[ Souls... Are hardy. Even when life is snuffed in the most brutal of ways, souls are steadfast and resilient. They harbor the emotions, though not always the memories, of lives once lived and sometimes are so powerful to create a space of their own. A world—a dream—that invites and calls for a specific few.
How much time has passed? Who knows... Across universes, galaxies, existences, and astral planes, the temporal conundrum remains though unimportant for now. There's a song to hear. There's a call to answer. As Viktor follows it, he will take passage through a myriad of memories. They're memories of a simple slave boy with ambitions, of a corrupt feudal lord, and of a crooked mafia boss. All of them center the tragedies of a man he called his friend.
When Viktor blinks one more time, he will find himself in a familiar world from a distant memory. Wheat stretches as far as the eye can go, reflecting a golden glow as they bend to the ocean breeze under the warmth of the sun. There are trees sparsely dotted across the field and a small town on the horizon, then mountain ranges beyond it. There's no cloud in the sky, crystal clear and blue.
It feels safe, like nothing bad can ever happen here. No, nothing bad has ever happened. It offers all who enter peace yet... A sense of finality, for this world is a last step before the beyond. One last gate, one last stop.
In the distance, anyone can see a black spot in all the beauty, just seated on a rock by a familiar tree. The figure dressed in shadows has no discernible features, just a mass of dark haze without a solid outline. Souls are hardy, resilient, and powerful, but they can be so delicate. They can forget themselves, forget their forms, and crumble under the weight of their emotions. Why else would he be like this?
Unknown, forgotten... But lingering in an idyllic dream. ]
[Caspian probably thinks himself a savior, having pulled the core out of Viktor and put it into the twisted staff. But it had worked. Jonas bestowed Viktor with a more functional body afterward. Hilarious how in two different timelines, he dodged his death and his descent into divine madness, all with the help of good people and some not so "good" ones.
With the staff, he can traverse space and time, something he didn't tell anyone else about. He can traverse mindscapes running parallel to planes, memories, continuing healing the diseased and weak and broken.
The pull is easy to follow. He allows it to draw him in and through, a halogen and multicolored array of a figure, the opposite of what is hovering at the rock on the horizon. The golden sea is familiar. The breeze on his face is warm like the sun, but salty like the ocean, and there is something comforting about the place he had only ever seen in the past of someone else.
His feet follow a remembered path, and he takes his time, wandering with the staff through the golden land toward the sentinel tree in the distance and the shadowy puff of a form on the rock. It's familiar, too. He stops by the rock and the wisp, turning to face the same direction and glance outward.]
[ Viktor really gained so much in Heaven... If only Jacopo can revel in it in full, but also make sure he isn't fucking anything up in spite of good intentions.
Instead he is a dark smog that filters between this specific space by the tree, allegedly sitting. There's no difference in the shadows, no indication if the figure has turned to Viktor or anything. The darkness coalesces to a core and disperses around the edges. Silence prolongs after the greeting, but then a whisper echoes in a familiar voice. ]
Hello.
[ Somehow, there's still a semblance of identity, like it's slowly remembering itself ]
He continues peering off over the swaying wheat, unbothered by the other's man refusal to suddenly be something more corporal. That's okay. It takes time.
He also slowly begins solidifying into the figure of a more familiar man.]
Do you remember who I am?
[He wouldn't be offended if Jacopo didn't, or if it took Jacopo some time to remember, to grasp. Maybe this memory is different - faster, slower - and maybe Jacopo has been here for a long time.]
It does take time. It is less of a refusal, but a process. After every death, a soul needs time to take upon its preferred form. When a soul shatters, it forgets itself for longer. Jacopo's voice becomes clearer. ]
... It's been a very long time.
[ But he remembers. They had visited a realm like this... Inside that illusion of an illusion, there was a man who ran with his all like he hadn't seen before. He remembers... Faintly being here, at this tree, and the comforting touch of his head pressed against another's along with a supporting embrace. Slowly, the words of a promise and a vow take shape and sound.
The memory itself resonates in this world his soul created.
"Do you want to be friends?" Yeah... Let's be friends, even though I still think you're insane. "You now have so much opportunity to do what you want to do, Jacopo. To be your most authentic self. Do something for you, not the voices in your head." "And I will work on how to help Zaun without stripping them of their humanity." "Do you promise? Between friends. My last friend... didn't uphold a promise I asked of him." ... I promise.
