8

Chapter Twenty-One

Several sets of footsteps could be heard downstairs, as Violet and I stood in Vander's old bedroom, above the bar, a man's voice below us going, "I told ya, I saw somethin' in the window, and heard someone yell. And look, the light's on upstairs!"

Both our heads went to the chemlight, faint but clearly on, and we both stood, though while I moved to the Portal, the teen moved for the stairs. "Violet!" I whispered, ready to leave and wait it out, but she just shook her head, an ugly look on her face as she charged down towards the intruders.

Turning on my heel and following her, the small gains I'd received from Martial Talent let me almost keep up. The brawler practically flew down the stairs, leaping forward to bury her fist in the face of the lead thug, sending him sprawling back as she stumbled to a halt.

"Holy shit, it's Vander's girl!" a woman shouted, and I winced, but thankfully they'd closed the door behind them, so her voice shouldn't've carried out clearly.

"Where's Silco?" Violet demanded, glaring at the five thugs still standing.

You don't know they work for Silco, I thought, silently pulling out my pistol, willing to use her as a distraction.

"We'll take you to meet him," one of the other thugs grinned maliciously, proving me wrong, taking out a knife, "long as you come all-" he caught sight of me. "Hey, it's that Pilty that Boss-"

Which is when I shot him in the head.

"Fuck!" one of the two women swore, starting to run for the door, but two shots to the back dropped her, my gun tracking across the room, taking out three more with nine shots, a couple missing, the last man lunging for Violet, clearly trying to take her hostage, but she lashed out with a punch, laying him out, two of the next four shots hitting him mid-fall.

Calmly striding down the steps, the man that Violet had first struck looked up, eyes wide in horror as he started to beg, "No, don't! I'll do anyth-" but a shot to the head dropped him.

"What the fuck, Jayce!" Violet swore, looking around the carnage with wide eyes.

"I was going to say we should hide until they leave," I told her conversationally. Popping the empty magazine, I slapped in a new one, stepping around and putting a bullet in every head, just to make sure, one of the thugs going slack, having only pretended to be down, while two more were moaning in pain.

I put them out of their misery. "But then someone decided she needed to be seen by the very people I'm trying to hide you from. So now they have to all die, because they would talk the second they thought themselves safe." A couple more shots finished up the job, the smell of blood, brain matter, and voided bowels thick in the air.

Violet was shaking, looking sick, so I leaned behind the counter, found a metal bucket, and handed it to her, which she proceeded to throw up in. "Really?" I had to ask. "I thought, growing up in The Lanes, you'd be used to this."

"It's, it's not the same," she argued, wiping her mouth. "I've never seen anyone just, just..."

Taking the bucket back, I tossed the contents into the sink, turning on the water, which, from the smell of it, was absolutely non-potable. "Violet, I told you I killed everyone that attacked you. And every guard on Stillwater. What did you think I did, execute them with strongly worded insults? Do I look like a Bard?"

"I know, I know," she replied, clearly still trying to get ahold of herself. "But..."

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose, making a conscious effort to set my voice back to normal before I started making declarative statements about her. I'd slipped into it without thinking, but that was a bad habit to get into, even if I liked the fact that it gave my words added weight. "But you were even more sheltered than I thought. You not only weren't touched yourself, you grew up in a world where fights never went lethal, and The Lanes were dangerous, but not deadly," I sighed.

Opening my arms, I announced, "Welcome to The Lanes without Vander, Violet, and the reason you cannot stay here. Not as you currently are. And until you're strong enough to handle a Shimmer Berserker, like the one who took you out before, or three, you aren't ready to go after Silco. Until then, you could theoretically stay in my Home for years, but I'm sure you'd rather not, which means we need to make a secondary, believable identity for you and Powder to assume. Now," I opened a portal next to the bar, "I'll be right back."

Stepping through to grab a couple more crates, Powder, half-asleep on the chair, perked up, then looked at my shoes, and gasped. "Jayce, what happened? Are you okay?"

Looking down, I realized I was tracking in blood. "I'm fine," I told her, smiling. "Some of Silco's men came for us, but Violet and I took care of them. We're just grabbing a few things and then leaving. You've been looking through the crates, did I miss anything?"

The small girl looked conflicted for a moment, before she nodded, "My cup! Vander made it for me. It should be under the bar."

"I'll make sure to get it," I reassured her, stepping back, to find Violet, tense, looking around, not having moved an inch. "Okay, this'll be the last set," I told the brawler setting the crates on the countertop, and scanning the shelves below until I found a dark, battered cup decorated with childish stars, a pink moon near the base, and stowed it, along with the battered looking brass straw. "If there's anything else to get, do it now, because we're not coming back." I gave the dead bodies a significant look. "For obvious reasons."

"I," Violet said, struggling with herself. "If I hadn't, you wouldn't've killed them?"

Shrugging, I replied, "If they were still around an hour from now, I probably still would've, but if they'd looked around and left, thinking that we'd already left, I wouldn't've needed to. They worked for Silco, they almost certainly deserved what they got, but, like I said, work on minimizing casualties."

"Minimizing. . . but you just. . . just killed them," the brawler stated, condemnation clear in her tone.

This time, my Song was intentional. "They would've killed us, Violet. Or alerted people that would've killed us. One pays evil unto evil, because pity for the guilty is treason to the innocent. I've seen what happens when you try to be 'nice', and I'll never be able to bring those people back. Those that want to change, that are willing to work with you, can be reasoned with, but while you can certainly wish you don't have to kill enemy combatants, refusing to do so only results in your death, as well as the deaths of everyone you care for."

"But, there's got to be another way," she argued, implying that I obviously wasn't trying hard enough.

Alright, you want to take a swipe at me that way, maybe a little bit of claw is needed.

"With how strong we are, every other way results in more deaths, not less. Sometimes peace and cooperation is needed, but letting evil survive, letting it thrive in the shadows, well, you can ask Vander how well that worked out for him," I stated, and Violet flinched, as if I'd just socked her in the gut. "He knew who Silco was, let him be, because Vander thought he could appeal to Silco's better nature. Vander tried to kill him, once, but balked at the crucial moment, and ran from what he did. And now The Lanes he wanted to protect will fall to violence, what he's built will fall apart, and half his children are dead."

"That wasn't his fault, that was Powder!" Violet yelled, rage in her voice, then she gasped, paled, and put a shaking hand to her mouth, obviously not having meant to say that.

And there's the poison, which needs to be drained, I noted, having expected as such. "Powder is a child," I replied, slowly and with forcefully careful enunciation. "Which means her actions are the responsibility of her caretakers. That means Vander. And that means you," I informed the pink-haired teen. "She was trying to help, in a situation that Silco created, yes, but one that was also, to a lesser degree, set up by Vander, and, to a lesser extent than even that, was molded by you."

"And," I added, pulling back on the Song, "to a lesser extent than even that, it was on me, for not moving on my intel in time, not sure when what I saw would happen. You are not the main person responsible, Violet, but being an adult means taking responsibility for your actions. I try and do so, to the best of my ability, but that means Vander should have as well. That you, if you want to be treated as an adult, need to as well."

"You're saying I'm responsible for... for..." she demanded, unable to finish the sentence.

Ah, semantics and psycholinguistics, where people don't hear what you actually say. "If you mean you're solely responsible for it, absolutely not, if you mean you share some small part of the blame, then yes, for walking into the obvious trap, for leaving Powder alone without anything to do while also knowing she had a magical artifact of indeterminate use on her person, but you are sixteen, Violet, and The Lanes aren't your responsibility. They were Vander's. Self-imposed responsibility, but responsibility nonetheless. So," I told her, filling the second crate with anything that looked sentimental, and then after that with interesting looking types of booze, "that was not 'Powder's fault', and I think you know just how much it will hurt her to hear you say that. So I request, would you kindly never say that again."

