Bringing up his ghostly left arm, Crane watched as it shifted into a soft pink hue.
Crane hesitated, debating whether to touch the person.
Yellow had been fear. Pink, he knew, would be love.
I don't think I want to see their reaction to being affected by love.
A shudder ran through him at the thought, and he quickly let his arm return to its normal ghostly translucence.
I'll just get the soap in the morning.
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Waking up early, Crane stepped out of the lab and made his way toward Topside.
The air was thick with Zaun's usual smog, but he barely noticed as he navigated through the dimly lit streets.
Eventually, he reached one of the few functioning elevators leading up to Piltover.
Stepping inside, he leaned against the metal railing as the lift rumbled to life. With a slow, mechanical climb, he ascended, leaving behind the polluted depths of Zaun.
As the elevator doors opened, the crisp, clean air of Piltover greeted him.
If I remember correctly, I should climb this one, he thought, making his way behind a building. Tilting his head up, he studied the structure.
With a quiet sigh, he began his ascent, scaling the building with careful but unpracticed movements. The climb was rough, each pull testing his endurance, but eventually, he reached the top.
He took a few deep breaths, steadying himself. Climbing is not my strong suit.
From his vantage point, Piltover stretched out before him—pristine streets, towering buildings, and the unmistakable hum of a city always in motion.
Following the route he had planned, he realized his next move required a jump to the neighboring building.
With a quiet exhale, he slid down the sloped roof, landing on a balcony below. Steadying himself, he peered across at the other building, eyeing the distance he'd have to clear.
Shouldn't be too hard.
He jumped, landing on the rooftop with a slight stumble. His balance wavered for a moment, but he quickly steadied himself—his tail instinctively flicking out to counterbalance his weight.
Straightening up, he exhaled, glancing around before moving forward.
————————————-
Making his way to the balcony, Crane spotted a glass door.
Peering through it, he scanned the room inside—empty.
He gripped the handle and gave it a quick turn. Locked.
"Eh, worth a shot."
Without hesitation, he swung his tail, slamming it against the door. With a sharp click, the lock gave way, and the door swung open.
Making his way through the workshop, he took in the scattered blueprints and papers covering nearly every surface.
Various trinkets and half-finished gadgets littered the shelves and tables, the air tinged with the scent of oil and metal.
But none of that mattered.
Crane's eyes lit up as they landed on something far more valuable to him.
Soap.
He grabbed the soap and dropped into a nearby chair, cradling it like some priceless artifact.
Without wasting another moment, he closed his eyes, his breathing slowing as he slipped into his astral form.
His body remained still, slumped in the chair, while his ghostly projection hovered above.
———————————————
Crane drifted through the academy halls in his astral form, scanning the rooms until he spotted Jayce, alone and deep in thought.
Good. He's alone.
A smirk tugged at Crane's lips as he floated closer, his ghostly arm shifting to a sickly yellow hue. With a deliberate motion, he reached out and pressed his hand to Jayce's head.
The moment their forms connected, Crane slipped into Jayce's fear.
The original terror was something else entirely, but that didn't matter—Crane twisted it, reshaping it into something harmless, yet deeply unsettling. A simple, nagging fear.
The fear of forgetting his shoes in his workshop.
When Jayce glanced down, his breath hitched. His boots were still there, but the toxin made him see nothing—his feet bare against the academy floor.
Panic flickered across his face. Without hesitation, he turned and rushed out of the room, heading straight for his workshop.
Crane chuckled to himself before phasing back into his body.
—————————————-
As Jayce stepped into his workshop, his eyes darted around the room, searching for his missing shoes. His brows furrowed in confusion—everything seemed in place, yet something felt off.
A faint creak echoed behind him.
Before he could turn, the door swung shut with a soft but deliberate thud.
Jayce's breath hitched. His pulse quickened.
Slowly, he turned around.
Jayce took a cautious step back, his eyes narrowing at the strange, red-skinned figure casually holding up a bottle of soap.
Crane held up the soap, his red eyes gleaming. "What brand of soap is this?"
"House Kiramman supplies all their patrons with soap," Jayce said slowly, trying to process the bizarre situation.
Crane tilted the bottle, watching the thick liquid shift inside. "Huh. Fancy."
Jayce's confusion only deepened. "Who… are you? And how did you get in here?"
Crane ignored the question, sniffing the soap before giving a satisfied nod. "This'll do."
Jayce tensed at the strange behavior, slamming his fist against the wall with a loud thud before saying, "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
Crane shrugged, holding up the soap with a casual smile. "I'm here to rob you of your soap."
He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Jayce's frustration hit a boiling point, the words tumbling out in a sharp burst. "I'm getting the enforcers. You can't be here." He pushed Crane away from the door, but before he could make his escape, Crane's voice rang out, fast and casual.
"I'm also here to blackmail you," Crane said quickly, his words coming before Jayce could even reach the door.
"Piltover was founded to get away from magic, and now you want to create it?" Crane said, amused by the irony of it.
Jayce's jaw clenched, his patience wearing thin. "Magic saved my life. If I can harness magic through science, it could save countless others." He stepped back, his voice gaining strength. "I'm not trying to recreate what Piltover feared—I'm trying to control it, to make it safer, more beneficial."
Crane smirked, his tone almost playful. "Well, let's work together. I'll take this soap, and you get me to help you with harnessing magic… Oh, and you don't have a say in this."
He extended his hand, offering a handshake. "Two heads are better than one."
Jayce stared at the outstretched hand, his expression a mixture of disbelief and defiance.
He hesitated, his mind racing. "You think I'd just agree to that?" Jayce scoffed, his voice a mixture of exasperation and challenge. "Why would I trust you?"
Crane's grin faltered. "Because you have no choice."
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I thought Cesar Chavez was the guy who made flamin' hot Cheetos, was I the only one who thought that?