Bury your mistakes.

Hope ya weren't planning t'die of natural causes.

[diggingyourgraves]

then-teeth

There is a lot of names on this folded piece of paper. A lot of them to be covered under the bloody cross. To be checked as-dead. A long list which always seemed to have space for new names. Roster filled with names of those, who not only happened to betray him, but also those who apparently deserved death, thieves, rich people getting their fortune in the worst, criminal-way. As fast as they were appearing on the Ripper’s list, their life was ending quicker than the ship sailing back to the port. But there were calm days. Days when the city of Bilgewater could rest, with no fear of being slaughtered in the less expected moment. And so was this one.

The docks were a place where a lot of lurking ones searched for something to steal. From a single fish taken from a bucket of a fisher man, to whole ships. He didn’t care about foods stolen, understanding the hunger and needs to survive, but if it was coming to bigger things, he couldn’t let it pass.

His heavy boots stomped on the wooden pier. The sounds of steps felt like it was water in a living form walking through it. The chains followed after, a harpoon, heavy, gliding against the soaked boards. His ghostly gaze examined the area carefully, searching. But for what? Or who?

Soon enough the blue bright, ghostly eyes had spoted the one he was apparently hunting, or at least was unfortunate enough to be placed in the areas of the Ripper’s working place. From the distance it was pretty much hard to tell, with the vision yet blury, with the view in shades of grey only making it even harder. But was he much bothered with it? Not necessarily…

He approached, steps were made forward, sound of the soaked steps grew louder, but once looked in the direction from where was he coming…There was no one. The mist, an half-invisible cloud of nothing. Nor was he anywhere around. Hidden perhaps. But where? The water? The air? The ground? One could not tell until… A sudden blade of a harpoon, near the throat of the other, almost with a need of pressing it against the skin of the male, letting the blood spill… But only few seconds of silence remained between the two before the one called the Ripper spoke, in a low, almost whispering tone.

『❝ I thought you’d be more clever to not get back on your previous path, after spendin’ some time in prison. M a l c o l m ❞』

   A literal dead man walking. The name slithered out from his mouth like the strike of a poisonous viper. It wasn’t uncommon for his name to be heard along the docks -- he did obtain quite a reputation throughout his years, even if it had faded slightly as he reverted to more covert operations after his incarceration, though not mostly out of his own lack of attempt. But the intent hidden behind the way it was spoke was filled with a sort of almost personal contempt. He glared straight into the specter, did he know him? Did Graves know him? He wasn’t knowledgeable of too many ghost acquaintances he had, but there was something familiar. Nothing was coming to the forefront of his mind, but there remained a nagging sensation about it. Either way, it wasn’t his immediate focus right now.

   For now, he had to deal with a skewer sharpened right into his throat. Maybe he had dulled too much from the easy work, but as he watched into the cold fires of the opposing figure’s eyes, something else was concealing him. Probably why he was able to get a swift drop. It recalled that old magic from his days rifling through Buhru, but it was different. Distant. Almost possessive. His throat rolled in a swallow, his gaze drifting down at the harpoon, without response yet. The faint mist rolled over his boots and the barrel of his gun, resting downwards towards the floor, as he judged his options. There wasn’t much when someone gets the first leap on you around here, but if he wanted him dead now he would already be. It was still most likely not in his best interest to remain on the business end of a harpoon.

   “That’s sorta the problem wit’ lockers, ain’t it, though?” His eyes peered back upwards, though they now gazed beyond the figure in front of him. “They’re only good fer keepin’ things stored ‘til they get out later.” His knee bolted upwards, kicking his shotgun hard into the other man’s legs, sliding to the side. His neck was slightly nicked by the end of the harpoon, but it wouldn’t matter much right now. There wasn’t enough time to get out. There wasn’t a viable way to outrun whatever this was. But at least he could try to keep them on even footing.

   His left arm moves out in front of him, resting his gun on top of its forearm, eyes pointed down the straight of it, trained. He takes a step back, and another, carefully trying to keep a good amount of distance. The opposing weapon had a good reach on him, if he wasn’t able to watch it. “What sorta business I got with the infamous Ripper? I know ya ain’t doin’ hits fer nobody but you but nobody got that pinned down yet.” His finger drummed against the trigger, wondering if bullets would even hit him. So far it seemed to work for most anything from the Isles but this one was... off. “Suffice t’ say I don’t reckon on buildin’ my own coffin tonight and I don’t think you are neither.” Another step backwards.

[diggingyourgraves]

bilgewater-queen

Time seemed to pass twice as slow once being left alone with the piltovan. She began to wonder just how much Duvernoy could talk about the lack of money allocated for his research, and how it began affecting the quality of his tech. Listening to him babble was something, but what truly bothered Fortune was how he closed the distance between them upon noticing Malcolm was taking his time with his task of bringing them beverages. Perhaps he got his hopes up when she asked her partner to leave them alive. On a second thought, maybe not. Despite his subtle change in attitude, the look in his eyes was as cold as ever, that leaving aside the grin that grew with each word he had let out while talking about his work.  Sarah took a step back upon hearing the footsteps of someone heading to them. She turned her head for her eyes to meet with Malcolm’s , she smiled , a bit relieved knowing all this was soon about to come to an end.

