#piltoverspride

[sheriff-caitlyn]

To Market

Time is often measured in the movement of celestial bodies, as the world is bathed in light or plunged in darkness. In Piltover, time is measured in incremental ticks, in the concept of time as measured, restrained, captured by the turning of gears, named as ‘seconds’, ‘minutes’, ‘hours’, and so on. 

Time is precious. Her time, even more so. So many bad guys, et cetera. Everything has to be accounted for. Today? She has accounted herself a portion of her day off to buy groceries. She has accounted for travel time, traffic, the conversations of citizens wishing to speak to her, the banter of shopkeepers, and so on. She keeps the time with the strides she makes, her heels striking the pavement in almost-military fashion as she makes her way to the market district.

She drags a small trolley behind her, and has two cloth bags hanging off one arm. She is not dressed in her usual purples and bronzes, but in sensible grey slacks and a high-collared lilac shirt. No hat. No badge. She’s not on the job.

But she still counts every second. 

[sanguiresse-a]

“ no living soul commands the sea ” - piltoverspride

DON’T STARVE | (not accepting) | @piltoverspride

     Oh, he knows that. Vladimir has been born and killed a thousand times, and over the centuries, few things have remained as constant as the sea. He doesn’t like being close to the waves. They make him feel small and unstable, as though he could easily be swept up and lost in the twisting and turning. Even here, on the pier, well above the ocean, Vladimir feels uneasy.

     “Nor the undead, I imagine,” Vladimir remarks, slipping the humor over his words like a hat over his eyes. “But have you ever seen a Bilgewater Harrowing? Oh, you would think they command the sea, with the legion of souls that come flying through the ocean.”

     Vladimir chuckles, and leans against the pier’s railway. He regards the... oh, what is it they call him? A hero? Oh, only Piltover could pull that off... He’s finished his business in Piltover earlier than he imagined (even by Vladimir’s standards— he was told the clan’s leader had razor-sharp senses and a hair-trigger alarm system, but Vladimir didn’t find either all that impressive). The bodies would be found later that evening, and Vladimir’s decided to partake in some sightseeing. Is meeting the Defender of Piltover on every tourist’s to-see list? Well, Vladimir needs to check it off.

     “Does it not frighten you?” Vladimir asks, with a curious tilt of his head. “The creatures that lurk beneath the waves. The vast abyss of it all. I suppose Piltover is an ambitious place. In a few decades, you’ll have found a way to use the ocean to your progress. No living soul commands the sea, but I’m sure a city could...” 

[symphoniquest]

plotted starter for @piltoverspride

Clear, lively notes echoed through the Piltover auditorium as Sona’s fingers danced across the strings of her instrument. Her feet were planted soundly on the stage but her legs were tense with nervousness at this place that was so different from Demacia. She had grown accostumed to the grand, open and bright architecture. Piltover was beautiful, in it’s own way, but Sona felt claustrophobic under the roof of the futuristic building and under the stares of the crowd. Lestara had not taught Sona how to charm Piltoverians.

The woman continued to play, moving on to an exciting and fast tune that she thought this crowd would enjoy.