A/N: This chapter can be also be viewed with illustrations and music on AO3!
Aria of Isolation
Chapter 3: Hideaway
"How?" he asked himself. "These two? Has time truly descended into such chaos that this is the vital link that must be preserved?"
The course of time betwixt his fingers like delicate thread was all the answer he needed. He could not deny where it led. Its persistent existence was nothing short of a miracle.
"So be it. Prove to me your worth."
The Sun rose again on the patrons of Piltover, on the tips of the towers, and on the tarps over the gadget stands. On the enormous gates that parted for ships and on the tiny birds perched atop them. On the man who rushed to work and on the child who cried of boredom. On the canopy of curvy trees along winding paths and on the windowpanes of the huts housing yordles. On the ones that slumbered peacefully and on the ones that didn't.
"Urgh…thanks for reminding me why we don't sleep in the same bed anymore…" Rumble groaned to himself as a limp arm planted itself onto his exhausted face, "…Ziggs."
Throwing it off, he wondered how long he had left to endure this. Too exhausted and wishing he would open his eyes to Bandle once again, the blue yordle tried his best to drift off. Ziggs was known for his active movements while sleeping, tossing and turning like he was having a nightmare yet resting soundly. Displaced on the only bed available in the home, he defended his reputation, much to Rumble's displeasure.
Just a little while longer, he would think to himself as turned to his side, the sacred five minutes to feel like five hours. It all blurred back to black. That is, until his bedmate rolled over, slung a thick arm over Rumble's scrawny chest, and spooned him like a pillow. He froze, trapped against Ziggs' chest as their legs entangled.
Then came the hot huffs, the sultry snores that tickled his flicking ears and brushed down his neck, the gibberish murmurs spoken straight into his fur. Ziggs' modest belly curved against the small of his back and, if his assumptions were correct, a more noticeable protrusion dragged against his leg. Rumble tried to ignore it and shift away. That proved counterintuitive, however, as each minute movement grazed his rear against the other's lap.
"Uh oh. This isn't good. Shit, this is gonna get really awkward if this gets any-"
With each rub, the breaths got more winded and the fidgeting kicked up. Subtle sounds of pleasure muffled into his twitching ear. Ziggs' wandering fingers kneaded Rumble's chest and belly as the mutters devolved into whimpers.
"-worse! Okay, don't panic. Just lift his arm up...shuffle around a bit...get your leg back. Easy now, easy."
Following his own directions, Rumble silently maneuvered himself away from the imposing yordle. Ziggs' arm fell flaccid in place as the smaller one rested eased once more.
"Easy," he smiled.
Just one minute, he wished. Just a moment of clear, calm, quiet, flattening, bone-crushing sleep.
"What the hell!? Agh!" Rumble shouted in his head.
Speaking too soon, the tan yordle rolled himself onto the blue amidst his active imaginings. Smooshed under the weight, Rumble struggled to so much as wiggle around. He could feel every uninvited part of his bedmate with the snoring now front and center in his face. If there was any brutal reminder of their weight difference, it was this.
"Urk! Damn it, Ziggs! You're…fucking crushing me like this! Gah! Why do you have to be so—"
Through the rough puffs and soft slides of Ziggs making himself comfortable, it all seemed to end when his fuzzy cheek rested against Rumble's chest. As if his body had finally found the perfect spot after hours of searching, a content sigh reflected his placid slumber with just the slight twitch of his ears. Rumble couldn't look away.
"—so cute?"
Ziggs shifted, Rumble's eyes blew wide; there was much more than their torsos rubbing together now, "Oh no…"
The radio alarm crackled on with the jolly host, "Goo-ood morning all you beautiful deco-peop-oh!"
Rumble flinched, creaking his head towards it, "Oh no!"
"This is FM 989.0 HXTC comin' at ya with a different take on your usual morning with a sensual, romantic spark to light up your passion-fueled fires! Yeow! Let's hit it!"
"OH NO!"
If the radio had pierced the veil of silence, then the smooth saxophone and heartfelt lyrics that followed completely demolished it.
"Oh, baby! I've been pretty dry as of recent! But when you touch me here! And then you touch me there! …OOOOOOOOOOOH!"
"NOOOOOOO!"
"Mmmm…hm?"
It was the end of the line. Rumble felt helpless to watch Ziggs grimace and groan awake, his protrusion bearing down upon Rumble's own— No! He wouldn't let their time turn awkward, not now! And with the strength of 1000 decently-sized ants, his frail arms and legs managed to hurl the unsuspecting yordle clear off the side of the bed.
"I'M INNOCENT!" he yelled.
"WoooaaaAAHH!" Ziggs tumbled, bowling into the nightstand, the cursed radio bashing against his dazed head, "OOF! Ugh…"
Seizing the moment, Rumble covered his lap with the strewn-about sheets, scooting to the edge of the bed away from Ziggs. Meanwhile, hostile claws worked their way back up the other side with even deadlier eyes.
"And you said I was the rough sleeper?" he growled.
"Y-yeah! 'Cause ya are!"
Ziggs picked up the now silent radio, "Give me ten good reasons why this shouldn't get shoved down your throat."
"The only thing that got shoved down my throat was your morning breath!"
"What?" Ziggs exclaimed.
"That came out wrong…" Rumble muttered, shaking his head, "Ah…y'know, 'cause you were crushing me with your fat…lard body in your sleep!"
"Hey, I'm not fat! I'm just retaining years of indestructible baby fat is all! See?" Ziggs stood up, only to feel something else much more awake than him along his thigh, "AH!"
Rumble scrunched up, yelling, "What now?"
"Nothing! Nothing! I…I gotta go wash up for work!" Ziggs made a mad rush for the door.
"Then go do that!"
"I am!"
"Fine!"
"Fine!"
"Good!"
"GREAT!" the door slammed shut and all was quiet again. Only when Rumble could hear the muffled sound of running water did he relax.
"Smooth…" he spoke to the ceiling, "Real smooth, Rumble… It's already shitty here. No need to make it worse. Just remember, you're here for a friend."
Friend. For some reason that wasn't sitting well with him— right down to his fluttery stomach. He wanted to blame it on the hunger but there was one thing that disgusted him more; lying to himself. He groaned into a forearm, embarrassed as if there was an audience looking down on him. He wouldn't blame them, though; he looked pathetic.
Meanwhile, in the shower, a frantic Ziggs was dealing with his own dilemma.
"Cold water! Cold water! Get outta here, Lil' Ziggy!" he shrieked as his demands were met. "Ah! Gah, that's freezing! Why would I do this? C'mon, go down already! You're gonna rat me out! You're…"
Led astray by his own thoughts, he'd almost forgotten about the icy water piercing his fur. He stared down between his feet and at the drops panging beside them, reassuring why Rumble was here in the first place. If this is what heartache was then he'd want no more of it; it felt pathetic.
