Chapter Text
Sunday October 3, afternoon to evening
The yearly fall apartment decorating extravaganza is well underway.
It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown plays in the background as you rummage through the fall signs. Most of them are from your mother. Gather, Give Thanks, Thankful, Hello Pumpkin, and Happy Pumpkin Spiced Latte Season are among her most notable donations.
You flip through them until you find the one you’re looking for- Welcome, Foolish Mortals- and you hang it on the front door with a satisfied smile.
“Alright, where should we put Barkley and the Boo Brothers this year?”
“Definitely somewhere that Croc can’t get to them.”
As your sister leaves the room in a flurry of orange and purple, you nestle the trio of ghosts among the fake pumpkins that crowd your mantle. You’ve amassed quite a collection over these last few years (also on account of your mother). She finds great joy in going to craft fairs and buying multiples of the decorations she likes so she can give some to you and your sister.
This year she sent two leopard print felt pumpkins, and you make sure they're front and center with the Boo Brothers.
Next you feel along the frame that gilds the painting of the headless horseman above the mantelpiece, and flip the hidden switch. The flames enveloping his grinning pumpkin head begin to flicker, casting a candlelight effect upon your small living room.
“Okay, it looks like we’re pretty much done up here.”
“And I’m almost done back here,” Allie calls from the bathroom. "By the way, what are we doing for food tonight?”
You take a peek in the fridge knowing full well what's inside: mostly empty condiment bottles, stray limp vegetables, and a random half package of sandwich meat.
“You want to do take-out?” You shout.
“Jericho’s?”
“You read my mind! If we call it in on the way, it might actually be ready by the time we get there.”
Allie emerges with an empty box. “I doubt it, but that would work out because that means that while I wait for the food…”
“I can go to TJ’s next door and grab us some snacks and dessert!”
“Yep. Let’s take my car because I need to get some gas on the way back.”
“Fine by me.”
You stash the tubs in the spare bedroom before grabbing sweatshirts and heading out the door.
As your sister turns on Halloween music to sing along to, you call in the food order. As soon as you hang up, your phone buzzes.
“get-jinxed liked your story”
“get-jinxed liked your story”
“get-jinxed commented on your story: OMG you guys are so cute!”
The comment is on a terrible mirror selfie pic of you and Allie getting ready to decorate the house. You’re rocking orange and black striped socks, matching Hocus Pocus shirts, and are making spectacularly unpretty faces.
Even though you’ve already checked out her profile at least ten times since Friday, you can’t help doing it one more time. The only photos on her page are her posing alone, her posing with her art, and WIP reels. She has a lot of followers, but there's no mentions of friends. When you click through the link posted on her profile, it leads you to her personal artist website.
An announcement immediately pops up, reminding you of her upcoming exhibition.
“You down to go to an art show on October 16?” You ask as you put it in your calendar.
“Maybe, but I think I have a late client that day. What time is it?”
“7pm.”
“I might be able to make it. Where’s it at?”
“Uh, hold on.”
You punch in the avant-garde name listed as the studio. It’s a commercial address. Google search brings up an interesting array of pictures.
“Huh. Looks like it's going to be in one of the abandoned industrial factories.”
“By The Fissures?”
"Uh huh."
There’s a sludgy river that slithers between the city lines of Piltover and Zaun, and it's lined on either side with huge abandoned factories. One of them was repurposed into a packing house, with the best indoor dining and shopping Piltover County has to offer. You'd thought the others had been chained off from the public.
Seems you were wrong.
You start to scroll through to the rest of her website. Jinx’s portfolio contains a list of all the original pieces she’s sold and the art she has for sale. One particular piece catches your eye. It’s a 6x6ft canvas painted in violent strokes of red, pink, black and blue. A cloaked grim reaper looms in the center, holding a scythe in one hand and a grenade in the other. A red and orange sun hangs in the top right corner.
It’s labeled “ The Base Violence Necessary For Change”.
Something about the sun niggles at you, and after a few seconds of staring at it you realize it’s been subtly outlined to look like an eye.
Silco’s?
