Chapter Text
When a woman is sitting at a table at a restaurant by herself, there is really only one thought that runs through the minds of those who surround her.
‘She must be waiting for her date, poor thing.'
Now, when the woman is Mel Medarda, a Counselor of Piltover and heir to the Noxian Empire, people don’t waste time with pity; they start to spread rumors.
Though she was trained to disregard the talk of commoners completely, untrue rumors about her irritated her to no end. It must have come from the incessant chatter that hailed from the mouths of her many cousins.
Through a perfectly placed window, in the ornate wall of the restaurant, Mel eyed Piltover’s looming clock tower.
Jayce was late. Again.
An hour had passed since their proposed meeting time. Mel could only sigh and abandon her table. The very one she had reserved a month in advance.
A choking knot in her throat swelled.
She was the only Medarda who suffered with the affliction: emotion.
Of course, her disappointment didn’t show on her face, in her demeanor, nor in her walk; her mother had berated that out of her years ago.
On her way out of the restaurant, the name in a foreign tongue she had yet to learn, Mel collected her coat and purse from the coat attendant and met the icy Piltover air.
And she had had heaps of work to do, with the new construction project proposed by Counselor Bolbok in the Bluewind Court, she truly had no time to waste. And yet, her evening has been squandered, again.
Expectedly, her driver was still parked curbside. She could feel the length of every step as she made her way towards the car, each second dripping with ire.
Mel was hurt, embarrassed. She almost didn't want to face Elora, to tell her Jayce had stood her up for the second time. How, though, he apologized profusely and promised he would never leave her abandoned again, he still did.
Mishta jumped as Councilor Medarda knocked her fingers against the glass. As he regained consciousness, he glanced at the source of the disruption of his sleep.
Realization washed over him, and with new appreciation for tinted glass, he scrambled out of the car.
He swung the backseat door open, making way for Councilor Medarda to enter the vehicle.
“Miss-, Councilor Medarda, I had assumed you were going to go home with Councilor Talis. My apologies for the delay.” His deep voice betrayed him, with its lingering touch of sleep causing him to misaddress Councilor Medarda.
Mel slid into the backseat quietly, hoping Elora was asleep. Clearly, Mishta had dozed off, and with the late nights she and Elora have been working, she wouldn’t be surprised if Elora had as well. The weak, pathetic side of her hoped Elora had.
As Mel warmed up in the car’s protection from the outside’s chill, she kept her eyes glued to the front windshield, with its perfect view of the clock tower yet again. Almost like the tower enjoyed its mockery and her torment. Would she always be reminded of Jayce every time she saw those sneering hands tick ceaselessly?
Elora’s voice, full of worry, cut through her gloomed thoughts, “Mel, perhaps he was held up in the lab? You know how he and Viktor like to hole themselves up in there. Surely he needed more time to finish up and freshen himself up,”
Mel’s eyes detached from that damn tower, darting for Elora, finally meeting the other woman’s eyes. No matter how much she tried to wall herself off from her, Elora always managed to find the cracks to slip through. Maybe she couldn’t see through her expression, but the very attempt to hide her emotions tipped Elora off to something being wrong.
Why bother hiding in front of the person who knows you best?
Mel scoffs, “Where else could he be?”
“He cannot be expected to spare any single moment away from his work for foolish distractions. I am at fault for expecting him to divert his attention to me when he is on the edge of another breakthrough.”
A pause blooms; Elora has no words to comfort Mel nor criticize Councilor Talis. She has said every comfort about this situation there is to be spoken, and it would not be her place to admonish Councilor Talis, no matter how much she may despise him.
Mel’s voice, devoid of its prior dirision, cuts through the silence, “Mishta, take us home, and make a stop by Councilor Talis’ laboratory.”
She continues bitterly, “I would like to have a word with him.”
Elora and Mishta’s eyes met in the rearview mirror, the advisor and driver sharing an identical thought.
“Of course, Councilor Medarda”.
Pray for the Golden Boy.