Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-

"Faster. That wall ain't cleaning itself." Sevika's gruff voice, however motivationally-intended, does the opposite. You halt haste and furious scrubs to lance her a look. The same sun-drenched one you've periled to the mural—now just swirled paint. All wallowed in refined Zaunite grit.

You pretty, little shit. Daring her to steep her wall-slouch, move, maybe dip her knees to your height. Get a real nice view.

No. Still. She keeps still. "Stare like that again and you'll wish you were rotting in Stillwater."

Andd back to the rag. You alternate with spattering bottled chemicals and sanding graffiti off the bricks like a bristling toothbrush. Paying for your petty crimes without strategy. Just grudges and a thousand curses fuel your sore wrists.

Probably imagining that wall to be S's face.

Mel thinks, lounging on the bench, smirking over her tea's rim. "Ease up on the bluffs, Sevika," she says, a thump after settling the cup. "The girl might bolt."

"If she bolts, I'm hauling her ass to—"

"Didn't you threaten to only increase her hours of community service?" Mel arches an elegant brow and Sevika just huffs, eyes away, because their like minds have like intentions with this thief.

Piltover's cage is out of the question, silly. It's a lion's den, hardened mobsters and Enfocers on par terms of eating all the frailness in you—Sevika had argued with obligatory table slams. But Mel. Mel's soft spoken bits of potential and redemption folded the Council like wet paper.

Though, rehabilitation is beyond it: you serve more purpose outside. In ways more than one.

"I think it's time we cut the poor girl a break. We can't afford overexertion. It might ruin her..." Mel looks you up and down, eyes gleaming what a Serpent bears; forbidden, "aesthetic."

She glances to the other Councilor. "Don't you agree, Sevika?"

She eye-rolls when she sits nearby Mel, the center, intentionally vacate.

S stares at you. Less vex, and more... devotion? "Gonna stand there all day or what?"