"You're…not foolin' anyone now, are ya?"
Outside the bedroom, Rumble took his time to look around the yordle-sized living space in the daylight. It reeked of human pandering and unknown expectations. Did the windows have to be this small? Did they really think this is what an average yordle hut looked like? There wasn't a single aspect of it that Rumble didn't scoff at. He imagined a circle of hoity-toity clansmen getting together to assume everything a yordle might need without actually consulting one. Though Ziggs had said Heimerdinger was responsible for those; perhaps even the scientist could not fathom is own kind.
Once the water had stopped running, Rumble looked around the doors and cupboards, "Say, Ziggs," he called out. "Where do you keep the towels?"
"In the closet across the bathroom!"
Opening it, he took one for himself, "Oh. Thanks, Ziggs—AH!" Rumble had thought it was morning time, yet there was clearly a full moon in the open bathroom, "C-C'mon, man!"
"What? Can't a yordle be comfy in how own abode?" Ziggs smiled, rubbing the long towel along his back.
"Get some clothes on or get the hell out!" Rumble shielded his eyes, by no means sneaking a peek.
"Alright, alright! I'm going, I'm going."
Ruffling the fur on his head, Ziggs stepped away to let the other by. Quickly, Rumble ran in and slammed the door shut, his shame rising again. Though he was calm after a moment, the blue yordle soon found his embarrassment replaced with confusion. The technology here was foreign and perplexing to him.
"Uuhh…Ziggs?" Rumble called out loud enough for the other to hear from the other side of the door.
"What's up, buddy?"
"How do you even get the fucking water going?"
"Oh! It's easy! Just hop in the tub and then pull the lever towards ya!"
"The big one?"
"Yeah!"
"Alright." though after a brief pause, the sound of running water, "AAAHHH! FUCK IT'S COLD!"
"Whoops, left the cold water on…" Ziggs cringed, "Ah, turned the little dial around! To your…left! No! My left! Well, you can't see me but you know what I mean!"
Another pause, another howl of pain as ice cubes turned to boiling lava, "AAAAHHHH! FUUUCK!"
"…whoops."
On the road again, or rather beside it, Ziggs dragged The Rumbler across with every bump and tilt along the way. During the busier hours, there were more curious, skeptical, and fearful eyes that trailed them. Ziggs could only imagine what was running through their minds: total destruction, absolute mayhem, terroristic yordles instilling dread into the hearts of the weak. Rumble dared not to come out, especially when they approached the Academy itself. Littered with yordles and humans, Ziggs took the promised ramp up to through the doors, at least until they closed on the cart's tail end
"Damn. C'mon, let go, you…" he growled. A familiar hairstyle caught notice of his struggles and approached.
"Well, what do we have here, hm?" Heimerdinger asked curiously. The surprise was enough to unjam The Rumbler, its contents slamming into the metal frame.
"Oh! This?" Ziggs played dumb with a rushed smile, "This…is…"
Truth. Lie. Truth. Lie. Truth. Lie. Pick one, he thought. Almost-truth. Yeah, that sounded good.
"…a bomb!"
"Good heavens!" Heimerdinger gasped along with the concerned souls in earshot.
"Prop! It's a bomb prop! Yeah! Just getting' ready for the next touring event is all!" Ziggs patted the side of it. Rumble, rubbing a possibly bruised side, could hear the hmm'ing Heimerdinger circling the exterior If he could, Rumble would have punched the yordle square in his stupid mustache.
"You're preparing for the Academy's next yearly touring event a year in advance, Zigmund?" he raised a brow.
"Well, you know me. Always tryin' to be one step ahead of the competition."
"It is not a competition; it is merely a ceremony," he corrected, crouching down to see the flatness of the bomb's base. "Not completely spherical? And what is the purpose of this oddly placed hatch door? One does not construct an explosive from the outside-in!"
As he reached for it, Ziggs quickly jumped to intervene, "It's a surprise! No peeksies! So, where's that assistant of yours, huh? Isn't he supposed to be stapled onto your belt or somethin'?"
"Gustaav? He's running a few important errands for me at the moment."
"Gotta love them unpaid internships, am I right? Ah? Ah? Coffee, two creams, three sugars?"
Heimerdinger's mustache wiggled in a huff, "I fail to see how his presence here has any impact on your progression through your—"
"Woah! Look at the time! You're gonna make me late, Heimy!" Hurrying around the cart, Ziggs quickly took the handle and wheeled The Rumbler away, "For shame! Blemishing my perfect record like that!"
The scientist watched as the card slowly but surely left his sight, scratching his chin curiously.
The smuggler and his captive didn't find themselves safe until the last lock clicked behind the laboratory door. Only then did the weight on their chests lift.
"And we're in the clear!" Ziggs smiled back at The Rumbler, its hatch flying open to produce an irritated yordle. He sat on the edge of the opening, watching the other flip the many switches for the many light rods.
"Only you would think it's okay to openly announce that you have a giant bomb in the middle of a place like this," Rumble groaned.
"I got nervous! What else was I supposed to say?"
"Well, you did say it was an 'extracurricular project'. Guess that means you'll have to really show yourself up in next year's Super Amazing Touring Event Extravaganza of Human-Sized Proportions!" he gagged.
"You're mocking me, aren't you?"
"A little," Rumble smirked, jumping down. The lab was alive again with its bright, curly tubes connected the bubbling flasks of colorful fluids. His distorted face reflected off the glass as he peered into them. "So, do you just have these constantly on doing the same thing all day, every day? What even are these?"
"Oh, those? They're just bottles of boiling water with food colorings. Gotta make it look like I do something around here!" Ziggs leaned in and tapped the side of the blue one, "This one's starting to run out."
"Really?" Rumble would have been surprised had he not known Ziggs' track record.
"If Heimy asks, they're extremely volatile and caustic chemicals that can breakdown steel in seconds."
"Yeah, let's hope he never gets the chance to ask me anytime soon." Rumble rolled his eyes, "Alright, I'm here. Again. What're we doing today?"
"Let's find out, shall we?"
Wiggling his fingers, Ziggs swiped the tattered paper of assigned projects and expectations from the wall of other hanging nonsense. He muttered to himself as his eyes scanned each item. The further the list went, the less enthused he was to read it in the first place.
"Evaluate previous explosive models, discard outdated ones, test optimal blue essence potency in upgraded hextech models. Yada, yada, yada. Boring!" He tossed the paper aside and opened a drawer instead, pulling out a long scroll of paper and spreading it along the center workbench. "Now we're talkin'!"