“To your health, Mr. Duvernoy!” they listened the purple haired man wish the same to her as they ever so slightly knocked their glasses together, letting out a clinking sound that got lost in the voices surrounding them. “ Better catch me.”  she whispered in return. Shortly after ingesting the poison he lost balance and fell before them.

The glass in her hand fell, shattering to small pieces and spilling the liquid that was containing before. Everyone’s attention immediately was directed to them- guards ran closer to inspect the situation. When Graves looked at her he could see that she faked the surprise on her face to blend in with everybody else. Just like the now poisoned target, Sarah fell down, perfectly faking a faint.

Seeing the newly proclaimed leader of Bilgewater ‘lose’ her consciousness, more people gathered around.

It seemed like Red’s night had finally came to an end.

It wasn’t much of a notice. Apparently wharf rats ingest one hell of a kicker given how quickly it kicked in. The sudden thud and clank of metal bits and pieces upon the ground turned some heads but the sudden crash of glass and a figurehead falling was enough to stir everyone up. He grabbed slightly onto her arm, easing her descent. Some of the guests were pushed around as staff and law gathered to inspect the area, though much less was thrust upon Casper after some time. He shifted over through the commotion to the other body. Some were still attending to him. “We need some extra bodies to check on her,” he said, putting on his best airs of a typical accent he had had to endure throughout the night. “I’ll take him over.” The two in attendance looked at each other and nodded back to Graves, taking their leave. He bent down, looking over his wrist. There was a few locks and other gears around it, most probably decorative. Too smart to let his entire fortune sit in his sleeve without actually protecting it. But most likely not smart enough to leave his keys at home. He shoved the body onto its back, checking the breast pocket first before unbuttoning it to show an inner pocket, with a slim piece of metal piercing outwards.

Reaching in, he clutched the object, pulling it out slowly. He didn’t seem the type but never know when one of the Zaunites cross over and one of them tries a little too hard to imitate a certain criminal celebrity there. It came out as a long stick with several protrusions emerging out of it. A self-made key for a self-made lock. He turned the man’s wrist around before finding a hole, and inserting the key and turning it it burst open with a faint click. Graves rolled his sleeve up and attached the guard to his own arm before covering it over and pocketing the key. It was thankfully a rather slim device given the amount of garnish over it. Clearly meant to be concealed instead of shown off. He stood up and glanced over at the captain through the small crowd. Most had been ushered back to allow only room for regular personnel. Part of him imagined he could leave her here and just head off. Then most of him just didn’t want to know how upset she’d end up being left to the care of these regal goons for more time.

He inhales, then exhales for a moment, then shoves his way in. He rambles on some more in his bad Piltover accent as he barks at some people and wraps his arm around her, hoisting her back up and holding her in his arms bridal style as he tells everyone how worried he was about his dear and oh goodness just can’t handle their drinks and he’d be taking her back outside and apologizing for the mess, repeating this ad nauseam to anyone that tried to ask him more what was going on until he could reach the doors and exited. One more inhale. He keeps walking for a ways until the people peeking out the door go back to their event or at least were far enough to not be able to see or hear much. And one more exhale. Looking forward as he continues to hold her while walking, “Don’t try’n tell me about improvisin’ my way around again. I almost got a sore throat tryin’ ta keep up that fancy talk. Hope ya didn’t got anyone left in there ya needed politicking gab wit’.”

[bilgewater-queen]

“Why the grumpy face?”

“I never agreed to come here,i told you i dont like the beach”

“Then learn to like it.”

[diggingyourgraves]

@then-teeth

    There had been rumors about a killer hushed from lips in any bar along any dock in Bilgewater all the way to Buhru. Killing was as much in anyone’s nature as breathing, so it remained stagnant for weeks. The typical feigned grief over some sad, salty seafarer, sent for one more voyage into the depths of the water. But people get to talking, and talking leads to discovery. The Bloodharbor Ripper. It was actually quite the generic title, unfitting of the actual deeds. Maybe they knew no one would be sane enough to try seeking him out if they were actually aware of what waded beneath.

    And that’s where Malcolm found himself the past some-days, easing against the edge of an alley in the Slaughter Docks. The moonlight glistened off of the water below as well as the Myron’s Dark he had coasted from one of the nearby establishments. He sat with the bottle at his side, his shotgun splayed on his lap, and a small handkerchief of various nuts. He had been there for a while, as his drink had begun to sweat, and there was only the occasional hummed sound of drunks emerging from the Bridge above. This place had never been quite as quiet since new heads had emerged the while back. He glanced across his shoulder, only a few ship hands and some disorderlies were still around. Shoving an assortment down, he turned to a poster he was keeping as his coaster. No picture but a crude monster drawn with giant fangs.

    If they were to be taken at their own value, the word was the deaths all connected to a ship. A ship that no one could find even existed. And anyone that seems to know of it winds up dead, so no one was going to be keen on opening their gob to have it strewn apart come the next sunrise. This type wouldn’t typically concern him at all, but the reward was one of the biggest in some time. And something about it intrigued him. Almost familiar about the way the bodies were torn or put to sea by this pattern. Any man would have to come up for air sometime, so maybe it was time to see the Ripper.