The conversation echoes and the stalks almost wave and pause to the tone. ]
He doesn't rush Jacopo. Patiently, he waits for the remembering to settle in, if it does.]
It has; don't tell me you've forgotten. It's good to see you.
[It doesn't surprise him to find Jacopo haunting this particular place. It meant something to Jacopo. What had he said? Safe. It had been somewhere safe. Ventus would definitely put his soul here probably.
Slowly, the bright and multicolored glow subsides, leaving behind a Viktor with the same face, but perhaps not the same body as before. A former vessel built anew, lacking the gaunt face of illness or the pits of hollow in sleepless eyes.
He's smiling a little, possible about the conversation, possibly about Jacopo's response to it.]
I'm not so sure. You seem to be keeping it alright.
[ THE SOUL REALM IS A FUNNY PLACE. Yes, for now he is in between incorporeal and corporeal. The soul loves being wishy-washy on what state it wants to be and is so easily influenced by emotions, but the shadows are slowly sifting and molding into a shape. A familiar build, but for some reason clothes are rendered first. They're his simple clothes from peasantry, no regal robes. No draping royal purple and gold, instead off-white linens strung together by rough seams and a loose fastener at the chest.
But his physical appearance stays as shadows, though now they're trying to make a person to fit in these clothes. Viktor can at least make sense of a humanoid in it all. It has a head, arms, legs... So he can see a shadowy hand hesitantly reach out. It's a fretful touch where fingers barely ghost the palm, unsure if he is allowed to take though desperately he wants to. He thinks himself undeserving.
He repeats his words. ]
... It has been so long. I thought—[ That he has forgotten his time in heaven. Maybe it would have been for the best, but there were a few fond memories that tether him.
But he doesn't want tethers that aren't penance. Then why is he quivering? Why want? Greed of this kind is disrespectful to everyone he has wronged. ] So much were dreams.
[ Viktor is here, offering a hand, and he thinks to himself what a good dream this all is. What a self-serving one. ]
[There Jacopo is... Hiding away in the lingering residue of a soul. He knew Jacopo would remember what shape the soul took.
His hand continue to hover out without urging. He still gives Jacopo time. Jacopo worries about coming to him, but he isn't here to rush Jacopo to come together and whole.]
Should I take that as I did not look so good before?
[Teasing, of course. He really looked so bad then.
His hand lifts, and instead of waiting for Jacopo to absolve himself in order to receive kindness, Viktor curls his hand gently around Jacopo's to offer the kindness anyway.
There's no need to hesitate to touch a man born in the slums of Zaun. Street rat for street rat.]
[ It really is coming together. The voice sounds almost identical to back then in its tone and pitch, the delivery candid and pointed. Still, at the edges there's weariness.
My god, did you cement they're just two rats holding paws in this golden wheat field? A haven for outcasts, misfits, strays, and likely rodents? He doesn't retract his hand, instead finding the confidence to hold onto it.
It's warm, comforting, and reminds him of short times of understanding. It's something he loathes to relinquish, but... That wasn't his choice. It's not a choice.
This dream is meant to be his last, but why is he holding on? Is it because this is the last he's holding on? The shadows make more of the silhouette, but features still blurry. ]
[ARE THEY NOT JUST TWO RATS HOLDING PAWS? They have always just been two rats holding paws.]
Yes, thank you for that.
[For what it's worth, he's amused. He did say he appreciated Jacopo's unfaltering ability to be the most blunt bitch in the entire room. How can a man who spent so long pretending to be who he wasn't have such an uncanny talent for saying it like it is without thoughtful filter?
For a moment or two, he stands and holds Jacopo's hand in his own, mostly to give Jacopo the opportunity to pull away if wanted. His hold is pretty relentlessly solid, but he would not struggle to keep the hand if Jacopo decided against it.
Then, gently, he tugs on it to try coaxing the shadowy but clothed figure off the rock, to stand with him.]
It's time to be you again, Jacopo. I want to show you something.
[Don't think you can just abandon your existence and sit here forever on this rock in the sweetest place of a memory and pout and brood.]
[ So right... Jacopo is incredibly funny where he can be abrasive in a bitchy and wordy way, but also an overthinking roundabout man. Sometimes, he says what he thinks and other times he has to mask his intentions with excuses. Being direct with tender emotions isn't his strong suit.