On a whim you go back to her main body of work and examine them more carefully. Orange and red eyes appear in several other pieces.
That can’t be a coincidence.
You startle as your sister suddenly throws the car into park.
“Okay we’re here, get out.”
“Rude,” You grumble as you unbuckle.
“Rude is staying on your phone the entire drive instead of singing Oogie Boogie’s Song with me.”
“Give me a break, I was doing some sleuthing!”
“On who? Oh wait, don’t tell me. Is it the slightly older man you still staunchly deny you’re sweet on?”
You roll your eyes and slam the door a little harder than necessary. You hear your sister roll down the window and call after you. “Get some green tea mochi and something bubbly! I don’t care what it is. Also, we need oat milk for coffee!”
You wave without turning around.
When you step inside Trader Joe’s, it feels like “ Grand Theft Auto 6, Suburban Mother’s Shopping Day ”. Mentally steeling yourself for a fight, you grab a basket and head towards the dairy section. You’ve only just gotten to the oat milk when you feel a cart sidle up beside you. You get the sense that the man wants to be exactly where you’re standing, but when you throw a dirty look at him over your shoulder, he doesn’t seem to notice you’re there. You barely have time to process the words Piltover County Sheriff’s Department on his hat before you allow the crowd to sweep you towards the chaos of the frozen food aisle.
It feels like you’re in a video game as you skip between moving carts and dodge stacks of frozen enchiladas being wheeled around by employees, but somehow you manage to grab everything you need, and you're out the door fifteen minutes later.
You breathe a huge sigh of relief into the dwindling twilight.
You made it out alive! And in record time.
You start scanning the parking lot for your sister’s Mazda, and are only just beginning to head towards Jericho’s when someone clears their throat behind you.
It’s the Piltover officer. He’s holding two small bags of groceries and a bouquet of flowers, and he seems just as surprised to see you as you are to see him.
Which is strange considering he was the one who initiated this interaction in the first place.
“Did you need something?” You ask, after several uncomfortable seconds of him scowling at you.
“No, sorry, I just… I thought you were someone else.”
At the sound of his voice, it immediately clicks.
“Wait, you’re Marcus, aren’t you?”
His scowl turns suspicious. “You know me?”
“Well I assume you thought I was my sister, Allie. She’s talked about you, and I figured there can’t be too many Australians in the Piltover Sheriff’s Department.”
“Oh.”
Yeah, oh.
He frowns. “She said she had a sister. I guess I didn’t realize how much you two looked alike.”
You have to fight hard to suppress a disbelieving snort. Despite the fact that Allie has purple hair and you don’t, she’s also three years older than you and covered in tattoos. To be fair you are wearing a hat and sweatshirt, but still. You hardly share any similar facial features except maybe your smiles.
He shuffles from one foot to the other. “Well, uh… I heard you’re going to that escape room with us next weekend.”
“Yep, I heard that too.”
“Are you bringing a partner with you?”
“Nope. I figure it won’t be too hard for me to chaperone you guys on my own. But I do expect you to maintain at least one foot of personal space between you at all times. You know, as room for the Holy Spirit.”
His frown deepens.
“I’m joking.”
“Oh.”
Wow.
“Well, I should get going,” You say, starting to inch away. “My sister’s probably waiting for me.”
“Okay. Do you think…”
He clamps his mouth shut as a strange expression takes over his face: like he’s tasted a particularly sour lemon and is pissed off about it.
As time ticks away, it doesn't appear like he's going to finish his sentence. The silence begins to creep a little too closely into the realm of uncomfortable, and just when you think you should walk away and rescue you both from the misery of this conversation, he shoves the flowers at you.
“These are for your sister. I was going to keep them until tomorrow, but it’s probably better if you take them today so they can get put in water.”
“Why don’t you give them to her yourself? She’s just over there.”
There’s a flicker of something on his face as he looks where you're pointing across the parking lot, but it’s gone before you can dissect it.
“No, I have to get back to my daughter. I guess I’ll see you Saturday.”
He tips his hat and is gone before you can get in another word.
