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Rowan Howl is many things: an engineering prodigy; a member of the Piltovan elite; a persistent thorn in the side of his family's enemies and, occasionally, his allies.

Yet when he is driven into the depths of the Undercity by a need for closure after a tragic accident, he begins to discover within himself the potential to become so much more.

Comments and criticism welcome

CYOA Doc by QafianSage

Pretty Face [100]: Good genes, good upbringing, good style - all of these go into a good look,and you've got that in spades. You have a naturally-beautiful, handsome or otherwise impressive appearance, in whatever form you desire. Turning heads as you enter a ball would just be natural, and you can probably expect to have a fair few admirers. As a bonus, you have an instinctive sense for the kinds of clothes which go well with your own appearance.

Artiste [100]: Piltover is renowned as a city of industry and innovation, yes - but also a city of art and beauty. You have all the skills required to adorn it with the jewels of human (or vastaya or yordle) artistry, being an excellent painter, sculptor, singer, poet and draughtsman. Moreover, you know how to make whatever you build or craft look good.

Bed, Board and Wardrobe [100]: It would be a shame if you were left to wander the streets of this fair city without a place to call home. With this item, you have a nice, one-bedroom flat in Piltover, rent and utilities all paid for, and with an excellent view of the City of Progress. It'd be a nice place to make a home, and the wardrobe is full of good-quality, if not necessarily the wealthiest, clothing in Piltovan styles.

Townhouse [400] (200): On the other hand, is a flat really enough? With this item, you own a magnificent townhouse somewhere in the better part of Piltover, a small mansion of your own, complete with gardens, receiving rooms, a ballroom, luxurious bedrooms and a small staff of servants to keep the place clean and tend to your needs, from cooking you high-class meals to keeping the garden just how you like it.

The Great and the Good (?) [600] (300): Not to put too fine a point on it, but Piltover is more or less an oligarchy, and in such a system it pays to be able to pay. Lucky for you, you've come into a not-inconsiderable amount of wealth, easily enough to put you in Piltover's top 1%. With this amount of money you could finance a good many businesses, live larger for the rest of your stay here, or maybe put your wealth to other uses.

Presentation! [200] (100): What's the difference between a ruthless industrialist and a pillar of the community? Why, presentation of course! You're a genius when it comes to public relations, self-presentation and what the crass might call 'propaganda'. You've got an eye for eye-catching and inspiring designs, and for how to go about hushing things up when you need some skeletons to stay in their closets. These skills apply from everything to poster design to organising events and celebrations to create just the right feeling in attendees. You could make the richest men in Piltover feel privileged to come to your party, and inspire downtrodden workers with visions of the future they're helping to build - and nevermind that that future will be one in which they're still working the assembly lines.

Man of Progress [600] (300): For thousands of years, magic was thought to be the domain of the few privileged to be born with the talent, or willing to mortgage their souls to demons or celestial beings. Now, thanks to Jayce Talis, that power has been democratised - somewhat, at least. You share the same kind of innovative ability of Jayce and Viktor, able to make scientific leaps and bounds while others creep along at a steady pace behind you. Whatever fields of research you involve yourself in, you'll find yourself making intuitive leaps, putting together disparate facts and seeing patterns where others only see noise. Besides your personal innovative abilities, you also have a knack for producing designs which can be adapted for mass production with relative ease and whose principles can be easily taught to others, so that you can uplift not only yourself, but those around you as well. Piltover is called the City of Progress, after all. Your scientific prowess is at its height when you're working based on some form of inspiration; perhaps trying to imitate some process seen in nature, or replicate spells and magic. Your inventions might not quite work the same as the original, but if you work long and hard enough, almost anything that can be done by natural or supernatural means can be measured, harnessed and controlled through the power of your scientific method.

The Arcane [600]: The City of Progress strives towards understanding of the world, and grows rich on the profits of its hextech advancements - but they only grasp and scrabble for facets of a greater, deeper truth. You are a natural user of magic, a wielder of the true arcane - the power which, long ago, shaped the world itself. Given a source of power from which to draw, you can shape and command that power through the medium of runes, bending reality itself to achieve grand acts of magic. Hextech may be more reliable, and able to be put in the hands of any, but this power can be commanded by nothing more than word and will, and the possibilities it presents are vast. It will take time to devise new spells based upon the runes you know and can discover, and you're still limited by the power sources you have access to. Your own internal energies will suffice for basic spells, but for grander works, such as long-distance teleportation, you will require equally-grand sources of power.