Under my stare, the brawler tried to stand strong, but slowly folded, nodding a little meekly. I felt bad, bullying this girl but... "Violet, in the original timeline, one where Jayce never died, I never existed, I never broke you out, and Powder, she... she cracked. Was taken in by Silco, who twisted her around, made her his daughter, and she didn't call herself Powder anymore." I looked the girl in the eye, "She called herself Jinx. Because that's the last thing her sister, who she loved more than anything, told her she was. And it drove her to madness. That's why I care about Powder, and that's why I will protect her, even from you. Do you understand?"

"I... what?" she asked, helplessly.

"Violet," I said, reigning myself in, "You charge in. I do that too sometimes. But you need to learn to think about what you do, and what it means. If there's nothing here you want, you should head back Home, I need to set up my exit, since this place is probably surrounded by now. Now, is there anything here you want to take with you?" I pressed, knowing I was ping-ponging the girl back and forth, but that was, to a certain extent, intentional. By battering the girl around with emotional hit after hit she couldn't react reflexively and work herself up into a blind fury, and in doing so I was forcing her to actually think about what I was saying, subconsciously, instead of completely shutting it out, making it bounce of her emotional shields of self-identity, so to speak.

"I, a, a cup," she said, clearly struggling. "White-"

"With blue clouds?" I questioned fishing out the drinkware in question from the crate, and she nodded numbly. "Good, I've got all the decorated cups and straws. Now, I think it's time you went Home. Please come over here, I'm sure you've had enough excitement for one night."

"I, I can keep going," she started to argue. "I'm-"

Cutting her off, I said, "I'm sure you can, but there's a world of difference between can and should." Holding a hand out, Violet looked at it mulishly, but someone knocked on the door, causing us both to jump slightly, and, grimacing, she stepped over and took it, allowing me to get her part-way through the Gate before she let go and stepped through.

Grabbing the last crates and moving them Home, I stepped back into the bar long enough to reposition the Gate to face the front door. Grabbing a few of the leftover bottles, I threw them onto the floor, shattering them hopefully muddling the bloody footprints to nowhere that we'd left all over the place. Moving quickly, I stepped through the Gate, right as I heard the door start to open.

Violet was still standing on the other side, Powder asking, "Vi?" looking concerned.

"She's had a rough day," I told the younger girl, closing the Gate behind me. "Can you help me suit up? There's one last thing I need to take care of."

The tiny tinkerer frowned, "But Jayce, you said you wouldn't need that anymore."

"Plans change," I shrugged, and Violet winced, something that didn't go unnoticed by Powder, who turned and opened her mouth possibly to rebuke her sister. "So, help?" I reiterated, distracting the blue-haired girl who nodded, following me over to the armory, handing me my gear as I put on my 'totally a spirit' outfit on, grabbing a detonator and some of the leftover Semtex as I walked back down, finding Violet sitting on the couch from her room, looking tiredly over all the crates we'd filled up.

Re-opening the Gate, I primed the explosive and tossed it through, closing it back up for the required five seconds, calling my hoverboard over and clambering onto it. With pistol and sword drawn, I nodded to Powder and Violet, telling them, "I'll be right back," toggling the throttle to full.

Blasting through the Gate, I ducked down, hoping my calculations were right or this would get really embarrassing, really fast.

Thankfully, I was right, and the front door had been blown off its hinges, a thug with a knife drawn running towards me taking three rounds to the chest for his trouble as I flew out the gaping hole that was now the entrance to The Last Drop, pulling out and using the forward momentum to keep myself anchored to the board as I went straight up. Screams could be heard as I twisting to the side when my momentum ran out, spiraling about on the board, creating enough centrifugal force to keep me stable as I went higher and higher, until I shot above Zaun, the hoverboard whining slightly as it worked to try and fly with the thinner, non-tainted air found at this altitude.

Dropping back down a little, I was able to build up forward force, skimming the rooftops as I headed for upper Zaun, ducking into an alley, then another, then another until I found one that was uninhabited, opening a portal and slowing down right before I entered it, pulling high to overshoot the crates, and the girls still waiting.

"Okay, that'll do. How 'bout we call it a night?" I offered, dropping off my vehicle and dismissing it, the hoverboard discorporating to reform back in the garage.

"But, what about all this?" Powder asked, motioning towards the crates, giving no thought to what I'd just done, which was probably for the best.

I shook my head, "They'll still be here, or they'll put themselves away, and I need to go to work early tomorrow morning, or today, now."

"But," her brow furrowed, "why did you get Myl- Why did you get all the stuff?" she pressed, not able to say Mylo's name.

Because they'll want it, when I bring them back to life, I wanted to say, but I knew that would kick off another talk, and, to be honest, I really needed to go to sleep. "I'll explain later," I offered instead.

The blue-haired girl frowned, then her eyes widened, "Is it-"

"I'll explain later," I reiterated, with a warning tone. "I am tired, Powder, and there's nothing that has to be addressed right now. Okay?"

"Okay!" she chirped, immediately ignoring what I'd just said by starting to state, "But it's-"

"Powder!" I reprimanded, actually annoyed now. "What did I just say?"

"... Sorry," she apologized, shoulders drooping, giving me sad, soulful puppy dog eyes, and, while adorable, that wasn't enough to sway me.

Sighing, I ruffled her hair, "It's okay, just... try and listen, when I talk, okay?" The girl nodded, not saying a word. "In the meantime, maybe help Violet get to bed? I'm used to this, but she's not, and it hasn't been an easy day for her." Mostly because of me, I added internally, but some of that needed to be said.

Brightening, now that she had a task, Powder gave me a little salute and hurried over to her sister, as I trudged off to bed.

​

"Late night, my friend?" Viktor noted as I plodded in through the door, tired but exactly on time, and I offered a half-hearted shrug.

"I mean, yeah?" I told him, not even trying to hide it, "but that's why I brought this."

Reaching into my bag, I brought out a gallon-sized thermos full of Faerie Feast brewed coffee, and set it down on a table with a heavy thunk, then unscrewed the top, which separated out into two cups. Pouring one for myself, I motioned to the other, a questioning eyebrow lifted in my partner's direction.

"Is that from Ixtal?" the scientist questioned, obviously interested. Tea was common here, but coffee came from Ixtalan settlements along the coast, the rich jungle soil and warmer climes making it ideal for growing the beans. However, doing so was more than a little dangerous, and as such it was more than a little pricey.

"It's good to have a patron," I shrugged, not actually lying, though I was definitely walking the line. This batch's beans came standard with the Home, patterned after Hawaiian Kona coffee, not whatever they grew down south here in Runeterra. It didn't contain any Mana, like the local variant would, but until I got my hands on the local variant, I couldn't make that. Sadly, a scout team had already swept through Runeterra and added its patterns to the Company database, so doing so wouldn't get me any favors or points, just access to it myself.

Pouring a second cup, I held up a hand, Faerie Feast warning me, a suggestion I passed along as I waved towards the tea-service that had already been delivered. "Add milk and sugar. Trust me, if you're not used to it, it's a... different taste."

"Jayce, I've had coffee before," Viktor rebuked, taking the cup and having a sip. The man froze, swallowed, carefully put the cup down, and broke out into a coughing fit. "Dear lord, what is that!?" he demanded incredulously.

"I make it a little strong," I offered blandly, "And what you had before was probably watered down." Grabbing my own cup, I took a sip, the brew powerful enough to almost have a taste with a physical presence, and dark enough that it was like spiced, fruity smoke. It wasn't quite espresso, but it was within spitting distance. "So, milk and sugar?"

