WHO Mel Medarda & Viktor •
WHERE The Lab •
WHEN Neither can sleep, so they chat and clear the air instead
Mel couldn’t really tease the scientists in her apartment about their sleep habits, when she was often a night owl herself.
WARNINGS N/A
Mel couldn’t really tease the scientists in her apartment about their sleep habits, when she was often a night owl herself. Growing up the way she did, she had found it useful to train herself to sleep the bare minimum needed to keep herself sharp. She often spent her nights in Piltover reading reports from her various informants and planning how best to utilize her upper hand in any given situation. And when frustration struck, she painted. Sometimes, she painted even for the simple joy of it. Admittedly, that was rarer.
There wasn’t anything particularly vexing on her mind, currently, but she was feeling untethered. Uncertain of her place.
So Mel painted, with the moon high over the balcony and, below it, the beautiful strangeness of Vallo stretched out to the not too distant shore. A half full wine glass sat on the little table next to her stool and easel. She wore a silk night dress – classier perhaps than the average pajamas, but shockingly without her usual array of golden accessories. The scrape of her painting knife was quiet. Repetitive. That lulled her into an introspective state. While that was possibly not the best place to be when she was feeling out of sorts, there was not much to be done about it. The painting started to take shape, as that of the city below.
Most people assumed that Viktor was a poor sleeper due to his mind, and Viktor generally allowed people to go on thinking that. The truth was, pain kept him up nearly as often as his racing brain. When the two worked in tandem to ruin a night, he didn’t fight it, instead getting up, throwing a fuzzy sweater over his pants, and limping into the lab. He grabbed his cane, but didn’t bother with his back brace - it was silly, but strapping it on felt like defeat and admitting that he wasn’t going back to bed - and as he entered the lab, he hesitated in the doorway a moment as he realized he wasn’t the only one awake.
Mel’s back was to him, but he didn’t believe himself to be unnoticed. No, he’d seen the way she observed others back home - with an easy smile on her face, sure, but she missed nothing, and his cane had a distinctive sound he hadn’t been trying to hide. She was painting. It was one of the many details of her he’d had no idea of back in Piltover, mostly because he’d had too much shit going on to toss any aside for so very Piltover a person (never mind that she wasn’t even a native of the city). He hadn’t let in people he’d liked, much less people he had been certain wasn’t trustworthy.
Viktor didn’t feel that way now. He entered the lab and skirted right to go to his seat, looking over his shoulder and giving her a purposeful nod in greeting.
Mel might have been in her head enough to miss his entrance were it not for the tell-tale tap of his cane. She'd gotten used to that sound again, over the crutch he'd escalated to at home. It was hardly noticeable, but it signaled his arrival all the same. She finished a stroke of paint and glanced over. He looked tired, especially around the eyes. The sweater was charming.
"Are you here to build Cranky a friend?" Her perch wasn't especially far from his seat. She kept her voice quiet anyway. "Tasted the joy of robot-building finally and can't resist the pull?" There was an almost practiced nonchalance to the way she spoke. It said I'm paying attention to you, but not so much as to run you off.
“Blitzcrank will be getting a different method of transportation,” Viktor sniffed with an air of someone who didn’t actually mind the nickname but felt obligated to pretend as if he did. He carefully lifted the small robot - not larger than a doll - and placed him on the table. He wouldn’t be able to do that, he realized, should he commit to the upgrades to make the robot much larger. “All right, I’m going to power you down, but it won’t hurt a bit,” Viktor told his creation quietly, his hands gentle. After a beat, he did just that, flicking the switch he’d added to the back of the robot’s head. Now he could work without worrying about Blitzcrank wiggling. Turning his attention back to Mel, he added, making a face: “...I couldn’t watch him take another spill down the stairs. He narrowly avoided a toddler last time.”
He opened up the toolbox he’d put together, pulling out what he needed. “Are you up early, or late?” he asked, the question soft, non-accusatory. He was interested in her canvas, but not rude enough to nose on over just yet.