You stare after his stiff retreating form for a moment before looking back at the bouquet. It’s actually nicely designed. The flowers are wild and there’s a lot of greenery. It’s exactly the kind of thing your sister would pick for herself.
It’s a surprising and slightly intriguing factoid, but unfortunately for him, his flower picking skills are the only thing that have recommended him to you so far.
What the heck do you see in this guy Allie?
“I didn’t realize the Sheriff was your devoted admirer.”
You jump at the sound of Silco’s voice so close to your ear. You barely manage to avoid bumping into his shoulder when you spin around to face him.
“Good lord! You scared me.”
“I can see that.”
He looks mildly amused.
As you take a moment to catch your breath, he tips his head to the side. You notice he’s wearing his eyepatch again.
“Are you going to a party?”
“What? Oh, no. Me and my sister are just having a night in. It’s tradition to decorate the house during the first week of October and watch our favorite Halloween movie. She’s actually over at Jericho’s right now, and I was sent into the war zone for snacks and dessert. Also drinks.”
You pull out a paper wrapped bottle and are surprised when he tugs it out of your hand. He carefully unwraps it and examines the label.
“Hmm.”
“What? Is it not good?”
His right brow rises. “Did you not know what kind of alcohol you were buying?”
“Not really, no,” Your grin is sheepish. “I don’t drink all that often, but my sister likes to try something new whenever we stop by.”
He carefully rewraps it. “I believe I have something better.”
You fall in step beside him as he starts to walk.
“What movie will you be watching tonight?”
“Young Frankenstein. ”
"Hm."
It's obvious he hasn't heard of it, and you’re not surprised. He doesn’t seem like the type who would appreciate Mel Brooks’ brand of humor. He strikes you as more of a documentary kind of guy.
“Jinx told me this morning that you’d be spending time at her studio tomorrow. A costume party, she called it.”
"Yes," You reply, though you'd already forgotten about the costume part.
You mentally add "throw together a costume" on your tomorrow to-do list.
He stops walking abruptly.
“What do you want from my daughter?”
You look at him in confusion. “Want? Nothing. I mean, she seems like a great girl and she asked if I wanted to hang out so I said yes.”
“I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice that my daughter is… different. Excitable, if I could put it in such a way. Her early life was anything but normal, and she was exposed to many things that would have destroyed the minds of other girls her age. Yet she survived. This makes her special.”
“I'm sure it does. And I know that I don’t know a lot about Jinx, but I want to get to know her better. I think she needs a friend.”
“She has me and Sevika.”
“But you’re her father, and Sevika… well, let’s face it, she’s not the friendly, nurturing type. Jinx needs someone to relate to who isn’t a guardian.”
“And you consider yourself the best person for that job?”
“I don't consider myself as anything," You say with a hint of annoyance.
His cool tone is starting to get to you.
"Look, if you’re worried that I’m going to force her into a blood pact to join my secret friendship cult or talk to her about my new essential oil mlm, don’t be. We’re just hanging out in her studio, in costumes, like normal people. That’s it.”
He doesn't bat an eyelash at your extra dash of sarcasm, but after a moment of holding your gaze he nods.
“That's a small mercy I suppose. I’ve grown tired of cleaning blood from the carpets.”
As you snort, the tension between you dissipates.
His words bring to mind a conversation you had with your mother only last week.
“Did you know that lemon essential oil is actually super helpful for cleaning up blood stains?”
He blinks in surprise.
“Trust me, it's great! Just splash a few drops, let it soak in, then buff it with a rag and carpet cleaner. Doterra sent us an extra box, and I could sell it to you for half off if you buy a second box at full price. And if you really like it, maybe you’d consider joining my team and selling it yourself…”
You fight off a laugh as his expression goes flat.
His eye narrows. “I suppose you think you’re terribly funny.”
“If you’re looking for an apology, you aren’t going to get it. You told me I wasn’t allowed to do that anymore, remember?”
After a few beats the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “I do.”
“You also threatened to throw me into the back of your car."
"I did."
There isn't even a hint of an apology in his voice.