[diggingyourgraves]

bilgewater-queen

Not exactly the option she would had gone in order to attract that man’s attention, though she couldn’t complain seeing, as stupid as his tactic was, it worked. As Graves let go of her, one hand took grip onto his arm, nails dug ever so slightly into the material of his cloth, another subtle warning that he had angered the bounty hunter by taking decisions like that. She quickly switched her attitude completely once the piltovan had addressed her. The sparkle of loathe present in his eye as carefully analysed her so-called partner didn’t go unnoticed by the redhead. It was to be expected, that just like the other nobles surrounding them, he too judged a man by his appearance. Her left hand reached out in a suave motion, being familiar with the gesture he took it into his and planted a kiss on it before letting go of it. Fortunately for her, she was wearing a pair of long gloves that spared her from having to come into any kind of contact with him. “Oh please, Mister Duvernoy. I wasn’t invited to this party as a captain.” her casual smile made its appearance on her red lips

Introducing her associate was another story. Malcolm despite not being as known as she was back in her bounty hunting days, still had somewhat of a reputation in Bilgewater, which meant that using his name risked having him recognized by the noble. A risk she was not going to take. She was more than sure given the displease on his expression whenever switching between looking at her and Graves that he wouldn’t be to keen on knowing either. One exchanging of glances and she knew she had to talk before an awkward atmosphere would settle around them. “How has this night treated you so far?" For sure she has raised some questions in the mind of the surrounding nobles. Coming here without a partner and playing ‘hard to get’ all night only for her to later settle for a really unique looking man will sure get some rumours spread around. In her head she was already dreaming  of a hot bath and some alcohol to ease the migraine all this fuss had caused her. As she stood there idly, the smile on her face grew,  she gave a few nods here and there to give the impression of caring about whatever he was saying.

“Dear, get us some drinks, would you?” her words poured like honey as she leaned in ever so slightly towards her partner while speaking. She was a fine actress that’s for sure. After he’d drug Duvernoy’s drink, one sip should be enough to make him lose awareness enough for Malcolm to finish his job.

Who knows what actually dug in more -- these nails burying into his skin, or all of the piercing glares she keeps sending him behind facade. A few more generic lines kept blathering forth from Duvernoy, mostly posh upkeep and something about lack of funding, or maybe too much funding. Graves would just have to assume she was paying attention because the conversation wasn’t meant for him this time, and there were only so many stories about how the Piltover government didn’t give them enough gold wallpaper to fill their sixth-hundredth laboratory. But he’d be brought back to the moment as she leaned in to give her instructions. Any sane man in Bilgewater would know to never take drink outside of a bar, and even then you might as well make amends like it was to be your last. It wasn’t an instruction that had to be spelled out.

“Of course, sweetheart.” He muttered something under his breath before wandering off, leaving behind the sound of Duvernoy’s prattling. Brushing through several depots of crowds, he finally came to one of the... servants, or butlers, or whatever they had in this part. It was all the same difference. Plucked one from the serving tray, he dug around through his suit, feeling weightless without his poncho. Luckily improvisation does have a perk of being prepared for several situations. He would pull out a rusted-out cigar case to display the inside house several small vials of different concoctions and remedies. He popped out one, a poison meant for wharf rats, but should only cause minor ailment to a human host. Though this wasn’t exactly a proven science.

It’s small enough to douse the entire drink with it. If anything it can’t be worse than that tisane their police force likes to drought everyone else of. He keeps it in his left hand to make sure, as he eyes the tray again. Nothing but watered-down wines and something that could barely even be mistaken for a cocktail. Just have to wait until it’s over. He picks one at random, sure to keep it in his right, only eyeing it on his way back. Whatever it was couldn’t be worse than shimmerwine.

He eases back next to her, as the other man seemed like he could still just be ranting on about the same story as when he had left them but how indistinguishable it was. Traded off the left wine, which was taken with no more than a slight grunt and a nod. His right index finger flicked slightly against the glass still in it. Getting itchy. But not much left. On wharf rats this stuff kicks in maybe thirty tops. On a regular human stomach, should be much sooner, given he hasn’t replaced that part of him too. Resting his arm across her shoulders, he leaned in, “If’n he keels over I’m calling it an act of vengeance consider’n’ he’s already got ya bored t’ death.”

[diggingyourgraves]

bilgewater-queen

“We’re just temporarily cooperating to reach a common goal.” she corrected him. Although ‘common’ was not exactly the right word to describe the reason behind their collaboration. The redhead couldn’t stand not being in control of the situation and risk have him ruin this night for her. Hearing Graves mention bullets only further convinced her that leaving him alone was not an available choice if she wanted things to go her way. Fortune quickly snapped out of her thoughts when noticing how her stance had became sloppy and proceeded to adjust to a more proper pose.

