[ As much trouble as he believes he might be in, Jayce still prefers the sweltering heat and steam of the boiler rooms and engines to the stuffy, high-brow chatter up in the reception room. No doubt Mrs. Kiramman will be looking for him, impatiently making up kind excuses for his absence. He's sure to get an earful later.
Instead of worrying about her or the goings on of the upper decks, he dips to try and collect what of his sketches and designs he can before the stranger sees the contents, but he can tell in the skim of those amber eyes he's already lost. Not lost on Jayce, either, is the Piltover Academy attire the slender man wears, and he stares a little surprised at first, at the papers offered out to him. His eyes travel the line of his hand, his sleeve, to the slow bend of his knee, up his lapels, to his face, where a wisp of hair clings to his forehead. (He has two beauty marks. Real beauty marks, not painted on in want of attention, that much he can tell up close like this).
He clears his throat and drops down to a knee himself to pluck up a page this stranger hadn't reached, and when Jayce extends his hand to take the pages, he flushes. Thankfully, the dim light of the engine room spares him some embarrassment. ]
A Parsons turbine? [ His fingers twitch, almost as though he's itching to write the name of the thing down in the margins of his papers, but instead he closes his hand around the other edge of the sheets, not quite pulling them from the stranger's grasp yet. What he doesn't realize is it also exposes the ornate, leather band snaring his wrist, the glowing blue of the jewel inset on its back. ]
I've only heard it called a reaction turbine. I'll have to remember that. [ He clears his throat again, eyes flickering up to meet the man's face. The color of his eyes catches him by surprise again as the light overhead flickers, and he's sure he sees gold in those depths. ]
But, avoiding? I'm not avoiding anything. Just thought it would be a waste of my time on this voyage if I didn't take a look around. It's just... the news talks about how it's a mastery of scientific innovation and world-renown technology. Parsons turbines, and a ship this large operating on steam boilers, with as many decks? I think there are plenty of enhancements that could be made but--
[ He tucks the sheets into the leather bound journal, its pages ink stained and worn from many many years of adoring use. He rises back to his feet, only to offer that same hand down to the man. Help up, though he's not sure why his instinct tells him he might need it. He nearly looks bashful at the gesture. ]
You're right, by the way. About the avoiding. But something tells me you shouldn't be down here, either. I didn't think Piltover Academy allowed any students to work belowdecks. Have we met before?
[there's something freeing about the lack of judgment in this stranger's gaze. there's no immediate flicker of pity at the brief glimpse he might have seen from his limp, no suspicion that somehow he doesn't belong in the uniform that still doesn't feel like its his. even his line of questioning is filled with gentle curiosity rather than accusations, and in admitting his own displacement there is a feeling viktor feels warm in his chest that can only be described as something almost kindred. this stranger might be an authentic student of piltover's academy and an actual citizen within its borders, a first class passenger on this ship - but down here? they're both outsiders drinking in the wondrous work that surrounds them on this fine vessel.
and when the other man isn't stealing glances, viktor is taking in more than just the intricate detail of steel and screws. from the fresh cut of his hair to the small gap between his front teeth and the unmistakable glimpse of callouses that out him as something other than rich and idle...he can admit the obvious: the stranger has piqued his interest. and alright, aesthetically he's pleasing to the eye, not that it would require a hypothesis to prove that. he certainly fills in his uniform much sturdier than viktor, and it crosses his mind that like his hands, maybe his arms were harder won through difficult work than any shiny emblem or house name could gloss over.
he finds himself wondering - what does he study within the walls of the academy? how did he earn a spot on the titanic? does he know the professor personally? his imagination is wild with possibility. but one word sticks out the most from his slightly nervous, rushed responses and eagerness to praise.]
Enhancements? You're saying you believe this "Wonder Ship" built by some of the greatest inventors of our time requires improvements?
[viktor tilts his head in consideration, letting a loud beat of silence brew between them as if he might disagree. but eventually the corner of his mouth tugs into a small smirk, and he reaches for the extended hand just as he locks with rich gold that nearly mirrors his own.
(no pity, no insult in the motion. a rare offer of genuine help without assumption.)]
I agree with you.
