A reader with a crush gets to experience one of Jhin's special performances.
"One." You shouldn't poke your way into doors you weren't invited into. A gun-shot rapport echoes throughout the empty auditorium of the theatre. At least you assume it's still empty. A shiver of fear makes your whole body quake.
You had only wanted your chance to speak to the mysterious new stagehand who'd caught your attention with his quiet, aloof manner and that voice like silk. He should have been on the stage with you, delighting the audience, not backstage with the ropes and levers. It had been your intent to cajole him into trying out for a part. Well, if you were being honest, you'd also just wanted to speak with him alone, to see what you could make of it.
"Two." Another shot. Were there targets for them? No one screamed or cried out that you could hear. And that's all you had to go on.
He hadn't been in the little room backstage where the crew would leave their bags and coats, even though there wasn't anyone who had seen him leave. You caught sight of his coat though, hooked on a peg in a small open closet. The opportunity proved to be much more than you could resist, and losing yourself in the thrill of the moment, you leaned in to run your fingers over the rough material. Simple and unadorned, it was coarse to the touch, an armor of sorts it seemed. A scent clung to it as well, one that you'd come to associate with him. An exotic, spicy scent, it reminded you of lands far away from Piltover.
Suddenly, his voice tickled your ear. "Do you think I should kill them all?" Swallowing hard, you fought back a wave of dizziness. Maybe there were others here, trapped in this horrific situation.
He had found you there, inhaling deeply over his coat. Laughter filled the air behind you, a touch of something sinister about it. "What have we here?" Frozen in embarrassment, not yet terror, a million responses bloomed in your mind and froze on your tongue. "Well, it seems I'll have an audience for my performance tonight. Lucky you, it's a rarity to be blessed with."
You had felt your heart pounding as his voice had become darker. The way he spoke the word "performance" only intensified that rush of fear. "I...I can just go."
Another fierce laugh poured forth from him as he closed the distance between the two of you and his hand gripped your arm in a steel-like grip. "But this is a one night only, can't-miss event."
"Three." That time you thought you heard something. Vigorously you tried to answer his question with a nod of no. "That wouldn't be very dramatic though, would it?"
He'd led you from the backroom to the stage. Somehow, all the stage lights were on, leaving the seats in utter darkness. With a firm word and a flash of some intimidating firearm, he ordered you to kneel, before he blindfolded you, tied your arms behind your back as you began to quake, and pressed a gag into your mouth before you could make any sound of protest. The horrid reality was dawning on you. Something terrible was about to occur. You could hear him as he walked away, leaving you alone with your anticipation. Soft music began to play from somewhere. Was it minutes or hours he was gone? You could not tell. Hot breath on your ear, and he was speaking to you again. "The curtain has been raised, let the performance begin." That's when the shooting had started.
"Four." You'd heard the stories, a madman was for hire in Piltover. They said he was from a far away place, and he killed in a way that made it seem like it was a joy to him. Looking back, you felt it was obvious and were ashamed at your stupidity. Every muscle in your body was alive with trembling, every breath felt like you were drowning. A definite cry answered the last shot and you echoed it behind the gag. That cruel laugh alone answered you as you were left reeling by the knowledge of what you'd heard. "Now you may behold my work."
There was weight to his presence as once again, he approached behind you, his fingers gracefully sliding the blindfold from your eyes. A shiver ran through at the feeling of those treacherous fingers ever so slightly raking through your hair, horror and exhilaration both fought for dominance inside you. "Give me your critique."
He'd left the gag in and now you knew why. A scream welled up in your throat as you beheld the scene, and you released it into the gag without thought or will. Arranged around you, each on some sort of pedestal, as though they were on display, were four bodies, intricately bound to some sort of scaffolding. Each bled from a single wound, and were still as statues. They were dead, expertly executed.
With desperation, you pulled your eyes away, focusing on the wooden slats of the floor, and denying what you had seen. "Do you not like it?" There was genuine disappointment in his tone. Kneeling beside you, he tucked an errant strand of hair behind your ear. "That truly is a shame." Gripping your chin, he tilted your head up to take in his monstrous work once more. They weren't bodies, you told yourself, it wasn't real. "You should enjoy this, you know. Revel in it. You're no longer just an audience, you're a part of this great work, a living piece of art."
Losing all sense of reality, you stared ahead, wide-eyed and numb. He let out a great sigh, as though your reaction had left him disappointed. A peculiar scent filled your nostrils, and the room began to spin. Blackness descended on you as the image of those four bodies still taunted you. "We don't want this particular piece spoiled too soon though. All the pieces should be viewed together." Heavy eyes shut, and you slumped to the floor.