Despite being prepared for the worst, the last thing she would had expected was  for the chandelier’s light to fade to the point where the room was only dimly illuminated. To match the atmosphere the song playing was switched to a slow waltz, resulting in all the couples to reduce the pace of their steps. Now making their way closer to the target was no longer a problem, yet she couldn’t risk raising any suspicions now that even more people could witness it.

“Got any bright ideas?”

His words echoed in her head, a slight change in her expression suggested that she was indeed scheming something. Emerald eyes threw a subdued glance around, scanning the surroundings one last time before making a decision on which of the options they had would had been the most convenient. “I could-..introduce you as my partner. Of course it would had helped a lot if i knew his name things would had been more easier” she rebuked him with a trace of mockery in her tone. “Get him a drink, one , two. It can’t take more than that to lower the level of his awareness enough for you to do what you have to do.”

“He’s some one-note engineer from Piltover. We got less wharf rats’n they’ve got tinkerers. Never thought I’d even hafta see his face more’n five seconds to bother inquirin’ much. Plus if he’s been havin’ business in Bilgewater I’d figure he’s got a brain between his ears t’ note the newest honcho in charge ‘n how she’s too mighty busy to know the name of someone of his status.”

Part of him still even found the few moments it would take to make the rounds to the other man’s position was almost too long. But he had been patient up to this point, and the less angry the captain got, the less chance of getting a shank into the back of his hand when all was said and done. He shifted momentarily to slight the difference between himself and her, in order to help siphon through the crowd a bit better. “Though I guess yer plan does make us pardners after all.” There were only maybe four groups between them, so it wouldn’t take long. Waiting until the intermission between songs would also be the best time to approach. Timing would help here, but unfortunately not being familiar with typical Piltover waltzes -- or any for that matter -- meant he’d have to play by ear to figure out when the song should end. That was the optimal place to ‘just by happenstance’ spot a certain engineer who would definitely be of some use to... something. That part wasn’t important, so long as he’d let her do most of the talking.

Two couples through. Most of this time was attempting to just follow what the other couples were doing, and making sure to not step on toes. It was a trifecta of looking between her, the engineer, and other patrons. It really was a weird attendance. Some diplomats, some high-class inventors, some dignitaries. But most of them never seemed worth the time. They can’t all be as infamous as someone who sprays her own name over their walls, but it all seemed to be so below her. He couldn’t imagine a time before when she would have ever entertained the sight of these kinds of people let alone let them share the same breathing space. Even the old captain would barely engage outside of their waters. If there was ever anything another nation could offer him, he took it. And it made a lot of enemies, including the present company, but it seemed to fit better. The salty bastard deserved what came to him, and probably more, even if he was played as a pawn to help achieve it, but this new direction always felt out of place. Maybe it was just something he’d have to get used to with time.

Between all these thoughts, it would barely occur to him that they would make it through the rest of the way. There was still time left for the song to finish, and the man was turned away from them for the time being, his back to Graves’s currently. Now was the time to step on some toes. As he could start to hear the music fade out, he took a deliberate step backwards, digging his heel into the man’s sole. All he could hear for a moment was a loud, angry mumbling, as another hand was placed on his shoulder, pulling Graves slightly to face him. As a slim, boney finger was thrust in his face, the man’s agape mouth hanged open as his gaze had already gone past him onto his ‘temporary cooperating companion’. His jaw clenched shut as he removed his hand and adjusted himself momentarily. He was as the photo had shown, worked down to almost nothing with various hextech enhancements strewn about that was hard to distinguish if most even had a purpose. Neat-kept purple hair that had drooped slightly downwards in his frustration, but otherwise barely distinguishable from any of the others around them. ``If it isn’t the impeccable Captain Fortune, ruler of Bilgewater, and her... `` he speaks, eying Graves up and down with not much more emotion than complete disgust, ``...associate. I beg apologizes for the minor intrusion. Casper Duvernoy at your humblest of services.`` It was already evident the faster this was over with would be too late.

[diggingyourgraves]

bilgewater-queen

“You and I both know that i don’t go chasing the small fishes in the sea. So far so good. Only thing i haven’t thought ahead of is the glares i get from the wives of noble men whenever i engage in a conversation. Coming here without a partner wasn’t one of my brightest ideas.”

And of course exact the same ‘wives’ will approach her immediately as the music stops playing, only to annoy her with questions about the mysterious man she had accepted to dance with.After refusing five men that night, seeing her together with a stranger whose title was unknown was surely intriguing for them. That flawless smile curving her lips hid countless thoughts of anticipation for when that was going to happen.

Usually she would had made her partner follow her lead,  but in situations like this such a thing was ‘not fit for a lady to do’ so she opted for following Malcolm’s movements instead. Focusing on the song and avoiding the curious glances of those around her, she managed to make the best out of this scenario- but that didn’t last long. She had identified the man that he described and that meant it was only a matter of time until he did too. The grip on his shoulder tightened in order to notify him not to do anything reckless.

“Well ya got a pardner now. Tho’ I’m more used ta our arrangements involving a buckshot or two in some heads.” Though he wasn’t as adept at reading social cues and all their intricacies, it was clear this entire party might have been even more wearing than any bounty could tear into her. A situation she had no method to determine the outcome of any given moment. It had to have been why she was so cautious at seeing a familiar face. The most sociable of Bilgewater residents was typically hat-wearing demons with a taste for soul buffet. And even then, maybe that was preferred, since it was a more obvious variable.

