@vaultbreak asked: you’re tougher than you look
“Who, me? ‘Willowy like a reed’ Ezreal? Sure am! … Else I probably would have fallen off the railing. You know.”
He flexes.
“Who were those people, anyway?”
Ezreal has to admit, for as much as he loves adrenaline, he normally finds it sneaking into places he shouldn’t and eavesdropping rather than getting into street fights, let alone street fights in Zaun. Where next, Noxus?—but he’d been inasmuch convinced by the frightened faces of the children they’d stood up for as he figured Vi had to be. And, okay, he contributed with mostly his legs rather than his fists, but she had that arena covered (beside, being honest, who is Ezreal if not at least seventy-five percent leg) and nobody but the bad guys got hurt. Win-win, right? Aren’t they just the best misfit-heroes?
“Mister,” one of the children says, and it doesn’t get Ezreal’s attention. “Please, mister.”
Now he hears them, and looks over to find open hands. Oh.
Oh.
“I don’t…” But Ezreal doesn’t finish; instead, his pack opens. He thinks about giving them gold, but for what? Food? Something to bring home? Then Ezreal thinks, where is home for these kids? What’s really going to help them? He even shoots a look at Vi, maybe fielding for suggestion, but ultimately gets an idea and starts ruffling through the pockets. He finds this:
A bronzed clockwork mouse, beaming with bright, emeralds for eyes. Ezreal winds it, then puts it into their hands. It goes without saying that they’re delighted.
“Here,” he says, smiling. “One for the road.”
When they leave, Ezreal sighs, rubbing some dirt off his cheek. Huh.
“I get it now,” he tells Vi. “If an undercity kid told me they were going to kick me in the shins, I’d probably put up my knees for them. Worse than puppies, I swear…”