They stand and it seems like he doesn't pull way. He decides it's fine to indulge. This is... A dream. The tug has him stand up and the shadows weave his silhouette. While still not clear, he is a solid outline. A void of a person.
Better than the start though. Viktor can easily tell when he turns his head, or when he looks at him, even though there are no features to read. ]
What is it? [ Some faint and slow curiosity, relearning what that felt like. ] You're not going to spring up an abrupt vow on me again, are you?
[ A dry tone. Wow... he is soooo bothered. But his tomb is beautiful, isn't it? It's peaceful, safe, and palatable for the final throes of a soul, but... Perhaps he was waiting for someone. For many people, maybe. For what, he isn't sure, but he isn't in the mind to dwell. Hasn't been since he had lived in this dream after his release.
So he's focused on Viktor, tilting his shadowy head as he's told to come to him beyond. ]
I can't just show up as I am. I have no physical form.
[ It isn't a no. He does want to see it... It must have changed from the descriptions Viktor painted for him before.
A detour would be nice? He's no longer shackled. ]
I know. I have come several times to this place for visits, wondering when I would finally find you here in the wheat.
[But every time he paid a visit to the dream of a memory, he found it peacefully solitude, and he never knew whether to be happy Jacopo was not here - it meant Jacopo was alive? - or disappointed at not knowing how Jacopo was faring.]
I'm sure we can figure out something between the two of us.
[Hmmm.]
Perhaps we can borrow Jayce's body for a while and put you inside of it?
[They could do that, and it would be funny to see and hear Jayce and Jacopo argue endlessly in the same hulking form.]
Some memories echo through this illusionary world, reflecting off of the gold sea. It's the industrial age in a faraway country from his homeland, where he tries to maintain his hold on his family's syndicate while being a large investor in the transcontinental railroad. It's a tale of betrayal between friends, twisted by a curse put on him after his first death... A tale of miscommunication between lovers, twisted by the curse that exacerbated and magnified his shortcomings.
It's somehow two sides of a coin that he had done well for himself. He kept a hold of the mafia and held onto the title of capo, then died of old age. His personal life was full of failures, in comparison.
Similar fate in essence as his life in the Middle Ages.
He had anticipated another round of suffering, resigned and accepting, but he's left to be wayward. Waiting... But now he's given direction.
Except! This direction!! Sounds insane!!! Viktor can't see his expression, but maybe he can sense how dubious he is. He'll At least hear it. ]
... You mean to put me... Inside your partner's body? [ ??? ] I have to share a space with that guy?
[ Jacopo you barely know that dude why are you expressing dislike and judgment already ]
[He does want to hear what all happened to Jacopo. They can chat about timelines and reincarnation and everything in between.
Once they figure out the stupidity of putting Jacopo inside of Jayce's body.
JACOPO IS SO VALID IN THIS ASSESSMENT.]
Jayce is not so bad... not now.
[Not before. But there had been a time, a shard of it, where Jayce seemed unwell. (They are all fucking unwell.)
He is at least not so unwell he can't understand what this burden means to Jacopo, to a man who never even wanted to be in the same vicinity as others if he could help it. Look. It was the first thing he thought of, okay!]
Do you have another way? Do you want... to be inside me?
[ This realm was PEACEFUL and TRANQUIL, but Jacopo can feel a familiar rise in delirium as Viktor starts posing solutions. There's an aneurysm ready to happen, though muted and distant.
He can watch Jacopo pinch his own nose bridge with his shadow-y silhouette. ]
Why does it have to be inside someone?! Can't we do something else? And not put me inside some person?
[ He knows Viktor is trying to help, but Christ. CHRIST. There's a sigh. ]
Let's just go. We can figure it out when we're there.
[ At least confident that Viktor will be able to sense his presence and he'll be around... Only because he once had an eldritch maid. ]
[Jacopo is still just as hilarious to rile up as before. He can find more amusement in it now having been removed from the overbearing servitude of the Hexcore. Good luck Jacopo.
He twists his hand around gently, getting Jacopo's rat paw in a leading fashion.]
Hopefully you don't disappear into the aether...
[Teasing.
He leads Jacopo away from the vigilant rock and tree, out toward the sea of wheat.]
So, tell me, what all happened since we last spoke, Jacopo?
[ Very soon he will come to learn the benefits of Viktor being fused with the hexcore... While unsettling, probably a lot less annoying. He follows his lead. ]
Then make sure to tether me and focus.
[ Sassy.
