Work Text:
There are a fair number of creatives among the Firelights: tinkerers who prefer the toil and labor of tech and mech; homemakers who love to cook, bake, mend, and weave that make up the backbone of their secret community; warriors who find companionship in the training grounds and the armory; and artisans who find solace in the weight of a spray paint can or the prospect of uncarved wood.
When they’re not preparing for raids or abating riots in Zaun, a spot of drywall or metal is a welcome comfort to some Firelights. Scaffoldings and ladders stand against the curved walls, pipes and fissures of their hideout sporadically in varying heights, each of their platforms carrying some manner of materials — from paint buckets, to spray cans, to rags and paintbrushes, down to the canisters of sharp-scented thinners. And there’s nothing quite like the quiet and the privacy of the planks on the highest scaffoldings.
And there is exactly where Aza finds their little wildling, facing an empty sweep of metal and blue braids swinging in the breeze of the setting sun. A lonely bird at the top of the highest branches of their tallest metal tree, adamant to separate herself from the laughter and the merriness of their budding community below.
Aza adjusts the bag of spray cans on her shoulder as she watches those blue braids rock to-and-fro, smiling curiously. She kicks up her hoverboard into gear and loads her crate of new paint brushes before hopping onto the board herself. A few taps of her boot against the board’s control panel and she’s got it to hover at its lowest speed.
The view from the topmost platform of their highest scaffolding doesn’t quite reach the edges of their tunnel-like home — there’s still a ways to go until you actually see the rooftops of the lanes. But a portion of the sky is still visible, clear of the branches and leaves of their massive tree. Aza likes to think that having their hideout located near the bridge that connects the Undercity to Topside, also contributes to the absence of the smog that usually smothers the Lanes.
From above, the colorful roofs and the overlapping terraces that comprise the homes of their found community illuminate a warm glow so unlike the darkness and gloom the undercity is known for, that it almost makes their headquarters feel otherworldly. Surrounded by murals and vibrant-colored banners that hang from between branches and balconies, Aza never fails to feel the hope-laced pride that swells within her whenever she takes in the view.
Jinx is perched with her back to the world, cheek pressed to a knee close to her chest while her other leg dangles with her braids off the edge of the platform. She picks at the wall with a finger, scraping bumps against the metal, and doesn’t look up when Aza reaches the platform. She also doesn’t react when Aza drops her crate and her bag of spray cans, which prompts the older woman to cross her arms, now mildly concerned.
“Jinxy?”
A bubble is broken with a jolt of her shoulders and Aza's lips quirk good-naturedly the moment Jinx realizes that she's no longer alone. She fumbles for a bit before turning to look at Aza.
"Oh! It's Aza! Hiya, Aza!"
It's strange to think that, after that raid with Sevika, Aza's sort of made a bond with their resident wildling. Don't get her wrong; Jinx still keeps everyone at arm's length, with Ekko being the only exception. But as far as Aza's concerned, she's the only one who's been getting away with calling her 'Jinxy'.
Gods know how many pink-paint-and-glitter chomper grenades Scar was victim to for calling Jinx the same nickname. And Aza would snigger teasingly a good long while every time Scar came to her to complain.
Said wildling doesn't seem to be doing okay at the moment, it seems, all lonely up in their scaffoldings.
"You good, Jinx?"
The blue-haired girl belches out a laugh that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah! Why wouldn't I be?"
A ready-made answer. How curious.
Aza sets her tools and latches her work belt around her waist. "You've been staring at the wall for a good 10 minutes now," she says, dipping her roller in white latex and applying the base paint on the wall in wide, even strokes. "You sure you're ok?"
"I'm fine, Aza." Jinx's eyes flit towards the sunset-lit sky, and Aza notices a kind of weariness settling over the younger woman's demeanor. "Just… peachy."
Maybe she doesn't want to talk about it, Aza thinks as she sets aside her roller. She reaches over her spray cans next. "So… Ekko's out today, huh?"
A small, genuine smile finally stretches over Jinx's features. Ah , Aza realizes, pressing her lips together to hide her own grin. So this is why Ekko keeps her all to himself, the cheeky thing.