While Ziggs smiled down at it, Rumble noticed that it was a schematic with doodles strewn about.. There were rough sketches of an oddly shaped bombs next to smaller, spherical ones. Even drawings of their interiors beneath them. Each were marked by pencil or ink that labeled each part. As he scanned lower and lower, he couldn't help but notice the paper also had round, wrinkled spots from some sort of liquid.
"The hell is this?" Rumble scrunched his face.
"Check it! These are the plans for my new prototype bomb that I've been carrying around in my satchel! Y'know, the one you kicked out of my locker yesterday," Ziggs giggled, much to Rumble's annoyance.
"Yeah, yeah, don't remind me."
"I want this thing to detonate on impact!"
"Wow. Revolutionary."
"But not just that! I want it to leave the field charred and smoldering so anyone crossing gets slowed down and vulnerable to additional fire! Ha-ha!"
"That's exactly what my Equalizer Rockets do," Rumble crossed his arms. "Taking a few notes from the master?"
"Of course, I am!"
"Wait, really?"
"You think I didn't have you— er, your mech on my mind when making this? But I can't throw rockets, silly, so I'm making it into a throwable bomb! A lot smaller, too. Itty bitty little balls of death."
"Sheesh, Ziggs. I didn't think I was actually a source of inspiration for you," Rumble scratched the back of his head, now feeling more modest than cocky.
"But ya never told me how those rockets worked in the first place! You were always like 'Urg, I'll tell ya when they're finished, algae-eyes!' or 'Ugh, it's too much to explain, metal-head!'"
"First off, I don't grunt every time I talk. Second, why would I tell you? It's a well-kept secret, passed down through generations upon generations of the Sprocket family as we swore to never tell a soul! And I, Rumble P. Sprocket, am the sole heir of this heavily guarded code!" Rumble pronounced.
Ziggs blinked, unamused, "No it's not."
"Yeah, you're right. I guess I'll tell you."
"Yes, ha-ha!"
"But only if we do one of your actually assigned projects, too! Might as well make you look like some semblance of a productive member of society here."
"Seriously?" Ziggs threw his head back to groan. He leaned over to focus on the discarded list, "Fine, we'll make my super-awesome hexplosives and catalyze the rate of mana propagation in a closed system."
In another drawn-out sigh, Ziggs took a blank scroll of the same length and rolled it over his original plans. With a sharpened pencil in hand, he tapped the point against his tongue before awaiting Rumble's explanation.
"Now, I don't have the exact schematics on my, but—" Rumble struggled to sit on one of the taller stools, "—I'll give you as much information as I can remember, okay?"
"Ready!"
"Alright, let's see. Well, you know what my Equalizer Rockets look like, right? Start with that."
Ziggs scrawled across the page, drawing large, interconnected shapes that vaguely came together into a familiar object, "Go on."
"So, when they're launched from Tristy, they nosedive into the ground for the initial impact. Once their heads are in the ground, heated, electrical coils are ejected underneath the surface. Once those are out, the coils create intense heat, making the landing sites a slog for anyone caught!" Rumble found it appropriate to use his arms to further drive the point.
In silence, Ziggs' hand moved rapidly around the paper; a trail of graphite behind each stroke. It was almost mesmerizing how fluid his motions were, each line coming together to form a clear, concise picture. Rumble had almost forgotten where they were as everything in his periphery blurred, focused only on the swift handiwork. He half expected smoke to rise from the pencil tip once Ziggs finished and stepped aside.
"Something like this?"
Hopping down from his stool, Rumble could see the entirety of the canvas next to Ziggs. There wasn't an aspect he couldn't make out, not a single detail left unchecked. Organized lines labelled each mentioned part, arrows outlined hypothetical trajectories, and even the trademark doodles of helpless victims around the landing sites made his mouth curl up. Perhaps Piltover didn't change him as much as he feared.
"Wow," was the only word Rumble could muster. For Ziggs, it was amusing to watch him look at something he'd seen a dozen times over as if it was his first time, however, there was work to be done. A quick giggle snapped him back to reality, "O-oh! Yeah! This is exactly what happens, basically. Uh, here are some of the measurements from the top of my head."
With the same pencil, Rumble contributed his own diagrams, illustrated the area of effect the rockets would have on the ground, measured their individual sizes and estimated distance traveled. To him, it was like reciting the same song over and over.
"I see," Ziggs hummed, "Now the hard part's gonna be making this into a throwable bomb. If I'm gonna do that, I'll need the trigger to require less force to engage the coils, which means that it won't likely pierce the ground due to the reduced force of impact. The coils probably won't work. What if I replace them with—?"
Talking himself into a tangent, he began a new page of the schematics, drawing and erasing as he deemed fit. Rumble knew better than to interrupt a brainstorming engineer. He wasn't keen about the idea of helping Ziggs with Piltover's advancements; a touch of treachery from just the thought of it. But Rumble's motivations lied within Ziggs, not the city-state, and it was enough to make him start towards the assigned project.
"Alright, what do we got here? Increasing mana flow in something?"
"Ya gotta sound smart about it, buddy!" Ziggs waved a finger in the air as his other hand scribbled away.
Rumble put on his best human impersonation, "Oh, catalyzing the rate of mana propagation in a closed system. Mmm, yes. Exquisite science. So enigmatic. Big words."
"There ya go! Now, if ya wanna start that, I got some of the materials in the bottom drawer over there. Maybe some in the Volatility Room, too. I dunno, I sorta gave up halfway through. Oooh! What if I add some of these?"
With Ziggs left to his inspirations, Rumble rummaged through each drawer until a strong, blue light shone out of one, flashing him in the eyes, "Ah! What the fuck?"
"Huh? Oh, that's just a mana-infused crystal of blue essence, buddy. Duh. Wear goggles like me!"
Rumble blinked the spots from his vision, the light simmered down into a faint glow, the irregularly beveled crystal sat placid at the bottom of the drawer.
"Those goggles are surgically attached to your eyes, idiot. And why is something like this just thrown out like it's nothing?" he clutched the gem, inspecting it in his hands, easily amounting to the size of a yordle cub.
"Because I threw it out halfway through the project like it was nothing?"
"So, you took care of the magical infusion part but couldn't be bothered to put shit together to contain it?"
"I got really bored after the cool magic part."
Another door lead into the containment room, a space dedicated to testing out actual hexplosives in a controlled environment. While many parts were charred and desecrated by previous testing, there were plenty of scraps and pieces strewn about to collect.
"Ziggs," Rumble said, peeking into the room, "all of these parts are disorganized, busted up, and completely incompatible with each other." Then he brought his head back with a smile, "It's perfect."