"Yes," the other man coughed, and I grabbed his cup, following my Lure's instructions, tamped down of course, mixing in milk and quite a bit of sugar. Apparently, Viktor had a sweet tooth. Stirring and offering it to him, the scientist accepted it, obviously dubious, but, to his credit, took a sip, his eyes lighting up. "This... this is magnificent," he smiled. "And to think it started out as that horrid concoction."

"That shouldn't surprise you," I quipped, "Taking something intense and dangerous and turning it into something else is what we're doing here, after all."

Viktor took another sip, savoring his drink, before shooting me a flat look. "I do not think your coffee is the same as raw hexite," he commented, then paused, and wiggled his head a little, "though, having had some, I will admit it's rather close."

"Well if it's so bad, I guess you won't want anymore," I teased.

"Now let us not be hasty," the scientist quickly backpaddled, taking another sip, then eyed the bag I'd brought in. "Did you bring anything else?"

Rolling my eyes, I took out the two small canvas bags. "Yes, I made lunch for both of us this time," I told him to the man's obvious excitement. "This is what I get for sharing my sandwich with you."

"You must admit, compared to the Academy's food, there is none," Viktor commented with a grin, turning his attention back to the blackboard we'd been working on, already flipped over, the 'trapped' runes on the other side. "Now, I think I may have isolated the area demarcation effect from your 'Zero Gate', Jayce, but I'm not sure if that would change the size of the gravity nullification, or the transference sphere."

Smiling myself, I looked over his work, prompting him to explain bits of it, Science Talent helping me to pick up where he was going with his modifications, and tying it into my own understanding. It seemed like it should affect the null-gravity area, but there was also the fact that, when activated, the transference sphere, the bit of tightly packed energy that actually did the teleporting, always rose into the air the same distance after activation, so it might also somehow be affecting that as well. Viktor's propose change would triple the distance, something that would extend the effect well into the hall and the laboratories on either side of us, so, since yesterday was his turn to play Heimerdinger, it was my duty to suggest we flip it and third the distance instead, as that would, at least in theory, be much more controllable, something I explained while trying to stress that we needed to move slower as we were still in the first stages of figuring out the basics.

"... Fair, but not nearly as fun," my partner reluctantly agreed, his smile showing he wasn't upset in the slightest.

"Fun can wait until we don't nullify gravity for half the Academy, because we cubed it instead of tripled it by accident," I shot back, with a smile of my own. "Though doing it on purpose for a prank, when we're sure we won't set anything bad off, that's entirely different."

"True, true," Viktor nodded sagely. "Well then, Jayce, shall we get started?"

I nodded back, just as sagely, both of us grinning, "We shall!"

Chapter Twenty-Two

Approaching the Kiramman's mansion, I nodded to the guard, who opened up the gate for me, while the man pulled on a string that would alert the servants inside that a guest was arriving. Striding up the small set of stairs, the door was opened by their butler, an older man who was very much of the 'proper help should be seen as little as possible' school of thought, the sounds of light pounding footsteps distantly audible, though growing louder. I was about to enter when the older man, whose name I never had actually gotten, held up a forestalling hand and I paused, the footsteps arriving, skidding to a halt, and a half second later Caitlyn peered out from the side of the doorway.

"Jayce, you're here!" she practically chirped, trying to appear nonchalant, and failing.

"I'm not that early, am I?" I smiled, pulling out a time-piece I'd nabbed from my old room. Explaining that I'd been busy but had been eating well had mollified my mother, as had my questions about how to register Powder and Vi with proper Piltoverian documentation.

I'd phrased it as 'someone from school mentioned they had family from abroad, but didn't know what to do', which had let her explain the process to me, reminding her of the way things used to be, before Jayce's understanding of his chosen fields far outstripped hers. I'd need some previous identification, but only the once to prove who they were, and I had that already taken care of.

"A little," the heiress offered. "You're just usually late!"

My smile became a little stiff, as the original Jayce had both a tendency to get absorbed in his work, which was understandable, but also to blow off his patron's daughter, which was not. Or really blowing people off in general, but especially not okay with the power dynamic at play, though it had never blown up in his face, the inventor so sure that his discoveries were all that mattered that without said eruptions he would've never noticed. "Sorry 'bout that," I told the girl. "I got a little caught up before."

The blue-haired teenager blinked, surprised at the apology, smiling warmly. "That's fine, Jayce. I understand!"

The butler gently cleaned his throat, reminding us that we were standing in the entryway.

"Right," Caitlyn nodded, "Um, this way?"

Following her inside, I was led to a large room, a tea service already prepared. Taking a seat, I moved to pour a cup, listening to my Lure to maximize taste, catching the girl trying to hide her wince. "I, um, what?" I questioned, confused. "Did I do something wrong?"

"I..." she hesitated, in an odd way reminding me of Powder, when she wanted to say something, but didn't know if she should. Unlike Powder, however, Caitlyn required no prodding to go forward with it, telling me, "Jayce? It's for servants to pour the tea, not guests." I lifted an eyebrow, and she quickly added, "You're here for etiquette lessons, and that's one of the things I was taught. I mean, it's just us, so it's fine, but-"

"But if I'm here to learn how to act properly, and that's the kind of thing I need to know," I interrupted, nodding, putting the pot down. "We can be more relaxed when we're spending time together outside of these, but you're right," I agreed, not having thought of it, shifting mental gears into my 'dealing with Fae' training. It wasn't the same, there would be no conceptual chains attached to the danish that I had to wait for explicit offers to be undone, but the broad strokes were close enough. "I expected this to be more of a politics lesson, but proper decorum is of great importance when dealing with things at your mother's level."

"Exactly," the heiress sighed in relief. "Also, you should have waited for me to sit first."

Holding up a finger, I asked, "As you are the host, or because of our differing social positions?"

"Both," she said taking a seat across from me, and, waving a hand, a servant came in to pour our drinks. "But if mother were to visit you, your being the host would not override her position. I don't mind," she smiled, "but Mother would."

The servant finished, looking to me as she doled out sugar, giving me an incredulous look when I held up four fingers, but dutifully pouring in the sweetener, Caitlyn having taken two. I started to reach for my cup, then hesitated, looking towards my tutor, who was watching me. The blue-haired teen smiled, and nodded, only then taking her cup, nodding to me to follow suit.

"You don't normally take your tea that sweet," she noted, looking interested.

"Working hard at the lab," I shrugged. "Means I need the energy."

The heiress brightened, as the servant pulled back, but, I noted, did not leave, serving as a chaperone. On one hand, if I was going to do something, I'd had more than enough chances, but this was an approved meeting, and thus one that Mrs. Kiramman was responsible for, as opposed to her daughter's possible 'dalliances' with her apprenta, which could be excused.

Ah, politics. Why did I want to get involved with this shit again? Oh, right, political power could keep me and mine safe as much as magic could, and allow me to do things that even magic could not, at least for a while.

From how Caitlyn grinned behind her cup, leaning forward and eagerly asking, "What are you doing? I heard there was a blast. What was that? Can you do it again?" perhaps a chaperone wasn't a bad thing, as the maid audible shuffled to the side, and the heiress remembered what we were supposed to be doing.

"Research, I could, but there's no reason to," I answered, "but we can talk about that later, Caitlyn. Perhaps we should start with the basics? I have a feeling your education was a bit more comprehensive than mine," I smiled, gesturing around the room.

The teenager reddened a little, and nodded, launching into an explanation on how Piltover actually worked. It covered a lot of the basics that I already knew, like how the city was theoretically a meritocratic republic, where a non-hereditary aristocracy made the major decisions, but it had always been a plutocratic oligarchy, where the rich controlled things, as the determination of what constituted 'merit' had been financial power since the city's founding, and the Council was first, foremost, and only answerable to itself.

