Ill Omen's Light (Lux/Jinx)

Chapter 21: Interlude - Seats at the Table

The brightly-hued flesh of huge, exotic plants pulsated in the backdrop of the meeting chamber. The atmosphere of the cultivair clung to them all, headier and thicker with sickly-sweet perfumes than a brothel; without any of the benefits, Sevika conceded, chin resting to the knuckles of her human hand whilst she cut a deck of cards with the mechanical fingers of its counterpart.

Any distracting fantasy of a fragrant professional or two writhing in her lap, however, proved impossible with the grating prattle of Garront Trezk and Wencher Spindlaw snapping back and forth across the table like two junkyard dogs separated by a fence.

"-luable shipment that little rodent ransacked!" Trezk slammed two of his four mechanical fists on the table, "that consignment took months of negotiations! I want those goods retrieved or expenditures reimbursed, we can't let this just slide-"

"You and your mistress can keep your foreign trinkets," Spindlaw sneered through his tattered beard, "Those were my men the brat smeared on the floor. I want her pretty braids for a belt and her head for the buckle, and if I think you're going to get in my way, Trezk, I'll add yours right beside..."

Sevika silently gauged the interest of the other Barons gathered around the table; Petrok and Saito disenchanted with the entire affair, Velveteen toying with her filter cigarette, mildly amused, Chross's leathery grimace unreadable but his ears no doubt picking through the drivel for any tidbits of use, Margot and Voss looking like they were each contemplating homicide or suicide on the flip of a coin. Smeech was at least feigning sleep.

The rest were variations on the same. Nothing useful to Sevika. Not yet.

For a moment, she missed her old view, hovering behind their backs, arms crossed whilst they tattled secrets and flung accusations. For a moment, she wished it were Silco in her chair, casting his eyes down the long table, with his soft razor voice cutting through their bullshit.

With the tradition of their meeting-place came those monstrous flowers, drinking deep of the Gray, gushing their spiced perfumes. Sevika's nostrils burned, her fingers twitched for the cigar-box, but with some discipline, she didn't light one up.

Timing wasn't quite right yet.

Of course, he'd never had to deal with quite so many. Most of the original Barons had cut and run during the Turmoils or were rotting at the bottom of the Sump by now. Casualties of the civil war, their own ambition – or of this nest of social climbing vipers she found herself surrounded by – there still seemed to be another self-declared Baron every week.

Maybe a few too many, she mused, maybe it's time to thin the herd.

Too many seats at the table for her liking, but two sat conspicuously empty.

"Heh," Sevika let her low voice cut through the spat, "So let me get this straight."

She lay down the cards in her grip and turned a questioning glance to Trezk; "You lost an entire shipment of rare materials from Noxus and don't have a single clue how to retrieve it," she wiped Spindlaw's smirk off his beardy face as she turned to him, "And you lost – what, twelve, thirteen of your gangers in one little firefight?"

"Sixteen," he muttered.

Sevika laughed under her breath and shook her head.

"You aren't ready for Jinx."

"Aren't we?" Spindlaw snapped his teeth, "Suppose you're going to handle it, are you? Or are you still too sentimental to put Silco's little bitch in the ground where she belongs?"

Sevika took a slow breath and tipped her head to one side.

"Want to say that again, Wencher? I guarantee it won't sound smarter the second time."