Of Drugs and Exploding Birthday Cakes
Piltover, Circa 983 AN
Jayce wasn’t sure of much these days, what he was saying, how many hours he’d slept, but he was sure of this: it wasn’t his birthday. So that is why when he had arrived home tonight to find a birthday cake and card on his kitchen table, he had sprint-the-fuck out of there. Sure enough, a distant boom was heard only minutes later. That had been the fifth attempt on his life this month, including the explosion that had occurred at the councillor meeting. The targeted explosions had started soon after that first one: a toy a golden-eyed child had “dropped”, the hex-gem carelessly tossed into his forge, and still the inexplicable grenade dropped from the freaking sky.
Needless to say, he has been running quite a lot. Not just from grenades, but from council meeting to council meeting. Silco’s death had left a power vacuum in the Undercity, gangs and cartels beginning a vicious turf-war within the hour. With the council left in shambles, Piltover had been severely vulnerable, and now shimmer was running rampant in its streets. The Undercity had since straightened itself out, a small gang known as “The Mutations” managing to hold the city to somewhat civility. But the border had been closed indefinitely in an attempt to cut off the shimmer. The word attempt was used lightly, as the shimmer still found a way into the city, the citizens dying of overdoses everyday. No Piltover intelligence had managed to ascertain the identity of the new leaders of the Undercity, the suspected suppliers of shimmer.
Rubbing his cramping side, Jayce pulled himself off the floor, the neighbors quietly settling back into their apartments. Really, he should have moved into a house by now, his apartment exposed, too many people around to get hurt. He opened his apartment door, surveying the damage the “cake” had left. A scorch mark on the table beneath the spot where the cake had lain, frosting everywhere else. He groaned, knowing his home would be smelling of burnt vanilla for weeks, the ants already arriving in droves. But amidst all the frosting, he spotted the singed remains of a card. Gingerly picking it up, he examined the blue and pink scribbles on the cover. Was that… him? Oh gods, it was him, he had to squint to see it, but there he was, with what looked to be a pineapple coming out of his- he clapped his hand to his forehead, another groan slipping out when he realized it was most likely a child who had drawn the profanity.
Resignedly, he attempted to wipe off some frosting, unearthing his mail. Seeing the top letter was from Cait, he opened it immediately. Cait had volunteered to undergo an intelligence mission, to infiltrate an Undercity cartel and root out who had been distributing the shimmer to Piltover.
Splitting open the envelope, Jayce devoured her letter, mind furiously turning to decipher her message.
“Kiramman you Saint ,” Jayce sputtered, rubbing his cramping side. Not only had she been able to slip through the border, but now she was dating one of the members of the Mutations?
Holy fucking mages, she needs a raise.
________________________________________
Undercity, Circa 983 AN
Viktor wasn’t sure of much these days, but he was absolutely sure that his sisters were cheating him out 20 washers.
“Vi, you’re not being as subtle as you think you are,” Viktor said cooly, not looking up from his card, switching two to arrange them in numerical order. “Though I must commend Jinx, I would not know she was cheating as well, except if you are cheating, she most definitely convinced you to.” Vi gapes at him, while Jinx slams her cards down on the table, both sisterings exploding into an argument.
“VI, I fucking told you to stop glancing at me every five seconds. He’s not going to fucking read your mind you dipshit. You owe me twenty washers now-”
“If it hadn’t been for you convincing me to help you cheat, then you could’ve had the twenty washers to yourself. You know Vik’s impossible to cheat against, and I most certainly do not look at you every five seconds, it's your own damn fault for losing the washers-”
They continue their bickering, so Viktor takes the opportunity to slide the washers off the table and into his pockets. Picking up his crutch he moves towards the door, leaving his sisters to figure out their own mess. Toying with a scribbled-on cog between his fingers, he heads off to his room, or what can be called that. Really, it is a lab with a series of adjoining rooms, which he uses for more tinkering and storage. But the smallest room does have a mattress and his clothes, so he considers the entire set-up to be his room of sorts.
Unfurling blue prints from a shelf he has to start to reach, he sits in his creaking chair to examine his latest work. It’s a series of gibberish and jargon, but in between the scribbles and notes, he finds a rare reprieve from his latest duties. Ever since he and his siblings had taken over the Undercity from his uncle, there had been nothing but semantics and bureaucracy. The remaining Chem Barons, as well as several other notable gangs and crime families, were all breathing down their necks, waiting for them to fail. Undercity had never had a stable government before, even with Vander keeping order.
The Mutations wanted to give Undercity that chance, that freedom from Piltover. If he and his siblings could get their shit together, and the Chem Barons stopped demanding retribution for the death of Silco, and his plans actually reaped rewards, then maybe, just maybe, they would stand a chance.
But all that of course, relied on him actually murdering Jayce Talis.