Hexcrystals [200]: Though beautiful in appearance, these blue crystals are worth far more than their looks. You have twenty of these blue, roughly-spherical gems, each of which has tremendous magical power locked inside them. These could each power large amounts of hextech, or perhaps be used for some other purpose. You may choose whether these gems are the unstable, natural variety or the more refined and stabilised kind used in later hextech, choosing for each gem, and each gem seems to be able to provide power indefinitely, though they each have a limit in terms of how much power they can provide at a time. While inside their case, the gems are held in place and you can be assured they won't detonate. The case will refill once per three months - so use your gems wisely.

Talent Scout [200] (100): You may or may not be a genius inventor yourself, but you have an eye for finding those who are. You've got a knack for finding just the right people for whatever job you want doing, snapping up talent just as it's beginning to show, and convincing such talented people that working under you is the best place to achieve their dreams, as well as yours. Moreover, you're good at managing different personalities, acting as a group coordinator to keep everyone working together on the projects that really matter, rather than wasting their energies on infighting and squabbles. Finally, you have the acumen to judge when someone can be trusted with a job, and when it'd be better to keep them away from the levers of power. After all, you don't want them embezzling from you.

Just a Man [+300]: The standard power-loss drawback. Lose all access to perks, powers and items from outside this jump, as well as your warehouse, though you retain your body mod and any skills you've gained from practice rather than simply purchasing.

Foes in High Places [+300]: Somehow, you've earned yourself the particular hatred of a member of Piltover or Zaun's upper class; perhaps a chem-baron, one of the seats on the merchant-council, or perhaps a certain Ms. Glasc. Whatever their identity, they'll do their best to ensure that you end up in a shallow grave, sending thugs and assassins when they can - and they have the influence to reach across Runeterra if they really want to, so don't think just leaving the big city will get you out of trouble - and interfering in your plans when they can't. You might be able to take them out permanently, but not without burning other bridges that'll leave you in more or less the same position, just with someone else determined to see you gone.

Mortgaged [+200; with 300+ CP in items only]: So, you know those items you bought? You didn't actually buy them. They actually belong to someone else, who has the last word on when and how you get to use them (though you might be able to keep them from noticing whatever it is you're doing). The one who owns them is fairly free with them, but they'll deny you access or even cut you off long-term or permanently if you displease them too much. Speaking of pleasing them, they'll often make 'requests' that align with their interests - working on such and such a project, producing this or that for them, tracking down a particular criminal and so on. If you don't do as they say, they might cut you off - or send some other agents of theirs to extract what they want from you. At the end of the jump, you receive all your items fully.
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One - Jump Start New

ursa_Minor

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One


Rowan Howl was breaking the rules. The Academy's rules, his aunt's—any restriction that had ever been placed on him was going to be left shattered in his wake.

That was what Rowan kept telling himself. He'd been pacing long enough to leave a shallow groove in front of a crack that supposedly led all the way down to the Undercity. Aunt Ralia had forbidden him from visiting Zaun, so he couldn't take the Bridge, the Elevator, nor any other officially sanctioned egress. If he did that, he'd need to show his ID, and the tale of his little expedition would inevitably filter back to one of Ralia's sycophants.

So, he'd paid a small fortune to an upper year for the location of one of the natural, unmonitored, and generally more dangerous paths. Slipping away from the Academy and off the beaten track without being stopped or questioned had been the easy part. Designing and building the Mark 4 AstroBoots that would allow him to scale the fissure's walls had been slightly more challenging.

Working himself up to jumping into a seemingly bottomless abyss—that was the hard part.

Rowan didn't have an irrational fear of heights. He, instead, had a deeply rational fear of impacting the ground at terminal velocity. It had been the initial inspiration for his boots, even. Still, he'd done the calculations. Even with the frankly ingenious shock absorption he'd built into his footwear, he couldn't drop more than 10 meters at once without risking some kind of injury. He'd need to ricochet between the walls of the crevasse, jumping up against the relentless pull of gravity. Rowan had built in safeties—grappling hooks, an emergency parachute—but …

He really didn't want to use them.

