glyfic

Title: Courtesy Call
Author:

malurette
Fandom: Arcane
Characters: Viktor & Ximena Talis
Rating: PG / K+
Disclaimer: Riot Games & Fortiche studio

Warning LOL lore/Arcane mash-up/speculative post-season 2 early Divorce Era
Word count: ~500 help I thought it was a 200-word mini plot bunny and it grew

***
A strange figure made its way through the Undercity. Elderly woman, face set with purpose, bearing stately.
Nobody really thought about mugging her—not out of pity: everyone down there knew at least of one example of a little grandma that was a survivor and would viciously fight back, not out of respect either: she hadn’t done anything yet to deserve it, but out some sense of reservation.
She wore nice, rich clothing that screamed Topside but the hand that held her travel cloak close was half-flesh, half-shiny metallic, and when she spoke—very politely, to ask for directions to the Doctor who repaired people’s limbs’—her accent was not Piltie.
Most Zaunites knew better than to just assume but one could easily make an educated guess. And nobody in their right mind would dare to butt their nose uninvited in The Machine Herald’s business, whatever business this old little lady had with him.
So no mugging occured and rightful directions were given to that one house on Emberflit Alley. The wrought iron gate opened before her.
"Mrs Talis. What are you doing here?"
"Why Viktor, I believe it’s called a courtesy call. How have you been, my dear boy?"

Courtesy goes both way and whatever the circumstances you do not let your (ex?) mother-in-law out on the porch. The Machine Herald stepped aside and let her in.
He held no hostility toward her. But if she was to yell at him, better not the whole of Zaun to hear it. He and The Defender of Tomorrow would throw back and forth the worst insults and make a game of it, but to have Jayce’s Mother scold him? He would never live that down.

"Mrs Talis, if you’re here on his behalf…"
"Viktor. Please. no. I love my son dearly but we both know how what a stubborn idiot he can be. No, I’m not here to plead with you to just take him back."
Viktor gestured for her to make herself at home in whatever corner of his workshop that would be hospitable enough.
"I’ll get us some tea started."
When in doubt and awkward social situations, tea was always a good answer. Fidegeting with kettle and hotplate and tea stuff gave him time to regain composure. And tea was nice. Ximena accepted the offered cup gracefully. Appreciated the warmth, the scent, the taste. Gave sincere thanks. And yet something stern remained in her eyes. No, something sad—worry remained in her eyes.

"I know you both hurt each other deeply and that can’t get just… taken back and forgotten."
(To say nothing of forgiven. Not matter how much they’d loved each other. Probably because they’d loved each other so much. That made the betrayal all the worst.)
She reached for his hand, half-flesh meeting full-mechanic.
"Now. I mean it. Tell me, cariño: how are you?"