"Isn't it?" Ziggs agreed happily, "I keep telling Heimy that but he refuses to see things my way. Ha-ha! We'll have these babies done in no time—"
Gurgle, gurgle. Rumble's stomach groaned over every other sound in the laboratory.
"Buddy, was that the song your stomach's people?"
"Hey, we left without eating and I haven't had anything all day!"
"That's because you didn't want to ingest the 'human slop' I had at home!"
"'Cause I don't wanna!"
"Then what're ya gonna do? Starve while you're here?"
"Bitch, I might."
"I'll be right back," Ziggs jumped down from his stool and made his way for the door, grabbing his keys and unfastening the locks.
"Where're you going?"
"Foodtown, baby!" he paused, "The cafeteria."
"Gross."
"The food's not that bad here! Trust me, I'll pick out some stuff that you'll love. Meanwhile, you have to keep this door shut and locked so no one can just waltz in and see ya!"
"Yeah, yeah, you can count on me," Rumble made a half-hearted scout salute to Ziggs' amusement.
"Great! Now, I'm gonna walk outta here like you don't exist, okay?"
After a moment of confusion, Ziggs immediately hunched forward with a look of pure boredom and depression, his ears hanging down and his arms hanging even lower. Shuffling out, the door eventually clicked shut, the keys locking everything back up again. If yordles could grow horns, then Rumble's would have sprouted right out from his head.
"You can count of me keeping people out, Ziggs, but you can't count on me to not rummage through your things," he slithered from his toothy grin.
Anything that was unlocked, Rumble opened. Any container, unscrewed. Any paper, turned over. He pushed around the disorganized tools, jars, and parts in each drawer, rummaging anything of interest. Stacks of satchel charges, stray bomb fuses, bags of flash powder, rulers, pencils, compasses, rolled up papers, all shapes of glassware and discarded mail. Nothing.
More and more did his search feel unbelievably hopeless. Did Ziggs really keep nothing personal here at all? Were they all back in the housing district? A stray envelope was quick to answer his questions. It was different from all the others; completely blank and unused. Under the seal flap were heavily wrinkled papers and as he picked up the pile, he found one folded in half three times. It crinkled in Rumble's hands as he unfolded it. Before he could read any of the inked words, a stack of photos fell from it to his feet. He cursed, quickly retrieving them. What he saw was something he hadn't seen in years; two very young, familiar face.
"Isn't this me and Ziggs?"
Indeed, it was. Two bright, smiling faces beamed right up at him filled with youth and innocence. He remembered that moment like it was yesterday: another late night at the junkyard left them covered in oil, dirt, soot, and mud, and happy as could be. Rumble knew they were trying to make some sort of cannon that explosively failed.
"Heh, I remember that. Ya big, idiot. There was no way that was gonna work."
He swapped to the next and his grin only grew wider. There he was again, much older this time, leaning against his pride and joy: Tristy. The day he finally claimed her as completely finished and completely awesome. His thumb pointing up to where he would look down at his enemies. His tattered clothes reflected the sheer number of tireless hours he put into that mech.
"Damn, I forgot how long ago I made her."
Onto the last one, there was that same mech. But this time, she had not one pilot but two. In the cockpit's seat was a winking Rumble with his arms crossed. Standing behind him was a much more recent Ziggs, holding the camera in front of them with one hand and the other one making his frequent thumbs up. His head was tilted over to look past the tall, blue mohawk. Rumble wanted to feel the nostalgia from it all, feel the mounting memories ease his pain. Instead, they did the opposite, just reminders of a time when the city-state wasn't even a blip on their radar.
"Is this why you want to keep me around so bad? You missed me…" he muttered, rubbing the edge of the photograph with his thumb. "And I missed you…"
He turned his attention to the disheveled paper and straightened it out. It was a letter addressed to him and written by Ziggs. Looking at the date, it was a few months back and right around his birthday. He shouldn't have looked but he needed to know.
Dear Rumble,
Hey! How are you? How's everything going back at home? I hope you're doing great!
I know things aren't as fun without me around but don't worry! You have Tristy and Tristana there! Two Trists!
Things at the Academy are awesome! The technology in Piltover is some pretty spiffy stuff.
I hope you can visit some time. It would be nice to see you again. I know you don't like Piltover and all.
Don't worry, though, I'm here!
Please don't hate me. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry
Rumble flipped the page over—nothing! The letter didn't have a closing or signature and looked as if it had been balled up and flattened out again.
"Ziggs had a real hard time writing this. I can tell. This doesn't sound like him at all." Rumble shrugged. Maybe the letter was just another project given up halfway like the others, tossed away so he could write a better one later.
"So, he really did try to get in touch with me. He really thought I hated him. Damn it, Ziggs, you shouldn't be the one saying sorry here," Rumble folded the letter back up with the photographs inside as best as he could remember. The drawer bumped shut and Rumble's ears pointed down to the feet he dismally looked at, "I should be."
The bustling of the city never ended, like the clockwork it proudly toted itself as. From the view of his office window, Heimerdinger could observe every human and yordle walking betwixt another, the fog rising from the pipes that ran up the tall towers across the way. His coffee steamed against his nose, taking another mustache-staining sip.
"Gustaav," he addressed plainly.
In the midst of making sure 'Te' came before 'Th' in Heimerdinger's personal library, the olive yordle looked down from his rolling ladder, "Yes, sir?"
"I am increasingly skeptical regarding Zigmund's behavior since the Yordle Academy's touring event."
"Y-you're not looking out the window to check if Mr. Jago is coming to the Academy again, are you?"
Silent, Heimerdinger paused before sweeping the curtain closed, "Certainly not. How preposterous."
"You should have more confidence in yourself and the establishment, sir. Even if Mr. Jago were to make a spontaneous visit, I'm sure he'd be just as impressed as he was yesterday!" Gustaav cheered, now looking at his pile of books beginning with 'The'.
"He wasn't impressed," Heimerdinger plopped into his executive chair. "He was…unimpressed! Aloof! Apathetic! Callous! …bored! And with Zigmund's odd, erratic behavior unveiling his shoddy, oversized mock explosive a year before the next touring event, he may be led to believe that it is reflective of the Academy's much higher standards."
"Mock explosive, sir?"
"Yes, yes, Gustaav, 'mock' meaning that it is a counterfeit imitation of something else and 'explosive' referring to something that exhibits a violent, exothermic reaction."
Rolling his eyes, the organizing yordle withheld his words and placed The Theory of Relativity just after The Theory of Oxygen Combustion, "My apologies, professor, I wasn't there to see it."
"You should have witnessed its horrid design! Subpar metal welded together over a flat base? A crooked hatch door leading to an enigma of an interior? My goodness, man, it was large enough that you could fit a yordle inside!"
