Chapter Text
Viktor stared determinedly out the carriage window. Through the frosted detailing, he attempted to track their progress past the graceful and polished storefronts of Piltover. Ornate latticework and fluted towers winked brilliantly in the morning sun, gold and silver and bronze.
The carriage lurched and so did his stomach; Viktor switched to making integers with four number fours in his mind, starting with one and varying his use of operators. Next to him, Jayce scratched at a crystal gear with a metal file, painstakingly deepening the notches between bumps.
Viktor wanted to take his cane to whomever had organized the transport of competitors to the Distinguished Innovators Competition this year. He was quite good at beating the pomposity out of Piltovans; however, there’d been no warning for this publicity stunt.
Instead of the typical gaudy carriage pulled by tidy horses, a gleaming self-locomotor arrived, sporting a strange hybrid of chem-mechanical and arcane technology, though crudely implemented.
Viktor wished he and Jayce were given time to examine the makeshift device before climbing aboard. Now they and three other Innovator hopefuls were uncomfortably rattled by an unsteady power supply and the frequent backfiring of the engine.
As they careened forward haphazardly, Viktor was reminded why he avoided carriages even when pulled by living creatures. He slumped back into the seat cushion with a slight moan.
Janna’s mercy, he wasn’t going to make it.
“V?” Jayce murmured.
Viktor shook his head in an effort to brush off Jayce’s concern. Unfortunately for him, the carriage rocked against a curb the next moment, and Viktor frantically turned away from the other passengers, hand clamping over his mouth.
Jayce’s bellow to the driver to halt the carriage was swift and effective.
Viktor flung open the door and tumbled out gracelessly despite Jayce’s cry of caution. Sharp pain shot up his leg as he collapsed against the carriage and violently vomited the contents of his meager breakfast.
He continued to heave long after there was nothing left to throw up, the grip of nausea unassuaged by the stop in motion. Jayce rested his warm and steady hand on Viktor’s shoulder, thumb rubbing soothing circles into his back.
“Here,” Jayce said when he finally straightened, holding out Viktor’s cane and a handkerchief.
“Thank you, Jayce,” Viktor muttered. He was aware of the other competitors peering at him in poorly disguised impatience and disgust, and while he was disinterested in their approval, Viktor nonetheless felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment.
He wiped his mouth, angry despite himself.
“I will walk the rest of the way,” Viktor announced, and took off down the street, trying to place less weight on his cane than his throbbing leg would have liked.
“Viktor, are you sure? It’s a little far,” warned Jayce, immediately falling into step with him.
“Yes. You may take that lamentable excuse for a carriage if you’d prefer,” Viktor said, more sharply than intended.
If Viktor caused offense, Jayce gave no sign. “I’d sooner rent a disc-runner with a square wheel,” he joked.
Viktor’s irritation melted in the face of Jayce’s good humor. As he often did, he marveled at his innate ability to be affable when confronted by inconvenience and misadventure; it was a trait Viktor found both puzzling and endearing.
He smiled, imagining Jayce piloting the one-wheeled bike, but made facetiously quadrilateral.
“I’d imagine you may get farther on one of those, considering the engine we saw,” Viktor contributed to the jest. He was rewarded with a hearty laugh from Jayce.
“What even was that? Did you see the splicing on that rig?”
“It was atrocious.”
“Completely ridiculous! Although….do you think they used an actual crystal for the core?”
Viktor considered it, recalling the piecemeal kit attached to the rear of the carriage.
“No, I don’t think so,” he said. “The design was too light. It offers no support for such a power supply.” Yet, there had been a characteristic blue glow to the device.
The same thought had occurred to Jayce. “You don’t think someone….?”
The idea that someone was messing around with proprietary Hextech material without their knowledge was sobering, if improbable.
Jayce chewed his lip, evidently perturbed. The desire to reassure him was compulsive.
“It is most certainly unlikely, Jayce,” Viktor said, and the natural authority with which his partner often accepted his words smoothed Jayce's consternation away.
Viktor’s pace slowed in dismay as they rounded the corner only to see the streetscape of Sidereal Avenue stretch on into the distance. Towers near and far rang out the ninth bell, and brightly dressed folks streamed into the promenade in anticipation of the opening markets, congesting their path.
“Wait a moment, V,” said Jayce, stooping to lace the front of his boot.
Viktor leaned heavily on his cane and waited, trying not to pant. The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile as Jayce fiddled with the cord longer than necessary in a subtle play at giving Viktor time to catch his breath. As he stood, Jayce proffered his arm to Viktor, carefully nonchalant.
At one time, Viktor might have refused the gesture, annoyed with his own need for assistance and assumptive of the pity behind it. Yet, he had learned that Jayce approached Viktor's limitations with concerned honesty and a naivety he was only too happy to let Viktor correct.