It got prettied up with a lot of excuses that Caitlyn parroted, truly believing them, like how those with power had gotten it by being smart instead of ruthless, and those that were stupid were self-defeating by sacrificing long-term gains for short-term profits, and thus had to have their efforts curtailed for the good of all, but it was very much a one way explanation, the dangers of such a system never mentioned directly. When I, casually and with an air of concern, questioned about how corruption could possibly sneak in, the Kiramman heiress had explained that, yes, that could happen, but only to a certain extent before it started to corrupt the system, whereupon it would be rooted out, and that they would never do such a thing, missing the point, though not willfully missing it, as far as I could tell.

And, with a servant surely reporting all of this to Mrs. Kiramman, now was not the time to talk about the violence inherent in the system, or any other issues at play.

So the Council of Seven was created, by the movers and shakers that helped make Piltover in the first place. At first, Heimerdinger seemed to break this paradigm, as he didn't seem rich, but the Yordle got a percentage of the profits of everything the Academy created, as well as the money it made on its own, so that was one loaded fluffball, so wealthy that he'd achieved 'Oh, right, is money a thing?' Nirvana, kind of like Morax, our instructor on Contracts at Basic Training, a god who could out-negotiate devils and fae both through sheer skill instead of 'fuck you, I'm a god' bullshit, which broke down at a certain level.

There was a reason that gods got fucked over by their agreements as often as they fucked others over.

Once those seven were in charge, representing the different economic sources of the city, they then proceeded to legislate a system that would remain profitable, while also making sure that they would remain in control. Thus the various other various 'noble houses' were created, which were nothing of the sort, each representing a lesser interest.

For instance, House Talis, which derived its wealth by being toolmakers. However, while that was certainly a lucrative field, it was a tiny fraction of the wealth that Shoola Ferros wielded, her clan controlling not the tools, but the tool users, as well as a few other enterprises. They were heavy patrons of particularly bright Zaunites, unintentionally, or intentionally, inflicting a pretty heavy brain-drain on the Undercity, and thus were always publicly in defense of things that would better their image in Zaun to help with recruitment, though they often tempered things that would truly help behind the scenes to keep those people looking to them for help. Shoola, the gear-necked woman currently on the Council, though, was a true believer in helping the Undercity, and thus someone that Caitlyn respected.

The Kirammans, meanwhile, controlled the shipwrights guild, possessed the rights to a majority of the Zaunite mines, and were also owners of a significant percentage of Piltover, more than anyone else. I didn't know that much about heraldry, but the fact that their crest was crossed keys tickled something in the back of my mind, though I couldn't say why. Regardless, the Kirammans were very, very wealthy, even more than Heimerdinger, but their wealth required them to be able administrators, cutting excessive costs but not cutting corners, which was harder than it seemed.

And having to do so had also been one of the things that had soured Mrs. Kiramman on those from the Undercity, as they were very often... poor tenants, for a number of reasons, the corruption of other sectors a significant fraction of them, but, just as my patron looked down on all Zaunites, they, in turn, saw only saw 'Pilties' when they looked across the bridge.

It was amusing, in a way, that Mrs. Kiramman and Violet had that in common.

I didn't think either would find it funny, however.

That said, the power disparity was fucking enormous, the ruling clans essentially 'self-governing' when it came to a lot of things, the excuse of 'needing freedoms to better rule' in effect, but, because there were seven of them, if one or two got out of hand, the others would take them to task, which had worked, kind of, for almost two-hundred years. Lesser noble houses got lesser privileges, but that enticement of political power allowed Piltover to take in displaced, but wealthy, people from the other nations, folding them into Piltovan society, a combination of laws, social pressure, housing policies, and other things forcing a level of visual compliance preventing ethnic conclaves from forming, and thus subdividing the city.

There was a certain amount of 'buy-in' to establish your own minor house, and, in that way, the larger system worked. Essentially everyone in Piltover was either part of a noble house, or working for one, anyone that did not was then subtly, and then not so subtly, pushed into Zaun. The more respectable people were in the upper levels of the 'Undercity', the ones that still got sunlight, while the less compliant were pushed into the Lanes, and so on.

It was a surprisingly honest take on things from the girl, more than I expected, and while it was also framed in a way that made the Kirammans look spotless, her talk didn't ignore the problems of Piltover completely, the subtly adversarial nature of the Council allowing the corruption of the other houses to be clearly acknowledged, and condemned, but only when large enough to spill over onto others, making the Kiramman's own good behavior all the more important to stand above them, but in the process they avoided complete self-deception as they would then get called out for their own corruption (not that there was any) by the others.

Well, the corruption of the other Houses was acknowledged by my tutor, the corruption of the greater city systems the Kirammans supported, like the Enforcers, not so much. Caitlyn very much believed in the systems that ran Piltover, viewing her own lack of problems as evidence that there were no problems, which, again, it wasn't my job to correct her on, at least not today.

Instead I listened, understanding the sources of power in Piltover, of Hoskel Tariost's shipping empire, of Salo Arvino's manufacturing shops, of Bolbok's control over non-human trade, and, of course, of Mel Madarda's banking sect and control over the Sun Gates. The creation of weapons was handled by a handful of minor Houses, whose capabilities were purposefully hamstrung to only address the city's 'needs' and thus preventing the mass-export of arms.

This was purposefully done to avoid attention from other nations as a strategic resource, something that had been successfully keeping us safe while Noxus and Ionia continued to look like they were going to slug it out, as they'd been doing for over thirty years. The Madarda's focus on 'Security' was as close as anyone got to military might, their vaults a safe place for Mel's warlord mother to store her plundered Ionian goods, deniably of course, along with that of the minor kingdoms that fell under the Noxian's boot, something that Caitlyn was very vocal in her disapproval over.

We'd been at it for a few hours when the butler came back, formally requesting that I stay for dinner, at Mrs. Kiramman's request, something I accepted as my young tutor looked at the clock, shocked. "Already?" she questioned, spotting the time. "But it barely felt like half that long!"

"I'm a good listener," I shrugged, smiling, the lesson having been very enlightening, "and I had a good teacher."

The girl blushed, sitting up a little straighter, "And you were a very good student, Jayce!"

The butler cleared his throat at our flirting and directed me to a bathroom to freshen up in while Caitlyn did the same. Soon enough I was seated at the main table with Caitlyn and her mother, her father conspicuously absent. Taking a risk, I asked about him, to which Mrs. Kiramman smiled and informed me, "Oh don't worry, Jayce. Tobias has other commitments tonight."

Translated: 'I chose a night for you to come over that my husband would not be present.'

I blinked, glancing at Caitlyn, who seemed a little relieved, and found myself at a loss at how to answer in a way that might not give offense, settling on, "Ah, I see. I wish him success in whatever endeavors he is pursuing." A statement that conveyed no ill feelings, while also purposefully making no comment on his obvious exclusion from tonight's events, given that Mrs. Kiramman had been the one to choose the night of my attendance.

Quirking an eyebrow, the matron glanced towards her daughter, "Lessons going well, I see."

"I, yes," Caitlyn nodded, confused for a moment, something I could practically read her mother noting and reassessing her earlier statement. "We covered a great deal! Jayce asked for the basics, so we mostly discussed the noble houses! It hardly felt like any time at all!"

And now a slightly accusatory look was sent my direction, which I didn't quite understand, my lack of understanding then blatantly read, and the fact that it was read then displayed, before an aristocratic mask of indifference was clearly put in place making any further insight impossible, telling me that that entire back and forth had been shown to me on purpose. "Then more lessons will be needed?" the political expert asked lightly.

