"Grudpa! Grudpa, come tell us a storey!" The little purple-skinned boy splutters persistently, young Mundo's extruding, oversized tongue unwittingly interfering with the wet crude sounds that escape from the kid's mouth.
The frowning Grandpa in question raises a bald eyebrow at the usual antics of the insistent lilac youth. Singed's innate reluctance to please anybody, however completely vanishes as the elderly retired chemist's eyes catch a quick glimpse of a timid furry boy's waging tail swirling in circles behind Mundo.
"Fine." The Mad Alchemist concedes with a sigh. Mundo and Warwick happily seating down in front of their grandfather's steampunk rocking chair. Singed wets his lips and clears his throat.
"It was a cold Zaunite winter night, harsh and frigid as any other one. The crooks and cutthroats of the dark city were shivering in their repugnant and nauseating alleyways, the chimneys of the steelwork factories were billowing black smoke into the air, expelling it like the counterfeit herbal cigarettes of broke drug addicts! Puffing illegal substances out of their shriveled up lungs!"
"The beggars where there too, of course, slumped against the pavements in front of all kinds of Hex-tech workshops and respectable stores that dark wretched night. Littering the streets like wounded cattle, their thin bodies propped against overflowing trash cans and flickering gas-powered streetlamps, their bandaged hands outstretched in a pleading gesture. "Could you spare a Cog for my son?" They would whine pathetically. "Please, Mister, I need some oil for my prosthetic limb." or "Hey, boyo, do you happen to be carrying any AA batteries in your person. If so can I have them, me good lad?"
"Didya -bleh- fix them, Grudpa?" Little Mundo inquires in an awed and curious tone."
"H-how old ago was that, Grandpa Singed?" Asks Warwick while furrowing his eyebrows. "People use Hex-tech cores to power things nowadays, I haven't even seen a bark-ttery in my whole life."
Singed minutely pauses in his narration to rub at his chin thoughtfully.
"Hmmm, I think it was around the time before Mugbook was invented, my boy."
"Baht Mughbook hath alwayth been dere, Gruhpa!" instantly protests Mundo with copious amounts of spittle flying around as the purple youth's enormous blue tongue swirls left and right in complete outrage. "Thaths like saying thath Starbutts dideth always exthist! Or that Hexth-phoneths onceth lacked a camerath!"
The elderly chemist simply replies with a nod of his shiny bald head as he pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and proceeds to wipe Mundo's saliva off his hairless face. Singed then squishes the stained cloth, resulting in a downpour of sticky liquid creating a puddle of drool beside the old chemist's favorite steampunk chair.
"That is exactly the case, my dear lad. Hex-phones didn't have a camera or a Taser attached to them when they were first invented. Much like how Starbutts stores only started popping out all over Runeterra when the Ionian folks took note of the Star Guardians' revealing attires and decided to make waitresses in skimpy costumes a thing. The world was a lot different from what it is right now at those times."
Both boys seem to be mulling over the old scientist's words, trying to imagine what the world would look like without cheap coffee and Hex-phone apps. Singed takes advantage of his audience's silence to resume telling his story.
"Ahem, as I was saying, the night was as cold and inky as your grandmother's leaden heart. The wind was howling like little 'arwick does when he steps on a Lego. Yet not everyone in Zaun was asleep, or at least passed out with neon needles shoved in various parts of their bodies. Oh, no! For you see, my lads, even at these late hours of the smog-choked night an ingenious scientist was tirelessly working for the betterment of our city-state in his brewery!"
"Whath was he making, Grudpa?" The younger of the two enticed boys interrupts the Mad Chemist's story once more.
"A potent new potion, my child," Singed merely replies matter-of-factly. "An alchemical concoction worthy of A Viktor Award!"
Both naïve children gasp in astonishment at that last part. Mundo and Warwick had learned about the illustrious Viktor Award from various gossip magazines and trashy Hex-TV shows.
"Like special lotions for dyeing the hair of androids, Grandpa Singed?!" Warwick gaps in awe.
"A magicalth pothion capa-bleh! of making even Mundo speakth like a normalth parthon?!"
"No, Warwick.. Something a lot more important than that. And Mundo… that is impossible," Singed pats the head of the frowning purple kid. "Not even a thousand Soraka ulties can help you with your terrible speech impairment. We've been through this before, just focus on becoming a doctor and forget your futile dream of becoming a radio announcer. Think of all the good you will do to our beloved city-state."
The burly young boy contemplates the idea for a few seconds before a slouched drooling smile forms in the lips of the young purple Zaunite. "Doctarh Mundo!" The blue-tongued boy suddenly exclaims, spiting more saliva against Singed's face.
The retired chemist sighs in response and Singed is still in the process of wiping his face when the front door closes with a soft hissing sound.
"Grandma/ Grudma Camille!" The two strange boys chirp happily, rushing to hug the smiling white-haired woman's wrist while carefully avoiding touching the razor-sharp blades of her mechanical legs."
Camille simply smiles faintly and reciprocates the children's heartfelt embrace. Singed slowly approaches his beloved wife as he gently shoos the two rascals away. The Mad Chemist also throws a small tennis ball behind his back, to make sure that Warwick will be preoccupied chasing it, and vice versa Mundo will be chasing down Warwick, and so the two boys will let his exhausted wife relax after a long day with a glass of wine. Singed's storytelling can wait for a couple of minutes.
"So, how was your work today, Honey?" The chemist asks kindly as he searches for a clean glass in the kitchen's cupboards. The exhausted surgeon settles down in a modern metal chair near the hovering table that hums gently while remaining suspended a good two feet above the ground.
"Sigh. Utterly exhausting, my love." The frowning surgeon replies as she accepts the wine glass that Singed is offering her with a thankful look. "I had to operate on four patients today and a cyborg, my feet are killing me."
Camille's husband mutely nods his head in acknowledgment. Singed then reveals a big industrial rasp. "How about a leg massage?" The retired chemist asks his wife seductively.
Camille spares a glance at the kitchen's door, wondering if Warwick and Mundo are in trouble. When a few moments slip by and the surgeon has yet to hear of wolfish howls of pain or indistinguishable shouted sentences, Camille bites at her bottom lip coyly.
"Just for a while, my love…" The Steel Shadow finally relents. Singed is already rasping the side of Camille's blades. Camille moans in pleasure.