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There are few things as permanent in a child's mind as the first rattling coughs following secondhand smoke from an unremarkable stranger passing along a busy sidewalk. They will cough and sputter and make as big a scene as they can think, and then they will learn from that moment on to hold their breath when someone lights up on a corner street.
It is a uniquely cruel way to remind someone that they'll never truly be rid of something,
Like a gross malaphor of burning a bridge before you step foot on its aching wood. Life is funny like that, it never lets you forget; not really. A dementia ridden man will come-to at the sound of his wife's voice, much like how a young child will search with desperate eyes for their mother after a particularly hard fall in a playground. It makes us human, as much as it keeps us animalistic. Some sort of genetic trait we just can't seem to outgrow.
Jinx was certainly ready to rid that part of herself, her knee bouncing against chunks of granite and some gray sort of stone she didn't bother to offer her attention to.
She was breathing. By the miracle of someone she had long since lost interest in praying to, but breathing nonetheless. She assumed well enough there would be an "after", but she hadn't spent much time ruminating on what that was meant to look like if her plan were to fail.
For her narrative convenience and simplicity, ‘Jinx’ was dead. She wasn't of course, In fact she was far from it, but that was the idea.
Her bomb was convincing enough, a sure spectacle for Vi to embellish if she were inclined to speak at some sort of funeral.
God, what a funeral would do.
It was more foreign than Jinx would admit to, the idea of being mourned. A too-stuck band aid you leave on after deciding that pulling on it endlessly isn't getting you anywhere- now that was more Jinx's style. A pain to keep around, but better still than the alternative.
Jinx runs her tongue over a sensitive back molar, chewing on her inner cheek and kicking up debris from under her boot.
Okay. Enough feeling sorry for yourself.
She could bathe in misery anywhere, a hollowed fissure tunnel was only serving portions of regret and she was plenty full on it today. She clicks her tongue, making note of the old insignias sprayed on the walls of the tunnel. A hum starts quietly in her throat and she turns, almost leisurely, in the direction of "somewhere very far away from here".
Ironically, it is tragic that today of all days was coming to be fair and sunny. A honeyed sky and just-barely-noticeable breeze faintly whistled past as the blue girl rode a high of indignation over well-trodden paths. Straggling blue-haired Zaunites bustle in a messy visage nearby. Maybe wounded, maybe celebrating, Jinx can't tell.
She readjusts the cloak around her neck and head, cinching it a little tighter as a particularly familiar faced Jinxer turns her face to the sky, tears barely pricking the corners of her eyes. Jinx would rather not dwell on what she might be thinking. Why should she care? They didn't really do any of that for her sake, they just inflated the idea of ‘Jinx’ and built a cause around it. She lets out a breath she doesn't remember holding.
What would they say if they knew you were right beside them? Gloating in your self fulfilling victory.
Jinx shakes her head habitually, deciding to walk a bit faster as she passes the last of the crowding blue haired individuals.
It should be noted, Jinx does not have a plan. Not that she’s much of a planner to begin with, she’d rather leave that mess to Silco, rest his soul. But on this particular occasion she is without direction entirely. She isn’t even sure if there are non-hextech operating airships by this point. Not that she would care too heavily about a light trip from point A to B, but if she has the chance she would like a more relaxed venture.
She continues humming to herself quietly.
A pair of dockworkers - longshoremen - whatever they're called, stand about twenty yards ahead of her, shouting commands to lesser crew members who sluggishly pull rope from water. They pay no mind to the girl as she approaches, giving no more than passing looks as she shoves past, resuming their busy-work like settling waves.
Their loss.
If they had any decency to remember, they might just be the last Pilties to see her face. She supposes she could live with that, her bloodlust was far gone and she's sure if someone were to find her out she wouldn't put up a fight. The thought isnt lost on her though, and she even considers smiling at them.
She decides against it.
