Chapter Text
The steamship was a technical marvel, Viktor knew that. He had to admire the engineering and ingenuity that had gone into designing and building the thing, but as it towered over him, he could not share in the atmosphere of levity and excitement that consumed the crowd around him.
The SS Arcanic was fully dressed for the first day of her maiden voyage across the ocean, taking just over two-thousand passengers from Ionia to Piltover. Some passengers were hoping to find opportunity in Piltover, fortune, a life worth living for them and their children. Some were simply traveling home, and others were only there for the thrill of it all, folks too rich for their own good looking for bragging rights.
Viktor knew that, while two-thousand sounded like a lot of passengers, the ship was nowhere near filled to capacity. He’d heard that some travelers had been moved from other ships to the Arcanic, due to a lack of fuel, thanks to a mining strike. Every available resource had to go toward this ‘momentous celebration of mankind’s dominion over the seas.’
Viktor did not want to go to Piltover. He was from Zaun, Piltover’s sister city, but he was not going home. He was going there to be wed.
A hand came to rest between his shoulder blades. “You can be blasé about some things, Viktor, but surely not Arcanic.”
His fiancé came to stand beside him, looking up at the imposing stature of the ship. Finn Baron was what Viktor’s mother referred to as ‘new money,’ his father achieving wealth from a successful pharmaceutical corporation. Finn was wealthy, had homes in almost every continent, and was, objectively, good-looking. People congratulated Viktor on their engagement, some even telling him how lucky he was, how jealous they were.
But Finn was also twice Viktor’s age, rude, demanding, and inconsiderate. He had no interest in Viktor’s passions and was extremely…traditonal. Viktor was just supposed to look pretty on his arm, smile and laugh at his jokes, speak only when spoken to, and lay down and spread his legs whenever his soon-to-be husband demanded.
“It does not look any bigger than the Piltovan,” Viktor commented, moving his gaze from the ship to the crowds milling around.
The SS Arcanic was one of those fancy, over-the-top sort of ships that focused on catering to the rich elite and split her passengers into three classes. The class division was sharper and more obvious than Viktor had expected. The lowest class, third, had boarded first, as they were required to go through health screenings before being allowed on board.
Finn’s hand remained on Viktor’s back as he was guided through the crowds and toward the First Class boarding ramp. The trip was to take six days across the ocean, direct to Piltover. For six days, Viktor would have nowhere to go to escape from the fake, vain attitudes of the First Class.
He supposed he shouldn’t complain. Their stateroom was large, with its own promenade, large windows that allowed sunlight to filter in and fill every corner. Viktor knew many of the Third Class cabins would be four to a room—at least—and if they were lucky enough to have a window, it was probably close to the ocean surface, if not below.
“I thought I told you not to pack all of this,” Finn interrupted Viktor’s thoughts, pulling his attention from the windows. Finn was holding up a journal that he’d found in one of Viktor’s suitcases, which held many tools and unfinished prototypes.
“You did,” Viktor replied.
“I don’t want you playing around with all of these…tools and pieces of metal,” Finn tosses the journal back into the suitcase. “You will throw them away once we land.”
Viktor didn’t respond. He could hear cheering and shouting outside, the folks still on the pier waving to the crowds lining every deck of the ship as it began to set sail.
Six days. Six days until Piltover.
“He will,” Eliška spoke up, reassuring Finn when Viktor didn’t respond. Viktor glanced at his mother, who shot him a look that told him to behave.
“Well, I will leave you to get settled,” Finn left through the door that connected their rooms; one positive to Finn being as traditional as he was, he refused to share a bed with Viktor until their wedding night. He considered it to be improper.
“Viktor.”
Viktor watched the sky through the windows as the ship began to pick up speed, slowly. He could hear the crowds still, the sounds of sea birds, and the ocean waves.
“Viktor.”
He turned to look at his mother.
“Will you stop acting like you’re being marched to your execution?” She made her way over, crowding Viktor’s space to fuss over his clothing, smoothing out creases that weren’t there.
“Do calm down, mother, you’ll give yourself a nosebleed.”
The slap was sudden, but not unexpected.
“This is not a game, Viktor!” She hissed through her teeth. “You know our money situation is precarious.”
“Yes, I know. You remind me every day.”
“We are fortunate that we found Baron,” she kept going. “No-one else would agree to marry you, so you should be more grateful.”
Viktor didn’t reply, he kept his face turned away as his mother simply sighed and walked away to unpack her bags.
Six days.
A lot could happen in six days, Viktor supposed.
—
The thing about ‘High Society’ is that it was vapid and selfish. There were so many rules, one of which is that one did not speak of the rules. Everyone was supposed to present their best selves at all times, they could never be seen as anything less than perfect.
Viktor knew he was always seen as less than, though. He hadn’t the age or experience for folks to respect his use of a cane; he was too young, he had never seen combat, so there must be something wrong with him. He couldn’t keep his back straight while on his feet for the hours that he was expected to—he either needed to sit down, or everyone needed to just deal with his slouched posture.
Despite his transitioning a long while ago, Viktor often found himself lumped in with ‘the women.’ As such, he was expected to be quiet and demure, polite laughs and gentle smiles while batting his eyelashes at his husband-to-be.