"Yes!" Caitlyn nodded, clearly looking forward to them, while Mrs. Kiramman continued to not break eye-contact with me.

"I very much doubt I could learn everything in a single evening," I offered with a smile.

"Indeed," the older woman noted, taking a sip of her wine. "How are your efforts going at the Academy? Your demonstration was certainly something to behold, if a little bombastic."

The teen across from me nodded, smiling, "It sounded amazing. I'd love to see it myself!"

"Maybe in a week or two," I deferred. "We're currently trying to pin down the variables, and, while not dangerous, we are being careful."

Her mother nodded, inquiring, "And do you have any idea when you'll have the next step completed?"

Shaking my head, I told her, "Nothing that you could put on a calendar, Mrs. Kiramman. If we pushed forward, possibly a few weeks to create an exit point, more likely a few months, but we've got time to pin down exactly what we're doing."

From the woman's slight smile, that had been the correct answer, another test I'd passed without realizing it was happening. "Is it truly that complicated?" she inquired, and I could see another test incoming, though I couldn't tell exactly what I was being tested on, so moved forward honestly.

"It is," I agreed. "It's... think of this way. Say, as a child, you were out in the woods, when you were attacked by a bear. However, a wandering huntsman was there, wielding a rifle, and slayed the beast in one shot, escorted you to civilization, and then disappeared. So you decided you'd make a rifle yourself, only no one knows how to make one, some people just have them, and you can only use what you've personally seen. Only, it turns out you do not have access to the black powder he used, so you must invent alchemical charges from scratch instead, something no one's heard of before. And you're not allowed to physically touch the weapon either, which makes both construction and aiming rather difficult."

"Sounds impossible," the woman noted neutrally.

"Many things do, at first," I smiled, secure in the knowledge that, at least for the Hex-Gates, Jayce had already created them.

Caitlyn, meanwhile, was frowning, "Then, Hextech is a weapon?"

"It could be," I shrugged, "like any technology can be. But no, I used a rifle as an example because both you and your mother are accomplished marksmen. Markswomen. Sharpshooters," I settled on. The teen smiled at the praise, the mother watching with indifference, and I continued, reaching into a pocket and pulling out my timepiece, "In complexity, Hextech is closer to this, with as many applications as any gear-based system could hold, from something as small as keeping time, to something as large as the sun-gates themselves. But it's the hidden systems that will slow us down, the gear assemblies, or something out of sight in that example I gave, like rifling."

"Rifling?" Mrs. Kiramman asked, now curious.

"Yeah," I agreed, pausing as I did a basic knowledge check to put it in Piltovan terms, only to realize Jayce had no idea what that was. The rifles were called rifles, because that was the name someone came up with for side-loading muskets that used discrete rounds, not a name based off the French 'rifler', to scratch, indicating the grooves inside the barrel. It was Linguistic Imposition, the nature of higher-magic areas to pick up names of things from other dimensions, an inverse subset of Cross-Dimensional Psychic Harmonization, which is what allowed creative types in low-magic worlds to view other dimensions, like this one and pull out accounts that they believed were 'fictional', but in reality were nothing of the sort.

"Jayce?" Caitlyn, inquired, and I realized that her and her mother were snipers with what were effectively shotguns. Yeah, magic's definitely involved, I told myself, smiling, "It's something I read about, somewhere. During my study of ancient Shurima, actually, when I was trying to understand Mages, and I thought it just applied to modern firearms. But, now that I think about it, I haven't actually seen it around."

And the pistol in the gateroom was rifled. Shit. Well, the outside was glowing, so that hopefully dragged attention away from the inscribed barrel, I told myself.

Mrs. Kiramman was actively studying me, something that did not help my nerves, but did lead me to push the thought from my mind, to deal with later, so as not to give anything else away. "And this 'rifling'," she pressed with a casual air that was anything but, "how does it work?"

"Okay, so, you know how gyroscopes work?" I questioned in turn, getting blank stares from both of them. "Okay, so," I repeated, furiously thinking of how to spin this, so to speak, "I could probably put something together in a bit that'd display it, but if something is rotating, like a cart's wheel, it resists efforts to change the axis its spinning on. That's why, once they get going, they tend to keep going in that direction instead of sharply turning. So if it's spinning flatly," I explained, spinning my fork on a finger, "the axis of the spin is straight up and down, because it's spinning around that point, so tilting it becomes more difficult. You get something spinning fast enough, when it's got more force contained within it, then it resists it more because it has angular momentum, er, the thing that keeps things moving, like a bullet in motion, only instead of being straightforward it starts to do weird things when spinning is involved. This is well known in the scientific community, it's used in some gear assemblies, so I'm kinda surprised it's... oh. Oh," I realized, understanding why this wasn't a thing yet.

"Oh?" Mrs. Kiramman questioned, with a slight smirk that seemed almost... victorious? "Might I assume that this text was restricted?"

Lying my ass off, I nodded. "The use in assemblies isn't, but its application to projectiles... I thought that tome was restricted because it was about Shiruma, considering Heimerdinger's stance on Magic and how they ended up, but perhaps it was because it was about weaponry instead..."

"Councilman Heimerdinger has made his position clear on how the developments that occur within his Academy should not be used to create arms," the Councilor mused. "He has not been entirely successful, but it appears he was more successful than we thought."

I considered the situation. Did I really want to introduce more accurate weapons into this world? Then again, I'd already explained the concept, and put it next to rifles. Was Heimerdinger's control over academia so tight that Mrs. Kiramman wouldn't be able to find someone else to develop it without me?

No, it was only a matter of time, so I might as well get ahead of it. And if I did not, well, I'd be declaring divided loyalties, something that would cause problems. Looking up at the woman, my patron, I proposed, "Today's lesson has been enlightening, and both you and Caitlyn are accomplished sharpshooters. Perhaps a lesson in marksmanship on your country estate could be arranged. I will, of course, bring my own firearm, so as not to impose."

"You'd like to learn?" the heiress asked excitedly, missing the subtext entirely. "And you'll bring one of these 'rifled' rifles?" Or not.

Her mother's eye twitched, ever so slightly, "Perhaps do not mention this to anyone else, Caitlyn." Her daughter's eyes widened slightly in realization, and she nodded, glancing at me and smiling at our 'shared secret'. Mrs. Kiramman sighed a little, and minutely shook her head in exasperation, but regarded me with an assessing gaze, finally asking, "Are you available two weeks from Sunday?"

I nodded, that more than enough time for me to look into alchemical charges, too many questions would be raised if I used my modern smokeless powder, and these two expert sharpshooters would be able to tell the difference. "I am."

"Then we shall meet that day, at eleven," the Councilor declared, visibly considering something, before adding, "And talk to Carlton before you leave. Your old apartment will be several weeks in the rebuilding, and, while suitable for an unaccomplished apprenta, is not for one such as yourself. The Brentsworth estate should do," she stated.

Her last sentence seemingly aimed to no-one, only for the butler, who I'd lost track of, to answer, "Yes, ma'am," from directly behind me, causing me to stiffen.

Looking to Caitlyn, I mouthed, 'Has he been there the entire time?' and she giggled, nodding, something her mother noticed, and smirked slightly about, our attention, finally, turning to our dinner.

Chapter Twenty-Three

"I look ridiculous."

Violet stared at herself in the mirror, looking at the results of the hair-dye we'd just finished applying. I'd offered to do it for her, but the girl had refused, only allowing me to hand her things while her sister assisted to make sure she got all of her hair.

"No -pff- you look -pfft- fine, Vi!" her sister tried to tell her, before breaking off into a giggling fit.