Viktor took Jayce’s arm and let his partner propel him forward, trusting his sense of direction as they dipped in and out of side streets to avoid the worst of the morning traffic. They made good time considering Viktor’s stamina, joining a large crowd as they turned into Incognia Plaza.
Well-heeled Piltovans mingled in a sea of rich mahogany and deep azure, waistcoats and cloaks threaded finely with metallic accents and their persons ornamented with technological baubles. It was the current fashion in Piltover to style oneself in techmaturgical augmentations, though not in a way that was useful.
In the Undercity, mechanical prosthetics and alchemical body modifications were far from unusual. While the make and model of such apparatuses could signify one’s status in the fissures, the realities of life in the sump meant the accommodations they provided were potentially lifesaving and therefore practical, unlike the decorative devices affixed to the Pilties in the plaza.
The signature cobalt blue of Hextech was particularly noticeable amongst the crystal trinkets and nonsense rune stones, though a cursory look betrayed the gadgets as simple pebbles and painted metal. As they made their way towards the entrance to the Horological Institute, Viktor realized the Hextech paraphernalia was more prevalent than realized; actually, it was everywhere.
Jayce noticed it too, if only because people also seemed to take notice of him. Excited whispers, then shouts, burgeoned.
“It’s him!”
“The founder of Hextech!"
“The man of progress!”
The wave of people surged around them. Using his width to shield Viktor, Jayce paved a path through the inquisitive throng, towing him past the safety of a barricade with the help of an Enforcer. Parked in front of the stately portico of the Institute sat the self-locomotor from earlier, hissing a cloud of copper-smelling smoke for its gawking admirers.
An evidently vexed staffer caught sight of them and hurried over. Conscious he was still clutching tight to Jayce’s arm, Viktor released his grip to straighten his tie.
“Mr. Talis! Mr.— ah, well, we’ve been searching for you. Competitors are required in the assembly hall for placement. Presentations start at ten bells, with public display thereafter.”
Viktor swallowed hard. He glanced back at the crowd waiting in expectant cheer, blue baubles flashing. It was odd to see a public turnout of this sort for the Innovators Competition, but it was undeniable the Council’s recent announcement of the Hexgates had invigorated the city, drawing the eyes of its citizens and the greater continent to the Academy and its inventors.
In just a few months time, Jayce and Viktor’s beloved project would see its grand opening, transforming Piltover’s place on the world stage. Already the economy boomed in anticipation. Viktor hoped the gates would elevate the Undercity as well, providing new opportunities for commerce beyond the mining and alchemical industries.
The gates were only the beginning of Hextech. Jayce and Viktor intended this year’s competition to be a testament to the progress they had made with the arcane technology in the years since its invention, a show that they were beyond its prototyping stage and ready to expand into other sectors. Everything rested on what today had in store for them.
Viktor’s stomach twisted, but Jayce beamed at the staffer.
“We apologize for our delay, ma'am; we had to make a detour. Last minute preparations, as you might guess.”
The woman blushed and waved off the transgression, falling under the spell of Jayce’s charm immediately. He chatted to her personably as he swept Viktor into the building. Jayce’s familiar touch at his back grounded Viktor, but it couldn’t quite settle his nerves.
The Horological Institute was all lustrous marble and towering colonnades, imposing in size and image. Pearly sculptures and iron clockwork contraptions glowered at Viktor from atop their plinths, curating a mighty image of Piltover’s mechanical legacy. Intricate glasswork spilled ample light down from the vaulted ceilings, reflecting rainbows across every glossy surface. He might have admired its beauty if he didn’t feel uncomfortably out of place in the building’s austere cleanliness.
Viktor was self-conscious of the loud echo his cane made in the cavernous space as they approached those gathered in the great hall. From the balconies, the Piltovian elite circulated in ostentatious finery, drinks and hor d’oeuvres in hand. Viktor spied several Councillors, the bright orange fur of Professor Heimerdinger and severe navy coat dress of Cassandra Kiramman among them.
Officials, competitors, and onlookers alike hushed at Jayce and Viktor's arrival. The master of ceremony cleared his throat pointedly, and launched into pretentious speech. Viktor gazed at the gilded balustrades, calculating the angles of their shapes. Beside him, Jayce radiated an anxious heat.
“Mister Viktor and Mister Jayce Talis. If you would please begin our day of demonstrations?”
Jayce grinned at Viktor, who took heart in his nervous excitement. He recalled another similarly charged moment, one filled with the shouts of Enforcers from behind a barricaded door and the electrifying tang of magic in the air.
“Right,” said Viktor under his breath. “No pressure.”
“That sounds like pressure,” Jayce murmured back, echoing the memory with a small laugh. His hand rose habitually to guide Viktor forward. Viktor let him, and under the watch of Piltover’s wealthiest clans, they entered the audience chamber.