I don't understand
It's high noon when I spot her sitting alone on a bench in the Compass Shopping Square in the lowercity. Her gauntlets are tucked under the wooden seat as she shares her sweets with a group of orphans that sprint over to her, shouting her name. She smiles, distributing a small pile of candies in each of their tiny outstretched hands.
The orphanage workers are nowhere to be found.
They run about the street, playing cops and robbers as the subject watches over them. They huddling now and then to trade their treats, the girl with pony tails eventually trades all her candies for red ones.
One of the young boy trips on one of the cracks in the ground, his handful of confections spilling onto the concrete, it's not a bad fall and I presume he'll have a minor scrapped knee at most. She gets up and casually walks to his side, chiding him for not being careful. She dusts the grime off of his pants and gives him another handful of candy. He stops crying and runs off to rejoin his friends. She returns to her bench, peacefully watching the bustle in the square.
It's been three months since I've set foot in the lowercity, the mayor has had me stuck in my office signing paperwork and patrolling higher class streets of the uppercity. I asked him why we don't send more patrols down here and why we don't include the lowercity in our crime rate reports.
His words "Let the dogs take care of the lowercity, I want your finest officers up here where it actually matters."
It's disgusting. The streets are ill kept, cracked, and uneven. As a result, most of the residents travel on foot, parents steadying their children so they do not trip like the boy had. I've only seen five non-commercial vehicles in my four hours here; they all seem to be scavenged from junkyards and barely functional. I don't understand why we turn a blind eye to this place.
I haven't seen a single police patrol yet.
It's like a mockery of our law enforcement, its insulting. I've had to stop three thefts happening in broad daylight. I'll have to speak with the uppercity mayor about the state of the lowercity.
It's not like me to lose track of time, but I find myself spending the rest of the day following her and her troop of children. As expected, I follow them to the playground near the Winged Gears elementary school; it's the only playground in a 5 mile radius in decent condition.
She carries the children on her gauntlets, letting them climb around and hang off of the metal fingers. My heart stops when she proceeds to toss them into the air and gingerly catching them on their way back down. Their screams of joy do little to put me at ease.
I want to stop them; they are in danger of hurting themselves by touching the parts of the gloves heated by the steam, or even by Vi simply failing to catch them. But every time I see one about hurt themselves, she stops them and repositions them, the control she has of the massive fingers is impeccable.
So she has a soft spot for children, probably orphans in particular.
I watch from afar, sipping my earl grey tea, simply…enjoying their laughter. Laughter is something rarely heard in the uppercity, even at the schools since the facilities are all indoors.
oddly charming
There is something about her I can't quite put my finger on.
At exactly 6:12pm, two elderly women came and greet her. The children seemed dejected when the two approached them; but they followed none the less. She waves goodbye to them and walks away, turning down Abel Street. She stops to purchase two ready-meals at the Rusty Cog corner store. She pays with crumpled money, another rarity in the uppercity with the standardization of credit chips, and leaves the scruffy shop keep a 10 credit tip.
He thanks her a total of seven times before she leaves the store.
I follow her back to her hideout, one that I've already arranged to be cleared in two days. It looks more menacing at night, the walls are metal with paint flecking off, the metal beneath brown and oxidized. The only light is the single, humming lamp above the rusty metal door.
There is a man in rags sleeping outside the door, his gnarled foot peeks out of his patched blanket. Wispy, white hair adorns his head and his face, there are deep wrinkles set into his dark skin even with his sleeping expression. It looks as though he hasn't eaten properly in days.
It seems that she is expecting him. Her face softens and she shakes her.
"Crazy old man." I read her lips, she says it lovingly.
She leaves one of the ready-meals next to him before readjusting the blanket, ensuring that it covers his entire body. The bare no resemblance and she came to Piltover alone. It's surely not one of her relatives.
I keep watching until she slides into the warehouse, shutting the door behind her as quietly as possible.
Two more days until I can begin understand.