[They will despise her, but none of them understand what it's like to know death is breathing down the back of their necks at the peak of their lives.
It's time.
She is in a work room very different than the one in the cave. This one, on the surface, is painted in luxury, progress. Posh. Elevated. Rich. The way Piltover looks to those who can only glean the outside of it.
She puts the scalpel down. There is something unusual on her she has not seen on the body she knows she is in: a metal brace from thigh to ankle, stabilizing the leg. But some of the pieces are familiar from the time long ago when she looked over his body, the slivers of it twisted into the flesh of his leg, becoming one with him.
She has carved tiny runes in both the skin of the leg and the metal of the brace, the same runes that are on each side of the many pyramids of the Core hovering in front of her.
The vial of Shimmer is in a syringe gun on the work table. This will work, she thinks. She believes. This will work. This is how she unlocks the secrets of life and death. It isn't like she has anything to lose. Her life?
She was losing it anyway.
There is a price to pay for progress. To give up humanity, to change a nature, to bypass ethos. Rio's life was a sacrifice to this. Little Rio, her body being kept alive inside a vat, a mutation you were told that must survive.
[she watches herself go through the motions, through the reasoning, through the convincing.
she thinks - there is a price to pay for progress. this is almost altruistic. sure, he's doing it for himself a little, but there's still thoughts of making the world a better place. she never thought about that, when she slid her knife into each of her family members. it was all selfish. it was all for her.
so... who is she to judge? she can't. not if this means she lives. if it means he lives.
[The breeze from the water of the docks flutters over Throné's face, cooling the heat of nerves there. She's in her clothes again, but she's barefoot. Beneath the left food, she can feel the dock, the air, the solidness below.
Beneath the right, she can feel the pressure of the ground and a strange electrifying sensation of life.
The right leg from toes to thigh is purple, bizarre flesh molded by the Core, twisted together with shards of the brace. But it feels different, she thinks. It doesn't feel like the lame leg she had.
She has never before moved faster than a walk in her life. Any attempt to run resulted in a fall, and so she had never bothered trying. Her chest is tight, full of apprehension. She's worried... it won't work. She's worried the leg is not only bad now, but hideous. But when she puts the foot solidly down, she realizes...
It was worth it. The price paid. It had worked.
Feeling the wind whip past as she picks up momentum, even stumbling at the start. Running full force down the docks through the night, feeling her lungs burn wonderfully from the exertion of knowing she's running. She's ripping away from the deformity, the restriction. She's free. She's so free she screams into the night.
In the breathless aftermath, she is tired, but alive. She can hear a voice through the lapping water saying,]
Throné? Throné...?
[When she opens her eyes, Viktor is looking back at her, concerned.]
there's just, like. the sensation of running for the first time. free. freedom, it's so intensely familiar to her, that when she opens her eyes, she's laughing, something quiet and helpless. it's almost wobbly. experiencing it next to him, in tandem with him, makes heat gather behind her eyes, just a little damp. it's funny how their experiences are so parallel.]
-- Viktor. [she says, breathlessly, and then:] Yes. Of course I am.
[she knows there was a price, that things probably went to shit not long after, but god if she can't quite bring herself to care.]
... You ran. [she says, bringing her hands up, resting them on either side of his face.]
[It is still a bit humiliating, showing what he had done to get to that point, showing how little his life meant to him because of how easy he was willing to throw it away on a test.
But if he had to share any, he was glad it was this. He knows Throné understands this much.
His own eyes burn gently when she touches his face, and he suddenly laughs too, matching hers. He reaches up, returning the gesture, putting her face in his palms and brushing the thumbs under her eyes. He laughs again, short.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It's time.
She is in a work room very different than the one in the cave. This one, on the surface, is painted in luxury, progress. Posh. Elevated. Rich. The way Piltover looks to those who can only glean the outside of it.
She puts the scalpel down. There is something unusual on her she has not seen on the body she knows she is in: a metal brace from thigh to ankle, stabilizing the leg. But some of the pieces are familiar from the time long ago when she looked over his body, the slivers of it twisted into the flesh of his leg, becoming one with him.
She has carved tiny runes in both the skin of the leg and the metal of the brace, the same runes that are on each side of the many pyramids of the Core hovering in front of her.
The vial of Shimmer is in a syringe gun on the work table. This will work, she thinks. She believes. This will work. This is how she unlocks the secrets of life and death. It isn't like she has anything to lose. Her life?
She was losing it anyway.
There is a price to pay for progress. To give up humanity, to change a nature, to bypass ethos. Rio's life was a sacrifice to this. Little Rio, her body being kept alive inside a vat, a mutation you were told that must survive.
Draw the blood. Touch the Core.
Will Throné pay the price?]
no subject
she thinks - there is a price to pay for progress. this is almost altruistic. sure, he's doing it for himself a little, but there's still thoughts of making the world a better place. she never thought about that, when she slid her knife into each of her family members. it was all selfish. it was all for her.
so... who is she to judge? she can't. not if this means she lives. if it means he lives.
she pays the price.]
no subject
Beneath the right, she can feel the pressure of the ground and a strange electrifying sensation of life.
The right leg from toes to thigh is purple, bizarre flesh molded by the Core, twisted together with shards of the brace. But it feels different, she thinks. It doesn't feel like the lame leg she had.
After a moment, she releases the crutch and let's it fall away from her.
She has never before moved faster than a walk in her life. Any attempt to run resulted in a fall, and so she had never bothered trying. Her chest is tight, full of apprehension. She's worried... it won't work. She's worried the leg is not only bad now, but hideous. But when she puts the foot solidly down, she realizes...
It was worth it. The price paid. It had worked.
Feeling the wind whip past as she picks up momentum, even stumbling at the start. Running full force down the docks through the night, feeling her lungs burn wonderfully from the exertion of knowing she's running. She's ripping away from the deformity, the restriction. She's free. She's so free she screams into the night.
In the breathless aftermath, she is tired, but alive. She can hear a voice through the lapping water saying,]
Throné? Throné...?
[When she opens her eyes, Viktor is looking back at her, concerned.]
Are you alright?
no subject
there's just, like. the sensation of running for the first time. free. freedom, it's so intensely familiar to her, that when she opens her eyes, she's laughing, something quiet and helpless. it's almost wobbly. experiencing it next to him, in tandem with him, makes heat gather behind her eyes, just a little damp. it's funny how their experiences are so parallel.]
-- Viktor. [she says, breathlessly, and then:] Yes. Of course I am.
[she knows there was a price, that things probably went to shit not long after, but god if she can't quite bring herself to care.]
... You ran. [she says, bringing her hands up, resting them on either side of his face.]
no subject
But if he had to share any, he was glad it was this. He knows Throné understands this much.
His own eyes burn gently when she touches his face, and he suddenly laughs too, matching hers. He reaches up, returning the gesture, putting her face in his palms and brushing the thumbs under her eyes. He laughs again, short.]
I did, yes.
no subject
I can only imagine how that felt. [she experienced it, but like. god.] ... I want that for you. Without the strings.
[by god if this man doesn't get to be healthy after game she's going to be pissed.]