The thought of the giant two-coat somehow being able to even enter a Piltover event was quickly dashed by the squeeze owed to his shoulder. His eyes darted to the side, catching a side glance of his mission. He wasn’t close enough to make a move yet. And with their current attention, breaking away right now would arouse too much suspicion. It was good for the moment, luring crowds closer, but now there didn’t seem to be quite as convenient method out. “Few feet closer, I c’n switch it.” It was hard to make out the actual device among the crowd as well as being mostly covered by the man’s sleeves.

The fastest way would have been to just act, like he usually did. No discussion, no waiting. But between needing to be able to actually leave in one piece, and how much it was apparent that she already had enough on her plate without needing him to pull any one of the most obvious pickpocket routines in the book, he didn’t decide to react on basic impulses for now. And maybe even a simple swipe could give her some sort of enjoyment among the mingling and politicking. It was the kind of work mostly put behind in their past, but even small fish work was their way to survive. “Need some seconds t’ spare to do it, though. Got any bright ideas?”

[diggingyourgraves]

@bilgewater-queen

She wasn’t too pleased to have him mockingly laugh at the surprise she had displayed.  But perhaps the fault was hers for expecting something from someone as unpredictable as Malcolm Graves. He probably only thought things as far to the point where he would had gotten inside then improvise the rest.. That short answer didn’t really satisfy the need of information Fortune had. She suppressed a frown from appearing on her face. It was to be expected that not everyone had the same working method as hers, which included well-thought additional ideas in case her first attempt failed.

The amount of unwanted attention they received just by simply having a conversation couldn’t go unnoticed by the redhead. Why of course, those vipers couldn’t mind their own business. All of a sudden being recognized as the leader of Bilgewater didn’t appeal to her anymore, knowing this won’t be the first nor last time she will have  to oblige the invitation to a party where she’d be surrounded by vain and arrogant rich people. Oh would had she loved to pull out a gun and waste some bullets on them.

An eyebrow was raised as the details about his future victim reached his ears. She thought of pointing him in the direction of his target so that he could get things done in a quiet, allowing her to continue her night without having to worry of Malcolm popping out of nowhere with a shotgun, though everything she had heard until now was useless. The look in her eyes was displaying frustration ‘How could he come here with only knowing this much?”  she thought to herself. Knowing the name of the target was the thing she considered by far of the highest importance when accepting a bounty.

Dance? Sarah was quick to catch the true intention behind his question. Being used as a decoy only to get through wasn’t something Fortune would had agreed to. Except given the situation, this would save her from having men approach her with an expression that could be described as rather filthy than charming and ask her for a dance. A smile tickled the corners of her lips as she took his hand. She had to look pleased with his offer knowing the eyes of everyone was still on them.

The falsities hidden behind a smile wasn’t a concept unbeknown to a swindler. In all honesty, it was rather impeccable that she would even agree to what couldn’t even be considered a plan at all. She was always a planner, and he was a doer. And there’s been consequences of both sides, which they surely remember all too well. But most of that was behind them. In earlier days, there wouldn’t be so much a polite conversation between the two of them let alone becoming collaborators in one of his short-sighted schemes. His hand took light hold as he led them further into the crowded area, among other aristocrats already in the midst of dancing.

It should be simple enough now. An outside power in the middle of a fancy party dancing with some ragged ruffian in a suit should get a lot of eyes and ears curious. The man aimed for in question was a short, twig-thin fellow, with bright lavender hair that might stand out in some places other than the town with the neon-dyed cops working. The most outlandish thing would be the object worth stealing - a small, leather-bound wrist-strap with a hextech box strapped on it. Whatever was inside was worth a sizeable bounty in silver serpents and the effort of forging an invitation. Or rather, whatever it opened. Not many from Piltover, especially the upper, would typically venture to Bilgewater let alone stash anything valuable there.

But still, it was what it was. Less knowledge meant less personal. Even strangers, knowing too much about the job could lead to repercussions. Hesitations or lusting too much for greed. It wasn’t the time for that, though. He had to focus on the other Fortune for now. To both help him get his prey closer... and to hopefully in the process also not also tick her off. He shifted his hand slightly to match hers, gripping it lightly and putting his other hand on her corset-tightened waist to lead her in a sway. He wasn’t much of a dancer, but it was serviceable, if one only ranked it among drunk dancers in any given tavern on Fleet Street.

“How’s the night treated ya so far, what with,” he gestured his head in any vague direction, “from my own experiences ya can only get chewed up about how much you just ‘hav’ta see the Sun Gates’ fer the hundredth time before the trigger finger gets an itchin’. And I’m guessin’ a higher rank gets ya more chat.”

[bilgewater-queen]

⚡️

She almost choked on her drink. Out of all people he was the last one to imagine in a suit, participating some at noble man’s party in Piltover. “Malcolm?!” A lot of questions fogged her mind, from ‘How did you get an invitation ’ to ‘Why are you wearing a suit.’ Sarah was quick to calm herself, on the good side, her night was finally becoming somewhat interesting. “What bet did you lose that you ended up here?”