Parachutes had been around since before Piltover's founding, and Rowan was born in the City of Progress. His people had reinvented the wheel three times already, and they were proud of it! He could do better than rely on relics of antiquity. He could innovate. He could reimagine. He could—jump!

He jumped, and fell, and landed on all fours like a tree frog against a rough stone surface. He slid down a few feet, bleeding off momentum, and then leapt up and across the chasm, only to return to his frog-like pose on the opposite wall of the cavern. Like this, he danced along a tightrope of death, descending further and further. His only pause was a quick breath on a few outcroppings of stone when the opportunity arose, mentally mapping the next waypoints before continuing on.

It was insane. It was terrifying.

Rowan had never felt more alive.

In minutes that felt more like hours, Rowan finally touched down into a roll on solid, and more importantly, horizontal ground. He'd made it. On his knees, his arms and torso forward like he was praying, the teenager shook slightly, flooded with adrenaline and the thrill of triumph. He'd made these boots—a partial exo-skeleton, really—and they'd allowed him to do something he'd been dreaming of for years. He'd forged his own freedom. He'd made it to Zaun, the City of Iron and Glass.

He would finally get the chance to say goodbye.

Rowan stood, clapping his gloves together to clear them of dirt and sediment. He'd dampened his mood by remembering why he was here, but maybe that was for the best. It had been years, but Rowan would never forget how everyone had been so quiet at the funeral, as if they were afraid to wake the dead. As if the caskets hadn't been empty.

Yeah, somber was the word of the day.

He pulled his bag from his back and pulled out a thin, tattered cloak. Worn enough to blend in with a more humble strata of society, but not so ragged as to reveal the fine clothes underneath or paint him as a target.

Rowan pulled his hood up and set off, periodically checking the compass on his wrist to ensure he was moving in the right direction. He'd done his best to memorize a map of Zaun—and his best was quite good—but Rowan was still a stranger in a strange land. He would need to watch his step down here.

Literally, thought Rowan with a grimace as he maneuvered around a particularly suspicious looking puddle. Neon purple was not a color that water should be. Especially not water that was going to touch his boots.

Rowan walked briskly, matching the pace of the few other denizens of this underworld as they hurried about their business. The less time you spent on the street, the better, it seemed. Maybe it would be different in other parts of Zaun that weren't so barren and peripheral. Maybe, in the heart of the city, people felt safe enough to stop and smell the roses.

Seeing what it was like out here in the Wastes, though, Rowan somehow doubted it.

Of course, that was fine with him. Better to be able to move quickly without standing out, better to have less Zaunites around to discover the Topsider in their midst. Most importantly, this location was close to the factory district. Close to the Howl family's ill-fated investment. Or, at least, what was left of it.

Rowan did his best not to look around much beyond what was required to remain vigilant against potential pick-pockets or worse. He didn't want to draw attention to his unfamiliarity with the landscape and local architectural style.

Finally, he stopped before a weathered iron gate. Rowan tapped one foot against the ground, priming his boots, before he leapt over the gate with ease.

I wish I could tell Anya about this. I will have to make it up to her somehow.

Rowan's idle thoughts ground to a halt as he stepped through the remnants of a stone entrance. His eyes lingered on the entrance, blackened with soot and charcoal like the mouth of a fire-breathing demon. Inside, the slagged machinery and destroyed walls painted a picture of destruction. Rowan slowly wandered around the wreckage, taking it all in.

This was where his parents had died. Their last breaths had been of Zaun's fetid air. The factory had been an investment in the Undercity that would have created jobs and enriched the neighborhood as much as it would have been a boon to his own family's portfolio.

And then, awash in the flames of Vander's rebellion, it had become a funeral pyre.

It had been an accident, most likely. It seemed a universal fact that mobs did as much damage to their own communities as they did to the people they were actually out to hurt, if not more. At least, here in Zaun. Rowan had no memory of anything like a riot ever occurring in Piltover. Zaun, on the other hand, was less a unified faction and more a small collection of warring states. Like half a dozen beta fish in one small tank.