With a sudden jolt, anxiety pushed Gustaav off his top step, taking his handful of books with him and zooming the ladder across the office. With a thud, his body fell onto the carpeting only for more to follow as the shelves swayed enough to send more books his way. All at once, hard-covered texts knowledge bombarded his frail body until he was nothing more than a pile on the floor. Heimerdinger took another sip of his unremarkable coffee, turning in his chair to see the wreckage.
"Do you have any theories behind Zigmund's irregular behavior, Gustaav?"
And while Gustaav had many theories on him, he kept quiet and shook his aching head out of the pile, "N-no, sir. Also, I'm fine."
With a hum of thought, Heimerdinger turned his chair around once more, "Perhaps I should ease my worried mind lest Jago observe my own irregularities like I do Zigmund's. Affirmative, I will begin that immediately!"
This coffee would only serve to energize his shaky nerves as he set it aside and lept off the chair. Walking to the office door, he ordered, "Gustaav, I'll be working inside Test Room #16 for the day doing you-know-what. Bring down an extra capacitance meter and herbal tea, would you?"
With a click of the door, the lone yordle sighed, "Yes, sir."
"I should have never looked through his stuff… Damn it, Rumble, you're only making shit worse for yourself. He's just your friend…nothing more, nothing less." His eyes were tracing the lines along the labeled pictures as if they'd distract him enough, "Friends… Ziggs had a few other friends in Bandle. Why didn't he have any pictures of them? He really only has pictures of us?"
Rumble's train of thought was cut short as the locks clicked on the laboratory door. His ears rose with his adrenaline, rushing over to The Rumbler and throwing himself inside. Not taking any chances, not knowing who might have access to Ziggs' workspace, he sealed the hatch door and kept quiet.
A great sigh followed the creaking laboratory door, "Ugh, all alooone… Who am I gonna share all this…" Then the door was kicked closed, "…tasty food with? Ah? Brunch is served!"
With a relieved breath, Rumble hopped out of The Rumbler as fast as he went in, the warm smells only making his stomach feel emptier. The messy center workbench had quickly turned into a dinner table with food strewn about over the schematics. While Ziggs was already working at his muffin-coffee-sausage-egg-pancake-and-bagel special, Rumble looked at the spread with conflicted eyes. Would he really succumb to the food he lovingly termed as "human slop?" Or would he suck up his pride for the sake of sustenance? His mental tug-of-war was interrupted when a soft forkful of food poking his cheek.
"C'mooon, Rumble. Eat up!" Ziggs leaned forward, continuing to shove it his way.
"Ah—! Quit that! Stop!"
"It's a bird! It's a plane! It's…going in your mouth!" Ziggs thrusted the fork forward, but Rumble was quick to reel back.
"I'm still thinkin' about it!"
"Look! It's the Screaming Yipsnakes and Corki's at the helm! Uhh…Echo Alpha Tango Mike Echo!"
"…what?"
"EAT IT!"
"Would you just let me take my time?" Rumble shouted.
"I'm gonna shove it in your mouth! Choke on this hot sausage!"
"Don't say it like that!"
"Do ya hear it, buddy? Listen!" Ziggs made a quiet, squeaky voice, bobbing the fork up and down, "Eat me, Rumble! Eat me! I'm full of nutrients and approximately 2 grams of polyunsaturated fats! Mmmm!"
"If I eat this will you stop making dumb voices?"
"No promises but I'll give it a shot," Ziggs grinned.
Admitting defeat, Rumble looked all but alive as he watched the fork press against his lips and smear the sticky dough along his face.
"Mmmm! Yummyyyy!" Relenting, his mouth bit off the food forced into it, finding the sweet softness to be more welcoming than anticipated, "Well?"
"…it's good," Rumble slurred with his cheeks full. He would never say the food was over Yordleland's quality, but it was pleasing to the palette and that's all he needed to work at his own plates.
Wherever Ziggs could see the papers below them, he would scribble his notes for future reference while washing down his wads of food with gulps of coffee. His eyes never strayed away from them and neither did Rumble's from Ziggs. The busy yordle looked content like this, as if settled down for the rest of his life. Did he truly love his craft or was he simply happy Rumble was around again? Underneath that energetic exterior and Cheshire grin, Rumble couldn't shake the feeling that regret harbored deep inside. Like a dirty secret, he kept his knowledge of the photos and letter quiet, still finding it hard to imagine Ziggs an emotional mess in the very same seat.
"Say, you remember Mr. Cherriman in Bandle? The one with the old-lookin' hut?" Ziggs suddenly brought up.
"Huh? Oh, him? Yeah, I remember him. Bet he's pretty old now, huh? Surprised he hasn't kicked the bucket yet."
"Remember how we used to leave firecrackers at his doorstep and then hide in the bushes?"
"Hah! Yeah. Then when he could open the door…"
"He'd look down…"
"And have a face full of powder!" they cheered in unison.
They laughed as the memory played out. Taking turns, bringing up shenanigan after shenanigan, project after failed project, as if they hadn't seen each other in years. Laughter followed each. They laughed about youth, adventures, sky-high dreams and the moments in between.
The day progressed onward in the most casual way that breakneck manufacturing speed could. Ideas were tacked onto the corkboard until it could hold no more, diagrams taped against the wall around it as they played mental tennis. By the middle of the afternoon, Rumble was completing his first prototype: "The Mana Influx Dominator Mk. 1." Ziggs, meanwhile, was assembling what he called his "Hextech Minefield."
Though Rumble's project progressed effortlessly, Ziggs became more and more frustrated as every hour brought upon another failed trial in the Volatility Room. It was only when Rumble grew bored of staring at his floating, glowing, mechanical mass of blue that he proposed the idea of injecting unstable mana into the hexplosives.
Leaving Ziggs to develop on the idea, his highly interrupted sleep was catching up on him as he took a seat back to the center table. A long yawn left him slouching over, resting his head in his arms as his eyelids grew heavy. Ziggs continued to work on his project through the evening as the Sun sank beneath the cloudy sky.
By the time Rumble had awoken, his dragging ears could barely hear a hum and blurry eyes looking up at the single light rod above. The spotlight left the rest of the lab darkened around him. Rumble wiped his eyes to make sure everything was as it seemed. Across the table, Ziggs mimicked the other; his cheek pressed against the busy surface, arms splayed above his head as he snoozed the remainder of his shift away. There was a calmness from watching the slow rise and fall of his back.
That calmness turned to fear, however, as even the thick walls around them could not block out the sound of roaring thunder outside. Rumble cursed they would have to walk underneath the storm. Well, Ziggs would.
