Chapter Text
Volatile.
An adjective describing something that’s liable to change rapidly and unpredictably, especially for the worse.
Yeah, I’d say that’s a pretty accurate description of me.
The name’s Jinx— junior at Zaun South highschool, professional doodler, inventor extraordinaire, and queen of all things chaos. My personal favorite thing about almost all sides being my “weird side” is that anyone who sticks around is a real one (or, well, a masochist, I guess. You never know!).
Take my best buddy Ekko. We’ve been friends ever since we were kids, and not just because our dads (all three of them) were friends. We’ve been there for each other through thick and thin, even more so now that we finally go to the same school. So naturally, when Mr. Boy Saviour, science prodigy of the school and star pupil of Piltover University’s Professor Heimerdinger, needed a partner to compete in the innovator’s competition with him, I so very graciously volunteered as tribute, as friends do (at least, that’s how I like to tell the story. Ekko says that I definitely dramatize it, but that’s just because he hates fun). Now, I usually like to do my science-ing my own way on my own time, but I figured a change of pace and a new challenge to tackle would be fun.
Right now, we were still in the first stage of the engineering process, meaning that we were supposed to be working on defining a problem that we could fix.
Emphasis on supposed to.
Normally, my mind is a hive of ideas, but as I sat in my room, all the worker bees seemed to be on lunch break. Convenient, I know. I let out a frustrated groan and rolled my chair away from my desk. Maybe some movement would coax out an idea. “Silco!” I called as I grabbed my windbreaker. “I’m going out for a walk.”
“See that you’re back by seven. Vander said he wanted to have dinner together before he leaves for work,” my dad responded, still typing away in his den.
“Will do, boss!” I stepped outside into the chill late autumn air, pulling out my phone and making a reminder of when to return (I’ve learned to utilize reminders from a few too many stern talking-tos from my dads. Mainly Silco).
So, there I was, walking around, examining the same old gray rocks like they held the meaning of life (spoiler alert: they didn’t), listening as if the crunches of leaves were whispers of wisdom (they weren't), and, overall, minding my own business. Now, most of the time, I like to keep it that way. But as I passed by an alleyway, I heard something that I just couldn’t ignore.
“Look, she can’t even defend herself!”
“Watch this! Hey, Isha, nice toy rabbit you’ve got there! Mind if I take a look?”
A noise of protest.
“Come on, Isha, say something!”
Laughter.
“I think she wants to play monkey in the middle!”
More laughter. And then, a minute later, a rip. A gasp.
“Ooh, what are you gonna do now, Isha? You gonna cry about it?”
Remember when I said I was volatile? Witnessing this mirror of my childhood brought all the memories rushing back, drowning me in an avalanche of frustration, hurt, despair, and most of all, rage. And, like shaking a soda bottle, all of those emotions make me do what I do best:
Explode.
“Hey, Dingbats!” I growled, storming over. The attention of the instigators— two boys, maybe 10 years old— snapped towards me, a new fear in their eyes. Good. “You think you’re funny? You think it’s ok for you to pick on someone just ‘cause they’re different? What makes you think that you’re better than her, huh? ‘Cause, news flash: you’re not. She’s going to end up passing all of you punks in everything she does. Know why?” They shook their heads, eyes widening. “She doesn’t need words to even begin to try to prove her worth. You brats failed miserably and would continue to do so even if you ran your mouth off until the day you die,” I spat. “Don’t let me catch you pulling something like this again. Now, start making yourselves useful to society and find something worthwhile to do. Scram!”
I didn’t need to say it twice. They ran out of there as fast as their pathetic little feet could go. The muscles in my face slowly relaxed, my pulse and breathing beginning to return to normal. Then, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye and remembered: the girl. I looked down at her, my eyes meeting hers, gazing up at me in wonder. “Hey, kid. Still got all your insides?” I asked.
She nodded, pausing soon after, a look of remembrance on her face. She looked down at her copper-and-white stuffed rabbit in one hand and its torn-off ear in the other, her eyes becoming glassy as she bit the inside of her quivering lip.
Crap. I had forgotten about that. I frantically took her hand, squatting down to her eye level. “Hey, hey, don’t cry!” Kids are, admittedly, not among my many talents. Thankfully, my mind chose that moment to finally cooperate and come up with an idea. “Tell you what— I’ll fix it up for you. Just a bit of sewing, and it’ll be good as new!”
She gasped, her eyes widening. She launched herself at me in a hug, squeezing me as hard as she could with her little arms. After a moment of surprise, I gently hugged back, a small smile forming on my lips. It felt… surprisingly nice to be able to help her (maybe I should add kids to my list of talents after all).
I pulled back from the hug and examined her amber eyes. In them, I saw…myself. “You feel it? That buzzing behind your eyes?” I asked Isha, echoing the words that my sister had told me so long ago. “Best feeling in the world, kid,” I told her, standing up. “Keep chasing it. You might not be able to use words to defend yourself, but that just means you have to get creative,” I grinned. “Just don’t let them get under your skin, ok?”
She nodded, smiling as she wiped away the tears in her eyes and grabbed my hand.
“Good. Now, let’s get that rabbit of yours fixed up, shall we?”