Jinx begins to tune out the drumming of her heartbeat in her ears as reality unfurls in her step. This seems like the wrong choice. She can't help but think about it. All she can do is think about it. Without the preoccupation of a gadget to tinker with or a kid to keep her company or a Sevika to pester, the voices have a much easier time clawing their way back in.
You got the girl killed. You failed her just like you failed Vi, and Silco, and Vander and Milo and Claggor and-
She slams a rigid palm to her temple
“Quiet!” I am trying to think.” A dock hand shoots her a look. Concern is definitely in the undertone, but it is an overwhelming judgement first and foremost.
What if they did matter, what if Vi really did want a future with her, what if Piltover was willing to overlook the terrorism once she was branded a hero; what then? Maybe Caitlyn would let her move in. She'd say it was so Violet could keep an eye on her little sister, when really it would just be another excuse to keep the woman who killed her mother held as some sort of hostage. Caitlyn could put to rest the voice telling her she failed her mother, and Violet could forgive herself for abandoning Powder all those years ago.
That doesn't happen though, and she doesn't think about those things, because right now she's sneaking aboard and into the underbelly of a nine ton glorified boat with wings and her sister is not the most pressing matter at hand.
She passively imagines what Ekko would say at her funeral.
The ship hardly shifts as she secures a crevice amongst shipping barrels and large burlap sacks. Most are Noxian exports if she has to guess, maybe Bilgewater; she never opens them to check. It's not like it makes a difference. The airship is heading away from Piltover, she doesn't care where the dropoff is.
Noxus could sure as hell use a supersoldier considering the lot of their army had been slaughtered mere days ago.
She could make that work.
Noxus was a brutalist region, but she doubts it's all that different from the lanes. Mel seemed nice enough, despite what Ambessa seemed to preach about. If her brute stronghand hadn't yanked her by the braids she might have more sympathy for the way the bulk of them went out, but she doesn't. Not like they'd shed a tear for her, anyway.
Bilgewater could be fun.
All those dock gangs and serpents, it could be a good change from the upper snobbery of Pilties. She could use another Jericho in her life, he was a good guy.
Then there was Ixtal, and Ionia and Bandle City and-
The airship breathes and roars to life with the sound of a whistle blow.
Thank god.
Now was as good a time as any to depart, she was very quickly reaching the end of her list of praise for the neighboring regions.
Truthfully speaking, Jinx had all of zero interest in discovering what those places were actually like. She could care less when Silco would rattle on about the importance of trade and allyship and how it was ‘the right of Zaun to be in the conversation of third party exports’, but his degradation towards their neighbors had a certain way of lodging a nagging anxiety in her head about now.
His voice was always the clearest in her memory.
Her heartbeat ever so slowly begins to calm to a less-than-panic induced beat, offering space for a long exhale, a small whistle through her gapped front teeth just about startling her in the quiet she had been cultivating thus far.
“Bilges and bedrock, huh” she's smiling for some reason.
She mumbles over the words, simply stating them to remind herself she has a voice. The girl makes note of a nail pointed threateningly close to her head, the sorry excuse of a grin slowly fading from her face, not that it's very noticeable in the complete darkness.
Her eyes slowly, painfully, adjust to take in what visage she can decipher. Save for her better-than-average night vision (that good for nothing shimmer getting its use in something) it was decidedly still pitch black. She's halfway to impressed by the feat of blocking so much light in such a large air-boat-craft.
The air is stagnant, but it smells vaguely of something sweet, and something surgical. An iodine-like aroma? She shudders meekly, involuntarily.
Jinx lulls her head to the side. “If there is a hell-” she clears her throat, holding her breath for a moment. “at least keep it warm for me.“
Yeah, that was about right.
She rolls onto her side, nose grazing the side of a wooden barrel. The ship rocks almost melodically, shifting her weight on a loose board. If she concentrates hard enough it could almost be soothing
What are you going to do now? Rot away with the pilties trade? Serves you right, they wouldn’t want you back anyway.