Mel laughed, a quiet and slightly graceless huff. It was late and not all of her defenses were in place. It mad her posture a little looser and her head tilt relaxed rather than inherently inquisitory. She turned back to her painting but shifted the easel so that she was angled better to continue their conversation. Maybe she'd add a little robot down into the crowded streets. She started mixing more colors on her palette.
"Stairs have been the bane of even the greatest of men. Not that I've ever seen one take down a toddler, of course," she smirked. A few small strokes were added to the painting, but her gaze kept pulling back to the robot. She wasn't as science minded as she would like to be, but inventions were still brutally intriguing to her. "Is his power source renewable? Tricky?" Her paint knife lifted in the air with a delicate hand. "Did you make a risky deal with a fairy when Jayce wasn't looking?"
“No. No deals,” Viktor answered, perhaps more forcefully than he had intended to. He still had a few secrets from Jayce, but he wasn’t interested in acquiring more.
“He runs on solar energy, currently,” he added, and wanting to smooth over his earlier tone, he tipped the robot carefully so Mel could see the strips of solar panels on his shoulders, leaning toward her in his chair so she could get a better look. “It’s not… eh, ideal, but it was easy. Initial plans had him running off of the hexcore, but--” He shrugged, and mimed tossing away garbage. “We adapted.”
Speaking of adaption: “How are you finding your new work?” he asked, curiosity in his voice. “I-- do you like it? I assume you enjoyed being a Councilor for… some reason.” He flashed her a quick grin to assure her he was teasing, fingers working to remove the robot’s wheels as he multi-tasked.
The tone earned him a raised eyebrow and a thoughtful stare before Mel dropped her gaze back to the robot. She abandoned her painting for the moment, to move closer and examine the details. There was no question that solar power was a fraction as powerful as the hexcore. But considering what had happened, maybe that was for the best. For now.
She mentally corrected her own for now with a for as long as they needed. It was hard to break old habits.
"Well. Solar may be more than enough. And if it isn't, I'm sure you'll figure out something else that is. Without needing to resort to risky measures. That was…an unfortunate joke, I'm sorry." She offered an apologetic smile and gestured vaguely back at her easel. "I…paint in the middle of the night when my mind won't settle. The job is fine, mind you. Likely more than enough to keep me busy. But will it satisfy? Will I care about this place and its people as much as I do Piltover, that which I tried to nurture and protect for over a decade? Only time will tell."
Ten years before, he might have shrugged off her apology, pretending to lack the words in her language, or otherwise feigning an aloofness he didn’t actually feel. But he regarded her closely, examining her sincerity with the same attention he paid to his work, and then gave her a nod. Viktor didn’t smile exactly, but something in his gaze softened, and he set Blitzcrank to the side for a moment. “I think we are all finding out just how adaptable we are, here. What we are capable of, what we can do without… the weight of home.”
“I should apologize to you,” he added in the same conversational tone. “Our last conversation, in Piltover, I lied to you. You had asked me if I thought that the terrorist who had built the grenade could crack Hextech. I said it was a stretch. It…” he gestured with his right hand. “…would not have been easy, but the skill was there. But…” he looked back toward her canvas, to the street-scene he couldn’t quite make out from his angle. “I had been stopped on the bridge to the Undercity earlier that day, you see. And I was concerned more drastic measures might be employed against the Undercity. So. I lied to you.” For a moment, Viktor remembered the Council meeting, that strange light from the window that he had not voiced - would not voice, for fear of knowing what it might be. “It is not a mistake I would make again,” Viktor added, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “We may not have the same people in mind to protect, but I don’t doubt your desire to avoid violence now that I know you better. So, I apologize.” A dryer tone, the one he used to tease. “You’re not nearly as villainous as I had initially ah- clocked you to be.”
He’d surprised her and her normally careful face showed it. People rarely really surprised her. Mel had suspected he wasn’t being entirely truthful at home, but then she suspected most people weren’t being entirely truthful, ever. To have him admit it, and apologize, was the real surprise. She leaned a hip against his lab table and brushed her hair behind her ear.
