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starrycassi · 2 months ago

Text

An engineer. An assistant. A heir.

Located on my jayvik work for silco au.

Singed doesn't think too highly of himself.

Maybe he did, once. Young and full of passion, he thought himself the next big thing. A lifetime ago, he’d stared at the mirror and grinned, proudly eyeing the way his Academy badge gleamed under the light of his table lamp. Maybe he was foolish enough to think that it was him, him and his ideas, that would change the world. His days at The Academy are not days he recalls too often.

Then he had a daughter, and his world was reduced to her. Her smiles, and her cries, and the way she said pouted when things didn't go her way. He wanted nothing more than to give her the world. Maybe he would have, had things been different. They weren't.

Sickness came, as sickness does. People bawled, as people do. Colleagues tattled, as colleagues do. Oriana wilted away, as flowers do. Unstoppable sequence of extremely common events. When tragedy makes herself at home, the host tends to believe themselves unique in their suffering. They are not. There has been far too many parents and far too many daughters, and far too many of them have met this exact same path, have stumbled in the exact same rocks and crevices. It is what it is. It is as it should be. Death is inevitable, the sky is blue, water is wet. It is as it should be.

The casket should have been lowered, as caskets are supposed to do. It never was.

And now, Singed doesn't think of himself too highly. He knows that his intellect is unmatched, his skill is unheard of, his knowledge is craved. He is different, better, in a way that not many people are. He is, also, failing.

Oriana's face shows no change when he taps the glass of her enclosure lightly. It is not a surprise.

“Soon, my dear.” He tells his little daisy, staring at the still flesh, the closed eyes. “Do not get impatient.”

She does not answer. He is used to it.

Singed is a horrible person.

He knows his morals are skewed. His code of ethics is nothing but a two-page pamphlet with vague drawings of fairies in it. He is, objectively, a bad man. He has aided in the killing, torturing and general misfortune of dozens, if not hundreds, of people. It's not like he's keeping count.

“Did you do build this, boy?”

He knows how dangerous he is, even if the boy seems unaware. Thankfully for the strangely trusting young man, he is many things, but not attracted to children. That is one of the few lines he won't blur. Not because he is a father, or because he particularly cares about the wellbeing of potential victims, or because he feels some sort of empathy for the many, many kids subjected to some sort of abuse in these parts of the underground. Though he does think that it is unfortunate, as everything around here is. No. He simply has never been interested, and that’s that.

The boy —Viktor— comes by. He learns, eager for someone, anyone, to pay attention to him, to his ideas. He is silent in a way that Oriana never was, not when she was awake. At first, it is a practiced, learned quietness. The stillness of the deer who has no other option but to play dead. It evolves. Daily, Viktor starts asking more questions, suggesting more improvements. He starts to smile whenever Rio licks his cheek, batting her away with no real force. He starts to cry silently when he thinks Singed is too occupied to notice, usually while cradling a bruised arm or a broken cane. He starts to pout when things don't go his way, frowning with annoyance at whatever prototype has managed to defeat him today.

Singed wonders if his parents know where their son is, who he is with, what he is doing. Do they care? They should. He will never allow Oriana to be alone, in a secluded cave, with an unknown man and a potentially deadly animal, sometimes for hours on end, when she wakes up.

He doesn't care for the kid, not any more than he does for Rio. He is useful. Smart. Quick to understand, easy to guide. He rolls with the punches that Singed throws him, taking them with an unwavering grace. Eventually, he even learns to punch back.

“That is wrong,” Singed says, eyeing the way Viktor's tiny fingers try to mold the copper, “It is far too cold. If you can't understand thermodynamics, then you should not be on my lab. Ever.”

“I am developing a new method,” Viktor answers, not even turning around to look him in the eye, “If you can not understand innovation, then you should not carry a lab.”

“The correct word in that context would be own, or have. Possess, even. I do not *carry* the lab. It is always here.”

“You understood my idea.” Stubbornly, Viktor keeps on turning the material, making absolutely no progress. “Good enough. For me.”

Oriana liked ballet. Fairies. Make up. She was a stereotypical girl, with stereotypical tastes. Singed never cared about it. If she wanted to be a princess, like a hundred girls had wanted for hundreds of years before, who was he to say no?

“If I was, eh, a prince,” Viktor muses, staring into his mug. “I would fill my castle with, how you say? Food. For everyone. Blankits. Water.”

Singed hums, taking a sip of his own mug. The smell of coffee fills the room. His has a drop of whiskey sprinkled in.

“Blankets. Blan-kets. Not lab equipment? Chemical resources? Aluminum, copper, steel parts?”

Viktor imitates his gesture, using the excuse of the drink to think his answer up properly. Singed would be impressed, if he wasn't already aware of how perceptive Viktor is, how quickly he adapts. Chameleon boy and his little cane. Oriana would like him. She will, when she wakes up.

“Well, yes. After I am done feeding all the people. Then, for me, laboratory. And a new bedroom. Big bed. Thick blan-ket.”

He asks for parents. Dead father, alcoholic mother. No siblings. The lacking communication skills come from his grandmother, who never learned Piltover common and never explained how she ended up in the undercity. She had raised him, then died. He spoke a fully foreign language at home, which made bonding with other kids even harder. Viktor was ostracized by his circumstances. No one has his back, not fully. No one to stop him.

He offers the spare room on his main sleeping quarters. It is more of a closet than a room, but he brings a new mattress and the fluffiest pillows he can find. A heavy, yellow blanket. His various works pay decently enough for him to feed another mouth. Clothes and necessities can be figured out when the time comes.