She shakes the voice from her head, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Shut up. I am in no mood. I did the hero shtick. I did the ‘ol sacrifice KABLOW! End of the show! See you next time! …Just leave me alone.”
She allows silent tears to roll down her cheeks. She ignores whatever whispers that follow.
“SECURITÉ SECURITÉ SECURITÉ. All stations, all stations, all stations. THIS IS Blue Caprice, Blue Caprice, Blue Caprice.“
What kind of wake up call?
Jinx startles as a man shouts over a radio above her, advising a notice to the distant shore. She can vaguely make out the information he gives, something about floating medical waste.
She isn't sure how much time has passed since she took refuge on the ship, maybe hours, maybe a day? She supposes it doesn't change all that much, and with there being nothing to eat in the lower deck she'll either make her destination in time or wither away into dust for someone to excavate along with the rich Noxian something or others surrounding her.
Maybe the whole ship will just crash and she can leave this chapter for good, go out with a real bang and not have to stage it with such theatrics. Would definitely save her the time otherwise spent moping.
The acrid nature of salty thin air hasn't bothered her up until this very moment, where she suddenly lurches over to vomit as quietly as one can while taking illegal refuge on an airship. Some of it definitely got on her cloak though she can't quite see it.
Ugghhhh…
She'd really have to work on her sealegs- airlegs? She doesn't care for the semantics, with any luck the ship will touch down before there's any real cause for concern.
Her head begins throbbing, pulsating just behind her eyes in a dull rhythm and aiding to make her feel even sicker.
The events of the previous days feel foreign, caught in her recent memory with as little importance as a stuck kernel in her teeth. She chews her lip, tearing off little pieces of meat to swirl around her tongue before returning again to her inner cheek. Usually she would do this until her mouth was raw and bloody and painful. Once or twice Sevika had caught her when she was much younger, engaging in these self harming behaviors. Jinx had responded with a wide grin, making room for dribbles of blood to seep through her teeth and down her chin onto her shirt. That was when Sevika made the decision to stop initiating conversation with the girl.
“Couldnt handle me even then, huh lefty” she spits onto the ground, saliva and blood swirling in a faintly glowing glob on the floor.
The airship sputters forward, either to ascend or descend at an incredible speed and Jinx promptly vomits on the floor again. Her body failed to process the transition from onset nausea to her guts crawling up her throat.
Incredible. Exactly what I needed right now. She pans, inches from being slammed face first into the puddle of bile at her feet, barely catching herself on her elbows and landing splinters which immediately bury into her skin.
She was thoroughly disgusting, swamped in a mess of blood and gunpowder and definitely smelling like a muggy alleyway of fissurefolk.
Maybe wherever they were headed had some lush spring she could skinnydip in. Not that it would do much, she thinks, she’d probably swallowed so much of the water in the lanes that shes built a lasting immunity to the stuff, but she likes to think clean water can slough her sins off like a shed skin.
She physically recoils at the thought of that, suddenly far too viscerally familiar with the tangible memory of having six liters of glorified narcotic based plasma flushed through her system, which is likely not what shedding skin feels like, especially if you're a reptile; but Jinx isn’t going to go around asking lizards that and given the fact that, as far as she knows, she is the only person to not wind up grotesquelly deformed after a shimmer transfusion, she should be allowed to use metaphors as she sees fit.
Thinking about the physical turmoil a lizard must endure is shockingly much more grim than one would think it to be.
What was she talking about?
The ship noticeably strains and the wood creaks around her, barrels sliding to the nearest corner- bringing a toppling Jinx with them.
“Gods do not let me go out like this - shit!” She loses her footing around a dent in the floor and a barrel lands her square in the chest, knocking the wind out of her lungs with a pronounced oof!
She struggles behind it, attempting to kick it off, before the ship adjusts again and she is sent head over heels in the opposite direction.
Oh my gods do not fucking do this to me right now!
she braces, finding purchase on a board near the ceiling.
Okay, so lesson learned, no more stowing away in the belly of a ship.
