcane of home while managing to be eerily familiar. ] And what is the closest landmark you can see?
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cw: mentions of past suicide attempt
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there's something in the way you lay (nsfw kind of)
there is one person, though. jayce can't tell who he's looking at, what he sees as he scans the room aimlessly, really— only that this person magnetizes him from across the room. instantly. whether it be the stare, the poise or something else, jayce finds himself enraptured and disquisitive. he can't look anywhere else— and some hungry, alien part of him often buried hopes that he's noticed. that he's seen, in the way his chest puffs out, his back erects, and he pushes past anyone and anything in the way with forbidible focus. his heart skips, plunges, his pulse races as if at the very apex of a hunt, the scent of him alluring.
it's been so long since he's felt this, or rather, felt the liberty to allow himself the luxury. with broad shoulders and a friendly disposition, jayce stands in front of the masked figure and flashes and endearing, quick smile absolutely meant to charm. maybe the seductress of his dreams if everything he wants in a partner— delicate features, but sharp ones. beauty marks, even though he can't tell where they are (but he's always had a thing for those). a slim stature, curves where there needed to be, but best of all— the eyes. jayce could get lost in their clever pools of starlight. ]
Uh, hi.
until I wake I, dine on old encounters
The comfort he feels in his dream skins makes it easy to sink into the space. He doesn't have to worry about upsetting anyone with his broken, mechanical visage nor his monstrous proportions; he doesn't have to carve runes and symbols into his skin just to have enough light to see by, nor to help Jayce survive. The dreams is exactly that: an oasis after drowning. He vaguely remembers a lavish feast with enough food to make his stomach churn at the mere thought of indulging. No, his appetite is that of someone curious of their surroundings, and something pulls him down through the corridors of the strange palace to find the throbbing heart of it.
It's... well, it's an orgy. Such things aren't entirely unfamiliar to Viktor who had grown up in the Undercity where every street had a brothel where the workers would flaunt their wares just outside the door. He remembers sitting just outside because those buildings always had their lights on and were always the warmest to rest against, remembers coming of age and yet still not drawing the attention of anyone trying to entice a client for the night, remembers how long he'd considered spending his first paycheck on someone just so he could lose his virginity and be done with it. Sex isn't a mystery to him—he's studied human anatomy for so much of his life that he could probably name any body part someone pointed to, inside or out—but he's not experience in the least. That's probably why he finds a seat in a far corner, lounging in a pose that allows him to fully lavish in his lack of back pain, and watches. At least Sleep seems to have granted him appropriate attire for the evening, light and flowy so that he doesn't feel too hot among the humid weight of the air around him. His mask doesn't do much to hide his face, though he gets the feeling that there is magic at play for that purpose; he doesn't recognize anyone around him, so either they have very different dream selves from their appearances in reality, or everyone's anonymity is being protected.
He can't help wondering if Jayce is here, enjoying himself with some woman who doesn't know who he is or how lucky she is. It gets him hotter under the collar than anything he's seen down here, wishing he had a drink to cool himself off with but not entirely trusting whatever refreshments are being provided. With such wanton displays, it doesn't seem beyond reason to believe that anything imbibed would lower inhibitions. Viktor doesn't want to give up that control, doesn't want to risk letting his first time be a dream that becomes only half remembered upon waking.
The weight of a stare on him pulls him from his reverie, knowing he probably looks a little bored with how he's leaning to one side on a couch and keeping his head propped up on a gloved hand. Ready to reply that he's not interested, he stops short when he actually looks at the man before him. Tall thanks to long legs that meet at a small waist, body tapering back out to broad shoulders, skin sun-kissed and curly hair a beautiful chocolate brown. He's drawn to the eyes that don't waver from having their gaze met, and Viktor finds himself smiling behind the curtain of golden chains hanging from his mask. ]
Hello. You look a little lost.
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Lost depends on . . . Perspective, right?
[ oof, his little smile. that was awful, wasn't it? but jayce still tries to amp up the charm. part of jayce wonders why he's even doing this. he doesn't need this. he'd rather be somewhere else, certainly, he'd rather be with viktor. but he'd also rather be doing quite a few things he wouldn't be admitting to any time, soon and . . .
there is familiarity in the shape that part of him would rather cling to, for now. a small reprive, a little solace for his growing aches born from the heart. aches became viscious wants. and now? every part of him was hungry, and every part of him that would deny this eases back and lets go. for so long, he's had to keep a certain poise, for so long he's wanted to do . . . this. it helps distract him from the fact that maybe viktor— yeah. he's not going to think about that. jayce, after a moment of endearing quiet, gestures to the couch with a small lean sideways of his entire body, his arms behind his back. ]
May I?
[ sit, that is, with him. ]
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[ The man smiles beneath his mask and there's something so warm about it, coy and inviting but just a bit innocent and humble, too. It reminds Viktor a little too much of Jayce, of the way it felt to have his chipped grin shine only for him, to know that he was the cause of it thanks to a breakthrough or a joke or a fresh cup of coffee brought unbidden. The smoldering fire in the pit of his stomach makes him sick, eager to quench its flames because there's no way to stoke it higher. Maybe a distraction is worth his time, maybe the company will help him forget for a while. ]
Bring me a drink first. [ Tilting his head to one side, golden curtain shifting to drape against his shoulder, he smiles beneath his own mask. He could be a little more polite, posing a question rather than leveling a demand, but there's a wickedness lying in wait within him that's scratching to get out. ] Then, if you're good, you may join me.
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week 1, october
[ ... and, ]
Is that alright with you?