Rumble wanted to beat the rain, if they could, and that would mean shaking his lab partner awake. Though when he jumped from his stool and moved around the table, his curiosity brought him to look through the schematics instead. He wondered how much progress Ziggs made alone and, as it turned out, quite a lot. Arrows traced across the paper as brackets set up measurements and labels pointed at special components. Logs of each test were abbreviated along the borders until one read with large, bulging letters "SUCCESS!"
His recommendation seemed to have paid off. Ziggs must have felt brighter as doodles were more scattered about than usual. Cartoon test subjects blowing into smithereens, angry Rumble faces, and a smiling Ziggs using one of the curvy lines as a slide.
There was one doodle that caught his eye. On the bottom left corner of the sheet were two heads, side-by-side: Ziggs and Rumble. The Ziggs head gave two thumbs up against his cheeks while Rumble smirked with a wrench in hand. Oddly enough, it was faded with eraser shavings swept along it. He traced along it with his finger, conflicted.
"Ziggs," Rumble muttered, turning his sights onto the slumbering yordle. He wanted to blame his fluttery stomach on the food, yet knew deep down it was a scapegoat. Urges were reemerging and overwhelmingly coercive; the will to fight them failing the more he gazed. Right now, he needed to do something, anything to rid himself of these feelings, if only temporarily. A faint voice squealed to not take advantage of Ziggs again. However, a much louder one pushed him forward.
Closer and closer, Rumble leaned in to Ziggs' fuzzy cheek. Smelling his burning scent, there was only one thing left to do. He pursed his lips and cowered away.
"No way! Nu-uh! Not this time! Just control it, Rumble," he coached himself in the darkness, "You need to quit this shit."
Once again, he looked towards the quiet one, ripe for the picking.
"Alright, just once, that's it. He's not gonna know anyway."
Eased up. Scooched over. Face in. Failure.
"Gaahh! No! This is so gay! Just go over, wake him up, look him dead in the eye, and give him a good, stern kiss. What? No! Fuck!"
There were trips back and forth, limbering up on the sidelines before moving in for the kill and the subsequent defeat. He held a deep session of thought by the side counter, changing approach as he rose up from the center table like a shark stalking its prey. Nope. A few bangs of his head against the wall later, Rumble's heart finally won against his mind, taking a deep breath and clenching his eyes shut. When lips met cheek, he backed away in disbelief.
"Did I really do it? I definitely kissed him, didn't I?" That was quickly answered as Ziggs shuffled and groan awake, "Shit! I did! Quick, act natural!"
With a yawn and stretch, Ziggs looked around to find Rumble leaning against his palm along the side of The Rumbler, leg crossed over the other with an ear to ear smile.
"Rumble?" he slurred out, lifting his goggles.
"Oh, Ziggs! You're awake! Check that out."
"What're you doing?"
"Me? Oh, y'know, just waitin' for your sleepy ass to take us home. It's gettin' late, y'know?"
"It is?" A quick look up to the ticking clock told him it was nearly an hour past his scheduled shift, "Ah crap. Oh well, a little overtime never hurt anyone," he hopped off his stool, shutting the burners off, "Except maybe the payroll department. Alright, hop on in, buddy. Time to go?"
Ziggs caught a quick thumbs up from the prop bomb before it clanged shut. Shrugging, he wheeled the cart out the door and, soon, out of the Academy. Ramp included.
The panging of rain against the metal exterior told Rumble that they didn't quite make it before the storm broke. For once, he was thankful that he had the hollow bomb to hide in. The pinch of guilt brought the hatch door open anyway.
"Ziggs, it's raining."
"What? Where?" the other feigned astonishment before giggling.
Somberly, Rumble's ears peeled back, "I'm really sorry."
"S'alright. It's not like you summoned the rain via ancient, forbidden rituals of the arcane. Right?"
"Still, I feel like shit about this."
"Besides," Ziggs looked back with a dampened smile, "I'm used to draggin' ya in the rain."
There wasn't much Rumble could say against that bittersweet memory. Looking up, the sky recited his namesake and with a sudden, flashing spark—
—he yelped back, right off his seat. That cursed emitter core was shorting again and monthly maintenance had become weekly. The blue yordle shook his head, angrily jumping back up for a swift kick against his mechanical suit's rear.
"Stupid thing, work already!"
As if hearing his infuriated plea, the suit responded with a stable blue light from its posterior generator. A subtle humming cued that it was mended and functional. For now at least.
"Huh. I forgot I fix most of my problems through kicking. Nice."
With that, he moved onto his next order of business, retrieving his tools.
Another day, another cog. Or was it a bolt? Maybe a nut? He picked up this wrench for a reason. A growing habit, really. Didn't matter; Tristy was getting an upgrade today and nothing was going to get in the way of that.
"Alright, girl, let's tighten up that loose arm of yours now," Rumble tossed the wrench into the air, catching it effortlessly into his gloved hand. The battle suit was crouched down for the smaller yordle to walk around it with ease.
Ok, so maybe it wasn't exactly an upgrade. However, any and all improvements to his pride and joy— whether they were just mere maintenance procedures, tweaks, or polishings— were advancements to him. Rumble tucked a grease rag into his side pocket and brought down Tristy's piston pump fist, finding it more wobbly than he'd prefer it to be. Time after time of use left her with the occasional wear and tear of trying to stand up straight. And yet, he made sure with every new day Tristy's metal would shimmer against the sunlight. Rumble didn't care what he looked like inside the cockpit of his creation so long as she looked sleek and threatening. What else did he have to his name?
"Looks like the arm isn't holding the piston too good," Rumble looked toward the single, large screw that held the arm connected to the ring of metal around the appendage, "I should take it apart and replace the circle brace. Or maybe she needs a new screw. Or a bigger arm!"
Oh, the exhilarating thoughts that ran through the yordle's mind. It was his dream to stand atop a towering junkyard battle suit in pride, leaving trails of destruction with every stride he took. Not that he didn't do that already, however, something a bit taller or wider wouldn't hurt, would it? Actually, it just might.
"Let's get that arm off first and check the damage," Rumble spoke to himself, almost as if Tristy would answer him. It didn't matter if people saw him talking to the lifeless machine; they knew better than to get on his bad side. Grabbing an oversized screwdriver, Rumble twisted the screw loose along the left arm enough to make the piston pump arm fall with a loud "clang!"
"Whoops! Sorry 'bout that, babe!" Rumble bent down and picked the huge piece of spiked metal up with both arms, straining the keep it lifted. Slow and wobbly steps towards the low-rising table and another loud drop later, the yordle was ready to operate. Inspecting the arm up and down, left to right as if it was his own child, he extended the metal out, looking at the streaks of oil that kept it lubricated. Nothing wrong here, time to move on.