The golden ocean welcomes them, almost bending a path even though who knows how you get out of here. Maybe you just... Decide you want to leave, then you can. In a realm of emotions and memories, anything can happen, right? Jacopo goes a bit quiet as they talk about Morgana, heart still weighing heavy. ]
With Gabriel's help, I was able to find Morgana, but... She was in a similar state to how she died. She couldn't see anything past her delusions—the trauma left a deep wound down to her soul. I don't think my apology got through to her, but I did what I sought to do.
[Physically tethered by the hand and emotionally tethered by friendship. That's how this works.
He leads Jacopo amiably through the wheat while listening, not in a hurry, not searching for any intent. The core bobbing in the nodule carapace of the staff begins glowing gently, but Viktor's attention stays on Jacopo.
His brows furrow at the news. A woman truly deserves everlasting scorn and feminine rage (me, I think that).]
It's good you still offered it. Some wounds are difficult to heal, and the pain is hard to let go. It feels like a betrayal to yourself.
Jacopo stays quiet because... Seeing her like that hurt him. It did every single day when he went up the observation tower to draw her blood—and all for what? For power? For progress? To be... Worth something? The voices no longer haunt him, but the guilt is still there. This mirage full of golden wheat is created by regrets.
He has no right to wish he could save her then and even now... Closing his eyes, he focuses on the question. ]
... They are now. [ Skipping the parts that weren't all right, the results is what maters. There's a small smile, bittersweet but still ever so glad. ] An angel freed her.
[ And like the rest of them, but he doesn't really think about it like that. ]
[Hmm. Well, Viktor is stupid, but he also isn't a fool. There are things Jacopo isn't telling him, though he doesn't hold it against Jacopo for not being forthcoming.
They haven't seen each other in a while. Also, Jacopo is like That.
ALSO, JACOPO WAS OUT HERE IN MEMORY DREAM AFTERLIFE LAND AS A SHAPELESS AND SHADOWY VOID. You dumb Italian fuck!!!!!!!]
An angel?
[Jacopo probably doesn't have time to answer. That familiar, chilly energy churns up Jacopo's arm and over him; the core in the staff flashes blindingly white, consuming everything.
The safety of the wheat ocean is replaced by glimpses of a space of violet and halogen organic webs, of the endless dark ink of the universe peppered with gasses and stars. The very nature of Jacopo's soul shifts, is compressed, is expanded, pulled through the energy of a colander, wrought like spaghetti and put together again into the semblance of a shape.
Zaun has spilled over onto the lowest parts of Piltover, near the aqueducts and the docks. It isn't diseased, or filled with dirty violence. It is a charmingly antiquated aesthetic, not the middle ages for Jacopo, but maybe the turn of the 20th century, the early 20s, 30s. It's the beginnings of the Zaun which Ekko and Heimerdinger saw, the better timeline, clawing through.
People are coming and going, mingling at the connection between both places, and Viktor, still holding onto Jacopo's hand, anchors what's left of him to the plane.]
[ Rather than being reticent or avoidant, Jacopo simply doesn't think his suffering cycle is interesting or important to regale. It doesn't occur to his sick mind so desperate for atonement that he could receive comfort.
They're also going on a trip, so maybe later they can better catch up. ]
An angel.
[ Said in a more skeptical tone... Which simply implies it's a person rather than the divine, but there is something mystical about someone who breaks an internal curse.
Somehow, some way, his soul takes this world seamlessly even though it goes through the wringer between the dotted stars in the blotted void. It pulls from what it can and reconstructs him where the shape that feels like a hand becomes solid and undeniably tangible. Warm, with a pulse.
The shadows are gone, unveiling a familiar man though dressed for the occasion. Do not ask me why they are/were both brunettes with a red tie and a button up vest. ]
This is Zaun?
[ Distracted instead by what he sees than how he incarnated. His eyes glaze along the architecture, at most familiar with the 1860s which was a time of such an amalgamation of architecture. Greek revival, Gothic revival, Italianate, and specks of Victorian.
Zaun... Is quaint, he thinks. It's different from how he pictured, but that must be due to the carved path Viktor created. ]
[Two brunettes with red ties in a vest... They are the same person.
Viktor gives Jacopo time to become the form and settle in the form. He smiles slightly, amused at the way a soul remembers itself maybe.]
The start of it, yes.
