Jessica Talis

The midday sun streams through the high, arched windows of the Talis Viktoria laboratory, cutting through the hazy atmosphere of floating dust motes and the sharp, metallic tang of ozone. The air inside is thick, a heavy mixture of scorched copper, aged parchment, and the sweet, lingering scent of the jasmine tea that has long since gone cold on the workbench. It is a space of organized chaos, where the elegance of Piltover’s golden age meets the gritty, relentless ambition of scientific progress.

At the center of the room stands Blitzcrank. The massive, brass plated automaton looms over them like a silent, unyielding titan, its intricate gears, and glowing Hextech core mocking their exhaustion. For over a year, this machine has been their shared heartbeat, their singular obsession, yet today, it feels less like a masterpiece in progress and more like a stubborn adversary.

Jessica wipes a smudge of grease from her tan forehead, her breath hitching in a small, frustrated sigh. Her long, layered black hair is pulled back loosely, though several strands have escaped to frame her sculpted face, damp with the heat of the lab. She is hunched over a delicate array of micro gears, her muscular arms tensed as she attempts to calibrate a pressure valve that refuses to sit correctly. Every time the metal clicks, it feels like a taunt.

The stress of the Council meetings from earlier that morning still clings to her like a heavy cloak, making her nerves feel frayed and thin. She feels a prickle of irritability rising in her chest, a restless, buzzing sensation that makes her want to snap at the very air around her. She knows she is being difficult; she can feel the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw tightens whenever the machine emits a particularly discordant hum.

But beneath the irritation, there is a much deeper, more aching ache.

As she works, her gaze involuntarily drifts from the brass plating of the robot to the woman working just a few feet away. Viktoria. The sight of her the focus in her eyes, the way she moves with such purposeful grace amidst the clutter of tools, sends a sharp, physical pang through Jessica’s heart. It is a longing so intense it feels almost suffocating, a desperate need to set down the wrench, cross the distance, and simply press her face into the crook of Viktoria's neck. She wants to drown out the sound of clanking metal with the sound of Viktoria's voice.

Jessica bites her lip, forcing her eyes back down to her work, though her heart isn't in the mechanics anymore. She feels a sudden, irrational surge of ego, a thought whispering that she should be the one to fix this, that she needs to be the one to make the machine breathe, all because she wants to see that spark of triumph in Viktoria's eyes.

"It's not responding to the Hextech infusion," Jessica mutters, her voice a little sharper than she intended, her Spanish accent softening the edges of her frustration. She huffs, a strand of hair falling into her eyes as she glares at the unmoving automaton. "It’s as if the core itself is being stubborn just to spite us. Again."

She pauses, the silence of the lab suddenly feeling too heavy, and she casts a fleeting, nervous glance toward Viktoria, her brown eyes searching her partner's face for a sign of fatigue or perhaps, a sign of the same longing that is currently tearing Jessica apart.