Rolling my eyes, I told the previously pink-haired girl, "Ignore her, it does exactly what you need it to do, and we won't have to do this again for three months." It was no surprise that Company cosmetics were top notch, and the hair-dye my Home came stocked with, possibly due to the spycraft seminar I'd taken, came in two versions. The short-term one went on in five minutes, and could be removed in five seconds with specially treated wipes, while the longer-term dyes took a few hours to set fully, but also stained the roots, meaning that the next couple inches of growth would also be colored, giving the user time to perform long-term infiltrations without their roots giving them away.

Natives of Freljord were pretty much just Vikings, though a number of them had unnaturally white hair, the same shade as that which Violet now sported. Blue hair was more of an iffy proposition, as it might be a thing to Jayce's recollection, though not in Powder's ... vibrant hues, which was more akin to a poison dart frog then frost.

However, chances were that, at least in Piltover, no one knew the difference.

"Thankfully, we've got more than enough time to make our appointment," I sighed, the process having taken far longer than I'd expected, though not longer than I'd feared.

"... Appointment?" Violet asked, skeptically.

"Yes, appointment, because while your hair now looks Freljordian, your cut is all Zaun, though the person we're going to see won't know that," I told her. "Leaving half your head exposed would leave half your head frozen where you're supposed to come from, but it looks vaguely warrior-like enough that it should be fine to the uninformed. And Powder," I hesitated, not sure how to put it. "Your hair looks like you cut it yourself."

She frowned, taking a lock in her fingers. "I did. Is, is something wrong with it?"

I ignored her older sister's glare, as I wiggled my head back and forth a little, not really saying no, but not not saying no either. "For the Lanes, for your age, no. For Piltover, yes, which is why you're both getting your hair cut."

"Wait, both of us," the small girl asked, "but, but I thought it'd just be Vi."

"Nope, both," I informed her. "While having you look... wild might help sell the story when we get your identities set up, the points it'll lose you for looking other are not worth it, and your exotic hair colors," I nodded to Violet, "will be doing that already."

"A lot of people in the Lanes have blue hair," the now white-haired girl pointed out. "Won't they be able to tell anyways?"

"My friend Caitlyn, the daughter of my patron- my Piltovan patron," I corrected as both girl's eyes widened. "She's a Kiramman, not DEATH's, and she has blue hair, though it's a darker shade than yours, Powder. She got it from her father."

Which, now that I thought about it, did seem a little odd, as, while there were a few students with oddly colored hair at the Academy, it was common consensus that they, like Viktor, were from Zaun, though people used far less pleasant terms.

"Wait, you have friends?" Powder asked, before realizing what she'd said and slapping her hands over her mouth.

"Yes," I answered with a smile, hesitating, "Well, kind of. I'm friends with Caitlyn Kiramman, and Viktor, hopefully, and... okay I have friends. Possibly friend," I admitted, Jayce having been somewhat... driven, which really meant abrasive during his time at the Academy. In many ways, that was a good thing, as there wasn't anyone to notice the radical change in my attitude as opposed to his, except for Caitlyn, and between my injury and having my life's work validated, those changes could be easily excused.

"And us!" Powder insisted. "We're your friends too! R-right?" she asked, suddenly unsure.

Violet frowned at that, looking away and muttering, "Speak for yourself."

The smaller girl shot a glare at her sister, declaring, "I will!" Looking back to me, the fire in her gaze gave way to uncertainty. "So..."

Rolling my eyes, I nodded, "Yes, Powder, you're my friend, if you want to b-"

"I do!" she insisted, cutting me off.

"And Violet could be, if she wanted as well," I added, the girl sending me a cross look, but not shooting me down, at least. "In the meantime, it's time for us to go. Remember, Violet, your name out there is Violetta Vandottir, and Powder, you're-"

"Piper Vandottir!" the younger girl cheered, happy to accept the last name, once I'd explained its meaning. "But I don't see why I couldn't be Piper Talis," she added thoughtfully, pointedly ignoring her sister's unhappy look.

"Because that's my last name, and explaining how I suddenly have a cousin that looks nothing like anyone in my family is far harder than my original plan," I reminded her, for the fourth time. "Plus I'd have to doctor a number of family records, and retroactively make someone an adulterer, which would make you a bastard, and, no, just no. Now, let's go," I insisted, waving both girls out of the somewhat palatial bathroom attached to my bedroom and out the door. "And for the love of god, both of you, when the hairdresser makes snarky comments, pretend you don't understand what they're implying. That goes triple for you, Violet. We're trying to be low-key, which means not punching the 'stupid, smug Pilty in their stupid, smug face' or something."

"You think I would do that?" Violet questioned, sending a hostile look my way that completely undercut her statement.

Giving her a flat look, I took on a purposefully over-the-top expression of scorn and dismissal, commenting in falsetto, "Oh, dear, that hair. Well I guess that's to be expected of you people."

Taking a threatening step my way, Violet's visage was thunderous as she hissed, "What did you say? And what do you mean you people?"

Not bringing my guard up, even though part of me wanted to, I told her, "I said exactly the sort of thing you might hear. And by 'you people' I meant Freljord barbarians. Because, while I tried to find someone who wasn't a dick, anyone too understanding of other cultures might recognize you two. That means they're gonna be a, to use your words, 'stuck up Pilty asshole'."

I knew I was being hard on her, but she'd insisted she could handle it, only now showing that she couldn't. "You want me to trust you to leave Home and not make an incident that either I have to clean up, or gets you killed, consider this your first test. If you punch them, I might be able to spin it as the result of injured Freljordian pride, but not only will I have to find someone else, you'll have failed your test. You will have let some random Piltovan asshat get under your skin, when they were barely even trying, and in doing so prove everything I've heard about Zaunites being thin-skinned, low-class lessers, when I know you're not."

Violet's expression, which had gotten increasingly dark, shifted to confusion at my last statement. "So you need to be better than them, which, just saying, not hard," I continued, seizing the initiative. The brawler was my better at physical combat, but she was an absolute amateur when it came to verbal fights. "That means if some fifty-year-old spinster, who has to try and find anyone to look down upon to make herself feel better about her shit life, looks at you and says something like, 'Oh dear me, have you ever seen anyone about the dreadful state of your hair!' you'll respond?"

The brawler considered that, then spat out, "I'm here now, ain't I?"

"Vi!" her sister groaned, but I held up a hand. "Wait, really?"

"That works," I smiled, Violet looking at me with disbelief. "Surly is fine, gruff works great. To that kind of person you'll always be a northern barbarian, and, to be honest, it wouldn't be worth it to try and convince them otherwise. And, trust me, they're not worth convincing. Identitarians, people who make the center of their personality and sense of self traits they had no choice in possessing, like country of origin or their gender, do so because it feels 'safe', but it's a cage, and deep down they know that they didn't do anything to earn it, and they take that feeling out on everyone around them. Some people would think that you can't be dangerous in a fight, just because you're a girl."

Violet looked at me, confused, while Powder snorted, incredulously asking, "Really?"

I nodded. While back home, even in similar weight classes, a man would win against a woman at least nine times out of ten in unarmed combat, throw in blades, guns, and other technological edges, and the difference shrunk until it practically vanished. However, with the presence of Mana in the air, that kind of discrimination made no sense, yet it still existed in Runeterra. Piltover and Zaun were exceptions, the former due to having female leaders, namely the Kirammans, as part of their founding group, while in Zaun things had gotten bad enough that such illusions could not be supported, but, from what Jayce had heard, in places like Demacia and Bilgewater, as well as the lesser kingdoms, it still cropped up.