“I…wasn’t being entirely truthful with you either that day. My mother brought news that Piltover was being eyed as…vulnerable and I worried that our internal strife would set the stage for an easy foreign invasion.” With that olive branch offered, she frowned and turned her gaze out towards the windows. “It doesn’t make it right, obviously. Abusing people’s rights. Encouraging division with the undercity to protect ourselves. Your caution was warranted.” She turned back to him, more composed now and softer around the eyes. Talking this openly wasn’t in her nature, but Jayce had been making it easier and easier the last few years.
“I’m glad your opinion of me has improved, though. Your idealism and impatience can be troublesome," she smirked, "but I respect you very much. I’d like to think…maybe, we’d do better in a conflict next time. All three of us…”
Foreign interest in Piltover? Viktor didn’t like the sound of that. He wasn’t Piltover’s biggest fan, but well… the devil you know. “Call me idealistic,” he answered wryly, “but I would like to think we would all do better next time. I hope we would.”
He took a breath, and got to his feet. “Would you, ah-“ Viktor suddenly felt shy again, pleasantly off-balance. He’d been the same way with Jayce, he remembered, not the first time they had met when they were at odds with one another, nor the second time, but later, after the discovery with the hexcore, when they had realized that they worked well together and Viktor had known in his gut that he would have followed the man anywhere - then he’d gotten just a little shy, unsure of words and their weight. “Would you show me your canvas? Or— it’s okay if it’s private; I don’t mind, but I would like to see what you’re working on.”
Mel straightened away from the table and glanced back towards the easel with a flicker of a smile. It wasn't quite bashful - that wasn't really an emotion she possessed - but it was something in that family. She wasn't shy about her art; she just didn't tend to put it where anyone else could see it. It was possible that said something about her guarded nature but Mel ignored that thought.
"Oh. No, it's…I don't mind," she admitted, moving over to the easel. Her materials were a chaotic sort of neat. No order to the paints and brushes, but kept clean and upright in little metal tins all the same. "I'm adjusting to all new paints and tools, but the differences are minor." She reclaimed her wine glass and took a sip, watching him over the rim. "Actually, I'd like your thoughts. I don't know how you feel about art at all."
Viktor made his way to her view of the canvas, stepping carefully around the easel and her supplies. The smell was familiar, in a shocking way - his parents had used oil paints, and the earthy scent of drying oils and sharp punch of turpentine tugged at his mind in a way he hadn’t experienced in years.
“I don’t know much about art,” he admitted, taking in the scene. He could recognize it from this angle; the moon falling upon the street below. “But I like the way you depict light and dark. Here…” He gestured with his free hand. There was something impressionistic about Mel’s style that appealed to him; for someone as subtle as she was, her colors were somehow both dramatic and careful. “Have you always used oils? They take forever to dry, but they’re so buildable. Textured.” He remembered that from his youth, as shadowy in his memory as it was.
Anyone who claimed to not know much about art but knew something about paint texture was a curiosity. Still, Mel looked pleased by his assessment; she couldn't help it. Her biggest weakness was possibly her quiet need to be seen and appreciated for her distinct skills. She grabbed the wine bottle and refilled her glass.
"You must have some experience with art, to know that. But no, not always. I like chalk and pencil as well. Sometimes I even dabble in watercolor. Though it lacks the…intensity I'm usually looking to convey." The painting in front of them wasn't warships or the lit-up hexgate or any of the dozens of paintings she'd done in the last few years which often centered on movement. Progress. She tilted her head and squinted at it. "It's all standing still. Kind of like me, I suppose."
Mel set her full wine glass aside and picked her palette and knife back up. Her glance his way was spirited. "Care to stay a bit and watch me fix that?"
“Of course,” he answered, and he carefully resumed his post by the table, reaching for the new set of legs he’d created for Blitzcrank. He was glad, suddenly, for the company; without it he might have ruminated on how easy it was to fix a painting, or a robot whose legs didn’t function correctly. Humans, however - those were more tricky to augment.
But Viktor found for the moment his mind was quiet, full of nothing but work and a surprisingly peaceful camaraderie.