If her adrenaline wasn't running so high she might notice her definitely fractured ribcage, but thankfully her heart is pounding far too loud and the barrels practically deafen her as they continue to clunk back and forth, so the time for thinking about it would have to wait.
The radio roars to life again. shitty piltie technology! still only barely past the stone age.
“Crimson Mirage, Crimson Mirage, Crimson Mirage, THIS IS Blue Caprice, Blue Caprice, Blue Caprice, how do you read?”
A radio crackles loudly in time with the boat.
“THIS IS Crimson Mirage, Crimson Mirage, Crimson Mirage. I read you four. Stand by VHF channel sixteen.”
“Changing to channel sixteen, standby.” a beat, followed by another loud crackling.
“THIS IS Blue Caprice, Blue Caprice, Blue Caprice standing by on channel sixteen. Crimson Mirage, do you read, repeat, do you read?”
“THIS IS Crimson Mirage, Crimson Mirage, Crimson Mirage, I read you three. ADVICE. Anchor in Port B 4.”
“Roger. I will anchor in Port B 4, over.”
Crimson Mirage? Why does that sound familiar? She wonders if she’s on a trade boat or a cargo ship. That may have been something worth noting before she decided to stowaway. She pinches the bridge of her nose.
What the fuck was she thinking.
“Well golly fucking gee, Jinx! Just hop on an airship with no food, no water, no weapons?!” She kicks a barrel and it rattles loudly, the contents inside threatening to break.
“You couldn't have just stayed with your sister? Now you're going to starve and turn to mush and die on this stupid, oversized, pompous-”
With an exasperated creeeeeeak the ship finds its rhythm again, at a much lower velocity if she were to guess.
“Shit- oh my gods just stop for two seconds.” She wobbles, momentarily shaken from her theatrics. Her torn boots unsteadily finding footing on a loose board, allowing the ship to settle, listening as large flights of air jet from the hull.
Sea- AIR- legs aside, Jinx manages to steady herself long enough to vaguely assess what was happening.
“Okay, unless I’ve taken a premature dirtnap we couldn't have flown more than a few hundred miles. This must just be a little ‘ol pitstop.”
She searches around the floor nonchalantly, swiping her hand back and forth in an attempt to find anything useful, nearly landing her hand in the wet slop of yesterday's lunch that was now splattered in more than just a puddle on the ground.
She wrinkles her nose in disgust and tucks her hand back to her chest.
“They're likely anchoring soon, you have no idea where you are and there could very well be noxian super soldiers waiting for you the moment you rear your head. And BOOM, that’ll be it, no more Jinx just hasta la vista, arrivederci, au revoir! …”
She kicks the ground lamely.
She was sick of waiting around wasting time, who cares if someone sees her? They wont recognize her anyway, worse case scenario they think she's some stowaway and she gets a slap on the wrist.
She refuses to imagine the alternative.
Her eyes search faintly for familiarity. The smallest hint of an outside world tempted her enough to be an idiot, and make stupid rash decisions that would surely get her killed. Up until now she hadn’t exactly considered how she planned to get out of the ship.
“The cargo is on the dock, all hands on deck!”
Oh shit Jinx had all but forgotten that right now she was the cargo.
Okay, fuck! Okay. This is fine!
She had dodged pilties for years, she could easily get out of this.
She retreats to her sleep corner, clasping her hands on either side of her head and trying to focus her thoughts into one place.
No time to think! Grab and pull and run, get out of there like a greased eel in a fishers net, now is the time to make a move!
She jams her shoe into the corner of the cargo hold, the previous nuisance of a nail making itself useful. She forcefully wrenches her fingers into the board, bracing and with one -
HEAVE
She rips the plank loose, ricocheting backwards as she quickly tries to regain her footing.
Okay. One down, hopefully only one to go.
KREEE- THUNK
Oh fuck.
The cargo hold just opened.
She whips her head back to the corner, sunlight just barely rearing its head and threatening to expose her.