[All sorts of people are coming and going in a place which has the energy of a market. Humans, a lot of them, but also animalistic humanoids, too. Large, small. Like cats, like birds, like sharks even. Robotics. Women, men, and children, too.
It's easy to see why they did not get along before, but it is also amazing to see them get along now.
For the time being, he does not move them from their little alcove or lead Jacopo anywhere else. He is rather famous, as much as he dislikes the recognition, and he knows people will interrupt them with greetings.]
You are looking more like yourself. Do you feel okay?
[ He won't be going on ahead without Viktor's guidance, so they have their peace in this little space. ]
A bit, yes.
[ There's still lingering resignation sewn in him, but it's alleviated bit by bit. It seems he incarnated in this world without a skip in rhythm. No one seems to notice how he suddenly appeared, fully-formed and all, but it may be because of the bustle.
He has gotten used to seeing different people thanks to the Metaphors, so he stays calm... There's something as comforting about a crowd, too. A thriving community, in a way a celebration of life.
It puts a smile on his face when he turns back to Viktor. ]
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IS THIS SICILY?
How much time has passed? Who knows... Across universes, galaxies, existences, and astral planes, the temporal conundrum remains though unimportant for now. There's a song to hear. There's a call to answer. As Viktor follows it, he will take passage through a myriad of memories. They're memories of a simple slave boy with ambitions, of a corrupt feudal lord, and of a crooked mafia boss. All of them center the tragedies of a man he called his friend.
When Viktor blinks one more time, he will find himself in a familiar world from a distant memory. Wheat stretches as far as the eye can go, reflecting a golden glow as they bend to the ocean breeze under the warmth of the sun. There are trees sparsely dotted across the field and a small town on the horizon, then mountain ranges beyond it. There's no cloud in the sky, crystal clear and blue.
It feels safe, like nothing bad can ever happen here. No, nothing bad has ever happened. It offers all who enter peace yet... A sense of finality, for this world is a last step before the beyond. One last gate, one last stop.
In the distance, anyone can see a black spot in all the beauty, just seated on a rock by a familiar tree. The figure dressed in shadows has no discernible features, just a mass of dark haze without a solid outline. Souls are hardy, resilient, and powerful, but they can be so delicate. They can forget themselves, forget their forms, and crumble under the weight of their emotions. Why else would he be like this?
Unknown, forgotten... But lingering in an idyllic dream. ]
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With the staff, he can traverse space and time, something he didn't tell anyone else about. He can traverse mindscapes running parallel to planes, memories, continuing healing the diseased and weak and broken.
The pull is easy to follow. He allows it to draw him in and through, a halogen and multicolored array of a figure, the opposite of what is hovering at the rock on the horizon. The golden sea is familiar. The breeze on his face is warm like the sun, but salty like the ocean, and there is something comforting about the place he had only ever seen in the past of someone else.
His feet follow a remembered path, and he takes his time, wandering with the staff through the golden land toward the sentinel tree in the distance and the shadowy puff of a form on the rock. It's familiar, too. He stops by the rock and the wisp, turning to face the same direction and glance outward.]
Hello.
no subject
Instead he is a dark smog that filters between this specific space by the tree, allegedly sitting. There's no difference in the shadows, no indication if the figure has turned to Viktor or anything. The darkness coalesces to a core and disperses around the edges. Silence prolongs after the greeting, but then a whisper echoes in a familiar voice. ]
Hello.
[ Somehow, there's still a semblance of identity, like it's slowly remembering itself ]
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He continues peering off over the swaying wheat, unbothered by the other's man refusal to suddenly be something more corporal. That's okay. It takes time.
He also slowly begins solidifying into the figure of a more familiar man.]
Do you remember who I am?
[He wouldn't be offended if Jacopo didn't, or if it took Jacopo some time to remember, to grasp. Maybe this memory is different - faster, slower - and maybe Jacopo has been here for a long time.]
We stood here together once.
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It does take time. It is less of a refusal, but a process. After every death, a soul needs time to take upon its preferred form. When a soul shatters, it forgets itself for longer. Jacopo's voice becomes clearer. ]
... It's been a very long time.
[ But he remembers. They had visited a realm like this... Inside that illusion of an illusion, there was a man who ran with his all like he hadn't seen before. He remembers... Faintly being here, at this tree, and the comforting touch of his head pressed against another's along with a supporting embrace. Slowly, the words of a promise and a vow take shape and sound.
The memory itself resonates in this world his soul created.
Yeah... Let's be friends, even though I still think you're insane.