[he lets that drop as heavy as all 31 tons in the titanic's anchors, a hint of playfulness and teasing in the reveal. pushing up to his feet with the added support, his palm brushes against unmistakable callouses that prove his absent theory. is it from handling lab equipment? or is he down here because this kind of honest work hits close to home? viktor's hand lingers for just a moment, an inexplicable addition to that warmth in his chest blooming before he lets it drop back to his side.]
Don't worry. We haven't met before in Piltover. I'll even keep this between us, as long you are willing to share some of these ideas of yours - in exchange for the same.
[his lips pull a little further, amusement clear as he tips his chin up at his new mystery acquaintance to gauge his reaction.]
[ As in all things, Jayce experiences a brief moment of doubt the very second the stranger questions his notion toward enhancements, improvements. His cheeks burn pink at their high points and he clears his throat. He doesn't know this man, doesn't recognize him, but the uniform suggests he's from the Academy - had he just insulted someone who might have some affiliation with the design?
Surely not.
The silence weighs heavy and as he helps the man up, he blinks wide eyed and nearly forgets to release the other man's hand. It fits so perfectly against his own. Up close like this, it's easy to see the gold of his eyes reflected in the dim light of the cabin, to see something more than judgement behind them. Jayce has become used to the curious stares and disapproving looks from those at the Academy. To some, he's an utter mad man, working with technology that wasn't meant to be tampered with. To others, he's a foolhardy boy let off his lower class leash too soon.
Standing so close, he can feel the warmth between them, particularly when he watches the man's mouth pull into a knowing smirk. It makes electricity tingle its way up his spine as his hand drops back to his side, remiss to have released the other. He takes a half step toward him, bewildered, his own fair eyes wide and alight with interest and relief. ]
Wait, you do?
[ He's not even sure the very engineers of the ship would agree with him, but to find someone who falls into stride with him already? It's exhilarating. He certainly feels more at home here in the belly of the ship, but that's made even more comfortable by this pretty stranger's presence. He has to get his name. ]
Of course I'm willing. But only if you share some of your ideas, too. You see, if you agree that there are modifications that can be made to a ship like this, then you've spent some time thinking about this, too. [ A grin, easy and bright, though there's still the sheepish burn of pink high in his cheeks. He rubs at the back of his neck, a little awkward, a little uncertain how to navigate this without seeming completely and utterly over-invested. Because that's what he is, where science and technology is concerned.
Little else lights a fire in him like this does.
And so he offers his hand out to him again in greeting, but selfishly wanting a taste of that contact again, to feel the zing of electricity. The knowledge that he might very well have met an equal, finally. Someone he can level and stand toe-to-toe with. ]
Jayce Talis. What do I have to wager to get your name?
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no subject
Instead of worrying about her or the goings on of the upper decks, he dips to try and collect what of his sketches and designs he can before the stranger sees the contents, but he can tell in the skim of those amber eyes he's already lost. Not lost on Jayce, either, is the Piltover Academy attire the slender man wears, and he stares a little surprised at first, at the papers offered out to him. His eyes travel the line of his hand, his sleeve, to the slow bend of his knee, up his lapels, to his face, where a wisp of hair clings to his forehead. (He has two beauty marks. Real beauty marks, not painted on in want of attention, that much he can tell up close like this).
He clears his throat and drops down to a knee himself to pluck up a page this stranger hadn't reached, and when Jayce extends his hand to take the pages, he flushes. Thankfully, the dim light of the engine room spares him some embarrassment. ]
A Parsons turbine? [ His fingers twitch, almost as though he's itching to write the name of the thing down in the margins of his papers, but instead he closes his hand around the other edge of the sheets, not quite pulling them from the stranger's grasp yet. What he doesn't realize is it also exposes the ornate, leather band snaring his wrist, the glowing blue of the jewel inset on its back. ]
I've only heard it called a reaction turbine. I'll have to remember that. [ He clears his throat again, eyes flickering up to meet the man's face. The color of his eyes catches him by surprise again as the light overhead flickers, and he's sure he sees gold in those depths. ]
But, avoiding? I'm not avoiding anything. Just thought it would be a waste of my time on this voyage if I didn't take a look around. It's just... the news talks about how it's a mastery of scientific innovation and world-renown technology. Parsons turbines, and a ship this large operating on steam boilers, with as many decks? I think there are plenty of enhancements that could be made but--
[ He tucks the sheets into the leather bound journal, its pages ink stained and worn from many many years of adoring use. He rises back to his feet, only to offer that same hand down to the man. Help up, though he's not sure why his instinct tells him he might need it. He nearly looks bashful at the gesture. ]
You're right, by the way. About the avoiding. But something tells me you shouldn't be down here, either. I didn't think Piltover Academy allowed any students to work belowdecks. Have we met before?