The political makeup of Zaun was pushed to the back of Rowan's mind as his immediate attention was drawn to the floorboards crumbling into dust and pulp beneath his feet. He tried to leap off, to grab hold of something, but there was nothing to push against, nothing to cling to. He fell into the darkness.

"Ow." Rowan said, gingerly standing up from the short fall and running his hands over his body, checking for injuries. The shock absorbers had done their job, but he hadn't been expecting the floor to collapse, nor had he been prepared to stick the landing. He winced and pulled his hand away. He'd taken a bit of a bump on the head. That was going to sting tomorrow. Hell, it stung now.

"Alright," Rowan said as he slapped a hand onto his shoulder, activating a switch that caused his gear to luminesce."Well … this definitely wasn't in the blueprint."

Rowan looked around, taking in the … he wasn't quite sure how to describe it. A secret room beneath his family's defunct factory. It seemed to be part laboratory, part study, part living space. Rowan walked to one of the desks and grabbed a book from one of the shelves at random. He had to blow off some dust to make out the title, which caused him to descend into a brief coughing fit. Waving his hand through the air irritably, he inspected the book with interest.

Axiomata Arcanum: A Unified Theory of Elemental Laws

Rowan's eyes widened as he hurriedly leafed through the tome. Inside, there were diagrams and mathematical formulae, not so different from many of the hundreds of books in his family's library. Except, all the equations in those books quantified mundane principles of science and engineering.

"This … This is …" Magic, Rowan thought, though he didn't dare to speak it aloud. Magic and, to a lesser extent, its wielders, were verboten in Piltover, and by extension, Zaun. At least, that had been the case since the government restructuring that had followed the brief civil unrest of the rebellion.

Mind reeling, Rowan dropped the book on the table and quickly backed away like he thought it might bite him if he wasn't careful. Such was his focus that he failed to notice another table behind him until he bumped into it. With a quiet yelp of surprise, Rowan spun around to see what he'd stumbled into.

His gaze was immediately drawn to a shimmering blue jewel falling toward the ground, having been dislodged from a rather ornate pedestal. Without thinking, Rowan reached out and plucked it from the air before it could shatter against the masonry beneath his feet.

In retrospect, that may have been a mistake.

When the gem touched Rowan's palm, the subtle shimmer became a bright glow, and he felt as if he had just grabbed a live wire. Blue sparks like miniature forks of lightning raced up along his arm before sinking into his flesh. He tried to throw away the strange gem but it had somehow become stuck to his skin like a magnet. He flailed around foolishly, tripping over his own feet and falling to the ground, until finally the sparks subsided and the gem fell from his hand to bounce against the stone floor a few feet away from him.

Rowan slammed his palm against his chest, breathing heavily, eyes wide. However, patting himself all over and thoroughly inspecting the arm that had just done a passable impression of a lightning rod, Rowan quickly found himself to be entirely unharmed by the strange occurrence. If anything, he felt … extremely good.

His vision somehow seemed sharper, colors brighter, and his thoughts were moving more quickly. When he moved to stand up, it was effortless to the point that his feet left the ground for a moment, like he weighed almost nothing. Even his mood was better.

And most importantly, there was something warm in his chest, filling a hole that he had never realized existed. Or at least, had never been able to put into words. Brows furrowed slightly, his mind reached for an appropriate term. Whole. Complete. Rowan realized he felt complete, for possibly the first time in his life.

With equal parts wonder and trepidation, Rowan walked over and bent down to pick up the crystal again. Thankfully, nothing strange happened this time. The gem lay quiescent for the moment, though it still glittered with a mysterious power, apparently undiminished by whatever it had done when he'd first touched it.

Going back to the table where he'd found the crystal, Rowan found a small case with several more crystals just like it. He placed the one in his hand inside and closed the pouch before, with only a moment of hesitation, tucking it into his bag. Before he could change his mind, he quickly shoved Axiomata Arcanum inside as well.