"You now have so much opportunity to do what you want to do, Jacopo. To be your most authentic self. Do something for you, not the voices in your head."
"And I will work on how to help Zaun without stripping them of their humanity."
"Do you promise? Between friends. My last friend... didn't uphold a promise I asked of him."
... I promise.
The conversation echoes and the stalks almost wave and pause to the tone. ]
I was never good at keeping promises.
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He doesn't rush Jacopo. Patiently, he waits for the remembering to settle in, if it does.]
It has; don't tell me you've forgotten. It's good to see you.
[It doesn't surprise him to find Jacopo haunting this particular place. It meant something to Jacopo. What had he said? Safe. It had been somewhere safe. Ventus would definitely put his soul here probably.
Slowly, the bright and multicolored glow subsides, leaving behind a Viktor with the same face, but perhaps not the same body as before. A former vessel built anew, lacking the gaunt face of illness or the pits of hollow in sleepless eyes.
He's smiling a little, possible about the conversation, possibly about Jacopo's response to it.]
I'm not so sure. You seem to be keeping it alright.
[He holds out one hand finally, palm upward.]
Come back, my friend.
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But his physical appearance stays as shadows, though now they're trying to make a person to fit in these clothes. Viktor can at least make sense of a humanoid in it all. It has a head, arms, legs... So he can see a shadowy hand hesitantly reach out. It's a fretful touch where fingers barely ghost the palm, unsure if he is allowed to take though desperately he wants to. He thinks himself undeserving.
He repeats his words. ]
... It has been so long. I thought—[ That he has forgotten his time in heaven. Maybe it would have been for the best, but there were a few fond memories that tether him.
But he doesn't want tethers that aren't penance. Then why is he quivering? Why want? Greed of this kind is disrespectful to everyone he has wronged. ] So much were dreams.
[ Viktor is here, offering a hand, and he thinks to himself what a good dream this all is. What a self-serving one. ]
You look good.
no subject
His hand continue to hover out without urging. He still gives Jacopo time. Jacopo worries about coming to him, but he isn't here to rush Jacopo to come together and whole.]
Should I take that as I did not look so good before?
[Teasing, of course. He really looked so bad then.
His hand lifts, and instead of waiting for Jacopo to absolve himself in order to receive kindness, Viktor curls his hand gently around Jacopo's to offer the kindness anyway.
There's no need to hesitate to touch a man born in the slums of Zaun. Street rat for street rat.]
No dreams this time. Come on.
[A little more.]
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[ It really is coming together. The voice sounds almost identical to back then in its tone and pitch, the delivery candid and pointed. Still, at the edges there's weariness.
My god, did you cement they're just two rats holding paws in this golden wheat field? A haven for outcasts, misfits, strays, and likely rodents? He doesn't retract his hand, instead finding the confidence to hold onto it.
It's warm, comforting, and reminds him of short times of understanding. It's something he loathes to relinquish, but... That wasn't his choice. It's not a choice.
This dream is meant to be his last, but why is he holding on? Is it because this is the last he's holding on? The shadows make more of the silhouette, but features still blurry. ]
What? Did you want to go to town? We can.
no subject
Yes, thank you for that.
[For what it's worth, he's amused. He did say he appreciated Jacopo's unfaltering ability to be the most blunt bitch in the entire room. How can a man who spent so long pretending to be who he wasn't have such an uncanny talent for saying it like it is without thoughtful filter?
For a moment or two, he stands and holds Jacopo's hand in his own, mostly to give Jacopo the opportunity to pull away if wanted. His hold is pretty relentlessly solid, but he would not struggle to keep the hand if Jacopo decided against it.
Then, gently, he tugs on it to try coaxing the shadowy but clothed figure off the rock, to stand with him.]
It's time to be you again, Jacopo. I want to show you something.
[Don't think you can just abandon your existence and sit here forever on this rock in the sweetest place of a memory and pout and brood.]
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They stand and it seems like he doesn't pull way. He decides it's fine to indulge. This is... A dream. The tug has him stand up and the shadows weave his silhouette. While still not clear, he is a solid outline. A void of a person.
Better than the start though. Viktor can easily tell when he turns his head, or when he looks at him, even though there are no features to read. ]
What is it? [ Some faint and slow curiosity, relearning what that felt like. ] You're not going to spring up an abrupt vow on me again, are you?
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No. You are free of vows... for now.