Nothing about him was ‘quiet and demure,’ and he never tried to be.
He had silently slipped out of the stateroom at first light to make his way to the Promenade Deck. His intention had been to simply enjoy the quiet before other passengers awoke and take in the ocean air, but he’d run into none other than the Arcanic’s chief naval architect and engineer.
The man was polite, and happy to answer all of Viktor’s questions regarding the ship. How it worked, how long it took to build, what it was made of, what fuel it used, how much fuel it used, and Viktor was fascinated.
“I noticed there are only fourteen lifeboats?” Viktor asked, as the pair walked past one of said lifeboats. “That hardly seems enough.”
“There are twenty, actually,” the man replied. “Four collapsible ones. But you’re right—the lifeboats are intended to ferry passengers to another ship, should the need arise for that.”
Eliška had appeared at that moment, interrupting and apologising to the man profusely as she kept a tight grip on Viktor’s arm and pulled him away.
“You need to stop obsessing over nonsense,” she whispered sharply as they walked, Viktor doing his best to keep up with her quick pace.
“Nonsense such as architecture and engineering?” Viktor shot back. “Surely I am allowed to have hobbies.”
“More suitable hobbies, perhaps,” Eliška responded.
Breakfast passed in a blur, and Viktor spent the morning on their private promenade until lunch. There was a café for the First Class passengers, separate from the main dining hall. It was decorated with white trellises covered in fake ivy plants, and coupled with the large open windows it gave the entire room a very airy, light feel.
Viktor had pulled out a cigarette, just for something to do while they waited for the rest of their party to join them. He had barely just gotten it lit when he heard his mother make a small tsk sound.
“You know how much I hate that.”
“He knows,” Finn appeared on Viktor’s other side, taking the cigarette from between Viktor’s lips and depositing it in a nearby ashtray. He settled down in the seat next to Viktor, as a few others joined them.
One of the passengers that joined them was someone he’d heard his mother and her friends whisper about. They said she was vulgar and impolite, new money, which apparently was a bad thing unless it benefitted them, such as the union with Finn.
It was the first time Viktor was meeting her, and she introduced herself as Mel Medarda.
“This is quite a ship, I suppose all the press was accurate,” she said once introductions were finished.
“Well, naturally,” one of the other passengers replied. “Have you never been on one of these sorts of voyages before?”
“Naturally,” Mel responded, Viktor picking up on how she copied the other woman’s haughty tone. “But you know how reporters exaggerate.”
They were interrupted when a waiter came by to get their orders.
“I will take the lamb with mint sauce,” Finn said. “He’ll have the same,” he added, motioning toward Viktor. “You like lamb, don’t you, sweetpea?”
No, he didn’t. He just smiled and nodded instead.
“Are you going to cut it up for him too?” Mel asked, resting her chin in her hand as she propped her elbow on the table.
Finn was not impressed. Viktor caught Mel’s eye, giving her a small smile when she shot him a quick wink.
Lunch continued without further incident. Viktor was expected to join his mother and some other ladies for afternoon tea and gossip; empty, pointless, selfish, vapid—
Afternoon became evening, and Viktor found himself around the dinner table. His mother to his left, Finn to his right, more than half of the people around the table complete strangers to him. Finn ordered for him, told him when he couldn’t have any more to drink, and flaunted their wedding plans to everyone who would listen.
Viktor felt ill. He was just some pretty trinket for Finn, nothing more. He looked around the table, listening as the men gloated and the women sat like gilded ornaments. Empty, pointless, selfish, vapid.
He didn’t want that future. He couldn’t.
“Excuse me,” Viktor pushed his chair back and stood, unhooking his cane from the back of the seat.
“Is everything alright?” Finn asked.
“I’m afraid I don’t feel very well, I think perhaps the ocean air isn’t quite agreeing with me,” he lied easily. “I am going to retire for the night.”
Finn didn’t offer to walk him to their rooms.
Viktor made his way on his own, grateful for the elevators the ship boasted. Images filled his mind despite his trying to rid his head of them—himself on Finn’s arm, dressed up like some porcelain doll, in delicate condition, empty-headed and smiling as Finn said something insulting and demeaning.
That was what the future held for him.
Viktor was outside before he knew it, walking with purpose to the back of the ship. He would run if he could. He wiped at his eyes with his free hand, trying to hold back the tears that welled up. He found himself at the back of the ship, past the auxiliary bridge, in a section of the deck that was reserved for the Third Class.
It was a small space with rough wooden benches, contrasting the ornate deck chairs of the First and Second Classes. Viktor made his way to the railing, looking into the night.
The stars were bright, but the moon was waning, and with nothing around them but ocean, the darkness was oppressive. A trail of white, foamy waves spread out behind the ship as it cut through the water, and Viktor leaned over to look.
It was a long way down.
He was trembling when he let go of his cane and climbed over the railing, facing out to the night sky and gripping the railing behind him with both hands. His breath was visible in the freezing air as he looked down at the water.
Viktor couldn’t go through with the wedding. He couldn’t waste his life as the empty-headed bride to a selfish, cruel man who only cared about reputation. All Viktor had to do was let go, and he’d be free.
Just let go.