What an audacious man.
You can't help grinning.
“Well, I should probably get going soon or my sister is going to assume I've been kidnapped. Is that your car?”
His hint of a smile lingers as he dips his head, and leads you only a few feet onward to the black sedan. He knocks on the trunk and it opens, revealing several wooden crates. He flips the lid off one of them and pulls out a bottle.
“I believe this may end up being more to your taste than what you found in there.”
You take it from him and observe the label. It has The Last Drop’s new and improved neon green eye insignia with the word ”Shimmer” splashed across the bottom in an almost painful shade of violet.
"Shimmer," You run your finger over the scratchy, embossed letters. “Did Jinx help design this?”
“She did.”
You nod.
You're starting to recognize her handwriting.
“Thank you. What do I owe you?”
“Consider it a gift.”
“A gift? For what?”
“As compensation for losing my temper the other evening.”
“Compensation? You mean, you’re offering me an apology?”
The corner of his mouth twitches as he puts his hands behind his back. “I suppose you could call it that, in a way.”
“I see. Then I guess you could say that your apology is accepted. In a way.”
His smirk widens. He looks as if he's on the verge of speaking when Allie pulls up and honks her horn, loud music pouring out of her open windows.
“Hey, Bella! Where the hell have you been, loca?”
“Sorry, I was…”
“Distracted?” She looks pointedly at you before grinning. “And you must be Silco.”
To your horror, she eyes him slowly up and down. “My sister has told me so much about you. And I have to say, she certainly did you justice.”
“Allie!” You hiss.
You're eyes dart over to look at Silco, but he remains as cool as cucumber.
“I’m glad to have met your expectations.”
“You most certainly have. But if I can give you a tip for the next time you buy her flowers, she prefers roses. Red ones.”
“Ugh Allie, just stop, please! Marcus gave me the flowers.”
“What?” She almost looks offended.
“They’re for you, obviously.”
“Really? Oh my gosh they’re gorgeous!”
When you hand the flowers through the window she starts exclaiming over them, and you have to suppress the urge to shake your head as you trudge towards the trunk.
Silco’s hand somehow beats you to the handle.
“So, Marcus is your sister’s admirer.”
“That’s the word on the street.”
“Interesting.”
You snort as you shove the bag on top of the pile of reusable bags and miscellaneous gym items. “That’s one word for it. I only met him today, and he made a pretty bad first impression.”
This news seems to please him, but for what reason you can’t even begin to fathom.
“Thanks again for the Shimmer.”
After several seconds of staring at you he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card.
“Sevika is gathering beta testers to compare the next batch we’re brewing, and requires feedback. I'd appreciate if you let me know what your sister thinks.”
You hesitate before taking the card from him. It’s jet black and has nothing on it except a number.
You twirl it between your fingers. "I’d considered keeping the bottle to myself after the stunt she just pulled, but she’s way more qualified for a taste testing job so I guess I’ll give her a few sips.”
“You like to hold petty grudges then?”
“Not really. I mean, I try not to, but Allie makes me crazy sometimes.”
“I suppose we're all allowed to have our weaknesses.”
There’s a look in his eye that releases butterflies in the pit of your stomach.
You release a short, manic laugh. “Yes well, she’s honestly great most of the time, but she has this older sibling complex that she likes to flex on me every couple of months. Do you have any siblings?”
“I had a brother.”
“I see. Older or younger?”
“Older.”
“Well then you should understand what I’m talking about.”
“Unfortunately, I do.”
You groan as the horn is punched several more times. “Come on, the food’s getting cold and Gene Wilder’s waiting for us at home!”
“I should let you go."
"Yeah. Bye. And thanks again for the Shimmer."
"It's my pleasure."
Allie honks several more times before you manage to tear your eyes away from Silco. She starts talking the minute you buckle in, but you find it hard to keep track of the conversation. You sneak a look in the side view mirror and catch Silco's eye just before you turn out onto the street.
Perhaps it's a trick of the light (or a fool's imagination), but you’re pretty sure when you offer him a smile, he actually smiles back.