"Yeah, to get supplies and stuff." Jinx turns to meet her gaze, face so a-glow that Aza wonders if she had just imagined the weariness earlier. "Bet you he went to raid the junkyard too."
They share a laugh, punctuated by the click-clacking of shaking spray-paint cans. "Ooh, don't we all know it. He'd be coming back with a rucksack of spares and grease up to his elbows." Wide arches of color streak over an empty wall. "Heard he'd been like that since y'all were kids."
"Yeah, but he does bring back the most interesting things," Jinx sighs a little dreamily, looking like she's remembering something from the distant past. "Always has."
Aza catches a softness there and her thoughts immediately wander to the girl she had painted with the best of her blue paint all those years ago. Could this be her? Is this Powder?
Probably best not to test those waters.
"Hey, so how are you guys?" She asks instead.
To Aza's surprise, Jinx's shoulders slump as the lethargy from earlier sinks back into her narrow frame. Oh dear, has something happened?
Jinx lets out a resigned puff of breath that sways the hair on her face. "He's fine, I'm fine, we're both peachy-keen, hunky-dory fine ," she snaps, animatedly waving her gangly arms in the air above her head like she's dusting off a cloud of unwanted thoughts. Or unwanted voices.
Aza pauses her work and wipes her hands with the rag hanging from her work belt, peering at Jinx with worry once more. Is this alright? Would it be okay with Jinx if she asked her things? Were they friends?
They fall silent, save for the soft buzzing of spray cans against metal. Evening is falling and lanterns below their perch are being lit, one by one. Aza watches a few firelights come out of hiding from the canopies as she ponders whether to change the subject, despite knowing that Jinx is clearly distressed.
Well, maybe Jinx isn't ready to divulge what's bothering her at the moment, but just maybe, Aza can still offer some sort of comfort. Maybe it’s ok for her to reassure the younger girl. Jinx may still not think they’re friends, but that doesn’t mean that Aza has to think the same way.
Clack-clack-clack. Green neon make tracks over shapes of blue and purple. Aza’s not really working with a particular subject in mind tonight. She reaches to turn on the lamp installed on one of the scaffolding’s posts. Clack-clack-clack. Yellow neon this time, to accentuate hues of greens and blues. Jinx is silent still, her back turned towards Aza, watching the lights below them.
“He cares about you very much,” Aza says slowly, treading carefully.
Clack-clack-clack. Traces of turquoise over abstract forms of pink.
“... I know.” Aza’s never heard their spitfire of a team-member sound so despondent.
“And I’d like to think that you care for him just as much.”
Blue paint drips over green shapes, lines of blue falling, falling, falling over green. The pinks are also starting to drip.
“... Maybe even more,” Jinx whispers into the breeze, wrapping her arms around herself. Aza starts to notice Jinx’s fingers shaking around her biceps, but she isn’t hurting herself… yet.
“I’m glad,” Aza replies, softly. “You’re good for him, you know?”
“Don’t say that.” Blue braids spill over the platform. Falling, falling, falling.
Clack-clack-cla—. The hardness in Jinx’s tone catches Aza off guard. She’s momentarily stunned that she stops her work to stare at the back of Jinx’s head, wondering what she had said to offend her. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t say that I’m good for him.”
Ah, Aza realizes for the second time that day. So therein lies the problem.
“Hmm… Well, you are.” She picks up where she left off, adding splashes of violet on to the abstract forms. “I’ve never seen him smile so much as he does when he’s with you.”
“And he’s kinder now,” she continues, cutting off what Jinx is ready to say; she’s also turned her head slightly to hear what else Aza has to offer. She’s paying attention, she thinks. That’s as good a sign as any. “It’s not that he wasn't kind before. He’s just been… less hard on everyone. And since you came back, he’s also been less hard on himself.” She pauses for a heartbeat to let that sink in. “I think, despite what anyone says, we’re all a little bit grateful for that.”
The violets bleed into the pinks, creating soft blends of magenta that contrast prettily against the blues and greens. Jinx shifts her sight back to the edge while Aza waits knowingly for the response she’s expecting Jinx to make.