It wasn't as universal here, as there were female Demacian soldiers, but they were a rarity, an overwhelming percentage of the military forces' male. And then there was, ironically enough, Freljord, which was sexist as fuck, but in the opposite direction, being a hardline non-hereditary matriarchy. As a Freljordian man, you were never going to lead anything, and to suggest otherwise would get the same reaction as, say, a woman saying she could be an American president in the 1800's, namely derision and ridicule, giving way to outright hostility if the matter was pressed.

"So, don't act superior, because that'll make them ten times as nasty, as they'll feel the need to 'show you your place', and they are slaves to their feelings, but just don't mind them," I advised, "because they're idiots."

Violet grudgingly nodded, while Powder frowned, thinking. "So, they're like people that think they're better, just cause they're from the Lanes?" she asked, and I nodded, while the older sister frowned. However, before the brawler could say anything, the blue-haired girl looked to her and said, "Remember Marley? And Rime? And Viro? They were kinda dicks. You think they're better than Jayce? 'Cause they would."

I had no idea who those people were, but the now white-haired girl obviously did, and bit back her response of, "But Jayce isn't-", and cast a nervous look my way. 'But Jayce isn't a Pilty' was what she was probably going to say, which she might believe would hurt my standing with Powder, revealing my extradimensional nature, but, if I'd judged the smaller girl correctly, it wouldn't. What would hurt her was the knowledge that she'd killed the original Jayce, and that would serve to strengthen my hold on her, while weakening Violet's own connection to her sister.

Just because I wasn't going to do so, didn't mean I wouldn't create opportunities for others to make things easier on me, but, if Violet was trying to be a good person, those opportunities would never be used.

"He is better," Powder disagreed, misunderstanding her sister's statement, crossing her arms petulantly.

"I... yeah, he is," the brawler admitted, not looking at either of us. "Not that that means much."

Her younger sister started to object, then paused, agreeing with a shrug and a, "Yeah." Looking to me, she asked, "So, there's people like that in Piltover?"

"There's people like that everywhere," I stressed. "Or at least everywhere you have lazy people, who'd rather count shit they didn't do as achievements because they can't be bothered to make their own," I corrected, some dimensions containing people that looked normal, but had truly alien cultures. One of our training group back in Basic had been from a place like that, and even for a multidimensional conglomeration of losers desperate enough to be willing to work for the Company, he was fucking creepy.

"So, can you keep a hold on your temper?" I asked Violet seriously, screening any hint of patronization from my tone. "If not, I need to know now, so I can change our plans."

"I-" the brawler immediately started to answer, then stopped herself and took a deep breath, actually giving her response some thought. "I can. But if they say anything about Powder-"

"I'll handle it," I informed her. "As the person taking you in, you are my responsibility, and an insult to either of you is an insult to me. I also am both an adult, and know the proper way to take their noses and rub it in the shit they just spewed, in a way that will hurt them. Okay?"

Violet struggled with that a little, but eventually nodded. "Fine. But if they lay a hand on her-"

"If they're rough while cutting her hair, she can take it. If they draw blood, or they strike her, knock them the fuck out," I instructed the brawler firmly. "In this you can do more than I can, due to your age and foreign status. I can claim to merely be trying to help you adjust to our culture, which they'll have to accept, and they will still have a wholly deserved black eye."

That got a vicious nod from Violet, who clearly wasn't happy with my orders, but, having seen where my line was, would likely be more willing to follow them.

From there, things went... not terribly. Yes, the hairdresser was rude, the woman absolutely abhorring the 'barbarian styles' both girls sported, especially the fact that Violet, now Violetta, had shaved the left side of her head, though thankfully she hadn't done so lately. That meant part of her head was merely closely cropped, only a little shorter than my own style. To 'fix' it, the hairdresser had trimmed the right side of Violetta's hair to match, and, rather than leave the longer center in a sort of 'downed mohawk', she'd cut most of it off. Ultimately, Vi had ended up with a modified pixie-cut, all the while the hairdresser was bitching about how she was doing her best to 'salvage' this, and how she 'wasn't a miracle worker'.

Even I'd been annoyed by the time the hairdresser was done, the woman stating that she'd done her best, but warning that, if Violetta wasn't careful, she might be mistaken for one of those 'filthy bottom dwellers'. It was almost amusing, watching the brawler be happy that she still looked like she'd fit in down in the Lanes, while also being annoyed at the woman for her bigotry, said woman reversing the causes of her client's feelings in her mind, assuming Vi was pleased with the cut but upset that she might be mistaken as a Zaunite, assuring the teen that, as long as she wore the proper clothing, like she was now, there shouldn't be an issue.

Powder, meanwhile, had been a much easier fix. The woman had, as I'd thought, made a sniping comment about the girl cutting her own hair, which 'Piper' agreed she'd had. The hairdresser had sent me an 'are you being serious with this' look, prompting me to note that where they'd previously lived, self-sufficiency was a virtue, and that this was likely the first time either had ever had their hair-cut professionally, putting enough scorn into my tone to put me on the hairdresser's 'civilized' side of things.

The young tinkerer, bless her heart, had cheerfully agreed that she never had one before, which helped shift the old woman from snooty arrogance to taking pity on the 'poor girl', pointing out what she'd done wrong, and commenting that she had tasteful instincts, unlike her older sister who'd shaved her head of all things. Vi had glowered at that, but had held her tongue, and 'Piper' had absorbed the lessons like a sponge, much to the older woman's surprise and appreciation.

Heck, by the end the hairdresser was smiling, asking us to come back in a few months so she could touch up both girls' hairstyles, and, with a few more inches of growth, better 'salvage' Violetta's, something I hadn't expected in the slightest. From there we'd stopped for lunch, at a café, to help with their 'socialization', as the girls were both staring at everything around them, the older sister guardedly so, while Piper was openly.

"Haven't you guys been here before?" I asked Vi quietly, when we weren't surrounded by others on the street.

"Difference between casing a place and realizing you're gonna live here," she muttered, frowning. "It's just... why is it so different?"

"Do you really want to know?" I questioned in return, tone serious.

That earned me a surprised look, before the brawler slowly nodded.

"We'll talk about it, later," I promised, Violetta giving me an annoyed glance. "It's complicated, and, yeah, some of it's pure greed, but at a remove, where one set of people are downright evil, but the people that they deal with, and who profit from them, aren't as bad, and three layers away you have people who are living better than they probably should without knowing what's being done to maintain their standard of living," I summarized. "And that's only one aspect of this mess. If it were easy to understand, it'd be a lot harder for people to delude themselves into thinking they're blameless," I shrugged, which pacified the teen.

Our lunch was okay, though Piper openly stated my cooking was better, something that annoyed our waiter, but, well, she wasn't wrong. However, I did have enough tact to not point out that, maybe using a bit less butter in the pastries would be better, as there was a point of 'flakiness' where you started hitting diminishing returns, and if you went past that, pastries got greasy, like the ones we were served were. Thankfully, just hanging around for an hour had blunted the girls' reactions enough that, by the time we got to city hall, it merely seemed like they were displaying the interest of seeing something new, and not the thrill of being somewhere they explicitly were not supposed to be.

Walking through the palatial building, we found the office of one 'Irrad Darrington', the official in charge of handling identification paperwork. The middle-aged man looked at both girls with disdain, though he was polite enough, as I spun a yarn about the pair of girls coming from Freljord, and having been to Piltover before. However, from my mother I'd heard about how there had been water damage in one of the record rooms a few years back, and a number of files had been destroyed, which my mother assumed was the cause of my theoretical friend's difficulties in getting their 'foreign cousins' identification.