[diggingyourgraves]

bilgewater-queen

“Business, yes. Let’s call it that”

After dethroning that damned pirate things changed for her. Letters of invitations to parties and political meetings arrived shortly, aristocrats from all around the world reached out to her in order to congratulate her victory against the tyrant. The word spread fast of how Sarah Fortune became the official leader of Bilgewater.

Etiquette was not a problem for her, bounty hunting required her to blend in to parties in order to get closer to her target. Tonight was not the case though, well not for her at least. She noticed the subtle glances thrown around by the outlaw. Lips pressed into a fine line as their eyes met, this was an opportunity for her to gain more connections throughout Runeterra, as much as she hated all the falsity in the smiles and grins with which people greeted her.

Her shoulders were stiff, the corset was squeezing her waist in a way that made feel like a bird in a cage. This was the cost of looking flawless, a price she would gladly pay anytime knowing beauty was one of the assets that turned out to be extremely useful in this kind of situations.

“What’s your plan?” she inquired in a whisper. His sharp glare indicated he knew what she was implying. All she needed to know was that he wasn’t going to make a fuss and disturb the rest of the party so that she could do her own thing and get all this over with.

Plan. The word carried an implication that most of his rules of engagement ever involved much more than rash improvisation. Though it happened this evening, he actually did have a small resemblance of one. His lips curled back upwards once more into a grin as some air blew through in a quiet chuckle seeing her reaction to knowing he was doing his own business. Maybe back in Bilgewater he’d even inquire to involving her with the work, but it was apparent by the airs she was putting on that she was here for less entertaining work -- socializing.

“Quick swipe,” he said, not so much of a whisper to match her own tone, but more hushed than he would usually keep it out of not alerting the people around. There was more attention thrown on them as they talked now, as cliques around were want to gossip about anything someone as prestigious as the ruler of Bilgewater was up to at any given moment. “Was meant to be in ‘n out job, but either he ain’t shown his crown up yet ‘r these golden boys all look more alike than I reckoned previous.”

His teeth dug lightly into the side of his mouth for a second, pondering how much he should actually indulge her with. Given their past experiences, he couldn’t see her putting him out to dry, but her curiosity was usually not for much beyond her own interests. Even if it were as simple as not wanting a scene, more could be at play. But he let the grip on his lip go as well as his hesitation, since he didn’t himself have much to give her, “Some watch-looking gizmo. S’pposed t’have somethin’ to open a cache, didn’t ask much since the silver was good. Got a look but not a name to it so been watchin’ out. Small-fry, wouldn’t put much of a fight, but he wanted it quiet. Well, quiet-ish considerin’ he knew some of my own reputation.”

His gaze stayed fixated on her this time without waver, partly to take in the sight of seeing her in what must be as ill-fitting to her as this suit was on him. Though she must have been more used to it with the ways the tidings turned a while back, putting her into a position where it was more required to operate outside of the bounty for the sake of representation. But his sight also remained as he lit a spark in his mind about how to make through with the burgle -- if she would even oblige his machinations for a moment. He stood up from his slouched position, and offered forward his hand, “Care t’ dance?”

[bilgewater-queen]

⚡️

She almost choked on her drink. Out of all people he was the last one to imagine in a suit, participating some at noble man’s party in Piltover. “Malcolm?!” A lot of questions fogged her mind, from ‘How did you get an invitation ’ to ‘Why are you wearing a suit.’ Sarah was quick to calm herself, on the good side, her night was finally becoming somewhat interesting. “What bet did you lose that you ended up here?”

[diggingyourgraves]

In most senses of the word, Graves was not much of a patrician. The posh high-ringer suits that were the fashion craving of the Piltover elite felt as constrictive to him as the grimy get-up they made the inmates of The Locker suffocate in. But all for the sake of the job. Not only would his usual attire not even let him in through the front door of such an estate as this, it also wouldn’t be a keen concept to be more apparent and draw attention to one of the Clockwork Vault bandits.

His back leaned into a wall as his eyes scanned across the room for the target. This was meant to be a quick work that was turning into several hours of wasted time and forcing smiles at the golden citizens. But the crawling sensation at the back of his skull kept pondering the time and how nothing coming to fruition yet smelled charred of past ashes. Calm down. Patience is part of this work. Was just always the boring part, which is why the other members of the gang handled this part.

Soon, though, another fire awoke in his mind. The sight of bright red hair flowing through the crowd, not far deep and hard to ignore. It didn’t take much longer for her to recognize one of her former pawns and compatriot as well.

‘Malcolm?!’ ‘What bet did you lose that you ended up here?’

“Awfully far away from yer own waters I’d reckon myself. Never took ya much fer enjoying the delights of these elite neither. Though guess it’s more part’a yer fancy. Too stuffy fer me.” He glanced down at his cuffs for a moment, adjusting them to stop from pinching into his arms. “No bet this time,” perking his eyes back up to hers, rolling his shoulders slightly with the corner of his mouth shaped into a slight smirk, “on account that I wouldn’t be much worth if I was goin’ ‘round playin’ losin’ hands, Captain.”