[Once Jacopo is up, he takes a step back and pulls Jacopo forward just a little bit. Not going to let Jacopo sit on any more rocks, thank you.]
I want to show you Zaun. What it has become. But you have to be yourself in order to go.
[Not just a faceless soul sitting in a nice dream. It has already gotten better. He can see more of Jacopo now than he could before.]
Is that okay with you?
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[ A dry tone. Wow... he is soooo bothered. But his tomb is beautiful, isn't it? It's peaceful, safe, and palatable for the final throes of a soul, but... Perhaps he was waiting for someone. For many people, maybe. For what, he isn't sure, but he isn't in the mind to dwell. Hasn't been since he had lived in this dream after his release.
So he's focused on Viktor, tilting his shadowy head as he's told to come to him beyond. ]
I can't just show up as I am. I have no physical form.
[ It isn't a no. He does want to see it... It must have changed from the descriptions Viktor painted for him before.
A detour would be nice? He's no longer shackled. ]
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[But every time he paid a visit to the dream of a memory, he found it peacefully solitude, and he never knew whether to be happy Jacopo was not here - it meant Jacopo was alive? - or disappointed at not knowing how Jacopo was faring.]
I'm sure we can figure out something between the two of us.
[Hmmm.]
Perhaps we can borrow Jayce's body for a while and put you inside of it?
[They could do that, and it would be funny to see and hear Jayce and Jacopo argue endlessly in the same hulking form.]
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[ Not begrudging, though a tinge morose.
Some memories echo through this illusionary world, reflecting off of the gold sea. It's the industrial age in a faraway country from his homeland, where he tries to maintain his hold on his family's syndicate while being a large investor in the transcontinental railroad. It's a tale of betrayal between friends, twisted by a curse put on him after his first death... A tale of miscommunication between lovers, twisted by the curse that exacerbated and magnified his shortcomings.
It's somehow two sides of a coin that he had done well for himself. He kept a hold of the mafia and held onto the title of capo, then died of old age. His personal life was full of failures, in comparison.
Similar fate in essence as his life in the Middle Ages.
He had anticipated another round of suffering, resigned and accepting, but he's left to be wayward. Waiting... But now he's given direction.
Except! This direction!! Sounds insane!!! Viktor can't see his expression, but maybe he can sense how dubious he is. He'll At least hear it. ]
... You mean to put me... Inside your partner's body? [ ??? ] I have to share a space with that guy?
[ Jacopo you barely know that dude why are you expressing dislike and judgment already ]
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[He does want to hear what all happened to Jacopo. They can chat about timelines and reincarnation and everything in between.
Once they figure out the stupidity of putting Jacopo inside of Jayce's body.
JACOPO IS SO VALID IN THIS ASSESSMENT.]
Jayce is not so bad... not now.
[Not before. But there had been a time, a shard of it, where Jayce seemed unwell. (They are all fucking unwell.)
He is at least not so unwell he can't understand what this burden means to Jacopo, to a man who never even wanted to be in the same vicinity as others if he could help it. Look. It was the first thing he thought of, okay!]
Do you have another way? Do you want... to be inside me?
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He can watch Jacopo pinch his own nose bridge with his shadow-y silhouette. ]
Why does it have to be inside someone?! Can't we do something else? And not put me inside some person?
[ He knows Viktor is trying to help, but Christ. CHRIST. There's a sigh. ]
Let's just go. We can figure it out when we're there.
[ At least confident that Viktor will be able to sense his presence and he'll be around... Only because he once had an eldritch maid. ]
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He twists his hand around gently, getting Jacopo's rat paw in a leading fashion.]
Hopefully you don't disappear into the aether...
[Teasing.
He leads Jacopo away from the vigilant rock and tree, out toward the sea of wheat.]
So, tell me, what all happened since we last spoke, Jacopo?
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Then make sure to tether me and focus.
[ Sassy.
The golden ocean welcomes them, almost bending a path even though who knows how you get out of here. Maybe you just... Decide you want to leave, then you can. In a realm of emotions and memories, anything can happen, right? Jacopo goes a bit quiet as they talk about Morgana, heart still weighing heavy. ]
With Gabriel's help, I was able to find Morgana, but... She was in a similar state to how she died. She couldn't see anything past her delusions—the trauma left a deep wound down to her soul. I don't think my apology got through to her, but I did what I sought to do.
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[Physically tethered by the hand and emotionally tethered by friendship. That's how this works.