“...I’d get him hurt, somehow,” Jinx says softly, so dejectedly lonely that something in Aza’s chest aches. “I always… end up hurting the people I love.”
Understanding also clicks into place as she looks back at Jinx’s history and Aza is flooded with a wave of sadness and sympathy towards the younger girl. But also… Who’s to say that Ekko won’t survive again? They’ve all been on the opposite side of Jinx in the battlefield before — Ekko more than anyone — and win or lose, Ekko’s survived every single time they had faced each other.
Clack-clack-clack. She retouches green forms, overlapping them above lines of blue and pink.
“No offense, but don’t give yourself too much credit, Jinxy,” Aza remarks, hoping that she instills a bit of positivity into Jinx. “‘Sides, I wouldn’t underestimate our esteemed leader, if I were you. He’s tougher than you think. He’s lived through everything you’ve thrown his way, hasn’t he?”
Jinx glances her way briefly, hopefully considering everything Aza’s said. She watches as Jinx’s gaze slips towards the entrance of their hideout. Aza smiles knowingly; she can guess exactly what Jinx is feeling right now.
Blue braids, of bluest blue, dripping over the edge. Falling, falling, falling.
Aza wipes her hands again, rummages through her crate and decides on the neon green spray paint can. She walks up to Jinx slowly, crouching to gently put a hand on her shoulder. Their wildling catches her knowing grin and a blush blooms across Jinx’s freckled cheeks in embarrassment that is so refreshingly endearing that Aza laughs loudly before handing her the spray can.
“Here, why don’t you start on this part of the wall?”
Large, pink eyes stare back at her, confused and pretty in the low light. And much less lonely now, to Aza’s complete delight. “Start what?”
“Whatever you want, Jinxy.”
Aza stands to move back to her workspace, glad that she was able to help Jinx somehow, and grateful that Jinx was able to share something so personal with her.
Clack-clack-clack goes the spray can in Jinx’s hand. “Are you in love with someone, Aza?”
It takes a while for Aza to wrap her mind around what Jinx had just asked her. She flounders with her brushes awkwardly, but Jinx snickers at her reaction so she clears her throat and reluctantly decides to humor her. “...I am. But I don’t think anything will come of it.”
Jinx’s spray can stops buzzing midway through an odd shape. “How come?”
Aza rubs a hand over the back of her neck, perplexed at how the subject had abruptly turned to be about her non-existent love life. “Well…,” she starts, feeling more and more awkward by the minute. “He’s still grieving. He loved her very much, you see.”
She didn’t mean to make that sound as crestfallen as she did — they didn’t really need to go through another sad set of baggage, not when things had just turned for the better tonight. “But it’s not a problem,” she says hastily to the blue-nette. “I’m just happy to be close to him. It’s a privilege to know that he had someone he had loved very deeply, even if it wasn’t me.”
She sighs, a little forlornly she admits, but she believes every word she had just told Jinx. She counts herself lucky to love a man who loves so deeply, that not even death can sway his devotion.
Jinx’s spray can resumes its buzzing, as she completes a green monkey doodle — of which some strokes suspiciously bear a semblance to a tilted hourglass — on her side of the wall. “Hmm…,” she hums thoughtfully. “Scar can be pretty obstinate, can he?
“Yeah, he can be quite oblivious sometimes, but — AH!”
It’s Aza’s turn to embarrassingly resemble a tomato at just how badly and easily she’d been caught. But Jinx laughs loudly and heartily for the first time that night, that Aza can’t help but laugh along with her.
A bond had been fortified tonight; a mural painted with neon and an unexpected conversation, Aza thinks with a satisfied grin as Jinx starts to list off the many ways she could do better than Scar, of all people. And it’s in the middle of defending Scar that she is surprised at just how easy it is to fall into conversation and hilarious banter with their twin-braided wildcard of a member. How comforting to know, she realizes as they trade stories into the night by their perch above the canopies and the colorful roofs, that if Jinx could let her in, then it’s only a matter of time until she lets the rest of the Firelights in too.