With his two highly-illegal acquisitions secured, Rowan turned to examine the room further, when the world shook and a cacophonous noise swallowed up all the little sounds of the night and replaced it with a high pitched ringing. Rowan pulled his hands away from his ears when no further explosions came, and rushed toward the hole he'd fallen through earlier. With the help of his AstroBoots and the strange energy still pulsing in his chest, he leapt out of the hidden study and rushed toward the door to the factory.

According to rumour, the recent conflagration of the Kiramman cliens's apartment had miraculously not seen anyone seriously injured, but Rowan had lived in a city of innovators for long enough to know that not every explosion was harmless. Someone could be injured, possibly even dying. He needed to get there before it was too late to help them.

Out on the street, the flames and glowing blue cloud made the direction he needed to go fairly clear. His feet pelted against the stone street and he leapt over any obstacle in his path with ease. He'd been close to the source of the explosion, and with his speed and gate augmented by his equipment, Rowan approached his destination rapidly.

When he was close enough to begin feeling the heat of the flames, over the sound of the rain and his own feet, he heard the voice of a child wailing with despair and desperation. Brow furrowing as his fears were confirmed, Rowan redoubled his efforts, bouncing against a wall as he changed direction in order to follow the sound.

Turning down an alley, Rowan was forced to skid to a stop as he was faced with a wall of flame. He could hear the crying child just beyond, and though the words were unintelligible, it was obvious that she was experiencing immense pain.

Gritting his teeth, Rowan looked around, measuring the distance between the walls of the alley, and jumped. He ricocheted between the walls up and over the flames before descending on the other side in front of a little blue-haired girl who couldn't have been older than 11. Behind her was a giant, disfigured man partially buried in rubble. His skin was covered in glowing purple veins and his eyes were glazed over and lifeless.

Rowan was momentarily frozen in place at the sight of the monstrous corpse. What had happened here? Then looked back to the girl, who was bent over on her knees clawing at the ground as great heaving sobs wracked her waifish frame, and felt his resolve firm.

He knelt down and reached out his hand tentatively, before thinking better of it and pulling his hand away, not knowing how she might respond to touch.

"Hey, are you hurt? Can I take you to your family?" Rowan asked gently.

The girl looked up, eyes wide and red from crying. She searched his face, and then leapt at Rowan, burying her face in his shirt as she clung to him with surprising force.

"You can't. They're gone. They left me behind," she said, voice breaking.

Rowan's eyes widened slightly, and his mind flashed back to the moment he'd been told his parents weren't coming home. He had been about this girl's age when the world as he'd known it shattered—just as this child's world seemed to be crumbling before his eyes.

His arms moved without his conscious direction, returning her embrace.

"I'm so sorry," he said, unable to keep the painful memory from coloring his voice. "My family left me, too."

He hadn't meant to say that.

The girl looked at him, eyes again searching for something. He met her gaze with his own in a moment of quiet stillness.

Then a sound from further down the alley pierced the silence. Rowan looked over his shoulder to see a man at the mouth of the alley. His gaze was immediately drawn to the man's disfigurement, half his face was wrinkled and grey, and the eye on that side was a disturbing black and orange orb. Then Rowan's eyes trailed down the edge of the man's fine black coat to the bloody knife in his hand. At the sight, Rowan tensed.

This man was dangerous.

"Come on," Rowan said hurriedly, pulling the girl in his arms up with him. "We need to go."

"You want to take me with you? But I'm—I'm," the girl stuttered, and then paused before continuing, "… you're not going to leave me behind?"

The man with the knife and the evil eyes was coming toward them, and other sinister-looking people were following behind in his wake. The man walked slowly, obviously believing them trapped. Rowan felt a chill run down his spine at the sight of the man's methodical, predatory gate.

Rowan scooped the girl up in his arms—she felt like she hardly weighed anything—and activated his boots.

Then he jumped.
 
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Two - Breaking Fast New

Two


"Are you … hungry?" Rowan asked hesitantly. He'd never looked after a child before, but he was fairly certain they needed to eat in regular intervals.

The girl shook her head, not meeting his eyes. She had been staring fixedly at the carpet in Rowan's flat ever since he'd brought her back with him half an hour ago.

That couldn't be a good sign. It wasn't an especially interesting carpet.

"Thirsty?"