The arm's main attraction, the heaviest part by far, was the mass of polished steel and spikes sharpened to a point. And yet, it was sheer luck that Rumble came across the beauty. It served as an old weapon attached to a pole, most likely a large mace. No one would miss it having been tossed away in the sea of scrap parts of long-forgotten progress. Some modifications here and there and suddenly the yordle found himself with a truly dangerous piece of equipment. However, it was those modifications that were the problem at hand now. The bolt that kept the spiked head attached to the piston was rusting and weak.
"Can't say I didn't see this one comin'…oh well. Time for some tuning up!"
The blue yordle wasted no time getting to work, scavenging around his many tool dressers inside the columns of drawers, all filled with whatever could fit inside them: nuts, bolts, screwdrivers, adjustable wrenches, washers, drills, pliers, magnifiers, cutters, tweezers, hammers, mallets, nails, scissors, line gauges, nibblers, ratchets, gas cylinders, oil canteens, drill bits, tape measures, dial indicators, masks, goggles, explosives, micrometers—
Ah, explosives. Those weren't exactly his. In fact, his workplace was almost shared amongst one other yordle. Rumble took one of the small, spherical bombs in his hand, looking at it almost admiringly. His work was volatile, unsafe, dangerous, and yet, brilliant. He looked up at the wall-mounted clock. Noon. A smirk crept along his face as he put the bomb back where he found it, chuckling and shaking his head. He continued to look through his tool boxes, counting down the moments until the inevitable.
"3... 2... 1..."
BAM! Rumble's garage door slammed against the ceiling, the shining sunlight layering over the garage as it rose.
"Heh-hey, BUDDY!"
Unphased, Rumble could hear the ever-so-familiar voice of his lifelong companion barging in; typical Ziggs etiquette. He turned his sights onto the approaching yordle, blindly feeling around for an optimal bolt. He was radiating confidence and boasting a smile that could rival even the most heinous of villains.
"Hey, Ziggs! Woah, you look happier than usual. Get laid?"
"Aw, buddy, you know no one would touch me with a 10-foot extendable baton! But you flatter me," he fluttered his eyelashes with a peculiar pose.
"Maybe if you didn't always walk around smelling like a burnt fuse."
"I got the best news ever today. You'll never guess!" Ziggs cheered with excitement in every syllable. He cleared a path with his feet, scooting scrap and tools aside before falling into a chair with his arms casually draped over the back. "Guess!"
Rumble couldn't help but chuckle again, his smile never fading since Ziggs arrived, "But you said I'd never guess!"
"Too bad! Guess anyway! C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" Ziggs moved his arms, coaxing his friend into his little game. Rumble scratched his chin, having a faint idea of what he would be so excited about. Of course, he'd be wrong anyway so why not have fun with it?
"Let's see. Is the mayor finally demoting you from a S-Class weapon down to an A-Class?" Rumble asked slyly, cocking an eyebrow towards the now frowning Ziggs.
"No! No. No, he did not. I am still a threat to any legal structure and a hazard to all citizens of Bandle City within a 50-mile radius. Lo the years of combustible science that have brought nothing but fear into the eyes of my brethren. But I ask you, are we not all weapons in one form or another?"
"Stop showing off, would ya? You know my Tristy's still a B-Class," Rumble stated disappointingly.
"Hah! That's because she's always on the verge of falling over. If she wouldn't hurt anyone on the way down, she'd be C-Class!"
Rumble laughed, "True! True. Alright, I give up. What's the super-awesome news?"
"Get ready, buddy! Hold onto your goggles! Because right here, in my pocket, I have a letter straight from—" Ziggs froze for a moment, then frantically began searching in every pocket on him, "W-where is it? No, this can't be!"
Rumble let out an impressed whistle, "The surprise is that you still forget everything before coming here? Real shocker, there."
"But I just had it! Gah! I musta left it in —"
"Your lab. I know," Rumble interjected, shaking his head, "You always do this."
"It's not my fault! I've got a million things on my mind and that's a 0.000001% chance of me remembering, y'know?"
"I'll, uh, take your word for it."
"We gotta go back and grab it! I can't make the reveal super-special without the super-special envelope!
"I dunno," Rumble scratched the back of his head. "I'm kinda in the middle of repairing Tristy right now. Can it wait?"
"Tristy, huh?" Ziggs looked behind Rumble, seeing the piston pump arm disconnected. "What's wrong with the girl? Did she dump ya? Hah!"
"Very funny," Rumble rolled his eyes and turned around, having heard iterations of this joke too many times to count, "Her arm's just a bit loose. The bolt holding the head of it is wearin' out and I just need—"
"This!" Ziggs passed Rumble an ear-to-ear smile, holding up a large, silver bolt in a pinched grip. Surprised, the blue yordle turned around and inspected the bolt.
"That's exactly what I need for her! Where'd you find it?"
"The moment I saw that poor arm all by its lonesome I knew what was up. And with all this mess ya got on the floor it didn't take long to find a solution! You really gotta clean up once in a while, buddy."
"B-but I was looking everywhere for— Gimmie that!" Rumble growled, snatching the bolt from the snickering Ziggs, "And you shouldn't be talking! Your lab is just as messy!"
"Is not!"
"At least mine isn't harmful to my health!"
"Oh c'mon! No use cryin' over spilled hydrogen chloride! Right?" Ziggs looked towards Rumble for approvable, worried when none was received, "Right?"
The other only cocked an eyebrow and shook his head, taking the optimal bolt over to his detached, metal appendage with a small titter.
"…right!" Ziggs reassured himself, reaching behind and patting himself on the back proudly. "Good point, me. You're so smart."
"Yeah, yeah, lemmie just stabilize this arm, reattach it, and then we can take Tristy back to your lab. How's that sound?"
Ziggs' ears perked up at the invitation, his toothy grin now expanding towards his ears.
"Oh! I call shotgun! Ha-ha!"
Rumble could hear the clanging inside Tristy's cockpit, looking over to see Ziggs upside down inside, kicking his legs. Normally, Rumble would have engaged the emergency ejection function and pummeled the invader with the nearest metal object. However, this was Ziggs; a yordle he could trust with, hell, his life. While he was known for blowing up nearly everything he touched, Rumble knew any mess Ziggs caused would eventually be fixed. At least, that was the treatment he was given.
Rumble kept at his repairs as Ziggs situated himself inside the cockpit, lounging with his arms behind his head and his feet atop a shaky lever.
"Say, Rumble, ya know what I was thinkin' we could do today?"
"What's that?"
"Well—" Ziggs' careless foot found the battle suit's emergency ejection function, launching his body into the air and smashing against the ceiling. His screaming was followed by muffled groaning.
It has been said, ad nauseum, the word "insanity" is defined as repeatedly doing the same thing over and over expecting different results. And if Rumble could count the times Ziggs made the same mistake, "insane" would hardly scratch the surface. He looked through his various wrenches to find the most fitting one.