no subject
and when the other man isn't stealing glances, viktor is taking in more than just the intricate detail of steel and screws. from the fresh cut of his hair to the small gap between his front teeth and the unmistakable glimpse of callouses that out him as something other than rich and idle...he can admit the obvious: the stranger has piqued his interest. and alright, aesthetically he's pleasing to the eye, not that it would require a hypothesis to prove that. he certainly fills in his uniform much sturdier than viktor, and it crosses his mind that like his hands, maybe his arms were harder won through difficult work than any shiny emblem or house name could gloss over.
he finds himself wondering - what does he study within the walls of the academy? how did he earn a spot on the titanic? does he know the professor personally? his imagination is wild with possibility. but one word sticks out the most from his slightly nervous, rushed responses and eagerness to praise.]
Enhancements? You're saying you believe this "Wonder Ship" built by some of the greatest inventors of our time requires improvements?
[viktor tilts his head in consideration, letting a loud beat of silence brew between them as if he might disagree. but eventually the corner of his mouth tugs into a small smirk, and he reaches for the extended hand just as he locks with rich gold that nearly mirrors his own.
(no pity, no insult in the motion. a rare offer of genuine help without assumption.)]
I agree with you.
[he lets that drop as heavy as all 31 tons in the titanic's anchors, a hint of playfulness and teasing in the reveal. pushing up to his feet with the added support, his palm brushes against unmistakable callouses that prove his absent theory. is it from handling lab equipment? or is he down here because this kind of honest work hits close to home? viktor's hand lingers for just a moment, an inexplicable addition to that warmth in his chest blooming before he lets it drop back to his side.]
Don't worry. We haven't met before in Piltover. I'll even keep this between us, as long you are willing to share some of these ideas of yours - in exchange for the same.
[his lips pull a little further, amusement clear as he tips his chin up at his new mystery acquaintance to gauge his reaction.]
And your name.
no subject
[ As in all things, Jayce experiences a brief moment of doubt the very second the stranger questions his notion toward enhancements, improvements. His cheeks burn pink at their high points and he clears his throat. He doesn't know this man, doesn't recognize him, but the uniform suggests he's from the Academy - had he just insulted someone who might have some affiliation with the design?
Surely not.
The silence weighs heavy and as he helps the man up, he blinks wide eyed and nearly forgets to release the other man's hand. It fits so perfectly against his own. Up close like this, it's easy to see the gold of his eyes reflected in the dim light of the cabin, to see something more than judgement behind them. Jayce has become used to the curious stares and disapproving looks from those at the Academy. To some, he's an utter mad man, working with technology that wasn't meant to be tampered with. To others, he's a foolhardy boy let off his lower class leash too soon.
Standing so close, he can feel the warmth between them, particularly when he watches the man's mouth pull into a knowing smirk. It makes electricity tingle its way up his spine as his hand drops back to his side, remiss to have released the other. He takes a half step toward him, bewildered, his own fair eyes wide and alight with interest and relief. ]
Wait, you do?
[ He's not even sure the very engineers of the ship would agree with him, but to find someone who falls into stride with him already? It's exhilarating. He certainly feels more at home here in the belly of the ship, but that's made even more comfortable by this pretty stranger's presence. He has to get his name. ]
Of course I'm willing. But only if you share some of your ideas, too. You see, if you agree that there are modifications that can be made to a ship like this, then you've spent some time thinking about this, too. [ A grin, easy and bright, though there's still the sheepish burn of pink high in his cheeks. He rubs at the back of his neck, a little awkward, a little uncertain how to navigate this without seeming completely and utterly over-invested. Because that's what he is, where science and technology is concerned.
Little else lights a fire in him like this does.
And so he offers his hand out to him again in greeting, but selfishly wanting a taste of that contact again, to feel the zing of electricity. The knowledge that he might very well have met an equal, finally. Someone he can level and stand toe-to-toe with. ]
Jayce Talis. What do I have to wager to get your name?