Chapter Text
Jinx hangs still, pretending she couldn't taste her own ribcage. However, like much else to do with her, it wasn’t exactly an easy thing to ignore.
The world seemed to tilt on its side, as if the ground beneath Jinx had suddenly let out under her weight. Well, not that there was any ground beneath her. Or anything else, for that matter. The only thing between Jinx and a delightfully long freefall was the acute edge of one of the Hexgates’ air ducts and the seams of her pants. Literally.
The hem of her slacks were stuck on the lip of the air duct and dangled her upside down in open air from one leg. The current of the Hexgates’ cooling system had caught Jinx’s body, propelled towards the duct by the explosion’s force. The airflow had carried her, limbs flailed like a ragdoll, out and… well, here she was.
The flesh of Jinx’s torso barely clung to his exposed ribcage with flaps of inflamed tissue swaying ever so slightly off her bones. Severed blood vessels pumped their cargo into Piltovian airspace and down (up?) her neck, agonizingly emptying the contents of her circulatory system. Her legs were caput, too. Dangling upside down had evacuated all blood from her lower body yet she felt no sting of poor circulation, no bite of claudication. Her fall must’ve fucked up her spinal cord something fierce.
It was perfect.
True, she had thought the whole “dead” thing would be more of a drop of a hat kind of thing, but this wasn’t half bad. The pain of her insides falling out couldn’t hold a candle to how good it felt to finally do something good with herself. For someone other than herself.
She could feel the slow pull of her soul as her consciousness slowly trickled from her skull, her eyes softening playfully. Funny. Didn’t think I had one of those. The fabric of her pants stretched with a screech, lowering her precariously bit by bit. Her vision slowly faded into monochromacy, tendrils of sight dimming in strength. It was as if death was teasing her, playing with her.
And honestly? She didn’t even mind it. This was all a reeeeally long antecedent to rest. Finally. Finally, she would get to rest. She wondered if there was anything after the big Death. Heaven? Hell? Maybe none of that sin junk really mattered, and it was just one big ‘ole party with all sorts of people. Yeah, that’d be nice. A big party in the sky that never ends, never changes. She’d be able to eat whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted without having to check the grub for Shimmer poisoning or rot. Isha would love that. She had always been so very thin.
Jinx chuckled, each laugh underlying a throb of lung. Each pang of agony punctuated a curl of lip, each degree of body temperature lost celebrated with a shallow rasp of laughter. One last screech of fabric.
Alright. Party, here I come.
The single thread holding her snapped as she began to fall. Every ounce of pain that wracked her body was carried away as blades of sweet air caress her body, as if an analgesic.
Zaunite air had always held a type of astringent quality to it. As if each portion of breath was infused with lemon juice and loneliness. Yet, Piltover air was so crystalline and sweet it felt as if it could satisfy thirst.
Not bad, not bad at all. Her eyelids fluttered close as she prepared to kiss ground.
She waits. And waits.
Yet the kiss never came.
The crunch of pressure against the Hexgate’s hard, metallic shell preceded Jinx being enveloped mid-air by what felt to be the palm of a steel claw, fastening around her waist. Yelping, her eyes fly open to identify her assailant.
Jinx’s body grew impossibly still.
Tufts of grey fur billowed in the wind, splotched with shimmer and scarlet. Dread scratched Jinx’s skull, her face contorting excruciatingly.
No.
She had shoved the grenade down his gullet with her own hands. She’d seen the light fade from his eyes as it detonated, seen his flesh come undone underneath the glow of her own weapon.
It was supposed to kill him instantly. To put him out of his suffering, to save him.
But here he was. With more flesh missing from his skeleton than there was attached, but still unquestionably not dead. The metal fingers of Vander’s hand shuddered around her, the delicate biological mechanisms of his motor system coming undone as he brought his malfunctioning hand towards his chest. His face was devoid of any sort of feeling as he curled what remained of his limbs inwards over Jinx.
His grip was firm yet impossibly gentle, paradoxical in its warmth.
Jinx’s lower lip spasmed madly as she curled her broken arms around Vander’s neck, burying her face into the exposed flesh of his clavicle. Shimmer-tinted tears carved purple into her cheeks, anguished screams ripping through her throat as if bladed. Vander’s face remained impassive, completely bereft of any indication that he was currently free-falling towards the ground, but this did nothing to quieten the throes of agony in Jinx’s heart. She constricted her hold on him as tightly as her ruptured muscles could, gulping breathlessly in between sobs.
She stroked his shoulder in soothing motions, slow and rhythmic. Ignoring the tremble in her throat, Jinx pressed her lips together to produce a soft hum.
“Dear friend… across the river, my hands are cold…and bare.” Her voice hitched uncontrollably as she tried to place the words on her tongue in the right order, the curse of time having scrambled her mother’s song. “…Dear friend across the river, I'll… take what you can spare.”
It was almost imperceptible, so faint she must have imagined the way Vander slightly leaned in a little closer, accepting her gesture as if the memory in his muscles of her touch compelled him.
Jinx’s singing descended into wails as the ground prepared to give them a warm hug of its own.
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