If Singed was a better man, he might say that he did it out of care. Or concern. Maybe even out of curiosity.

Singed is not a better man. He did it for the same reason he does everything else. For Oriana.

He is not stupid. The days are passing. His age increases, increases, increases. He isn't any closer to waking her up, and his back is starting to ache when winter arrives. He is getting older, but his daughter is not.

She needs someone else. A brother, if not an assistant. Someone younger than her dad, someone to keep her company in the world. It can not be him, not anymore. His body is starting to resent him from the all-nighters and meal-skippings.

Viktor is not, necessarily, healthy. Or well liked. Not even well known. He has no responsible parents in sight (because, really, how come this child is so often with him?) and no money of his own. Singed could latch onto that. Instead, he thinks of castles with halls full of food, and decides that the way that Viktor will understand is the emotional one.

For all his talk of science and progress, Viktor is a child. Immature and temperamental. He comes with all the downsides of being a child. Fortunately, he brings the upsides, too.

Was Oriana to wake up in the next half of a decade, she would have someone to grow up with. Someone to keep at her side, to play and explore with. Oriana has always been kind. She will slow down, for Viktor, and that will make it easier for Singed to know where she is at. Was she to wake up someday after that, she would have an older caretaker. Old enough to know more about the workings of their environment, young enough to be in the loop of how the external world has changed. Viktor won't live long, not without some tweaks and fixes, but Singed would gladly make the boy a new set of lungs every single month, if it meant that he would look after Oriana.

The decision is taken. He makes sure to keep Rio in her cage. Viktor's attachment to the mutation’s vessel is a problem. Singed is not only a scientist, but a drug-dealer. He's used to solving problems, by now.

“Her name is Oriana.”

Viktor gapes at him, eyes wide with far too many emotions for Singed to pinpoint even one. The soft hum of the machines fills the silence for them. A mechanical heartbeat, designed for one person and one person only.

“She is…”

Whatever Viktor is about to say, dies on his lips. He hovers over the glass, careful not to touch, seemingly mesmerized by the body kept inside it. He looks like he's hyperventilating and breathing far too slowly at the same time. Singed considers, briefly, the idea that his daughter will wake up tomorrow and Viktor will be infatuated with her. That would work, too, he supposes. It wouldn't be his favorite option, but it could be manageable.

“Is she… dead?”

Ah. That's it, then. Singed, carefully, turns his words in his brain, making sure to pick and choose them with surgical precision. Viktor is not crucial to the operation, but he could be. He is smart, and lonely, and Singed knows that human nature is not impossible to mold. He could turn Viktor into something vital. He could turn Viktor into someone necessary.

“Medically? Yes. Technically? No. See those tubes? They give her the proper nutrition. The ones over there? They keep her blood flowing, artificially. Much like a water pump. It is only temporary, Viktor. I will wake her up.”

Viktor's face changes. One of the feelings seems to simmer down. He looks less scared. Singed had not realized the boy was even trembling, not until he stops. Was he put off? Probably. Viktor was a scientist, but even great scientist had a weak stomach every once in a while. He will come out of it. Singed will help. Then, Viktor will help Singed. Symbiotic relationships are not a foreign concept, specially not to undercity children.

“How will you get her alive?”

There it is. The exact same moment where the cut has to be made, the spot where flesh and bone leave a gap for a scalpel. Viktor is as much of a scientist as he is a kid, and both those sides are easily swayed with shiny new theories. Singed sees his opportunity and takes it. He talks, and talks, and talks. Curative plants, cell-regeneration properties, necessary sacrifices, nature and evolution and everything he can possibly think of that would appeal to the child. He spews back years of research in a way that would make it impossible to replicate, making sure to leave information out when he deems it necessary. Can't have a preteen run around with your life's work, now, can he?

It doesn't seem to matter. At the end, Viktor's eyes are practically shining. He seems so starstruck. So impressed. So swayed. So convinced.

“Do you understand, boy?” Singed asks, placing the palm of his hand over his daughter's bed. "If you live here, I will ask nothing of you but your help with my investigation for her. When she wakes up, you will be her friend. You will be under my protection. I will feed you and keep you, as long as you comply."

“I don't, eh, understand the theory now.” Viktor answers, voice choked with emotion, gripping his cane. “But I really, really want to. I study. I care for her. I behave.”

“I will teach you, then. You must obey me. Everything I say, yes?”

With far too much convention for a child who hasn't finished dropping his molars, Viktor nods solemnly.

“Yes, sir.”

Singed doesn't think too highly of himself. Soon, Viktor starts to share the same idea. His disgust with the man is a river that starts with Rio and never ends.

It's far too late when he realizes that Singed is, truly, a horrible man. He is in it far too deep. Silco tugs at his leash, never pulling, not yet.

Then, he brings in a man. Jayce Talis understands Singed in more ways than one. The theory is complete.

#jayvik #shimmering progress au #jayvik au #singed and orianna #singed and viktor #singed arcane #viktor arcane #oriana Arcane #i weote this on my cellphone at 01:40 am #couldn't stop thinking about singed geooming viktor into his little heir #i love my fucked up old man #viktor does eventually realize that Singed will never care about him even a fraction of how much he cares for Oriana and has a meltdown #so yeah if anyones likes this uhhh tell me #i will write part two anyways. i just like hearing people's thoughts. we have: silco taking a crack at Vik's mental health #vik singed and the corpse having dinnner. also viktor getting diy mastectomy and so much more fucked up not-so-dad singed stuff!#ignore spelling mistakes lmao #i will edit this later #probably!

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