[ he's asking in earnest; the museum is big enough, he could go wherever he wanted if he'd prefer not to be seen. part of jayce wishes for him to be present, a hopeful string of silver surrounding the question itself. not entirely pushy, just . . . hopeful. respectful, if it doesn't get picked up, even though jayce would silently dislike the fact. ]
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Jayce. [ Mentally, his voice is just as accented though less metallic and hollow. ]
Company? [ It reminds him uncomfortably of the few times Jayce had brought investors to the lab, Viktor and all their work on display. There's nothing secret here, nothing besides the rekindled friendship and partnership that still feels fragile compared to what it had been. ] What kind of company?
[ If Jayce has found time for romance, Viktor may disappear after a polite introduction. ]</small
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It's a boy I met, and his friend. Ready to walk right into the subway . . . . [ jayce had just barely managed to reel them in before they went any deeper. if viktor had felt some sort of disturbance earlier, but nothing jayce couldn't handle on his own— that was jayce. frightened, for a good minute. and how do they look like— well, jayce tries to relay it over through his mind's eye. a white haired boy and a black haired boy, both in their teens. ] For food. They're hungry.
[ and after a beat, jayce mentally sighs. in the end he just couldn't bring himself to send them on their way. it was hard enough to survive. from they dressed, even the way they presented themselves— they weren't ready for impromptu survival either. ]
—They're just kids.
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You have enough to share, for now. [ One benefit of two people looking for supplies but only one needing them.
Seeing the "company" through Jayce's eyes, it's easy to tell that they really are just a couple of boys, still school age by Piltover standards. They're lucky to have run into Jayce before getting themselves into trouble going underground or somewhere similarly dangerous. ] You should warn them about... well, how I look.
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end of november — the case of ayo where your arm at
There's just one thing, involving courtship— but that's less a secret and more a work in progress at this point.
Speaking of works in progress—
That may have been the reason Jayce was occupied throughout most of the day to question Viktor's curt explanation of his . . . activities, though he doesn't push because of privacy and presumed innocence; he tends to the boys in the meantime, with food, attention and lessons, tuning his crutch and walking around outside with them to overlook their scavenging. Then came the forge, where Jayce had been glad to teach them how the tools, prepping the fire, and the beginners guide of molding metal works. After that— Jayce focused on what he did best: creating.
His efforts have birthed a gift he's been working on for some time, now. With utilities made, Jayce crafted something for Viktor to be used, worn— and he'd been rather excited for Viktor's return to give it to him. He'd practice in the mean time, but . . . Soon, the sun would set. Sundowning would itch at his nape and Viktor would not arrive. He'd try to reach out and there would be nothing bouncing back to him. Worry begins to escalate, and what's more— a possessive irkedness would form at the bolt bobbing at the root of his chest that coils the longer it takes for Viktor to give return.
The only thing stopping him from leaving their home in the museum altogether was the lack of pain, alarms, panic— but was it any better? The boys are probably resting by now, in their quarters, and Jayce waits outside in the shadows of the structure's grand entry pillars, lips pulled thin and brows slanted cross as he ruminates in his own simmering annoyance. ]
the missing case of viktor's third arm
He should have planned better. He should have worn something other than just his usual tatter shawl, though the thought of taking it off pains him greatly at the moment. With a bundle tucked under one arm and footsteps heavy with fatigue, he makes it back to the museum just as the last of the light is disappearing from the sky above. He's a fool to think that Jayce won't be waiting for him, that he will have accepted his missing partner for such a length of time, but Viktor is still hoping to at least make it inside, maybe even all the way to bed, before he's caught.
Viktor has never been a lucky man. ]
Jayce! [ Sudden awareness of his presence surprises Viktor as their tether snaps tight between and he can practically feel it vibrate with Jayce's displeasure. Shifting the wrapped up secret to his other arm, the one a slightly greater distance from where Jayce is leaning, Viktor aims to hide it with his own slender frame. Luckily, if he tilts it at the correct angle, it's long and thin enough to perhaps disappear between him and the trailing ends of his blanket-cum-scarf. ] It's getting cold out, you should be inside.
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In an abundance of furs to keep warmer than anyone in their building, Jayce waits at the edge of the stairs once crisp raptor vision catches Viktor's slender frame approaching, for only a few moments before bringing his gait to the entire length of the landing, back and forth. Until he can't fucking wait anymore and snarls his way down the first few steps to meet his partner halfway, crutch first. His scales are alight, like angry bruises in their sharp brightness, his breath coming in visible puffs as he scuttles down and drags his tail behind him. Jayce's end of their Tether flurries with emotion, from relief to worry to more severe sentiments. The former takes the wheel and bursts with Viktor's remark, to which Jayce pauses, lips agape with incredulence and brow pulling his squint sharp. He points to himself with escalating, perhaps even dramatic conotation, but that in itself is deliberate to express his annoyance. ]
I should be inside? [ With a huff, Jayce's free arm smacks his side as it drops from pointing at his own layers, ] What else should I be doing?
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Seeing him limp is what ultimately makes the guilt settle in the cage of Viktor's chest. Furs and crutch aside, Jayce's leg has been bothering him more and more thanks to the toil for survival as well as the changes to his body. If that hadn't been enough to warn Viktor that he was in trouble, the tension in their tether would have sealed his fate. He probably shouldn't have started the conversation the way he did, but in his surprise, he hadn't prepared anything better to say. ]
Sitting, probably. [ The second word holds a wince; Viktor knows how much it smarts to be told one's own limits. ] I didn't expect to be back so late, the day got away from me.
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cw: touching up on some past suicide implications
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sometime in dec.
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I need your help something important.
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You know I'm not "all great and powerful" anymore, but I'll do whatever I can.
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