His gaze adjusted beyond her once more for a moment, scanning the room once more. Nothing yet. It couldn’t hurt to give her full attention for the moment. And it was a much better way to pass the time than being the scruffy wallflower at a Piltover extravaganza. “How ‘bout you? Indulgin’ in pleasure, or doin’ yer own business?”

[strengthprevails]

Her first reaction was to consider his situation sad, if not pitiful, but a moment of further consideration nudged the thought away from her mind. He looked to be doing well for himself, and she was certainly in no place to judge someone who had survived.

(Because really—people liked that were always the most dangerous, weren’t they? No one ever survived without losing something important, and while time was a salve to an ache, it could never cleanse the skin of a scar.)

"It’s what happens when you deal with Zaunites," Riven replied, making no effort to hide the acid that crept into every intonation. "They’re despicable wretches with no sense of honor or principle." And God, she hated them. The Melters, the politicians, the cowards who fought with toxins with no regard to those who had earned life and those who rightfully deserved death…

(…Then again, hadn’t she learned? What was honor or principle to even Noxus itself, anyway? What did strength matter so long as they achieved victory? What did hard work, what did surviving, what did struggling and fighting and dying for the Noxian cause even matter when she didn’t have any clue as to what the Noxian cause even was anymore?)

Quietly, Riven finished her drink and motioned for a new one. These thoughts had no place here in the company of a stranger. “You’re alright with allowing them to just hunt you down?”

[diggingyourgraves]

"I hear it. I've come across a lotta rats in my time. None more toxic than the holes they crawl from in Zaun." He sighed, glancing upwards as the ash fell off onto the floor. The tone was more bitter than usual, though it wouldn't be as venomous as his associate's words. "Maybe that's jus' their pollution affectin' 'em. There was one worse, though they got t' 'im which is how. Just a matter'a time fer he slipped."

The gaze on the ceiling shifted back downwards, as he pulled the stub in his mouth loose; tapping it out and letting the butt sit in the small bowl almost brimmed with ashes already. He had been in here for a while before her arrival, after all. "I reckon I ain't too fond'a them comin' knockin' at my door with a barrel of a shotgun, but they haven't got me dead yet. As long as I survive, I'm beating them."

 She did seem to maintain an air about her that motioned him to realize she had secrets deeper than just the scars on her skin. Likely not going to talk about it to an outlaw she had just met; though curiosity can only kill a cat if satisfaction wouldn't bring it back. He takes a gulp of his refill, and leans his elbow on the counter of the bar to rest his head on his knuckles to watch her reaction closer. "You seem to have dealt with yer own share of Zaun. Secret?"

[diggingyourgraves]

jinxite said:

[ what appears to be a sloppily made card is left on the table for the outlaw. though, considering who it's probably from, that means that even though it looks sloppy, there was a lot of effort put into making it. yep. it's from her. inside is a rather... surprisingly nicely drawn image of the two of them skipping along in front of something exploding behind them. aww, isn't that cute. it's her little way of trying to /tell/ you something, graves. ]

It wouldn't be too long after an afternoon of drinking as per usual until he would grace his presence onto his small dwelling again. A few papers would find its way in, typically those of wanted posters of bounty hunters who would try to scalp his head. Though one would catch his eye, not only for its position neatly construed on his table, but also the fact it seemed to be hectically sprinkled with glue and glitter. It wouldn't even dawn on him that today was a holiday, since it'd been a while since it was ever relevant to him.

But the affection would be returned enough, as an equally-sloppily-made card found its way to the top of the explosives crate in the same place he had first contacted her. Along with a pricy bottle of whiskey. Not that he was sure she would drink it, but it seemed easier than chocolates or flowers for the eccentric.

[jinxite]

rules are MADE to be BROKEN… like BUILDINGS! or PEOPLE!!

[jinxite]

Pffft. Too far! I’m toooo laaaaazy. Siigh. If it was closer, maybe then I would. Hff.

Woah. You’re serious? I can watch? Wowza, I didn’t even have to threaten you or anything! This is great. You’re great. This is gonna be amazing, I can just feel it! Then again, when aren’t explosions great?

     [ jinx watches as her guest sits down, that trademark grin of hers still painted upon her face as she claps, then rubs her hands together, listening to the outlaw as he tells her what he needs, before speaking once again. ]

Okay! So. Big and able to blow a roof off? I can do that. How about ruin a city? I can ruin cities really nicely— wait, wait you said this was for revenge. Right, right. Sorry about that. Almost forgot! I’m usually one for huge, large scale things. You saw Piltover after I ruined it, right?

     [ she begins to laugh. boy, does she laugh. it’s sudden, piercing the air, and the breath that she has to take halfway through her laughing fit is as sharp as the sudden burst of laughter that had caused her to even have to take a breath so quickly. honestly, it’s more of a fit of giggles that devolves into maniacal laughter, rather than a full out laughing fit, but either way, it’s still unsettling. she brings her hand up to her face, wiping a tear from her eye with her finger before she sighs. ]

Ah. Good times. The entire place was in panic when I brought it down. Hoo, gosh, I loved that. I should do that again sometime. Ha ha!