Another shake, blue locks swaying.

Well, that was two down. Rowan glanced at the roof over their heads and amended the count to three. What else? Ah. He dug around in a closet and came back with his arms full of cotton cloth, which he set down on the sofa beside her. Before he stood back up, he looked her over, his gaze lingering on her red, swollen eyes.

"You should get some rest."

Finally, she looked at him, the tilt of her head and brows indicating she found the suggestion utterly incomprehensible. Rowan gazed steadily back. He didn't know everything she'd been through, but he knew enough. Her nightmares would be worse the longer she ran from them.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, the girl leaned over onto her side. One of the longer tresses of her uneven hair resembled a miniature waterfall running down the side of a pillow.

Rowan smiled and pulled the blankets over her before filling a glass with water and setting it on the nearest tea table.

"You're welcome to ransack the kitchen for food, but try not to touch the stove, knives, or anything else even vaguely dangerous. You know where the washroom is?"

Her eyes flickered in the appropriate direction. Rowan nodded.

He didn't say goodnight. For her, it hadn't been. It couldn't be.

She needed time.

Yawning as he entered the single bedroom in his flat, Rowan realized that he needed time, too. At least six hours. He lay down and quickly faded into unconsciousness.

— — —

With sunlight spilling through a gap in his curtains like a purifying blade, Rowan crawled partially out of his blanket cocoon, shielding his eyes and groaning. When a questing limb brushed against the journal on his bedside table, it retracted, bringing the book to his bleary eyes like a cephalopod's tentacle drawing in prey.

Blinking, eyes pinched, Rowan began to write the ideas that had come to him in his sleep, as was his morning ritual. If he removed two sprockets and replaced them with a ⅛th spring … if he tightened the mechanism's lateral couplings …

Suddenly, Rowan's eyes widened, and he flung himself out of bed and toward his armoire. Dressing quickly, he rushed out of his room. When he saw the sofa empty, he scoured the flat with sharp eyes, but no indigo-haired orphan materialized.

She was gone.

The muscles all over Rowan's body slackened as he slumped bonelessly into an armchair. This wasn't exactly unexpected. He didn't even know her name. The girl had understandably not been in a very talkative mood after … whatever it was that happened. That was another thing he hadn't had the chance to ask.

All he'd known was that she'd been in danger. Now, wherever she was, she was at least probably in less danger. He had to count that as a win, even if it felt like anything but.

This is for the best, Rowan assured himself, It's not like I know the first thing about taking care of someone else.

"Morning, uh … what do I call you?" a small voice piped up from somewhere behind him. Rowan blinked and flipped around with such speed that he briefly resembled one of the spinners he'd made for Anya's little brothers.

"Rowan," he answered after staring for a moment at the girl hugging her knees to her chest in the small alcove between the sofa and the wall. Suddenly in a much brighter mood, amusement flickered across his face, and he continued. "Howl, to the professors—and my enemies."

"You have two names?" The girl asked, lifting her head to look up at him skeptically.

"Most people do, in Piltover. The second is my family name."

A dark look passed over the girl's pale visage. "I don't need one, then," she said hollowly.

"Well," Rowan replied quickly, not wanting to linger on the obviously upsetting subject, "will you tell me your name?"

"Powd—no, not that," A look of panic flashed through her eyes, followed by uncertainty, "I, uh, I'm … just call me Jinx. That's what my brother called me, and he was right. Even Vi said so."

Rowan's brows furrowed. He wasn't an expert on Undercity culture, but Jinx sounded more like some sort of title or slur than a proper given name. And the way she'd said it …

"What about the name your parents gave you? You started to say it, Pow-someth—" Rowan cut off as the girl sent him a warning glare that seemed entirely out of place on such a young girl's face.

"Okay, Jinx it is," Rowan agreed easily, hands raised in surrender. "Good Morning, Jinx. Did you—," Rowan's traitorous mouth started to ask if she'd slept well, but he caught himself at the last moment, "—have something to eat yet, or shall I find us breakfast?"

"Not hungry," Jinx grumbled.

"Something light, then. I'll be right back."

Rowan's jacket caught on something as he was stepping out the door. He looked down and found that it was a small hand.