With my excuse in hand, I sat between the girls and talked about how their father, Van, had preserved copies of their documentation, which I had brought. Reaching into the bag filled with useless notes that I'd prepared for this purpose, I summoned my Psychic Paper out of sight of the other man, though not of the other two girls, and handed it to Mr. Darrington, informing him that it was the form he'd asked about.

Thankfully, whatever the man was, he was not a genius, and possessed the requisite imagination to guess what could be on the required form, which the minor artefact took and spun into full documentation. Taking out several blank forms of his own, the official checked the blank white card, and then the space below it, filling in various forms himself, and sketching out the 'Vandottir' crest that I'd had Vi draw out for me, so I could better represent it to others.

Handing the card back, he drolly asked, "And the proof of previous citizenship?"

Lowering the card into my bag, I mimed searching for something, before pulling the Psychic Paper back out and handing it to the man once more, who took it, nodded, and started filling out another set of forms. This was repeated nine more times, Mr. Darrington frowning a little more with each 'paper' given. Powder, now Piper, giggled a little as I took the artefact, waved it through the bag once more, and handed it back to the man.

"Is something amusing, young lady?" the official questioned.

"I, uh, no?" the girl replied, panicking a little as she realized she couldn't explain the joke.

Interceding, I explained, "Such levels of paperwork are unusual in Freljord. She's just finding it odd."

"Hmm," the bureaucrat mused, "in that case it is for the best that their father was surprisingly complete in his documentation."

"He wanted to be sure his daughters would be taken care of," I stated delicately, both girls going quiet at my lie.

Filling out another form, the man commented idly, "If he had been this prepared in other things, perhaps he would still be around. But those people are known for being careless."

The silence deepened, and it took me a moment to process what was just said. Powder looked stricken, tears forming, while Vi grit her teeth, fists balling her pants up. I looked at the girls, both pained by the reminder, both likely blaming themselves for Vander death, then turned my attention to the official, slowly spoking, with cold purpose, "Mr. Darrington, these girls lost their father not too long ago, and that wound is still fresh. Your statement is unbecoming of a representative of our city. As a member of House Talis, and apprenta to House Kiramman, I expected better."

At my words, the man froze, and paled slightly, understanding the subtext of my statement clearly, as I was barely being subtle about it, even if it was obvious the girls did not.

"I, I yes," the official quickly agreed, looking to 'Violetta' and 'Piper'. "Please, have my sincerest apologies. I did not mean to give offense."

"Then what did you mean?" Vi growled, glaring at the man, looking every inch like she wanted to beat him bloody, but barely holding herself back.

Darrington glanced my way, but I stared impassively back, waiting, a cold sweat breaking out on the bureaucrat's brow. "I, I only meant that your father showed surprising command of our processes, for one..." he trailed off, clearly wanting to say something along the lines of 'for one so uncivilized', but he, finally, instead went with, "for one who comes from such a different society. Some of these forms," he stated, tapping the Psychic Paper, "while technically required, are rarely used."

His excuse was a crock of shit, as this clarification in no way negated his earlier insulting implications, but Vi just glared at him, as Powder started to cry a little, and the official quickly went back to filling in the paperwork as quickly as he could. I put a comforting hand on the blue-haired girl's back, and she moved to hold onto me, crying a little louder, and waited.

"I, this is all I needed," Darrington noted nervously, handing me the Psychic Paper back. "All that is left is to create their identification cards. They can be resin coated, for an additional fee, which is not needed and we'll handle ourselves," the official informed us as I lifted a brow. "I will return forthwith."

Practically fleeing from under my steady stare, the bureaucrat left through a back door, and we waited.

"He's an asshole," Vi noted, quietly.

I nodded, "Many people in government are. They like wielding power that isn't theirs, so they find positions that give themselves control over people they normally could never threaten." I hadn't realized it until his last few statements, but the man had clearly been looking for a 'missing' document that meant he could deny us, and tell these foreigners to go fuck themselves, in so many words. However, the Paper was bound to me, so it would show those that looked at it what would benefit my cause, not what they wished it could display to achieve their ends.

I hadn't given my name when I'd made the appointment either, but the girls', which meant he hadn't known who I was, and the level of hurt I could bring down on his head. I myself hadn't even thought to do so, expecting it not to matter, something that I realized was wholly from Jayce's thoughts, and that, perhaps, they were even more skewed than I'd originally assumed.

While the girls had missed it, I'd just threatened the man's job, and, what's more, he knew I could do so, because one did not throw around the names of Councilors for long without receiving a very unpleasant visit from the Enforcers.

"Fuckin' Pilties," the brawler spat, and I just snorted darkly. "What?"

"Like someone from Zaun wouldn't beat me unconscious in an alley because they liked my jacket?" I questioned dryly, still annoyed at him, and myself. "Or maybe just kill me over it? There's bad apples everywhere, Vi, the trick is rooting them out, and Piltover's Council is far worse at it than Vander was. Imagine if Vander, Benzo, Silco, Sevika, and three others all had to run the Undercity together. It wouldn't be as good as it was, but it also won't get as bad as the Lanes are probably going to get. This place has got some serious positives, just like it's got negatives like that asshole, but if you're going to live here, you need to get that."

She didn't look happy about it, but Violet didn't argue, just glared down at the floor, and we waited, until the official returned, handing me the two pieces of paper, each protected by a thin transparent coating, that would prove to any Enforcer that they were who they claimed to be.

"One more thing," I said, as the man took his seat. "They have two younger brothers, who were sent to Demacia instead."

At my side, Powder, who had stopped crying, stiffened, and Vi's head snapped over to stare at me.

"Freljordian politics being what they are, they were in less danger, so did not have to run as far," I continued. "However, they, too, have documentation that might have been lost, and will likely, in time, be needed if they come here. This packet," I stated, pulling up the Psychic Paper one last time, "should have everything you need."

Mr. Darrington, with a good deal more care, took the artefact, and looked it over, seeing the information I wanted him to see, reformatted into the style that he was looking for. "Mylo and Claggor Vandottir?" the bureaucrat questioned, flipping through nonexistent pages. "Ages... five and six?"

I nodded. "Yes. While neither Piper nor Violetta are Mages, magic is known to run in women up there, so, obviously, they could not stay in Demacia. Here in Piltover, we do not let our fears guide us, and treat others fairly, but Demacia. ." I trailed off shrugging.

"Indeed," the official agreed, with a touch of the arrogance he'd displayed before, having found a 'safe' target. "I'll get these processed right away, Mr. Talis."

"Thank you," I replied politely, and we waited for a few minutes, as the older man furiously, but carefully, filled out two more sets of forms, taking a tenth of the time he had used up to process the sisters.

Finally, he was done, and we stood, 'Piper' reluctantly letting go, and Mr. Darrington offered his hand to shake. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Talis," he said. "I'm certain there will be no need to... make note, of your visit today?"

I stared at the hand for a moment, the man's nerves almost visibly rattling, before I nodded imperiously, taking the offered limb and shaking it, once. "Of course. You were merely performing your duties, and any miscommunications were quickly clarified. Have a good day."

And with that, we left, Vi waiting until we were on the street before she hissed, "Jayce!"

I subtly shook my head, informing her, "When we're Home."

She held her tongue as we went down several streets, finding one that was several degrees off the normal thoroughfares, and we ducked into an alley, where upon I opened a portal and led them back to our house.

As soon as we were through, Vi ripped her hand away from mine, and turned, glaring. "What the fuck was that about?"

Expecting the question, I clarified, "You mean about Mylo and Claggor?"

"Yes, THAT!" the brawler yelled, losing her temper, though she'd kept a handle on it until this point, so... progress?

Powder pulled away slightly as well, looking at me curiously, and I smiled at the two sisters.

"Well, I had to make sure the timeline matched up for when I resurrect them."