He leads Jacopo amiably through the wheat while listening, not in a hurry, not searching for any intent. The core bobbing in the nodule carapace of the staff begins glowing gently, but Viktor's attention stays on Jacopo.
His brows furrow at the news. A woman truly deserves everlasting scorn and feminine rage (me, I think that).]
It's good you still offered it. Some wounds are difficult to heal, and the pain is hard to let go. It feels like a betrayal to yourself.
Were things... alright, though?
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Jacopo stays quiet because... Seeing her like that hurt him. It did every single day when he went up the observation tower to draw her blood—and all for what? For power? For progress? To be... Worth something? The voices no longer haunt him, but the guilt is still there. This mirage full of golden wheat is created by regrets.
He has no right to wish he could save her then and even now... Closing his eyes, he focuses on the question. ]
... They are now. [ Skipping the parts that weren't all right, the results is what maters. There's a small smile, bittersweet but still ever so glad. ] An angel freed her.
[ And like the rest of them, but he doesn't really think about it like that. ]
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They haven't seen each other in a while. Also, Jacopo is like That.
ALSO, JACOPO WAS OUT HERE IN MEMORY DREAM AFTERLIFE LAND AS A SHAPELESS AND SHADOWY VOID. You dumb Italian fuck!!!!!!!]
An angel?
[Jacopo probably doesn't have time to answer. That familiar, chilly energy churns up Jacopo's arm and over him; the core in the staff flashes blindingly white, consuming everything.
The safety of the wheat ocean is replaced by glimpses of a space of violet and halogen organic webs, of the endless dark ink of the universe peppered with gasses and stars. The very nature of Jacopo's soul shifts, is compressed, is expanded, pulled through the energy of a colander, wrought like spaghetti and put together again into the semblance of a shape.
Zaun has spilled over onto the lowest parts of Piltover, near the aqueducts and the docks. It isn't diseased, or filled with dirty violence. It is a charmingly antiquated aesthetic, not the middle ages for Jacopo, but maybe the turn of the 20th century, the early 20s, 30s. It's the beginnings of the Zaun which Ekko and Heimerdinger saw, the better timeline, clawing through.
People are coming and going, mingling at the connection between both places, and Viktor, still holding onto Jacopo's hand, anchors what's left of him to the plane.]
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They're also going on a trip, so maybe later they can better catch up. ]
An angel.
[ Said in a more skeptical tone... Which simply implies it's a person rather than the divine, but there is something mystical about someone who breaks an internal curse.
Somehow, some way, his soul takes this world seamlessly even though it goes through the wringer between the dotted stars in the blotted void. It pulls from what it can and reconstructs him where the shape that feels like a hand becomes solid and undeniably tangible. Warm, with a pulse.
The shadows are gone, unveiling a familiar man though dressed for the occasion. Do not ask me why they are/were both brunettes with a red tie and a button up vest. ]
This is Zaun?
[ Distracted instead by what he sees than how he incarnated. His eyes glaze along the architecture, at most familiar with the 1860s which was a time of such an amalgamation of architecture. Greek revival, Gothic revival, Italianate, and specks of Victorian.
Zaun... Is quaint, he thinks. It's different from how he pictured, but that must be due to the carved path Viktor created. ]
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Viktor gives Jacopo time to become the form and settle in the form. He smiles slightly, amused at the way a soul remembers itself maybe.]
The start of it, yes.
[All sorts of people are coming and going in a place which has the energy of a market. Humans, a lot of them, but also animalistic humanoids, too. Large, small. Like cats, like birds, like sharks even. Robotics. Women, men, and children, too.
It's easy to see why they did not get along before, but it is also amazing to see them get along now.
For the time being, he does not move them from their little alcove or lead Jacopo anywhere else. He is rather famous, as much as he dislikes the recognition, and he knows people will interrupt them with greetings.]
You are looking more like yourself. Do you feel okay?
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A bit, yes.
[ There's still lingering resignation sewn in him, but it's alleviated bit by bit. It seems he incarnated in this world without a skip in rhythm. No one seems to notice how he suddenly appeared, fully-formed and all, but it may be because of the bustle.
He has gotten used to seeing different people thanks to the Metaphors, so he stays calm... There's something as comforting about a crowd, too. A thriving community, in a way a celebration of life.
It puts a smile on his face when he turns back to Viktor. ]
It's quite a hub here already.
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