"Don't—I mean, I, I'm not hungry. You don't have to leave."

"Even if you don't want to, we need to eat something." Rowan was famished after racing through the Undercity and back last night, and knew that the girl couldn't be much better off.

"No, you can't …" Jinx trailed off, and then spoke quickly, switching gears, "you said there was food in the kitchen. I'll eat that. I want to eat that."

Rowan gently placed a hand on Jinx's head. She blinked in surprise, but didn't pull away, obviously more concerned with using the full force of her stare to compel him to stay.

"I'm not much of a chef, so lets save that for emergencies. The bistro is right across the street. It will take four minutes, and you can watch me from here the whole time."

After a moment, the girl gave a small nod and released his jacket, allowing him to step out into bright sunlight. He'd been awake for long enough that he resisted the urge to hiss.

Stepping across the street, he quickly placed an order for some croissant sandwiches and a sweet crepe. Over his shoulder, he could see Jinx's face in the window, who was indeed watching him closely, as if he were some kind of flight risk.

When he returned with their meal shortly thereafter, some of the tension in her body visibly dissipated. According to the stress chart he'd devised as a child as a part of his grief counselling, she went from "perilously overwound spring" to "cautious feline".

Jinx ate hesitantly at first, picking at her breakfast sandwich. When she tried the crepe, however, her eyes flashed. After throwing Rowan a measured look for reasons that he was sure were quite beyond him, she stopped restraining herself, forgoing utensils entirely in favor of her hands.

Rowan couldn't help but smile. When the food was mostly gone, Jinx slowed as she approached maximum crepe capacity, and Rowan took the opportunity to pose a question.

"Have you ever been to school, Jinx?"

"What's that?"

"It's a place where people learn things. At your age, if you were a member of or sponsored by one of the Houses, you would be studying what we call the trivium: grammar, logic, and rhetoric."

"I don't have a house. We lived in a bar before, before ... that's a place where people drink things."

"Not that kind of house. A House—big H—is a family of the, well, I suppose you might call it a peerage."

"I wouldn't call it that."

"Groups of wealthy people who go to important parties, then."

"Oh, you mean Piltys," Jinx declared with sudden understanding. Then she covered her mouth, as if she'd said something terribly inappropriate, and watched him closely.

"Pilty—Piltovans? Yes, and no." Rowan said, tilting a hand in a gesture of partial acknowledgement. His eyes moved up and to the left as he performed some quick calculations before refocusing on the blue-haired girl. "Perhaps three percent of the Piltovan population can be said to belong to or be patronized by a House. Less than one percent, if we include the people of the Undercity."

"So, not the rich, but the filthy rich? The people that boss everyone else around?"

"We prefer terms like 'comfortable' and 'pillars of the community', but essentially yes, you have the idea."

She leaned back with a wary look in her eye, crepe all but forgotten.

"What does all of that have to do with me?"

"Well, that depends. Do you want to stay here—with me?"

Jinx looked at him, searching his eyes. "... can I?" She asked, voice wavering and almost too quiet to be heard.

"Yes." Rowan smiled reassuringly, and then allowed his features to settle into something a little more stoic. "But, due to my own circumstances, I have some conditions."

"Like what?"

"You will have to go to school, for one, and you can't cause trouble while you're there. Until I reach the age of majority, any patronage would be subject to the approval of my Aunt. She is very concerned with our public image."

"I can go to school … I'm good with numbers and books and stuff," Jinx agreed readily, and then bit her lip, "I can … I can try not to cause trouble, b-but I, I—"

"Then we have an accord," Rowan interrupted her self-conscious stuttering with a clap of his hands and a smile. "In that case, if you're finished eating, let's get going."

"Where are we going?" Jinx asked, mirroring Rowan as he stood up from the table and following him to the door. He looked over his shoulder, meeting her eye with a grin.

"Shopping."
 
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And so Jinx is born! I can't wait to see more of her in Piltover
 
Nice, I'm liking it so far and I think there's not enough good stories set in Arcane. It's kinda tough, since the narrative is so tightly wound that adding in additional characters sets off a bunch of other unintended consequences, but it's something I'll definitely enjoy.

Thanks, and looking forward to more!
 

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