[ jayce talis is not where he's supposed to be. either the mage fucked up royally or the wild runes of the arcane meddled more with the herald's will than he could control (was that even possible? he was a herald for a reason—). either way, something wrong has happened in jayce's jump from point a to b. in all honesty, it hardly looks like he's changed timelines at all. it takes him more time than any to situate, to expell any bile stuck in his throat from the sheer force of the distorted transport. for starters,
there are keys in his tattered pockets, connected to a glittery keyring of butterfly wings and not a single contraption it belongs to. he's tried every keyhole on doors and the like, even the strange vehicles in the abandoned garage, all while heeding the warning of husks that look too much like the porcelain dolls that'd watch him for ages within the ravine. in other times, jayce would've marveled at the machinery and eagerly taken them apart, get them working to his needs— now, there's something else at work within him. whenever he thinks of mild distractions, his head splits with pain, plagued by the visions of a horrible future. stay on track. figure it out. keep your promise.

he wouldn't fail.

but jayce's starvation begins to dig another crater in his gut, until it's hard to focus. he sets the priority desperately aside, for just a second. he needs to eat, drink, figure out where he is and how he should be going about his new directive, do so cautiously and stealthily, despite the massive, perverse hammer he carries, and he wouldn't be able to do any of that if his malnourished muscle was poorly energized, especially after the climb he's made from the crevices of zaun to piltover.

the dirty windows don't decieve his eyes, wild and surprised when he hurries into one of the stores and is faced with forgotten food. actual, preserved, packaged food, lined across shelves or even fallen to the ground— all untouched. jayce takes only a second before he unceremoniously drops his hammer to the ground and rushes to the stocked racks of potato chips, bread and cream filled sponge cakes. he rips them apart, a starving man, shoving them into his mouth and barely chewing, desperate to swallow anything that wasn't raw or infected with blight. the taste hits. he doesn't want to gag. it pools in his belly like a bomb going off, like firecrackers popping colors in the night. staggering to lukewarm water bottles next is no different. there are even juices and sparkling refreshments. he cracks them open with a quiver in his soiled hands, frantic to satisfy real, extended thirst— after a massive swallow, he gasps at the cool slides down his throat and the wetness of his cracked lips. it makes his pupils eclipse.

he downs about three of them in a row before this man holds the rod of his weapon close to the wall, veers down into a supported fall thanks to his stiff, braced leg, before he slumps, sobs quietly between his slowed feast on bootleg twinkies, slim jims and orange juice.

this is the closest to comfort he's been in months. ]

[ he's not alone. for the first time in so long, there are real people to talk to, rather than the embers of solitary, grief-borne illusions he'd create to soother himself to sleep at night. he sees the message, he tries to make do with the information they have, and shift priorities. nirvana. that's where he needs to be to return to his station.

but before any of that, jayce is due for a much needed shower and change of clothes. the stores provide him with a t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants he manages to yank off gas station racks. when he finally doesn't look or smell abysmal, one can find him in camp fitting his brace on his leg, fine tuning and tightening bolts or screws where they need to with a tool box he's snagged from the garage. if he feels eyes on him for a little too long, he'll go on to ask, hoarsly: ]

Before you woke up here— Did you touch anything?

[ he needs to test a theory. theories . . .

although he doesn't stray far from viktor, jayce offers his knowledge of machinery to get any rebellious contraptions back to working conditions, to the best of his ability. although he is a seemingly reserved man who flinches every so often at certain words, he doesn't isolate himself. no, he seems even a little avoidant of that.

he needs to find his ride, though, so he won't exactly reject help to look for any reaction to the press of the button on his butterfly keys around their encampment. to his luck, jayce is finally in range of a vehicle that beeps and flickers its headlights when he jabs at the button. what he didn't expect it to be, underneath a dusty plastic sheet, is . . . this prismatic shine of colors on a massive four wheel drive pick-up, golden embellishments and glittering butterfly decals stuck to the bumper.

it also has a flat tire. ]

. . . [ he doesn't know what to settle with, before he just resigns and gets to inspecting the thing so he could fix it. ] Great.

[ at least it kind of matches his weird eldritch butterfly hammer. ]

( hi i kind of suck at open tls but if u a) have something else in mind or b) prefer a personalized starter feel free to reach out and pwm or just hmu here already with whatever you imagine! i'm open to all prompts, mix and match, what have you. add liberos, owlshaped on discord or pm to contact! )