The ship is definitely beginning its final descent, she can feel her stomach threatening to betray her again with altitude sickness.
No time to think, again!
She grabs hold of the next board, tugging at it forcefully.
It doesn't budge, in fact it feels almost welded on the ship.
NO.
I REFUSE TO GO OUT LIKE THIS.
A whistle blows from above, they must be within the shoreline now.
She tugs again -
Nothing.
“YOU FUCKER! YOU BETTER HOPE THERE'S NOT A BOAT HELL BECAUSE I’LL SEND YOU THERE MYSELF!”
She shouts in a hushed tone, eyes frantically glancing behind her towards the encroaching sound.
The sound of crew clamor gets louder, boots begin finding footing on the ladder into the hold.
JUST. MOVE.
Purple veins strain under her eyelids, her nails dig into the wood.
A voice booms behind her.
“Its’a fuckin’ mess down here! Get your shit longshoreman to tie these barrels down if you don't want your ass buried in recompense fees!”
MOVE.
NOW.
JUST GO-
The board practically explodes as it splinters off the inner wall.
Another plank stares her in the face.
You are going to die here. Powder is going to die here. Your sister will know you ran and everyone will know you died a coward stowing away in the cargo hold of a ship, running away to escape what you know you deserve.
She slams her boot on the last board, splintering it instantly, lodging a foot-sized-hole to the outside world.
“What the fuck is going on down there? Galarus are you fuckin’ around down there?”
The voice is dangerously close. She has one chance at this.
She takes a shaky breath, closes her eyes, and forces her other foot through the wood, splinters lodging into each calf and spewing the first drops of vibrant purple blood. She's out. For her sake, she's out.
Don't think. If you think, this will only hurt worse.
Men are right behind her, in moments they will see her and drag her kicking and screaming from the hull.
She shoves her legs through the opening, the skin of her thighs whiten with the traumatic impact and pseudo road-rash she’d just given herself. One last push.
She shoehorns her body through the jagged exit following her thighs, clenching her jaw as her nerves physically recoil, every bit of her skin burning and writhing and trying so desperately to stop her from getting through.
A nail snags on the nape of her neck and for a moment the world around her disappears as gravity works its job to pull her down.
she freefalls twenty something odd feet, completely blind and thrashing in the sunlight.
Everything is silent for several seconds.
an abrupt SPLASH and she is now thrashing and finding bearing as she desperately treads water, choking on salt and brine.
Her retinas burn as she forces an eye open but even now behind closed lids the light is completely and utterly blinding.
A wave smacks the side of her head and she chokes mid breath, sputtering and kicking her feet under the waves as her boots threaten to pull her down.
The water is frigid and the ship above her is likely past but the sound of a nearby shore is deafening, fog horns alerting to the arrival of a ship flooding every last bit of her senses.
SMACK
Another wave whips the side of her head, landing her square in the ear and nearly knocking her out from the sudden pressure change.
Oh gods
No
Not this again, please
Jinx frantically keeps treading water, vision fading in and out as the effects of several days without food or water begin to catch up with her.
Just give up.
A strong pull follows the voice, lulling her, beckoning her to listen.
It can all be over.
We can make it all wash away.
“N- no…”
She spits water from her mouth, eyes blinking unevenly and failing to adjust to the blazing sun above her.
My legs… what's wrong with my legs? They wont…
The adrenaline begins fading, fatigue inviting itself in its stead.
Jinx can barely see purple below the water's surface, but she guesses it might be coming from her.
Had she kicked the ship that hard?
She doesn't think she did…
Maybe she can't remember now.
Her movements slow, becoming more uncoordinated with every passing minute.
Hurts…
She begins bobbing just under the surface, waves forcing her down every other breath.
Thinking becomes one blur and she can hardly make out the whispers of voices coming from the depths.
I didn't want…
She kicks again,
Her legs don't seem to want to listen.
Dad…
Please.
She doesn't know if the shoreline is real anymore, if the boat was real.
Her head dips below the surface.