His thin lips moved. He shook his head.

"Oh no, it's not an honour.", slowly he walked circles around you, his hands folded behind his back while he watched you, took in every single detail from top to bottom. "Most people would call it a curse."

He was slender, making him appear physically weak and harmless. The red, black and gold suite he was dressed in did not give him a few more pounds and instead underline his thin physique. He looked way to expensive to be a part of this hole of a city.

But the shimmer in his blue eye told a different story. He was a man that had fought and killed with his bare hands before climbing up the ladder of his own hard work and success to get others to work for him.

He had a violent history and all that kept him from repeating it was the fact that he had others to do the dirty work for him now.

Blood was sticking to his hands and he had no interest in denying that fact.

You followed his movements with your eyes, scanned his black, combed back hair, the edgy face of his with a long, thin nose and the way he was presenting himself, chin up, back straightened. He walked like a leader, a king who was carrying the shiniest of crowns on his head.

At the thought, you had to huff in amusement.

Immediately, his eyes jumped to you. For the first time he tilted his head, revealing the left part of his face. Deep scars adored the entire side, which had turned lighter and paler and greyer than the rest of his skin. They danced from the edge of his hair to the bottom of his lip.

But scars were nothing unusual, not in a place like Zaun.
What was so mesmerising about him was this deep, black eye, with this bright orange iris in the middle. It seemed like it was filled with all the evils of this world.

Struck by surprise, your eyebrows rose.

He noticed. His slander fingers wandered up, following the line of his sharp chin, over to the pointy cheekbone and gently stroked the side of his face.

"You know what it is, don't you?", he asked, not a single emotion on his face. "People hold your name in high regards. They say you can recognise a disease only by looking at the minor symptoms."

For a moment, you looked at him, his face and this eye that seemed so little human yet enchanting. It did not have an eyelid, at least you couldn't see one while his other, healthy eye, blinked every now and then.

You stepped closer to him, not afraid of his appearance nor the harsh look that seemed to accompany him at all times.

A slight change crossed his face, his eyebrows rose gently as if he was a little bit impressed. He did not resist as you came even closer, so close that you could have rammed a knife into his chest.

With great interest, you examined him, first the healthy side, then the abnormal one. While being so close, his perfume filled your nose.

Musk, mixed with spicy whiskey and the smoke of cigars. It was an expensive scent, commonly used by the wealthy people of Piltover.

But there was also something else.

The smell of gun powder. Or explosives.

As your fingers slightly touched his damaged skin, he flinched. It lastet just the blink of an eye, merely a second. The way he covered it up with such confidence and a perfect facade made you almost miss it.

Starting to get a bit impatient, he eyed you from above.

"You need quite long for a miracle caster.", he noted.

You had to chuckle.

"I'm just a poorly educated doctor.", you said and looked up to meet his gaze. "The water."

His eyebrows pulled together.

"Pardon?"

"Your eye. It came in contact with the contaminated water of the river. It entered through the wounds into your body, attacked the nerves and infected the eye with a disease. Or multiple. The wounds healed, but the eye will never be the same. I suppose you're lucky it still works. But your vision must have decreased on the left side."

His lips opened, revealing his crooked front teeth and a small gap between them.

But the astonishment quickly faded. With a silent nod of his head, he offered his appreciation and leaned casually against the edge of your table.

"So the story of my past has already reached you.", he sounded almost amused as he recalled the days when he was smiled at instead of feared. "Well, I am a man who appreciates good peasants."

His fingers danced across the surface of your table, kicking up the dust. Your eyes followed his movement.

"Get to the point.", you demanded soberly. "You're not here to congratulate me, I assume."

Rubbing two fingers together, he smirked. It was little more than the twitching of the corners of his mouth, he now looked neutral rather than grim. But by Silco's standards, it could be considered a smile.

"Impatient, aren't we? But I appreciate that, too. You don't waste my time, I think that could make us good business partners. Here's the deal: you stop taking care of my puppets by curing their addiction, and I'll take you into my service. One can always use a doctor."

With a smile you shook your head.

He presented himself threatening, domineering and cold. Anyone else would have been intimidated by the calm he radiated.

But not you. You were not afraid of anyone. At least not anymore.

"The people need my help.", you explained, making it clear by your tone that he could take his suggestion and shove it.

The expression on his face changed. Instead of calmness, there was now disapproval. With his eyebrows drawn together, he stood up straight again and approached you in a threatening manner.

You withstood his gaze, not flinching or backing away one step.