"Ya alright up there?" Rumble asked without looking, hearing Ziggs peel off the ceiling and plummeting back into Tristy, rocking the suit. "Or…down there?"
Ziggs sprung back up with his persistent grin, leaning against the side of the cockpit and rubbing his nose.
"Hah! I don't think she likes me."
Rumble, having removed the old bolt, began tightening the new one with brute force.
"Ngh. That's 'cause—" he grunted, "—you don't know how to treat her."
"But you do the same thing all the time!"
"Yeah," Rumble wiped the sweat from his brow, looking up at Ziggs with his own smile, "But I know how to do it right."
"Whatever. Say, is my nose all screwed up now?" Ziggs wiggled his small, pink nose.
"I dunno. Let's check," Rumble walked up to the side of Tristy, taking his wrench and placing Ziggs' nose inside it, turning it slowly, "Hmmm."
"Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow! Quit it! You're gonna break it like that!" Ziggs waved his arms around, scrunching his face.
Rumble chuckled, taking his hand off the wrench it leaving it dangling from to Ziggs' nose, "You're all green, pal. Aha-ha!"
The teased yordle looked between in his eyes at the protruding wrench then back at Rumble, crossing his arms, "Thanks, pal," he said in a nasally voice, ripping the wrench from his now sorer nose and tossing it aside.
"Just help me get this arm back on and we'll head off to your place."
"Finally!" Ziggs jumped down from the battle suit.
The two yordles each grasped one end of the piston pump arm, realigning it to its original position and fastening it. Rumble brought the arm up and down manually, evaluating the performance after maintenance. It met his expectations.
"There ya go, baby. As good as new," Rumble ran his fingers along the cold metal of the piston.
"Get a room, you two!" Ziggs teased, rocking the suit up and down with his excited bounces inside the cockpit, "Let's go! Let's go! Let's go!"
"Alright! Quit bein' so impatient. I'll be up there in a sec."
"Impatient? I'm not impatient!
"You're like a little kid getting a birthday present!" Rumble stuffed his toolbox with previously discarded equipment.
"Hey! I'd like to believe that the crowning achievement of my life's work to be accepted and embraced by like-minded peers is a legitimate reason to be excited!"
Rumble closed the toolbox before throwing it inside the cockpit and hoisting himself onto the bouncy, pleather seat, "Ha! You crack me up sometimes, Ziggs."
"And that fixed-up arm looks like it's ready to crack some heads open!"
"I sure hope so. Last thing I need is for more malfunctions"
The ritual to awaken Tristy began as Rumble flipped switches, turned knobs, pulled levers and stomped his feet on some pedals until the shaky suit unfolded its legs, holding the cockpit elevated off the ground. The ceiling was just high enough to accommodate the upright suit so that the mounted Equalizer rockets didn't scrape the surface. The suit leaned in every direction as it eased to life.
"Easy girl. Steady. C'mon, get a hold of yourself!"
"You heard the man! Quit wobblin' already!" Ziggs ordered out, sending a swift kick to the side of the cockpit. All at once, Tristy seemed to freeze up, no longer faltering in place and awaiting the pilot's commands. Rumble looked around in surprise, seeing his creation oddly obedient towards his friend.
"Huh? How'd you—?"
"I know how to do it right!" Ziggs shined his cocky grin to him with a giggle. The accomplished yordle threw his hands behind his head, leaning back beside Rumble.
"Shut up."
With a series of pulling levers and depressed pedals, Rumble swiveled the battle suit out of the garage and into the warm sunlight of the newborn summer afternoon, kicking and stomping on random tools and parts along the way. Another flick of a switch and the garage door closed behind them. Ziggs looked back over the edge of the cockpit.
"When did ya get that installed?"
"Remote control of the door? I've had that in for a while now. Takes a few tries but it works."
"Ha-ha! You surprise me every day, buddy!"
"Y'know I told you about this a week ago."
"Oh. Well, that's a surprise to me, too!"
As if lounging on the beach to tan his fur, Ziggs felt the warm sunrays wash over his face and Tristy's metal heat up. Rumble focused on keeping the suit upright, knowing his invention's limitations in regards to speed.
The group crossed through small patches of fragmented forests, Ziggs pulling small branches off along the way and poking Rumble's face with them. As instructed by the mayor himself, Tristy wasn't allowed to cross through Bandle's major plazas or roads in protection of the innocent residents. Other, memorized routes on the back roads were used to travel to Ziggs' workshop. There, in the abandoned Industrial District, the air was heavier with rising fumes and whatever else stained the skies.
"Say, Rumble," Ziggs spoke up, facing the half-focused yordle.
"Hm? What's up?"
"After the big reveal, what else did ya wanna do today? It's only noon!"
Rumble hummed in thought. His days seemed to always begin and end with Ziggs, almost as if he was a necessary part of his daily routines; who else would he feel comfortable enough to keep in his garage and take part in hazardous activities with? It didn't matter what the two did to pass the time, aimless tinkering or destructive disassembling, they had each other. Rumble looked at his side towards his partner. Always around him, always by his side. Sometimes he would question why Ziggs stayed around him for so many years. Then again, who was he to question what ran through that crazy yordle's mind?
"Who cares? We got the whole day to ourselves. Besides, I'm sure we'll think of something before it gets dark."
"We could do a scavenging run in the Junkyard! Haven't done one o' those in a while. Oh! How's about we bust out some good ol' fashioned blasting caps and go wild? OH! I got an idea! How's about—"
The excited yordle went on and on with random notions on the day's happenings. Trips to the junkyard, pranking residents with harmless firecrackers, it all seemed like fun and games with Ziggs. Nothing ever seemed too dull or serious enough for him to stop laughing at it. Rumble admired these traits about him, wishing he'd feel so carefree one day. Perhaps Ziggs was there to fill that void. Rumble would have never thought of purposely causing nonsensical explosions without Ziggs and Ziggs would have never thought about sharing his perilous creations in the first place without Rumble. He could only smile to himself, hearing the rambling voice of his companion spatting out increasingly unimaginable ideas. See how many bombs he could stuff into his mouth? What was he thinking?
It was difficult to imagine life any other way and any possibilities for change were quickly swept out of his mind at the sound of Ziggs' audible laughter. Best friends through thick and thin.
"Yeah, yeah, that sounds great and all, Ziggs, but what's this surprise? I'm dying to know, now!"
"Got you all riled up, didn't I?" he snickered, holding onto the back of rumble's seat, "Fine, I'll give ya one hint, got it?"
"Alright, lay it on me."
"It's a super-special invitation—" Ziggs threw his arms up in joy, "—straight from Piltover!"