Anyways!

     [ she turns on her heel to face a rather large crate, with her insignia sloppily painted on its side, and, rather carelessly, throws open the top. sucking on her teeth for a moment, she makes a clicking noise with her tongue before she beings to, quite literally, dig through the crate, looking for exactly what graves had asked for. or, really, to see if she had something that would be suitable for that gun of his. give her some time. she probably has it in there somewhere. ]

[diggingyourgraves]

Through her scavenging, it was probably lucky that the few looser pieces that were flung about in it didn't go off in her carelessness. Although, given by the laugh, and the general disregard for wellbeing, it wouldn't be too surprising if that had happened in the past. The mayhem she had referred to was still noticeable despite the sheriff and the inventor's best efforts to clean up. And the news had always reached even as far as Fleet Street, although it would sometimes mixed with the motives they gave to the same person standing in front of him. Although the name would always remain Jinx, seeing her in person made it easily understandable how eccentric she was and how maybe she didn't even have any motive besides it being fun. From the grin, that was expected. Yet all the news would paint her as being some evil mastermind, she just seemed caught up in her own world.

"Ya pro'ly can do it again sometime. Though the sheriff wouldn't be too partial to it. I don't think she likes fun, apparently. And as much as I c'n see the fruits of yer labor being very well-constructed, a building-leveler might be a tad overkill."

For a second, he would almost consider to get up and inspect all of the belongings to her crate, though the ashes from his cigar might not sit well. Or, again, knowing her, she might actually enjoy having it all blow up. "It don't need to fit the shotgun, just as long as it's easy enough to not have t' use where I could lose the whole money-maker."

[mute-the-dj]

"A penny for your thoughts but a dollar for your insights."

Sona thrusted her notepad into Graves’ hands. "I would rather not be writing for hours."

[mute-the-dj]

Sona’s shoulders moved in a silent giggle. Well if it helped her team win, then she’s doing her job. She wrote down more, handwriting a bit looser this time.

"Whatever it takes to win, I suppose. I’m glad you enjoy my music. I’m really hoping these new pieces will aid us along the way. A bit more motivating."

[diggingyourgraves]

A small smile would seep onto his face watching her motion in some kind of glee. It was hard not to be uplifted just even by her positive spirit in general, but here it was more… cute, the way she was responding. “I like th’ quieter one, especially. The soft one. Reminds me of a better time in some way, y’know. Like drifting down the river. They’re all good, though. New work an’ old.” He reached out, gently removing the notepad from her, and running his own finger along it, drew down a picture for her, before handing it back to her. “Ya motivate plenty enough. Fer me, at least. Winning is sort of a topping to being able to listen to whatever you've come up with.”

[jinxite]

Woah there, bucko! Don’t get too ahead of yourself, heh heh! Hmm. An explosion that goes into a shotgun. Like.. an explosive shell, oorrr? Listen, it’s not like I know how to make explosives. Whoops. I just know explosives. Y’get what I mean? Of course you do! Of course you do, ha ha!

Hah! Gotcha. We’ll get him good. Or you, really. I don’t care. I wanna see. I don’t wanna be sitting around after I get you whatever I’m gonna get you and just think about it. I wanna see it.

It’d better not be boring!

Awww… that’s so upsetting! That someone’d sell me out! Huff. What a jerk! Do y’know his name? If he’s already bleeding out, can I still hurt him? Huh? Huh? Wait, why am I asking your permission? Haha! Of course I’m going to hurt him!

Okay, so, you want… something that can fit in a shotgun. And causes a big explosion. Hmm. I’m… not sure if I have anything like that lying around here, but I can check! Give me a few minutes! Go ahead and make yourself comfortable on the broken couch! It’s missing a few springs and maybe even a leg, but it’s got the cushions on it still, so that’s what counts! I’m still able to sleep on it, so.

[diggingyourgraves]

"Don't remember. Bar only about twelve blocks down south-ways is where he is. Scrawny, probably only clean-shaved hubbard. Got a black eye now. And I'll let ya watch. Might be better theatrics with an audience. I'm kinda 'ssumin' I won't even get my explosion-makin' from you without promisin', anyhow."

He eyes the couch, which was indeed actually missing a leg. Maybe she kept her head tilted so she couldn't notice half the time. Although the cushions could even look like they housed some new breed of creature within them. But still, courtesies are courtesies. As he sits, he plops his elbow up on the armrest and leans lopsided on his knuckle, watching the eccentric woman. The great outlaw of Piltover. Kind of like looking in a mirror. A mirror that was painted blue. And then blown up. So maybe he was being more trusting of her than he cautiously should be.

He flips open his cigar case, pulled from the shirt pocket under his poncho, and lights one up, eying the couch again just in case something could jump out and bite him. "Take yer time. The best fit will work. As long as it's big and can blow a roof off, we c'n probably make it work somehow. Destiny's a girl of many talents."

[league-of-legends-sexy-girls]

DJ Sona